Chapter 503. A Fascinating Specimen of the Romantic Rivalry Phenomenon

Chapter 503: 503. A Fascinating Specimen of the Romantic Rivalry Phenomenon

The sparring match challenge, though no one had officially named it as such, took three more days to fully assemble itself. What began as casual interaction slowly calcified into a series of increasingly absurd, transparent skirmishes.

Lia was the first to deploy her strategy. She developed a sudden, almost pathological need to discuss greatsword technique with William.

The timing was surgical; she would materialize every single time Kaela drew near, pulling him aside for detailed, hushed conversations about footwork and blade trajectory.

These discussions somehow always required standing considerably closer than the physics of swordplay strictly demanded, their shoulders brushing as they leaned over imaginary hilts.

Kaela, refusing to be outmaneuvered, countered with equal ferocity. She developed an equally urgent, equally suspicious need for hand-to-hand drilling.

Whenever Lia managed to claim more than a few consecutive minutes of William’s attention, Kaela would appear like a storm cloud on the horizon, dragging him off toward the training yard with a transparent eagerness that fooled absolutely nobody.

"William, your stance is too wide for close quarters," Lia would purr, her fingers lingering just a second too long on his forearm as she adjusted his posture.

"Actually, Lia, I think Instructor Wade needs to work on his reaction speed against unpredictable opponents," Kaela would interject, already grabbing his wrist to pull him away. "Come on, Instructor Wade."

"Let’s see if you can actually dodge a real strike instead of talking about hypothetical ones."

From a shaded bench overlooking the courtyard, Catherine observed the entire escalating drama with the serene, settled contentment of a woman watching her favorite theater production unfold exactly as scripted.

She held a delicate porcelain cup in her hand, the steam rising lazily around her face, with Ellie and Clara seated on either side of her like an appreciative, captive audience.

"I really should start charging admission for this," Catherine remarked, taking a slow, satisfied sip of her tea.

She watched as Lia abruptly materialized at William’s elbow the moment Kaela had finished making her passionate case for an impromptu training session. "Honestly, it’s better entertainment than anything the court theater has staged in years."

"The pacing is exquisite."

Ellie dissolved into helpless, giggling laughter behind one hand, watching William look increasingly like a man trapped between two closing vise grips.

Clara, however, remained unmoved. Settled on Catherine’s other side, her journal already open and her pencil moving with deadly precision, she continued writing without so much as glancing up.

"Documenting," Clara said, her voice carrying that same grave, academic detachment she might use to describe the migration patterns of a rare species of bird, "a fascinating specimen of the romantic rivalry phenomenon."

"Subjects appear entirely unaware of how grotesquely obvious their behavior has become to all outside observers."

"I can hear you, Clara!" Lia called over her shoulder, her tone sharp but lacking any real venom; she was too busy focusing on her next tactical move to truly be offended.

"The observation remains accurate regardless of auditory reception," Clara replied primly, not bothering to look up from her notes. "Data does not require permission to be recorded."

Whatever fragile remnants of patience either woman had been clinging to finally shattered on the fourth morning.

There was no warning, no diplomatic negotiation, and certainly no prior coordination; both Kaela and Lia arrived at the training yard at the exact same moment, each wearing a look of grim, terrifying determination that suggested they weren’t there for exercise but for conquest.

"All right," Kaela said, her voice low and dangerous.

She raised her hands, cracking both knuckles of her Tempest Fang gauntlets together with a sharp, metallic clack that echoed off the stone walls.

She planted herself at one end of the yard, her stance wide and predatory. "No more games... No more ’accidental’ brushes!"

"Let’s settle this properly."

"A sparring match," Lia agreed, her words clipped.

She drew her training greatsword from its sheath with a slow, deliberate hiss of steel against leather. A competitive fire burned behind her red eyes, bright enough to rival the morning sun.

"High stakes! Whoever wins gets the afternoon with William."

"Completely uninterrupted. No interruptions, no training requests, no excuses."

William, who had been seated on a nearby bench hoping to quietly enjoy the peaceful morning air before the storm hit, raised one hand in mild, terrified protest. "I feel like I should at least get some say in how my schedule is allocated."

"Sit down and enjoy the view," both women commanded in perfect, bone-chilling unison.

The sheer, unplanned symmetry of their voices caused them to immediately whirl around to glare at each other, offended by the unexpected harmony.

William, recognizing the signs of imminent violence, wisely sank back onto the bench and said nothing further. He simply braced himself.

Word of the impromptu challenge spread through the palace faster than a wildfire in a dry forest. By the time Kaela and Lia had finished their ritualistic warm-up stretches, each moving with the lethal grace of a predator preparing to strike, a respectable, expectant crowd had gathered along the perimeter of the yard.

Ellie and Clara had claimed the prime viewing positions on an overturned supply crate. Ellie was already waving a hastily improvised flag fashioned from a knotted handkerchief tied to a stick, her face flushed with excitement in Kaela’s honor.

Clara, true to form, held a flag that was somewhat more pragmatic: a plain white cloth with ’Team Lia’ written in small, immaculate, clinical lettering.

Olivia had wandered over from the scholars’ wing, drawn by the unmistakable scent of impending drama. She found herself standing beside a cluster of off-duty palace guards who had already begun organizing a makeshift gambling ring.

"Ten silver on Lia," one of the guards offered to Olivia, already digging a coin from his leather pouch with a grin.

"I’ll take that bet," Olivia said, her eyes dancing with amusement as she leaned against a pillar. "My money’s on Kaela."

"Raw, unbridled power tends to surprise people who have only ever read about it in sanitized tactical reports."

"I’ve got five more; that says it ends in a tie. They’re both too stubborn to actually draw blood," another guard countered.

Within minutes, the betting had spread down the entire line of soldiers. Small stacks of coins changed hands with the easy, rolling good humor of people who had spent too many recent weeks worrying about treason and death and were now thoroughly enjoying the chance to worry about something as delightfully trivial as a grudge match.

Catherine settled onto her usual shaded bench with a fresh cup of steaming tea, looking less like a bystander and more like a grandmaster watching the first move of a long-anticipated chess game. She looked like a woman who had been counting down the seconds until this exact moment for days.

"I would like it noted for the official record," Clara announced to no one in particular, her flag held high despite her monotone delivery, "that I am maintaining strict scientific neutrality despite my symbolic affiliation."

"The flag represents statistical probability based on current combat metrics, not personal preference."

Ellie leaned over, grinning wickedly at her friend. "Your flag literally says ’Team Lia,’ Clara."

"Statistically speaking," Clara replied without breaking eye contact with the two warriors in the center of the yard, "Lia’s reach advantage gives her a 62% higher probability of securing a decisive strike."