One. Two. Three. Four. Faster this time. 

Clumsy.

She grits her teeth. One. Two. Three. Four. 

Too slow. Useless child, do you expect to fight only invalids?

One. Two. Three. Four. Faster this time.

Slow. Clumsy. Worthless.

She DOES BETTER. 

One. Two. Three. Four. 

What, don't want to be worthless? Be faster. Maybe then your parents would love you.

One. Two. Three. Four. 

Faster!

One two three four. One two three four. One two three four… The damp of the floor flies from her flashing feet. Blood runs from the cut on her pale cheek. She ignores it. 

Onetwothreefour onetwothreefour onetwothreefour… 

Sweat steams from her thin limbs. Her feet are numb. The sounds of her exertions slap off the rough stone walls. Onetwothree… she hesitates. There’s someone behind her. She turns slowly, her heavy breaths sending quick little pants of fog from her mouth. 

A silk dress. Elaborate golden embroidery. A high-necked bodice. Delicate beadwork. A corset. A rich blue velvet cloak, hood pulled far forward. Narrow patent leather shoes. Princess Nerissa. The Uncrowned Queen. 

“You’re hurt,” the young princess gasps, silk-gloved hand to her mouth. 

The girl stares intently at her sister’s beautiful immaculate shoes. She flexes her numb toes, streaked with mud and blood and… who knows. “No?” She tries. 

“Your cheek,” Nerissa says. “You’re bleeding.” 

The girl touches her cheek, glances at her now bloody fingers. She shrugs, and licks them clean.

“Doesn’t matter,” she says. 

The princess purses her lips. “I worry about you,” she says. 

Liar. No one worries. No one cares. Always justifying our existence, her rule would be simpler if we were dead and forgotten.

The girl tries to ignore her voice. She shrugs, and moves to the one battered little table she has in her cave, and sets down her sword with a dull thunk. “Grip is ruined,” she sighs. “Again.” She sits and takes up a slender short-bladed knife, and tries not to think about how similar it is to the razors… she has to set down the knife and rub her wrists. 

“Is it done?” Nerissa asks, and moves up behind her sister. 

The girl turns, regards the princess for a long moment. She frowns. She sticks out her tongue, and turns back to her scarred table. 

“I don’t know what that means,” the princess says. 

“Means yes,” the girl replies. “Obviously.” She takes a deep breath, picks up the knife again, slits the stitching that holds the eel skin to the grip, and drops the knife again as quickly as she can. There. Was that so hard?

Useless, ruined child. Can't bring yourself to hold a knife? What use are you to anyone?

“Useless,” the girl mutters. “Ruined.” She peels off the eel skin and sets it aside. 

“How long will it take you to catch another fish?” The princess asks. “Do you need to… I don’t know what. Cure the skin or something? How long will that take?”