Chapter 7 – Lillia Needs a Nap

Lillia sat on the edge of the stair landing, letting her feet hang over the first steps toward the second floor. She’d leaned back a minute earlier and found her hand brushing against the edge of the old knight’s armor. She hadn’t jumped like usual. Instead, she’d closed her eyes and tried to think that it was a person.

She knew she hadn’t even been here alone for that long, but it was horrible down here and she didn’t know if there was going to be an end to it. There were supposed to be knights. There were supposed to be servants. She was a princess, dammit. There were supposed to be perks that came with the position.

If there had been one thing Lillia had been sure of in her life before this entire ordeal, it was that she would never be alone taking care of herself. Even her aunt, horrible in all the ways the woman was, kept Lillia clothed, fed, and social for appearance’s sake. Now that she’d had Lillia thrown in here, it felt more like fattening up a pig than any form of charity, but her aunt didn’t need extra context to be a murderous usurper.

Lillia pulled her knees in close again. It felt warm, but she hated she liked it. What kind of sniveling child was she? She was supposed to grow up and run a kingdom. Could she seriously not manage her emotions?

[You have leveled up!]

The text hung on the edge of Lillia’s vision, but she’d been staring past it into the middle distance. It was progress. It was something. The worst day—days? Hours?—of her life had led to a single level. She knew from the scrolls there were at least twenty-three.

The knight had been at least level 15. He would have had to be. Lillia balled her fist against the plate metal behind her. It was warm where she’d been resting her hand; that was close enough to having someone there.

Vianaffir was still bloody from killing Havoc. She didn’t have water to clean it, and she couldn’t bring herself to wipe the blood off onto her dress.

[You have leveled up.]

Good for her. She supposed.

Lillia pushed up off the stairs. She’d felt the pressure building behind her eyes, and she certainly would not sit here feeling sorry for herself if it was going to make her cry. She could drown in all the sorrows she wanted, but once she reached that point, time was up and she had to do something, anything, else.

There was only darkness down the stairs. Lillia took a steadying breath and closed her eyes. She just needed to poke her head down there. She would simply take several steps into the shadows. That would be progress. Then she could sit and wait for Havoc…if there was anything to wait for.

The hobgoblin had assured her he would come back, but considering the skeleton Lillia was getting creepily comfortable with, some things could die down here.

She could die down here.

Lillia stared down into the darkness and pulled Vianaffir off the ground. The blood on it had dried. Lillia’s gaze lingered on the stain. A princess with a sword was propaganda; blood on the sword just made it wrong.

She held the tip far out into the shadow and saw the blade wobble. Havoc had never been close to getting hit by her. She was unsteady.

Lillia shifted her stance, trying to remember what the knights did in the tournaments she’d watched.

If she had a horse, she could joust around the dungeon. Lillia was sure she could have done that easily. She’d always paid attention to the jousting events—they had horses!—but her eyes glazed over at the idea of duels.

If she wanted to watch grown men fight for no reason, there were a thousand inns within the capital’s walls, and she frequented none of them.

Lillia centered the sword and held it closer to her body. That felt better. She tried a swing and, while it was more confident than before, it was still awkward and sweeping. Was that because she wasn’t allowed to use Vianaffir, or just because she was bad at this?

The former to save her ego? The latter to be realistic? Both probably.

“Do I count as level two if I’ve ignored it?” Lillia asked. She swung the sword again. Quicker, but she still stumbled forward with the slash, chasing after the steel’s arc and weight.

The author’s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“Will I be better if I’m level two?”

She swung across instead of vertically. The momentum pulled her too far across with each swipe. She managed to hold her footing, but her body still lurched with each attempt until she growled in frustration.

Then Vianaffir sounded as if it cut the air itself. The swing balanced and clean. The blade on target. Lillia quickly tried to swing the momentum into another and almost tripped down the stairs as she staggered through the sloppy follow-through.

Lillia stopped herself short of desecrating—kicking—the knight. Barely. She then turned to the door to Havoc’s room and peeked inside. She didn’t need to look far inside to see the pooled blood. The princess slammed the door shut.

Not that way.

Lillia’s breathing settled faster than before, but tiredness swept in with the calm. Her body sagged as she allowed the feeling to catch up with her. She could be determined. She could certainly be tired. None of that would erase the need to sleep.

Of course, there was nothing to sleep on here, and Lillia wasn’t about to curl up on a stone floor. At least she hoped she wasn’t. So far, the dungeon had done a good job of letting her come to a conclusion, only to force the alternative upon her.