Winter Wildflowers

Chapter 22

Day 185

The old man stood in the corner of the room, watching Ofelia. She had caught his eye a few times to which he only crossed his arms and relaxed into the wall he leaned on.
It was fortunate Ofelia had grown accustomed to the gaze of men, those both thoughtful and thoughtless. She turned away again and struck her sword to the bag. She was strengthening her figure eights, slicing as fast as she could manage, perfecting her swings when he finally made his way to her.
She noticed him in her peripheral, and turned to him when he was a few metres away.
She tilted her head, watching him cautiously, "... Hello."
The man bowed to her, "Your Majesty."
Ofelia smiled to him, ever formal were the people of Veralta, "How can I help you?"
The man rose and met her gaze, "I am Sir Simon Smith, I train the Knights in hand to hand combat."
Ofelia's ears perked and she placed her wooden sword against the bag, "... I see."
"It is rare I see a woman in these quarters.", Sir Simon started, silent thoughts hidden behind his eyes, "And I have watched you train because of it. I hope you have not minded."
Ofelia politely smiled, "I am used to it."
Sir Simon nodded, and he clasped his hands behind his back, "May I... ask why you practice?"
Ofelia held his eye and leant on her hip. The way he had approached her was off putting, there was a motive, "I would like to thank a fondness for the sport,", Ofelia cautiously started, "But in truth I have been commanded by the King."
Sir Simon nodded again, glancing at her sword. He hummed.
Ofelia watched him for a moment as he dwelled on his thoughts. He was quiet, but his presence was unignorable. Finally, he looked back to her.
"I... do not want to appear forward, your Majesty,", he began, frowning slightly as he found his words, "... But I am interested in what you-... What I can do to help."
Ofelia eyed him, "... Do you mean to train me?"
Sir Simon nodded, but slow. And his gaze was intense, "Yes.", he noted, his eyes falling to her hands. He fell silent again.
Ofelia waited, but he didn't respond. At his hesitance she realised. She straightened.
"You are offering your services.", Ofelia stated, catching on. He was speaking in code.
He nodded, though his eye twinkled. She shut her mouth tight.
At her expression, Sir Simon knowingly smiled, "...You show a particular strength, my Queen, one quite rare to see."
The compliment sent a shudder through her bones. She blinked at him.
"You display such... strong perseverance, it is intriguing.", He finished, lowering his head.
Ofelia straightened and stared at him.
Sir Simon Smith was old. His hair was white and wispy, and his eyes were a pale blue. He was of relatively tall stature, his soldier's posture exaggerating the fact. His hands were calloused, and he smelt like leather.
Ofelia looked back to his eyes.

Sir Simon introduced her to a rhythm first, like how Paulina had taught her to dance, but different in the way that Simon was teaching her to drum. As she lightly tapped the bag in front of her, he didn't critique her technique but focused on her getting a good grasp of the beat. 'Left, right, left, right', he had said before falling silent. Ofelia's skirt flowed along her legs as she rotated to land each tap, and she smiled at the way it felt. It was like wading through water.
"Tell me of the West.", Ofelia said quietly.
Sir Simon watched her as she continued to punch. A minute passed and though she didn't lead it on, Ofelia wondered when he planned on calling her off. Was he planning on letting her punch the bag all afternoon? Her breaths started to intensify, Ofelia released them in short puffs.
Sir Simon smiled, "Their population has grown,", he started, leaving no indication for Ofelia to stop, "Youths are aplenty, and their young men are healthy. Like all Kingdoms they suffer a hunger for power, perhaps not at ravenous as Veralta, though that is not to say that they are not ruthless.", He then took note of her drumming. "You are going well.", he admitted, sounding surprised as he rounded her. He landed on her other side and watched her hands. He again fell silent, and Ofelia puffed, widening her stance a little.
Sir Simon grinned, "Good."
Ofelia shot him a small glance but returned to the bag. She struggled but continued to maintain her pace.
"But their men, as fine as they are, are no match for Veralta's number.", he admitted, and leaning into crossed arms.
Ofelia frowned at his words. Ofelia kept going. She punched left and right, even when she began to breathe ragged, and even later, when minutes had passed and her arms began to burn.
Sir Simon watched her, his eyes checking her stance, her arms, her face, then back to her hands.
Hit, hit. Hit, hit. Hit, hit. Ofelia squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head as sweat piled in her brow.
She persevered as long as she could but when Ofelia's pace faltered and her arms grew heavier than she could lift, Sir Simon chuckled and advised for her to stop.
Instantly Ofelia rebound from the bag and dropped her arms, throwing her head back to gulp air.
Sir Simon grinned and her and patted her shoulder like she'd expect a soldier to, "Quite a little champion you could be.", he laughed, reaching for a skin of water.
Ofelia accepted it from his hands, and nodded her head, "Thank you.", she croaked before gulping.
He watched her as she drank, thinking.
Ofelia caught his eye and lowered the water, inhaling as she wiped her brow, "... And you. Why do you tell me such things?"
He grinned, and eyed her, "... There are many things you do not know of this court.", He quietly said, "Injustices that can only be resolved by revenge."

