Bab 17: Something On My Face?

"You're different."

"Maybe that's right but I've been dying to get out of here since yesterday. I didn't realise Father was so strict about me not leaving the manor," Myra groans.

"Actually, I don't know how you're going to get me out of her when we're supposed to be sparring. We barely have enough time to venture into the city."

"You may be right but I've arranged such that the servants won't drop by to check up on you at the sparring grounds, since usually, our fights get intense for those watching. If you have them know that you won't be back for dinner, you can buy yourself a little more time. Definitely before midnight, however," Ares plans, listing out the possibilities.

Myra thinks on it once and then twice again, weighing out the advantages and disadvantages before ultimately deciding that it's worth the shot.

"How far are the sparring grounds?"

"Your family's? Oh, not too far by carriage. It's a short distance past the park, there's a massive structure carved out of marble which looks like a dome. It's packed in the winter when there are the Sports Championships," Ares remarks and Myra's eyes widen in surprise, only having assumed that the largeness of her home was limited to the confines of the gates.

Ares, noticing her surprise, comments, "Ah, you don't remember that either, do you?"

Myra composes herself.

"Right, yes. I'll change into more appropriate clothes and you can prepare whichever carriage we're required to take."

Patting his shoulder once, she peels away from him and pulls the door open. She turns the corner and she swears to have heard shuffling around, earning a look of disturbance from her.

Myra, warily, makes herself continue down the corridors, down to her room, mentally preparing herself for the convincing act that she has to put up for her handmaidens.

Myra approaches Margaret by calling out to her, gesturing her over.

"I'm going to leave with Ares now to the sparring grounds. I won't be back till late tonight so inform Frederick to relay the message that I won't be joining dinner," she smiles, cautious as to not give any crucial detail away.

Margaret's wrinkles are accentuated as her expression contorts into one of confusion.

Myra doesn't let her smile waver, only praying that the numerous other occasions she's supposedly done this with Ares has built her enough trust with the maids. False trust, rather, as long as it makes it easy for her to slip out.

"Isn't it getting dark, my lady? Should I not send someone to follow you? Normally, Frederick would be happy to accompany you on such arrangements," Margaret laments in an anxious voice. "You're barely recovering after all."

"I rather this be a quiet affair. After all, I haven't seen Ares in ages. I'm sure you can trust me in his hands, even Father cares for him dearly," she argues, trying her hardest to force logic into her words and persuade Margaret.

It takes more than just a couple of seconds for Margaret to make sense of these patronising words, hesitantly agreeing to the arrangements. At her word of agreement, Myra beams and thanks her, promptly tottering back to her room to avoid any further questions from the concerned woman.

Myra is quick to change into a better set of clothes, ones that have been laid out for her in her dressing room and she makes it out even before Leia and Jen can make it in time to help her.

She stops by the glass to check her appearance, having forgotten to do so in the wide mirror back in the dressing room. She doesn't look all that bad, wearing fitted pants paired with an offwhite blouse with ruffles, a ruby gemstone pinned to her collar.

Fixing her collar so it looks a little more symmetrical, she grabs the hem of her pants and makes a run for it outside, where she notices a carriage parked.

Seeing as though her luck is on her side for the day, she successfully dodges anyone who'll potentially rat her out and interrupt her escape. Myra stops in front of the carriage, combing her fringe back so they don't blow into her eyes. One of the butlers stands readily in front of it, holding a sheathed sword for Myra to take.

"A real sword?" she inquires, rather sure that sword fighters don't use real ones for practice.

"You've always preferred it that way, my lady," he replies humbly and Myra brushes it off as a simple mistake on her part.

Bucking it up to her waist line, it extends halfway till her calf. Ares pushes the door open with his hand, peering out to her expectantly. Myra smiles warmly at the butler, shuffling past him to get into the carriage without hitting her head.

Though, her efforts prove to be futile when her neck hits the top edge of the door, earning a grimace out of her. The butler shoots her a worried look and Ares makes a look as if he'll spite the door, which Myra quickly brushes off with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"We should get going," she says instead and the butler obeys, closing the door for her. Instantly, the carriage starts to rock and Myra hears the whinnying of horses, instantly masked by the loud cacophony of tottering hooves and the lash of a whip. She angles her head towards the outside, peering out of the curtains where she notices the sky growing a dark shade of cobalt blue, melting from the light orange colours.

Myra brushes her pants, sitting back with a relieved sigh, grateful to be able to do this. "He knows where to take us, right?" Myra turns her head to ask, but realises Ares had already been staring.

"What? Is there something on my face?"

Ares leans his cheek against his knuckle.

"Pardon me for staring, it's just that I'm so grateful for you being healthy and fine. I've been thinking of bringing you out to town for so long that it feels surreal to be happening right now. But do not fret, the horseman knows all the details and he will take care of us well."

"Is that so," Myra says and then hides her face again, hiding the accidental flutter of her heart with the monotony of her voice. She watches as she crosses the vast plots of lands which her family owns, passing stables and then a field for Equestrian riding.

Around her, she finds buildings, less grand than her home but exist in grandeur for whatever reason they have. She clutches onto the cushion of her seat for stability.