David Harrison moved his knight up on the chessboard, considering the tactical implications while Dr. Edosa frowned at the board.

"Aggressive opening," The math tutor observed, adjusting his glasses.

"I'm certain you've already seen this pattern somewhere." Harrison settled back in his chair. "Go on, show me how it's beat."

He could hear footsteps upstairs. Light, probably one of the maids. Voices from the dining room had gone quiet about ten minutes ago, then picked up again. Family politics, most likely. He'd learned to tune out the Blackwood-Sinclair drama years ago. And there was always drama when it came to the inlaws and everyone surrounding the main family.

Harrison had arrived that morning to find the estate in mild chaos. Thomas and Beatrice had been summoned two days early for some family gathering, which meant the entire tutoring schedule was scrapped. Not that Harrison minded. It gave him time to settle in properly, review Thomas's progress reports, and plan the month's training regimen.

The boy was coming along well. Unlike his mother, Thomas actually listened when he explained why something mattered. On the way to becoming like his Father, and Edmond. The grandfather.

The kid's training was grueling. And it was absolutely nowhere near what a real SAS operator would go under. Harrison knew he wasn't training anyone here to join the SAS. His real job was to teach Thomas how to spot talent among soldiers, and the best way to do that is to understand it physically first on an intuitive level. Edmond Blackwood-Sinclair had pulled him out of the paratroopers at eighteen and fast-tracked him into who he was now. That old bastard never made a single mistake in picking the right people. It felt fitting Harrison was now training the next generation of Blackwood-Sinclairs to continue doing exactly that.

One day Thomas here would have his own generation of hand-picked green recruits, elevated away from the standard paths and given the chance to truly be who they needed to be without administrative tape slowing down the progress.

The math tutor moved a bishop and deftly took a stance near the middle of the board. Harrison immediately understood just how this game was going to go from here on out. "Is that your own move, or the expected defence against this?" He asked, more curious.

"Expected defense." The doctor said. Then he moved the bishop back, and began to explain three alternate variations he could have done, along with their threats and risk factors.

The kitchen door swung open, but that hardly took Harrison by surprise. He had his back to the wall and full sight over that doorway for exactly that reason, not to mention he could hear someone walking at a brisk pace up to the door. There was a small creak in the wood flooring just three paces before the kitchen doorway. Easy tell.

Margaret, one of the senior house staff, stepped in with the brisk efficiency of someone bearing orders from on high.

"Mr. Harrison? Mrs. Beatrice requests your presence in the garden courtyard. She'd like you to conduct a sparring demonstration."

"Sparring demonstration?"

"With Miss Millicent's guest, sir. The young lady who arrived yesterday."

Ah. The mysterious Hollywood starlet the staff had been whispering about all morning. Or was it budding Youtube influencer? Harrison had caught fragments here and there. Something about elaborate costumes, perfect makeup, and staying in character at all time. The maids seemed split between impressed and bewildered.

"Right then." Harrison stood, already running through the mental checklist. Though why Beatrice wanted him to spar with some actress was beyond him. Publicity stunt maybe? Special forces instructor teaches medieval live action roleplayer?

"What sort of demonstration are we talking about? Basic self-defense? Fitness assessment? Am I training her for ten minutes or a full day?"

Margaret's expression flickered with something that might have been uncertainty. "I believe the madam will explain the specifics, sir. She mentioned the young lady had requested... a duel."

"A duel." Harrison's eyebrows rose slightly. Of course. "Right."

Edosa looked up from the chess board. "Sounds rather dramatic for an afternoon. Even for Blackwood-Sinclair standards."

"They do love their theater." Harrison checked his watch - half past one. "Well. Sorry, Doctor. Duty calls. We'll have to finish this later."

"Of course." Edosa got up, probably to get himself a cookie. The man had a sweet tooth.

Harrison headed for the door, with the head maid following lockstep next to him. "Out of curiosity, what exactly have the staff been saying about this guest?"

"Well, sir, her costume is quite something. Real metal armor, they say. And the feathers... they move on their own. Very dedicated to her character."

"Feathers?"

"She has these blue shining feathers over her face, like a hummingbird. It's quite interesting."

"Huh." He didn't know any fantasy races that had feathers like that, but Harrison also didn't spend time reading fantasy books or watching movies all too much.

"Cook mentioned she ate three plates of steak yesterday." The maid said, as the pair walked out the doorway. "We are thinking she might not have eaten for some time, in order to fit into her clothing."

Harrison could read between the lines.

Please don't hurt the girl. Without a good diet, even basic training would be wasted, which made this 'duel' or training session pointless already. And if the maid was hinting about that…

Harrison filed that information away. The staff seemed to like her a lot, which was a great endorsement. Generally when the staff didn't like a guest, Harrison equally found out why very quickly. "And she actually requested this duel?"

