The Duchess

chapter 8

Chapter 8: A Dance of Duty and Desire

Hanna sat at her desk, pouring over estate ledgers. The numbers swam before her eyes as she attempted to concentrate, but her thoughts kept drifting. It had been three days since Allen had arrived at her estate, and his presence had been both a disruption and an enigma.

A knock at the door jolted her from her thoughts. Irina stepped in, her usual composed demeanor tinged with amusement.

"My Lady," she began, "you may want to see what's happening in the training yard."

Hanna frowned, setting her quill down. "What is it now?"

"It seems Prince Allen is entertaining your knights. He's quite the showman."

Hanna's irritation flared. Rising from her seat, she swept out of the study and toward the yard, Irina trailing behind her.

In the training yard, a crowd of knights and servants had gathered. At the center stood Allen, his sword flashing in the sunlight as he sparred with one of Hanna's best knights. The duel was a dance of precision, Allen's movements fluid and confident.

As Hanna approached, the knights parted to let her through. Allen caught sight of her and grinned mid-parry, effortlessly disarming his opponent before bowing theatrically.

"Ah, Duchess Hanna," he said, his voice carrying over the crowd. "Come to join us?"

Hanna crossed her arms. "I wasn't aware my estate had turned into a tournament ground."

Allen chuckled, tossing his sword to the knight he'd just defeated. "I thought I'd stretch my legs a bit. Perhaps you'd care to spar with me? Unless, of course, you're afraid."

The gathered crowd murmured with interest. Hanna narrowed her eyes. "Afraid? Hardly. But don't expect me to go easy on you."

She stepped into the circle, accepting a practice sword from one of her knights.

The sparring match began with both combatants circling each other. Allen was quick, his strikes precise, but Hanna met each one with calculated precision.

"You're skilled," Allen remarked, sidestepping her lunge. "But I expected nothing less from the famous Duchess of War."

"And you're talkative," Hanna replied, pivoting to block his next strike. "I expected nothing less from a Winterlin prince."

The crowd cheered as the match grew more intense. Allen's playful banter was met with Hanna's sharp retorts, each exchange drawing them closer. Finally, with a swift maneuver, Hanna disarmed him and pressed the tip of her sword to his chest.

The crowd erupted in applause, but Allen only smiled. "You may have won the match," he said, lowering his voice so only she could hear, "but I'm here for a bigger victory."

Hanna's eyes narrowed, but a faint blush rose to her cheeks. She stepped back, tossing the sword aside. "This isn't a game, Allen."

"No," he agreed, his expression softening. "It's not."

Later, Hanna retreated to the stables, seeking solace among the familiar scents of hay and leather. She brushed her horse, her mind racing with thoughts of Allen's words and the way he'd looked at her.

"I thought I'd find you here," came his voice from behind her.

Hanna turned, finding Allen leaning casually against the stable door. "What do you want?" she asked, keeping her tone even.

"To talk," he said, stepping closer. "I didn't come here to cause trouble, Hanna. I came because I admire you. Your strength, your leadership-it's rare."

Hanna paused, her hand stilling on the horse's mane. "Flattery won't get you far, Allen."

"It's not flattery," he said, his voice earnest. "It's the truth."

For a moment, silence hung between them. Hanna's walls, carefully constructed over years of duty and loss, felt dangerously close to crumbling.

That evening, during a meeting with her advisors, the topic of Allen arose.

"His presence here will raise questions," one advisor said. "The Northern King, residing at the estate of Duchess Hanna? It will draw suspicion."

"Let them speculate," Hanna said, though her resolve wavered. "He's under my protection for now."

As the meeting adjourned, she couldn't shake the unease creeping into her thoughts.

Back in her chambers, Hanna found Allen waiting outside her door, a small velvet pouch in his hand.

"What is this?" she asked, arching a brow.

"A gift," he said, opening the pouch to reveal a delicate charm bracelet. "It's a symbol of trust. And maybe... hope."

Hanna hesitated before taking it. "Hope for what?"

"For whatever you'll allow," he said, his voice soft.

As she slipped the bracelet onto her wrist, she felt a strange warmth, a mix of uncertainty and something deeper.

That night, as she stared at the bracelet's charms glinting in the candlelight, she wondered if she was letting her guard down too much-or if she'd already lost the battle.