-

The Ball was to be held and Ofelia was too exhausted to slip into her dress. She croaked as she lifted herself up, struggled to keep straight as it was laced up, fought away sleep as her maidens painted her face and styled her hair. She was dressed in an emerald green dress, her jewellery coloured to match, and though the dress was comfortable for the most part, she noticed it was slightly tighter on her shoulders. No doubt from the blood that had surged through her veins during the time that Sir Simon Smith had stolen of her afternoon. After his secretive words, his display of allegiance, he did not depart from her. He encouraged her to box with him, and though he did not push her to a breaking point after testing her, it did not mean that he had let Ofelia leave unpunished. She whined with every movement.
"She is quite a... fit woman.", One of Ofelia's handmaidens muttered, sniffing to hide herself.
"Yes. I'd rather box with his Majesty.", Another muttered, leaving the rest to stifle their giggles.
Ofelia glanced to the window to hide her smile.
"... Did you see him after Cecil had brought him up to date?", One of the older women added, her voice growing quieter.
Sly eyes passed from one woman to the other as she lifted her head, letting a few moments of silence pass. She then pretended to hum, "I have not seen such angry eyes since his grandfather."
At the mention of his grandfather, the women fell into a tense silence. Ofelia noted their reaction.
Finally the little blonde girl, Olivia spoke up, "I thought he would have raged...", she mumbled, sliding a ring onto Ofelia's hand, her petite fingers smaller than the jewels, "But then I saw him walking in the Gardens."
The woman hummed in surprise, like they too had expected him to explode in anger. Most definitely their opinions were backed up by experience.
Very subtly, Olivia glanced up to Ofelia. Ofelia looked into her eyes, catching a glimpse of their darling brown. Olivia was a beautiful young girl, she noted, and her presence comforted Ofelia. She quickly looked back to her hands "... With Her Majesty, the Queen."
A collected stunned chime sounded from the women, each taken back. Ofelia hummed and they silently continued their work.

Ofelia sat in a large chair, a few steps above the floor in a large circular room. It was quiet, though there were waiters at every table, musicians on their podiums, speakers waiting to announce. Though Ofelia had been expected to arrive early, no one else was there, not even Knightley, and so she sat in a silence, all alone suspended above everyone. She was uncomfortable.
She shuddered at the thought of having to dance with Knightley in front of the crowds soon to arrive.
As the noise of the line-up loudened, Ofelia hopelessly lifted her eyes to the ceiling. Where was Knightley?

At the sixth strike of the clock, the crowds were let through. Ofelia watched in horror as each person looked to her and began to make their way over. She fought to keep a polite smile on her lips. Where was Knightley?

She was going to kill him. She had sat on that throne high above everyone, suspended at that awkward position for an hour. She had greeted person after person, each either eager eyed, overly stiff, or shaking in fear. She did her best to seem polite, but her hands wrung each other in her lap. She glanced at her guard. Thankfully, she had been placed with James, the taller guard who had sparred with her. In her play with him, he had slightly warmed to her. Well, she guessed so anyways, he wasn't one to loudly display any affections. He had once offered his hand to her when she had fallen, though she wasn't sure whether that had come from his mercy or a call to duty. She glanced to him as a sleazy prince greeted her with an over exerted bow. James turned away amused.

People continued to greet her, and Ofelia greeted each one with a nod, a smile, and a thanks, but her eyes constantly met the entrance guards as she searched for Knightley.
"James.", she quietly called, beckoning him to lean to her ear, "Where is my... husband?", she muttered, the word odd in her mouth.
"He is attending to duties, but he should be here shortly.", James replied before returning to his stance.
Ofelia huffed and leant on her arm, waiting for the next greeters.

Another hour passed and Ofelia sat still and silent in her throne. She had glanced to the doors with every new person that arrived, but when the entrance stopped letting people through, she sighed. It was clear that he had no plans on showing.
As per usual, he left her to fend for herself.