"According to the madam, she did."

Right. So either the girl was completely delusional about her capabilities, or she thought he was a simple gym coach like other rich families have and Beatrice had probably goaded her into it knowing the poor girl had no idea who she was getting put up against.

"Make sure the first aid kit is accessible." He said, and saw the maid flinch. "Relax. I'll go easy on the guest. Just want to prepare for anything."

This was either going to be the easiest ten seconds of his career, or the most confusing. Given his luck with the Blackwood-Sinclair branch family, he suspected it would be both.

Ten minutes later, Harrison stepped into the Blackwood-Sinclair gymnasium. The mats were properly positioned, equipment secured, adequate lighting. Everything as it should be, the staff here were meticulous and remembered all his requirements from the last few times he'd been here. When he made a list of things, they listened.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

While making sure his vest was properly secured, along with his usual knife and general quick gear, he got his first sight at his 'opponent' right as she walked through the doors, flanked by the rest of the family.

The rumors hadn't done her justice. She stood like a noble, spine straight, shoulders square, eyes clearly upset with everything. The armor wasn't some cheap costume shop fantasy nonsense, he could hear the metal plates rustling against each other. The breastplate and shoulder straps showed wear patterns consistent with actual use, not theatrical prop aging. Even the leather was clearly genuine and rugged.

But it was the details that gave him a double-take. The feather tufts along her temples and cheeks moved slightly as she turned toward him, catching the light with a blue shimmer exactly like those hummingbirds Margret said. Her ears… Christ, her ears were massive, like two antenna coming right out of her head on both sides, and they were moving. Independent from one another, he could see them twitch in different ways.

Bloody hell, those were going to be crushed the moment she hit the foam mats here. Probably would cost a few thousand pounds or something.

Harrison filed that thought away and approached with professional courtesy, extending a hand out. "Staff Sergeant Harrison, retired Special Air Service. I understand you've requested a sparring session."

She clasped his hand in a firm grip, her gauntlets cool metal against his palm.

Yes, he confirmed her armor was indeed metal and leather.

"Lady Selena Nightreaver, heir of Flight Nightreaver. Paladin in training. The honor is mine, Staff Sergeant Harrison."

Heir of Fight… Nightreaver? What? The accent was crisp, upper-class British. Her posture remained rigid, almost upset and angry. This was the most committed method actor he'd ever met.

Movie actors really were a different breed. Or at least this next generation of them weren't just taking it lightly. "Right then. You wished for a duel or a training session? I only heard rough details."

"A duel. While I am more proficient with a spear and shield and would prefer weapons to be used, I acknowledge such things would be more deadly and difficult to heal through. Hand to hand combat should suffice for this."

They really were going all out with this production, her and whatever team she was working with. Why?

The actress looked beyond pissed about something, but at this point Harrison genuinely couldn't tell if that was part of the act or something else. Mark of a true professional when even his gut instincts were getting the wires crossed. Forget Youtube bits, this girl was going to be all over the movies real soon.

"Very well." Harrison said, giving a slight shrug. Not his place to question why things were. They were likely doing some kind of candid video. He would treat it as a normal spar then. "Standard sparring rules, mixed martial arts? Hand to hand, whoever achieves a pin holds for three seconds wins. No striking to the head, or attempts to cause permanent injury."

"That is acceptable." 'Selena Nightreaver' said, walking onto the mat before turning to face him.

Like she was waiting to start right this moment. Harrison stared back. Waiting.

"Are you prepared Staff Sergeant Harrison?" She asked.

"Miss... Are you going to remove the armor, or do you plan to fight with it on?"

"Is it too much of an advantage against you?" She asked. "I can wait until you bring human armor of your own."

He stared back. Human armor. Then he laughed, shaking his head. "I'm more asking for your sake, Ma'am. I don't want to damage anything expensive."

And it really did look Expensive, with a capital E. Rich old families seriously could throw thousands of pounds down the drain for stunts like this, but they could also be incredibly penny-pinching about it, and Harrison couldn't tell which side of the coin this girl would fall on.

Her feathers puffed slightly, ears twitching with what looked like indignation.

… How does she move those props on command? He didn't see any hand trigger or movement in her stance at all. Not even her boots. Maybe she wiggled her toes under it all? Or perhaps a remote operator was controlling those.

He glanced around the room, half-expecting to spot camera equipment in the corners. "Miss Nightreaver, I'm not sure what you've been told about this session, but-"

"It is Lady Nightreaver." She corrected. "And I have been told nothing except that you are considered skilled in combat. Mrs. Blackwood-Sinclair suggested you might provide adequate opposition for a duel. My ward has also vouched for your abilities."

