This time, things were different.

  What had struck Cerena, just as much as the doctors, was not the speed at which the pregnancy was progressing: she had already experienced two similar ones, both of which had ended without complications at a breathtaking pace.

  What was most striking was the slowness of its course, almost ordinary in nature. The first trimester had passed, her belly was already quite round, yet the birth had not taken place. Even the earliest signs had appeared later than expected.

  Although this unsettled her, the doctors were unequivocal: the time had not yet come.

  Moreover, since learning that she was expecting a child, the Emperor had continued his daily visits and had grown more attentive to her needs. At times, he even seemed almost amused; Cerena, recalling her first experience—spent in complete isolation—had insisted that he not alter his habits toward her.

  This period of life was often fraught with conflicting emotions. The presence and support of her husband were indispensable to her, all the more so as she feared that he might come to see her differently. And so, they continued to share, from time to time, moments of close intimacy.

  This undoubtedly had a positive effect on Cerena. Yet she remained concerned, each passing day feeding her growing anxiety.

  ???

  During their journey, Elvira and her father would sometimes undertake paid tasks in order to provide for their needs. Hunting or fishing to help feed the population, lending a hand on a farm from time to time, or ridding an area of pests—most often, these were small, unremarkable errands. Yet there were also occasions when they were required to carry out more dangerous and less pleasant duties, such as tracking down a pickpocket or protecting merchants from brigand attacks.

  This was the reason Elvira trained daily in single combat with her father.

  She was now fifteen years old, and they had been on the road for over a year; but having drawn sufficiently close to the imperial capital, they refused to stray from it again, the end of their journey now fast approaching.

  At the first light of day, a scent of dew filled the air. The rising sun bathed the horizon in a gentle orange hue, casting a faint glow upon a young man and his daughter, poised to cross blades.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Both were silent, perfectly focused on one another. She raised her weapon, anticipating the blow to come and parrying it without hesitation. She pivoted, letting her opponent’s blade slide along her own, throwing him off balance, then struck back at him from behind.

  Not letting himself be caught off guard by the ruse, her father turned swiftly and struck to counter her, but only the whistle of his blade echoed in the air. Without losing a second, Elvira had ducked low and swept his legs from under him, completing his stumble.

  He fell backward and attempted to rise at once, but with a mere wave of her hand, Elvira forced him back to the ground without ever touching him. She placed the tip of her sword against her father’s throat. Surprised by the ease with which she had defeated him, the young man smiled.

  “Nice victory,” he said, conceding defeat.

  She helped him to his feet.

  “But don’t rest on your laurels; overconfidence often goes hand in hand with misfortune,” he added.

  “I know, Dad. But what can I do if I defeat you every time?” she replied, amused.

  He pulled a face: she was right. There was a time when he had been a seasoned swordsman, but his reflexes had dulled. No—this was not the true reason.

  Elvira had grown strong. She had been learning to wield a sword for over three years now, which amounted to nearly her entire life. She was agile, clever, adaptable. She strove to absorb and apply everything he taught her. She was now able to set her emotions aside for the duration of a fight.

  Week after week, her victories became more frequent, faster, and more assured. He found it increasingly difficult to keep up—or perhaps she simply no longer gave him the time to react.

  Above all, every minor injury she sustained in combat healed instantly, as though she were able to maintain a constant veil of restoration around herself. This naturally demanded greater energy and concentration. She sacrificed a portion of her mental endurance to extend her physical performance, yet it allowed her to compensate for her slight build and the lack of raw strength she faced against more formidable opponents.

  The young man believed they had reached the halfway point of their journey, yet he already felt he was nearing the end of what he could teach her.

  The only thing that still troubled him concerned her other power—one she did not yet fully master, and which could drive others to madness. It had no effect on him, and thanks to the efforts she had made to understand it, she was at least able to restrain its influence temporarily when facing others.

  The time they had left together would have to be used to its fullest, for no mistake would be permitted. He would have to find a more effective way to train her. It mattered little to him whether she would ever need such skills or not—and he would rather she never need them. What mattered was that she be fully capable of defending herself, whatever the circumstances.