The next few days slipped by without any major upheavals. Seraphine actually began to feel a creeping, acute sense of boredom - her previously punishing schedule had suddenly ground to a halt.
Thanks to the trusted, exceptionally competent people she had charged with executing her grand designs, she found herself with an unexpectedly vast amount of free time. Had Rosalie still been within Karsfeld’s borders, she undoubtedly would have spent these idle hours basking in the girl’s delightful company.
Unfortunately, her young betrothed was not slated to return from the Greifenmark for several weeks yet.
Because of this, Seraphine dedicated the past few days to learning swordsmanship under the watchful eye of her sworn retainer, Katarina Falk. The two futa were currently sparring in the courtyard with wooden training swords. The seasoned veteran was mercilessly battering the young heir, who, barely a short while ago, wouldn't have even been able to hold a proper rapier without collapsing.
Swordsmanship was an art demanding years of brutal discipline. Unlike the flintlock musket, mastering cold steel relied heavily on raw physical power, ironclad endurance, and flawless coordination.
Even though the era of the blade was rapidly drawing to a close in Evelyn Weiss’s eyes, Seraphine considered it a matter of personal honor to attain at least a respectable level of proficiency. After all, the commander of an army was expected to cut an impeccable figure with a rapier and a pistol strapped to her waist.
Still, the longer she swung the wooden rod, the more convinced she became that in a genuine clash, she would gladly shatter feudal chivalric convention and simply reach for a rifle without a second thought.
Seraphine managed to parry Katarina’s sweeping slash and immediately followed through with a brisk riposte. Yet in the fraction of a second before her wooden practice blade could land, the battle-hardened warrior slipped beneath the arc with practiced grace and countered with a lightning thrust, halting the tip of her weapon mere inches from the young heir’s throat.
Seeing she was utterly checkmated, Seraphine lowered her guard and raised a hand:
“I yield.”
Katarina withdrew her blade with a stern, yet appreciative smirk and racked it onto the wooden stand:
“You learn quickly, my lady. You have the makings of a dangerous duelist. A real pity that, by your own reckoning, the era of this weapon is destined to pass away soon.”
Seraphine wiped the sweat from her brow, sighing heavily:
“The real pity is that my cursed frailty prevented me from training since the cradle.”
The experienced futa nodded in understanding. She had come to learn the tragic history of Seraphine's past afflictions - the very fact that this sickly girl had risen from her deathbed and reforged her fragile frame into a strong, commanding aristocratic physique commanded Katarina’s boundless respect.
Setting aside their sparring gear, the two strode out to the meadows below the keep where the peasant militia was drilling. While the recruits still lacked total cohesion - hammering in ironclad firing drills required at least three months of relentless practice - their progress was nothing short of staggering.
The unit already boasted four infantry companies of eighty women apiece, supported by an artillery battery fielding three twelve-pounders and forty gunners. Down in the manufactory, Sabine Keller was already forging their fourth cannon.
Seraphine’s objective was crystal clear: a cohesive battalion numbering five hundred and twenty soldiers and eight field guns. At her current rate of mobilization, this was entirely feasible, especially since the peasant women were not required to abandon their homesteads permanently.
The most agonizing bottleneck remained barrel casting, but the war of succession in the Kingdom of Alaria was not going to ignite overnight. The ailing monarch was indeed languishing on her throne, but she was unlikely to breathe her last before the militia reached full combat readiness.
In the afternoon, having dismissed the companies to rest, Seraphine returned to the keep alone. As she strode down the deserted, chilly corridor of the guest wing, a slender silhouette stepped soundlessly from behind the shadows of a stone pillar.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Before Seraphine could even react, a sensual, soft womanly body pressed firmly against her back, and delicate hands wrapped tightly around her waist. A strawberry-blonde braid brushed against her cheek. Her muscles tensed reflexively, but she immediately recognized the sweet scent of jasmine oils and the intoxicating warmth of Vivienne.
“Your sister is plotting another attempt on your life,” Vivienne whispered, her voice so hushed the words were almost swallowed by the cold draft.
Seraphine’s face instantly hardened. It was a damn good thing she had claimed this little noblewoman; without the reports of her favorite, she might well have been murdered in her sleep.
“How does she intend to do it?”
