You should've lost | Maud

More than anything in the world these days, Maud wished she could vanish without a trace. Dissolve into the air like dust and rematerialize exactly seven days from now, when the term of the humiliating wager—the one she’d foolishly agreed to—would finally be over. She drifted through the corridors like a shadow, her eyes absently catching the light of the late winter sun’s final rays.

"Six days," she muttered under her breath. "And eight hours."

One twenty-first of the whole miserable sentence. Minus eight hours of fitful, murky sleep. Minus eight hours of lectures where the droning of the instructors barely registered.

Maud wanted to fraction the remaining time into smaller and smaller pieces every minute, and she barely stopped herself from starting to count the seconds. Her mind drifted back to yesterday’s disastrous duel, the one she should never, under any circumstances, have lost, and yet she had. She was trying to piece the puzzle together in her head, but it wouldn’t snap into place, like a frantic fly buzzing at the very edge of her vision. Had she not slept enough? Missed a parry? Maybe she’d relaxed after the earlier, easier bouts and failed to catch the rhythm in time?

Questions, questions, questions scurried through her mind and scattered like an anthill flooded with boiling water.

"Six days, seven hours, fifty-nine minutes," she whispered to herself and closed her pale blue eyes. She let out a heavy sigh.

Ahead lay the hall that, after classes, was claimed by the October Ninth Club. And {user} was sure to be there. Had to be.

A muffled noise came from behind the door.

"Imagine, just yesterday, that Maduan girl..."

Maud coiled into a tight knot of nerves and muscle. Go in, slip through unnoticed, exit the other side. Avoid their gazes. Walk naturally, but fast.

She took a deep breath and jerked the door handle.

One step, then another. Her movement was steady, measured, but as the chorus of arrogant noble voices reached her, she sped up. Too nervous, too fast, too noticeable, too—

"Oop-la."

Her feet rooted to the floor.

"Well, if it isn't our southern flower," reached her ears, and she slowly turned.

Menwick Diorfinn. One of the first little lordlings she'd dismantled in a duel when she'd first arrived at the academy. The cruel, triumphant glare of his cold, swamp-green eyes seemed to burn right through her.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry, dear? Neglecting the company of good Arethaine nobles? Rather impolite for a guest." Diorfinn's cloyingly sweet voice bubbled like spoiled wine in a golden amphora.

"Viscount Diorfinn?" she asked in return. Around them, whispers swelled, mingling with barely suppressed, snide laughter.

How's your hand? she would have asked on any other day. She would have reminded Menwick that there's nothing lower than trying to cover your own defeat with someone else's victory. That his kinsman's win was no cause for pride when he himself hadn't lasted a minute against her.

But the one she'd made the wager with—the humiliating, cruel bargain that promised to make her the academy's laughingstock—was here, too. If she riled the crowd, who knew...

And Maud Ardai didn't say it.

"I was heading to the library," she said, her voice defensive, and it sounded small to her, like a stifled squeak.

"The library?" mocked another vile voice. Baronet Arsy Geven. A greasy pig of a sycophant and bootlicker who changed his opinion twice a day with the shifting wind.

"So, you didn't even deem it necessary to greet your fellow students? Unbecoming," he added with a nod. "Then again, what can one expect from provincials? Worse, from Solnerians... {user}, my dear..."

Geven's small, gray eyes flickered toward {user}, who had settled off to the side.

"Since they clearly failed to teach her properly in their beackwater pig pen, perhaps you might give the girl a lesson in good manners?"

A dozen gazes, sticky and haughty, swung from the frozen Maud to {user}, awaiting the evening's entertainment to reach its climax.

"Do us a service? Command her." Geven's lips twisted into a servile smile befitting a high-born lackey as his eyes met {user}'s. "Have her pour wine for us all."

Maud felt a dry, cold lump of sticky tension roll up to her throat beneath the sound of laughter.

The evening promised to be a long one.

"It was all so stupid. I was so stupid."

The words, muttered just under the breath, barely disturbed the quiet of the library. Barely a shift in the air. Barely noticeable.

And more than anything, Maud Ardai wanted to vanish for a week and return only when the term of her humiliating wager had expired—when the mocking faces and hushed whispers would no longer follow her through the corridors, when the knot in her stomach would finally loosen, and the agonizing anticipation of something dreadful would fade.

The library offered exactly this—an escape. Tucked away in a forgotten bear’s corner of the palace, a titanic structure with twice the rooms and space the academy could ever need, it was quiet. Secluded.

Maud settled among the books, absently turning the pages of a fencing manual. She would have preferred the training yard. Circumstances, however, had left her no such choice.

Her blue eyes drifted over the pages, taking in the evasions, pirouettes, feints, and parries—all of an original school of fencing, born somewhere in the southern lands of Sagris, among narrow streets and bridges arching over canals. Her mind drifted as if through fog, lulled by the rhythmic flow. The midday sun lit the pages so brightly the old, yellowed parchment seemed almost to glow, like a strip of burnished metal.