Her ward.

Harrison turned his eyes slightly off to the right where Little Milly stood. She still had those cold nearly dead eyes staring forward, but the British stiff upper lip and clasped hands behind her back at all times were gone.

He'd known her back when he was in active duty. Highly serious teenager. Anytime he'd be over at the estate in between deployments, he'd occasionally spar with her to see what old man Thapa had taught her.

Usually, the answer to that was: A lot.

Well, she wasn't a teenager anymore so 'Little Milly' wasn't quite correct, even though she really was still exactly as short as she'd always been.

Time had changed her from who he remembered. She looked more feral, her hair wild compared to how perfectly kept she'd had it back when he knew her. Plus she wasn't dressed up in military fatigues or dress pants like she used to be at all times. T-shirt and more casual pants now.

The staff had told him she'd left the family and joined search and rescue just a few years after her step-brother Thomas was born. A bit of a waste of her talents.

You sure? She's your friend. He all but asked in one look.

Milly shrugged. "Eh, didn't know you were in town yet Harrison. But you'll do in getting me Father involved for later. Ain't no way to convince you of anythin' until you see it for yourself. So this works as good as any. Mind, I told knife-ears to go easy on ya. Can't scare the civilians too much."

Was that a Scottish accent? Huh. She really had sprouted roots here.

Half, or possibly all, of the estate staff were watching through either the windows, or had snuck inside the gym in order to see what happened.

"Lady Illy is correct." The 'elf' said. "And since Mrs. Blackwood-Sinclair seems unfit to fight her own fights, you will do as proxy. I demand recompense."

Harrison studied her carefully. "And what exactly prompted this request for a duel, if I might know? It seems a little bit personal."

Her jaw tightened, feathers puffing up all over her face. Bloody hell that was seriously uncanny how lifelike it all looked.

"Mrs. Blackwood-Sinclair insulted my honor and station." The paladin pointed one finger directly at Beatrice, who was smiling like a cat back. "Such discourtesy cannot be allowed to pass unanswered."

Harrison frowned. He could easily picture Beatrice insulting a guest. The woman had a talent for stupid remarks and insults. Well. Not his place to question the old family here.

"Right." He moved to the center of the mats. "Miss Nightreav-"

"Lady Nightreaver. I am heir of my flight, I will not be addressed any less."

The feather puffing around her face was insane. She really looked boiling furious now.

"… right. Lady Nightreaver, I need you to understand something. If we're going to spar, even with rules, there's a very real chance your costume will be damaged."

"It is not a costume. It is armor, forged by the finest smiths of my flight. It has seen true combat."

Harrison felt something was more and more off with everything. Was this really just a video stunt, 'Ex-SAS vs Elf Cosplayer' or some other kind of marketing campaign? The staff did know there was Youtube involved in this, something the kids were doing. Money could be made anywhere after all. But he still couldn't spot a camera anywhere, and none of the staff had a phone out. He would have noticed.

"Has it now." Harrison kept his tone neutral. Problem with all this: His gut believed what she was saying.

As in she really was 'Selena Nightreaver' an elf paladin in training, part of some flight or something, and that she was truly - and completely - bloody pissed off.

Even though he knew it was completely impossible and just an act.

Usually it was the other way around. Everything made sense to his head, but his gut and instincts would have the right idea in the end and he'd need to follow through on that.

It was incredibly disconcerting.

He tried a different approach. "Are you certain you want to proceed in that armor? I will not ask again after, you have my word on that."

"Absolutely certain." She tapped the mat with an impatient boot, and he could tell the armor was outright heavy given the imprint left behind. That would make it even harder for the poor girl to actually fight in any reasonable way. "My honor has been questioned. I will not retreat."

Harrison sighed. This was either going to be the shortest demonstration in history, or he was about to discover just how committed this young woman was to her fantasy. Either way, he suspected Margaret would need that first aid kit after all. He didn't anticipate armor to be much of a defense against hand to hand combat, most medieval one on one fights with plate ended up wrestling matches already. If she were really dead set on being historically accurate, he could expect some counter grappling attempts at best. He'd need to be careful not to stick his fingers anywhere the armor could lock up on him. And he could tell there were a few straps and locations he could slip a hand through the leather and use it as a hold against her.

"Very well then." He rolled his shoulders, settling into a ready stance, a loose plan in his head. "Call a start whenever you're prepared."

Selena took a step forward, reached a gauntleted hand down into her boot, took out an honest-to-god glowing pill sized stone - and then swallowed it.

What the bloody hell was that?

She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them up and gave him a nod. "Begin."

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