It wasn't like her to be late. Constantin, sure – he was late to every session and spent most of the time trying to get out of doing any actual training by asking Kurt about the intricacies of Coin Guard ranks – but not De Sardet. She had never been late before.

When the door into the rear courtyard finally did fly open, she held the slender neck of a bottle of red wine in her hand and was gulping at it like a drowning man gasps for air. Kurt snatched it from her,

"What do you think you're doing?"

She snatched it back, "Drinking."

"I thought you didn't drink."

"I don't."

"Then why are you doing it now?"

She slumped down and threw the bottle across the yard. It smashed against the wall and Kurt was relieved to see most of the contents dribble down the stonework.

"It tastes grim," she muttered, "But I thought it might work."

"You're going to have to tell me the whole story, Greenblood. I can't do anything with the odd word tossed here and there…." He sat next to her, mirroring her position.

She sniffed through her nose and wiped her cheeks on the back of her hand, gesturing her strange birthmark "I know I'm never going to be a beauty like my mother, but I'm rich. They could at least pretend I'm pretty."

Kurt chuckled and she shoved him, actually offended by him for the first time in the six years they'd been training together. He sighed, "You're talking to the wrong person, Greenblood. I can fetch you one of the brothel girls, if you like, but in my world, it's good to have marks on your face. Makes you look tough."

She stared at him for a long moment, incredulous. He let her – there were plenty of scars there to see.

"Where did you get your scars?" she asked. He put his training sword away. In the last six years, she'd never missed one lesson. Just for today, he figured she could rest.

"Any in particular?"

"The one on your eyebrow."

"I fell on the ice and split the skin when I hit the ground. It was all terribly bloody but not that interesting."

"That's much too boring," she tried to smile, "You've got to be lying."

"Nah. If I was lying, I'd tell you I got it fighting in an arena against a wild animal."

"Tell me that, then."

"If you like… I got it fighting in an arena against a wild animal." She shoved him again, but this time it was playful.

"The one on your cheek? And I want a good story…" There was that undercurrent of command again. She carried it much better these days – almost looked the part of a noblewoman, even. And without really understanding why, he felt part of himself close off, as though he'd lost something fundamental to the time he spent with her. She sensed it too and sat up straight.

Everything changed then, and yet nothing did. She had always been his superior – always able to order him around as long as her mother's coin kept coming. Or her uncles. Or – he was beginning to suspect – her own allowance. He was a Coin Guard – a mercenary. He took orders in exchange for gold. But as the older one, and the one with the skills De Sardet wanted, he'd always very much been the master.

That, and he still refused to call her 'Your Excellency'.

He smiled at that, his sense of mischief returning somewhat – still impish, but transparent now, intangible, and…lesser somehow.

"I got this one the night you got drunk and beat me up."

She raised an eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed, "You did not."

"I did! You swung at me in the darkness like a wild beast – you'd hidden a two-handed sword under your skirts somehow and you came at me with such demonic fury that I almost called out for help from…" he paused for effect, "What's those priests from Thélème called?"

"The inquisition?" a sceptical sigh.

"Aye! Luckily I managed to fight you off, honour still intact. At least, that's what I tell them all at the barracks."

She stood and stretched, looking at him with the sort of disdain that only adolescents could conjure. Kurt found it hilarious.

"Do you think I'm pretty?" she said, quietly.

"Eh?"

"The other girls at court… I'm sick of trying to fit in with them. I have all the right dresses made, say all the things I'm supposed to say, but it's… it's never right. They either call me names, or the ones who want to be kind try to tell me how to cover up my mark… all I can hear is how I'm not good enough."

"Constantin calls you his 'fair cousin', doesn't he?"

"Yes… because I get him out of trouble and because my being in the ladies' salon gives him an excuse to come in and drink in the other beauties."

"Like I said, I'm the wrong one to ask. But since I'm the only one here…" Kurt took a deep breath. Today wasn't going at all like he'd expected it to – the angst of youth was absolutely not something he had anticipated on his way to the palace, "You're not ugly, Greenblood. You're clever, and you're funny when you want to be… The problem you have is that you respect your mother and your education too much to fit in with people your own age. And even if those girls could look past that, they couldn't see past the fact that the boy their parents keep telling them to try and marry is calling you his 'fair cousin'. Give up on them."

"How?" she looked ready to cry, "I'm stuck with them because they're part of the court, and I'm part of the court, and I'm going to spend my whole life in that bastard, gilded cage!"

"Join the Nauts, or the brothel girls. Hell, join the Coin Guards – you're as good as half the lieutenants already," he found he meant that last part with something of a shock, "Whatever you need to do. But stop worrying about whether or not you're pretty and draw your sword."

Suddenly, training seemed like a much better idea than talking after all.