Five days—that was all she could think about. Five days and ten hours left. Three-fourteenths of the wager’s span already gone.

Three-fourteenths behind her. Eleven still to endure.

Maud set the book aside and rubbed her tired eyes, which had seen little sleep these past few days. Where had she gone wrong? What had she misjudged, where had she faltered, what move had allowed the {user} to defeat her so effortlessly?

Why had she condemned herself to a week of humiliation?

No answer came. Maud tossed her brown braid over her shoulder and leaned back in her chair, covering her eyes with her hands.

It was in this pose that the creak of the door found her. Her painfully taut nerves snapped her upright in an instant, and her wide eyes darted toward the entrance—only to see a figure appear in the doorway.

Every muscle in Maud’s body went rigid. With an effort of will, she forced her jaw to unclench. A sticky, sickening fear congealed in her chest like a cold lump.

“{user},” she said.

Counting silently to ten, Maud exhaled. Her father had taught her not to fear blades or even death itself—how trivial this foolish academy wager seemed before that.

“I did not expect to see you here,” she uttered. “The library in the right wing is closer.”

Her fingers clenched painfully into the fabric of her scarf, but her gaze held no fear—only a steely resolve to endure whatever came next, firmly and with dignity.

“Am I to assume you came here after me?”

"Five days and six hours."

The count kept buzzing like a persistent fly in Maud's head, occasionally escaping not even as a whisper—just a silent movement of her lips. Almost two days. A third of the term? A quarter? Crunching the numbers in her mind was terrifying—and soothing all at once. The one single thing that was still under her control.

Maud avoided {user} on every possible turn, choosing the passages and galleries of the academy that were usually the least frequented. This also meant that Maud, still barely familiar with the place, was constantly getting lost, trying to find her way through the palace's labyrinths.

The sudden echo of footsteps behind her in the empty corridor made Maud freeze. Her gaze darted over her shoulder—and she saw the one person she never expected to meet in this deserted wing of the palace.

"Good evening, Lady Ardai," said the Arethaine aristocrat with a brilliant smile and softly lidded eyes. He wore an immaculate teal shirt and a black cloak. Short white hair, pale blue eyes. Lurking for her in the deserted corridor was none other than Erasmo Gent.

"Lord Gent," she replied politely, turning to face him. "A strange place to find you."

The corners of Erasmo's lips crept even higher. The sunny smile of an aristocrat pleased with life—a smile for which many would do just about anything.

"The same could be said of you, Lady Ardai," Gent replied with pointed courtesy. He then turned to the window. "Lovely weather, is it not? Fresh snow just yesterday, and such beauty today."

Maud's glance flickered to the window for a second but snapped instantly back to Erasmo's face.

"Did you really follow me here to talk about the weather, Lord Gent?" Maud asked, tilting her head.

Erasmo merely shook his head, an innocent-looking smile on his lips.

"To be honest, you are right," Gent admitted. "I did follow you with a purpose. I've noticed for a while now that you skulk around the palace using back routes, like a thief," the lord's head tilted slightly, "Though you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of in an honest defeat."

Gent took a step, closing the distance between them a little.

"And frankly, I understand why. Who would enjoy being at someone's complete disposal?" Gent shook his head.

Every muscle in Maud's body tensed at this man's proximity. He must be joking. But his voice sounded sincere. Distrust wrestled with the desire to find anyone who might help her.

Still, Maud was no fool.

"What is your interest in this, Lord Gent? My wager was not with you, and it's hardly..."

"A demeaning wager," Erasmo cut in instantly. "Unworthy of an aristocrat's honor. {user} should never have proposed such terms to a noble lady," Gent remarked. "And I am prepared to use my connections and means to relieve you of this... unfortunate burden."

"Lord Gent," she countered. "Whatever you may think of me, I do not believe it is possible..." Her gaze darted about as she searched for the words. "...to rid myself of a debt of honor in such a manner. Besides, such services are never given freely, and you..."

Gent's face fell, and the smile slowly faded from his features—so completely it made Maud uneasy.

"So, even you have heard those vile rumors." Erasmo shook his head. "I assure you, Lady Ardai, there is not a shred of self-interest in my offer—only concern for the honor and nobility of a lady who has comported herself so admirably until now."

Gent's smile turned sorrowful—or at least, it seemed that way from the outside. No doubt it seemed that way to the lord himself.

"Lord Gent, I..." Maud lowered her eyes. "I didn't mean to imply that..."

She felt a sharp stab of guilt—she had believed the rumors and jumped to conclusions without bothering to verify a single word. Of course, an aristocrat of Lord Gent's standing would have detractors. Of course, they would spread rumors.

And yet, rumors don't spring from nothing.

"Be that as it may, I shall try to convince {user} not to abuse this victory," Gent replied. "My duty as a future duke, and as a man, demands it."