Vivienne spilled the secrets without an instant’s hesitation, having long since abandoned any shred of loyalty toward her family or Cordelia:
“She grew sick of my excuses and the lack of progress in murdering you. In secret, she contacted my Sire, Eleonora von Drachenberg, begging for reinforcements. Together, they fed the Baroness the idea of hosting a grand mountain hunt. Assassins armed with crossbows and blades will be lying in wait along the trail. They will pose as common bandits, but in truth, they are sworn retainers dispatched by my mother from Arnsbruck.”
Seraphine slowly stroked the girl's silky locks. Vivienne was trembling with genuine terror for her mistress - she knew Seraphine had only just begun learning melee combat and wouldn't stand a chance against a pack of seasoned killers.
The fear in Vivienne’s blue eyes tarnished her breathtaking beauty, a sight Seraphine simply couldn't abide. Taking the noblewoman by the chin, she tilted her face upward and crushed her full lips in a passionate, deep kiss right in the middle of the empty corridor.
“Fear not, my little one,” she whispered straight into her heated ear. “I am far stronger than you think.”
Vivienne’s cheeks flushed a vivid, burning crimson in an instant. The sheer audacity of Seraphine, kissing her so shamelessly in a passage where servants could round the corner at any moment, set the girl’s heart pounding like a drum. That sharp thrill of danger - of being caught - instantly ignited a wild, molten heat in her lower belly.
Seraphine caught the spark in her eyes and put two and two together in a flash: the young lady was discovering a thrilling new vice. A predatory smirk curved the elder futa’s lips. Grabbing Vivienne by the hips, she slammed her back against the cold stone masonry and unceremoniously hiked up the skirts of her silk gown. In a heartbeat, the two noblewomen surrendered to raw, shameless passion right there in the castle corridor.
Before the first crimson streaks of twilight painted the sky, a thoroughly spent Vivienne, barely able to keep her feet beneath her, slipped back to her quarters so as not to arouse suspicion ahead of the impending supper.
At the dining hall table, the atmosphere was thick with unspoken intrigue. Cordelia Karsfeld eyed her elder sister like a ravenous wolf, while Seraphine returned her gaze with the ironic pity of an omniscient predator. The younger futa had no clue that her elaborate conspiracy had been completely dismantled.
The silence was finally broken by Adelgarde Karsfeld setting down her carving knife:
“Seraphine, my blood. Now that your strength has returned and you've forged yourself anew, I believe the time has come for a grand hunt in the mountains. What say you?”
Seraphine beamed in an instant, donning the mask of an innocent, eager youth:
“A splendid notion! Ever since overhauling my diet, I would relish nothing more than tasting fresh game taken with my own hands!”
Internally, she snorted with laughter, watching Cordelia suppress a triumphant smirk, utterly convinced her elder sister was walking like a lamb to the slaughter. The Baroness, meanwhile, was delighted by her firstborn’s unreserved enthusiasm - viewing it as a prime opportunity to deepen her bond with her adult heir.
Cordelia was in seventh heaven. She wrote Seraphine off as a complete and utter fool. In her eyes, her elder sister was either a sterile freak or an incurable lolicon deviant, having failed to touch an unearthly goddess like Vivienne. Had Cordelia known that her coveted fiancée had been bent over and mercilessly taken in the hallway barely an hour prior, her heart surely would have burst.
What the younger sister never suspected, however, was that Seraphine had no intention of settling this with a sword. She planned to bring a rifled carbine on the hunt. In recent days, she had passed schematics to Sabine Keller for a precision rifling bench to cut spiral grooves into barrels.
The artisan was currently putting the finishing touches on a long hunting rifle - a piece modeled on designs from Evelyn’s past life. From a distance of two hundred yards, Seraphine could effortlessly pick off any armored assassin before they could even level a crossbow. What's more, the weapon was fitted with a bayonet lug, an instrument in which she was thoroughly drilled.
For the rest of the meal, she and Adelgarde conversed about the habits of mountain game, maintaining the flawless illusion of courtly domestic bliss.
When night fell, Seraphine sequestered herself in her bedchamber, pouring over accounting ledgers and armaments reports from the river manufactory. Fortunately, the budget balanced to perfection, and the militia grew more formidable by the day.
Around midnight, the familiar, quiet scratching sounded at the door. Vivienne was truly insatiable - even after their frantic romp in the corridor, she still craved her mistress’s touch. Setting her quill aside, Seraphine happily indulged the passion, and after another intoxicating night, futa and woman fell asleep wrapped tightly in each other's arms until the dawn.