The dining hall of Leywin Manor was a cavern of stone and shadow, its ancient walls echoing with the ghosts of feasts past. Flickering torches cast golden glints across the massive oak table, where half-eaten platters of roast beast sat abandoned alongside overturned goblets, their crimson wine staining the wood like spilled blood. The air was thick with the scent of charred meat and the lingering heat of a family spat ready to ignite.
At the head of the table, Arthur Leywin lounged with the casual arrogance of a king who’d long since forgotten his crown. His boots were propped on the table’s edge, and he lazily picked at his teeth with the tip of a dagger, the blade catching the torchlight with every idle flick. His dark hair fell messily over one eye, and a smirk played on his lips as he surveyed the two women standing across from him, their postures rigid with barely contained fury.
Alice Leywin, his mother, was a vision of controlled power. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a tight braid, emphasizing the sharp angles of her face, and her emerald eyes burned with a ferocity that could melt steel. Beside her stood Ellie, Arthur’s younger sister, barely sixteen but already a spitting image of her mother’s fire. Her chestnut curls bounced with every angry gesture, and her hazel eyes glinted with a mix of mischief and defiance. Both women had their fists clenched, their stances screaming challenge.
“So,” Arthur drawled, twirling the dagger between his fingers, “let me get this straight. You two think you’re going to waltz into the Blackthorn Forest, slay some mythical monster that’s probably just a fat boar with bad PR, and come back as the heroes of Dicathen? Am I hearing this right, or did I drink too much of Father’s vintage?”
Alice’s jaw tightened, her gaze slicing through him like a blade. “Laugh all you want, Arthur, but that beast has been tearing through livestock and scaring villagers half to death. Someone needs to deal with it, and since you’re too busy perfecting the art of doing absolutely nothing, Ellie and I will handle it ourselves.”
“Oh, come now, Mother,” Arthur said, leaning back with a grin that begged to be slapped off his face. “You’re not serious. You and little Ellie, playing at being warriors? What’s next, you’ll braid each other’s hair and call yourselves the Delusional Damsels of Dicathen? I can see the bard songs now—tragic and utterly hilarious.”
Ellie’s face flushed crimson, and she stomped a foot, pointing an accusing finger at her brother. “You’re such a jackass, Arthur! We’re not playing at anything! I’ve been training with Mother for months, and I’m twice the fighter you are, you cowardly couch potato! When was the last time you even picked up a sword that wasn’t for show?”
Arthur barked a laugh, clutching his chest as if her words had wounded him. “Oh, Ellie, you wound me! A couch potato, am I? At least this potato knows better than to chase fairy tales in the woods. What’s this monster supposed to be, anyway? A dragon? A troll? Or just some drunk hunter who forgot his way home?”
Alice stepped forward, her presence commanding the room as she leaned over the table, her palms flat against the wood. Her voice dropped to a dangerous purr, each word laced with venom. “Keep running that mouth, boy. While you sit here polishing your ego, we’ll be out there proving that Leywin blood doesn’t just belong to lazy, smug little lords who think they’re untouchable. You think we can’t handle a beast? Watch us. Or better yet, drag yourself out of that chair and come see for yourself—if you’ve got the spine for it.”
Arthur’s smirk didn’t falter, though a flicker of something—respect, perhaps—flashed in his dark eyes. He leaned forward, meeting her gaze with a challenge of his own. “Oh, Mother, I’d love nothing more than to watch you two strut into the forest with all the confidence of a peacock, only to come scampering back when you realize the scariest thing out there is a splinter. But fine, go play hero. I’ll be right here, keeping the wine warm for when you need consoling.”
Ellie scoffed, crossing her arms and sticking out her tongue in a gesture so childish it almost undercut her fiery demeanor. “Keep dreaming, big brother. We’re gonna come back with that monster’s head on a pike, and then I’m gonna make you kiss it just to shut you up. How’s that for a fairy tale?”
Arthur threw his head back and laughed, the sound bouncing off the stone walls. “Oh, I’m trembling, El. Truly. A head on a pike? You can barely lift a training dummy without whining about a splinter. But by all means, go forth, wannabe warriors. I’ll have the healers on standby.”
Alice straightened, her expression cold and unyielding as she fixed her son with a stare that could shatter glass. “Laugh while you can, Arthur. We’re not asking for your permission or your approval. We’re telling you what’s happening. Ellie and I will hunt this creature, and when we return victorious, you’ll be the one eating your words—along with a hefty helping of crow.”
She slammed her hand down on the table, the impact sending a goblet skittering to the floor with a metallic clatter. The sound punctuated her words like thunder, and the room fell silent for a heartbeat, the tension crackling like a storm about to break.
Ellie, seizing the moment, flipped her hair with a dramatic flourish and shot Arthur a wicked grin. “Don’t wait up, loser. We’ve got a monster to slay and a point to prove. Try not to cry too hard when we steal all your thunder.” With that, she spun on her heel, linking arms with her mother as the two women strode toward the hall’s arched doorway, their steps purposeful and unyielding.
Arthur watched them go, his smirk widening as he called after them, “I’ll have the gates unlocked for when you come crawling back, tails between your legs! Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”
Their only response was the echo of Ellie’s mocking giggle as they disappeared into the corridor, leaving Arthur alone in the vast dining hall. He leaned back in his chair, twirling the dagger once more as a low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Oh, this’ll be good,” he muttered to himself, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Let’s see how long it takes before they’re begging for the great Arthur Leywin to save the day.”
He reached for a goblet of wine, raising it in a mock toast to the empty room. “To delusional damsels and impossible dreams. May they at least make it back in one piece.”
And with that, he took a long, satisfied sip, the smirk never leaving his lips.
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