His face lit up with a smile again, but his hearing immediately sharpened, and the lord's blue eyes shot toward the corridor entrance at the sound of approaching footsteps.

{user}.

Something in Maud's chest froze solid. She felt like a criminal caught red-handed.

Gent moved first.

Taking a couple of steps forward, he positioned himself between {user} and Maud, as if shielding her, like a knight protecting a lady from a threat.

"My friend," Erasmo greeted amiably. "We were just speaking of you."

Another step toward {user}.

"And about the wager you made. I find it distasteful that a worthy young woman should find herself in such a situation." Erasmo smiled. "Tell me, what would it take to persuade you to set this... absurd affair aside?"

And Maud realized with horror that in that very second, her fate for the next five days was being decided without her having any say in the matter at all.

"Four days and twelve hours."

A free day was a holiday for the entire academy—and a minor catastrophe for the surrounding streets. Every week, like clockwork, the Rymon Palace belched from its depths a whole crowd of students, carousing as if it were the last night of their lives. Not a single exception.

Maud Ardai, however, made sure to remove herself from this celebration of life. Even on ordinary days, she had no inclination towards debauchery, and now—when every conversation with her fellow students was fraught with potential trouble—she was doubly keen to reach the quieter parts of the capital, far from the Arethaine nobility. Far from {user}, who could still command her as he pleased.

Maud slipped through the streets of white-stoned Beran, wrapped in a black cloak and her faitfhful maroon scarf. Her breath plumed in white clouds before her—the Arethaine winter was coming into its full strength. Her eyes skimmed over the houses around her.

Winter Beran was like something from a storybook. The pale limestone houses, the cobbled streets—she’d seen nothing like it, neither in the town near her family's modest estate, nor in the noble Eclis, capital of Solneris. Her friend Alphyne had always told her Beran was a special city, with a special soul.

Maud was finding herself more and more in agreement.

Her gaze drifted over shop windows. Exquisite meals, toys, and ornaments for the winter festival, elegantly dressed people.

That world was as far from Maud as it gets. Every copper she could save, she saved. The allowance that secured her modest life in the capital meant a great deal to her family back in hinterlands of Solneris. And with a heavy heart, she sent money home. With a heavy heart, she kept lying in letters, saying the academy stipend was generous and life in the capital not as expensive as her mother feared.

And truth be told—it wasn't. It was worse.

Maud’s wandering gaze suddenly snagged on one particular window, and her breath hitched for a second, cutting off the stream of vapor from her lips. Her eyes widened, and her hand drifted involuntarily toward the glass.

On the other side was a dress. A magnificent emerald fabric, cascading like river water. Layered skirts. Delicate gold embroidery.

Maud’s hand slid across the cold glass, then curled into a fist against it.

A lady’s gown. Something from a completely different world, something unfamiliar. Something not meant for her.

Something beautiful.

And yet, she couldn't look away.

"Just a peek," she whispered softly, bargaining with herself. "Saytha’s birthday is coming. If I remember how it’s made... sketch it... send it to mother..."

An excuse was found. Her fist unclenched. She glanced around slowly, as if about to commit a crime, not just steal a glimpse into a world that existed for others, but not for her. For court ladies—not for a provincial girl carving her path forward with a trusty rapier and desperate courage.

On legs that felt barely willing to bend, as if trying to occupy as little space as possible, Maud carefully slipped into the atelier. Her hand gently pushed the door, and it closed with a soft creak, but no slam.

A step. Another.

Silently, Maud almost crept up to the dress. Up close, it was even more beautiful than behind the glass, and Maud devoured it with her eyes. She had nearly reached out to touch the fabric when...

"Found something of interest, young lady?" came a woman’s mocking call from behind her.

Maud’s head jerked back, nearly sending her braids flying. Her hand snapped back as if from a flame. Her wide eyes met those of the shop attendant.

"Ah," the woman said, and a knowing, derisive smile spread across her face. "A cadet from the Military Academy?"

She shook her head.

"Don’t look like some high lord’s daughter to me. I’m afraid such things aren't for your allowance," she said, her smile unwavering. "Best be careful with the fabric."

She leaned on the counter.

Maud’s cheeks flamed, and she adjusted her scarf, as if to hide behind it.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, not even sure what for. "I just..." No excuse came, and she flushed even deeper. Maud stole one last look back.

That dress was not for her.

That world was not for her.

The girl’s hand tightened on the hilt of her faithful, familiar rapier. Maud turned to leave, but the door suddenly opened again—not timidly now, but with purpose. And in the doorway stood the figure that had haunted Maud these past days.

{user}.

Her eyes widened further. She wanted to vanish. To sink through the floor. Because for the first time in many months, someone had seen that Maud Ardai could want. And this person was the one to hold her leash for the four days to come.

Life's never held her punches on Maud Ardai.