Chapter 139: Amelia Frost [1]

"Wonderful! It was really a great sparring match."

Amelia Frost’s voice was as cheerful as ever, tinged with that distinct, sing-song tone that always made me suspicious she was plotting something.

I turned my head and spotted her standing just outside the sparring ring, a parasol perched over one shoulder, with her pink, short hair brushed behind her ear, She wore that innocent smile she was famous for, but her eyes—those pale green eyes—were as sharp as any blade.

"Lady Frost," I greeted with a polite nod, wiping sweat from my brow.

"Alice, you were incredible," Amelia continued, walking toward us in delicate strides, as if she weren’t wearing heels on gravel. "But Julies..."

Uh-oh.

She stopped right in front of me and tilted her head.

"You surprised me."

"Did I?" I replied cautiously.

She nodded. "Mhm. I thought for sure you’d get flattened in under a minute. But look at you! Still standing. Sweaty, gasping, half-dead... but standing! I guess you are winner of the tournament for nothing after all."

"...Thanks. I think."

Alice chuckled and sheathed Valkrath. "He’s improved. You see it, right?"

"Yes, yes. I did." Amelia clapped her hands again, then leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. "And yet, even after all that effort... you still lost."

"Technically, I surrendered."

"And technically, she was about to wipe the floor with you."

"...Fair enough."

The sparring ring went quiet for a moment—just the sound of my breathing, the lingering ache in my legs, and the low hum of Valkrath’s shifting steel.

Then Alice finally spoke, turning her head slightly without lowering her blade.

"Amelia. When did you get here?"

Amelia Frost, her childhood friend, stepped down from the wooden railing where she’d apparently been perched the whole time. She clapped her hands once more, her smile bright as ever.

"I’ve been here for a while now," she said breezily. "Probably since the moment you two locked eyes and decided, ’hey, let’s try and kill each other for fun.’"

Alice blinked, then sighed, her stance relaxing.

"I’ve been negligent in my hospitality," she said, giving me a meaningful look.

Right. That was my cue.

As her personal attendant—and current sparring dummy—it fell to me to handle the formalities when a guest showed up.

Especially someone like Amelia Frost, daughter of House Frost and someone who ranked high in both magical theory and combat scores.

"I’ll go prepare refreshments," I said, already half-turned toward the door.

Amelia tilted her head, bemused. "You’re going to make tea in that condition?"

I paused mid-step. True—I was still catching my breath, hair damp with sweat, and probably looked like I just crawled out of a war zone. Still.

"It’s not a problem. Practice is how you improve, right?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Practice is one thing. I’m not sure boiling water while shaking from exhaustion counts."

Alice smirked behind her glove, clearly entertained.

But no. I had my pride.

"I insist," I said. "I’ll have it ready in a few minutes."

"Mm," Amelia hummed, watching me with a half-amused, half-curious expression. "Then I’ll look forward to it. But please—don’t faint halfway through steeping the leaves."

I gave a short bow, then turned and left the training hall.

Behind me, I heard Alice mutter, "He’s stubborn like that."

And Amelia’s quiet laugh in return. "That’s why I like him."

I stopped on mid steps and glanced back at her.

’What was that supposed to mean?’

I wanted say that but I didn’t said anything just go away from their to make tea but before going I looked one last time at Alice.

She has same expression as me.

She was also confused by Amelia words but didn’t comment on it.

---

In the hallway, I let out a long breath, rolling my shoulders.

Gods, my arms hurt.

But somehow, this kind of pain felt lighter than usual.

Maybe it was the spar.

Maybe it was the tea.

Or maybe, just maybe—it was the fact that I wasn’t entirely useless today.

Now, let’s see if I can make a proper cup without collapsing into the kettle.

---

"The tea tastes wonderful."

"Is that so?"

Alice tried to keep her expression composed, but the slight tremble in her hand betrayed her. The porcelain teacup clinked softly against the saucer as she carefully set it down.

She nodded politely, but inside, she was panicking.

It can’t be the brewing... right?

The tea leaves were top-tier, imported directly from the East, cultivated under the tightest quality control by one of the continent’s most meticulous ducal families. On paper, this tea should’ve been flawless.

And yet—

Alice couldn’t help but think this tastes awful.

Not just mediocre. Not just underwhelming. It was outright disappointing. The bitterness clung to the back of her throat, and the aroma lacked balance—like someone had boiled the leaves too long, or perhaps used the wrong temperature entirely.

She stole a glance at her guest.

Amelia sat across from her, looking perfectly at ease, a faint smile on her lips as she took another sip.

Alice’s gut twisted.

She’s being polite.

Of course she was. That’s just how Amelia was—gracious, elegant, composed. Even if you served her boiled shoe leather in a cup, she’d probably call it "robust."

Still, Alice had pride. Especially when it came to tea.

"Julies... might’ve steeped it a little too long," she finally admitted, her tone neutral.

Amelia’s eyes twinkled. "Oh? I didn’t notice."

Which only made Alice more suspicious. You definitely noticed.

Silence lingered for a few seconds, broken only by the faint clinking of cups.

Then Amelia leaned back slightly in her chair and smiled. "You’ve been a bit on edge lately. Training too hard?"

Alice blinked. "Is it that obvious?"

"You’re trembling," Amelia said, motioning gently to Alice’s hands. "And I don’t think it’s just the tea."

Alice exhaled through her nose. Caught red-handed.

"Maybe. The match earlier... kind of got to me."

"Because of your attendant?"

Alice didn’t reply but just flinched slightly.

But that’s all Amelia needed for confirmation.