By Her Grace – a progressive Isekai Light Novel

A Princess Takes A Walk

Grace yawned, long and unprincesslike, and squinted at the courtyard flooding with noon light. Warmest day of spring so far, and she was standing here to walk to the town. Again. To the city hall this time. For the mayor's invitation.

What a bothersome day.

She rolled her shoulders and checked the empty space around her one more time. No Elyne. No entourage. Just the keep doors, two knights at post, and sun trying to cook her where she stood.

Quick in, quick out, she told herself. Glance at the accounts, nod at the numbers, leave. And let's hope that Ser Calen is later back with his 'delivery'.

She pressed her lips together at the thought. She had tried very hard not to be lifted up like a villainess from a bad serial. Truly. But her family kept auditioning her for the part. Cousin Ser Calen was just the peak on that mountain.

Grace sighed and crossed to the nearest door guard. "Excuse me," she said, crisp and sweet at once. "Why am I outside, alone, when Lady Elyne ordered me to meet her in the courtyard?" She let the word ring. Ordered.

Yes. Astonishing. She was a Princess now, and her staff set still appointments for her.

The knight straightened. "Your Highness, Lady Elyne instructed that you wait here. She will join you shortly to proceed to the city hall."

"Mm." Grace looked around at the wall of sunlight. "Your shortly is very bright."

"My apologies, Your Highness."

She let it go with a small wave and drifted back to the fountain's edge, perching so her heels could swing a fraction. It helped bleed off impatience. It wasn't dignified, but it was effective.

Mayor Harlon again, she thought, remembering her visit on Marketday in the city: the careful smiles, the way his "we" always meant "I," the habit of explaining things out loud so nobody else could speak. He is getting on my nerves. Still, the city's ledgers were worth the annoyance. And if the books matched what she expected, Gatewick would breathe easier. If they didn't—

She stopped the thought and set it aside...

Heat pressed at her cheeks. She shaded her eyes with a hand and watched a thread of dust twist in the air. Midday already. Why was she waiting here alone? Dungeon checked. Keys returned. Steward cornered. Promise made. One child walks today, once the stash is verified. Do not forget. Ask Clara which. Stay tethered to something that is not a knife.

She was not here to snap. No, she was obviously here to wait for her Governess.

Oh Gooooods I'm really done with being a little girl here. Can't we just speed things up a little?

Time stretched. She considered simply walking to the city hall by herself and letting Elyne catch up. The idea entertained her for three whole seconds. Then she decided she wasn't in the mood to collect a lecture about "visibility" and "guard discipline" before noon.

Her thoughts slid—unhelpfully—back to family. Push the supernatural aside; everyone knew this was already over the top. She was never meant for "normal." At five, her mother sat her on a chair in the Ashford Estate and called it holding court. The head maid was executed in front of her like it was part of the lesson. Everyone in Ashford spoke in medieval B-movie, also whispers of "dark secrets" no one would tell a little girl, while the open secret was that blood sacrifices happened and everyone pretended not to notice. And then there was the gift: her mother's old house with a throne room that practically shouted villainess, and real authority to match. Power over thousands, wrapped up as a birthday present to a six-year-old. Second-rate villainess? If they kept pushing, she would do it properly.

Grace let her eyes fall to the fountain again. Her fountain, in her castle. In her own lands. The thought was somewhat funny, calming and also disturbing. The water caught the light and made bright coins on the stone. She reached into the spatial bracelet Elyne had given her for her birthday and called a real one instead. A gold coin slid into her palm with a pleasant weight. She rolled it across her knuckles, watched the sun skip over the stamped crest, then flipped it and caught it with a soft clap.

For a heartbeat she almost reached deeper. The egg waited there the way a thought waits under the tongue. It liked to drink a little mana, and it made a neat hum in her bones when it did. She pictured Elyne turning the corner and seeing that.

No. Not here. Not now. You can do it in your room tonight and feed it when everyone is asleep. The coin clicked against her nail. The urge faded.

Fifteen minutes stretched into a feeling. Grace glanced at the door again. Nothing. The coin blinked out of existence as neatly as it had come. She stood, dusted the hem of her dress with a flick that looked like patience, and crossed to the guards. "Come with me," she said, as if the waiting had been the plan all along. "We will go into the town."

Helmets tilted. One guard risked a careful breath. "Your Highness, Lady Elyne instructed—"

"—that I wait." Grace nodded as if agreeing with a weather report. "I am finished waiting. If she arrives, she can follow the part where I am not standing in full sun like a potted plant." She turned without checking for permission. The guards fell in because that is what guards do when the person in front of them does not ask.

If Elyne wants a lecture later, she can invoice the sun.

They paced through the keep arch and into the cooler shade of the outer passage. Boots on stone made a steady rhythm that was almost soothing. Grace let her hands fold at the small of her back and kept her stride small enough that the guards did not have to herd her.

At the gatehouse she paused long enough to leave a message with the porter. "If Lady Elyne passes this way looking vexed," she said, "tell her I am expressing initiative." The porter swallowed his smile and bowed. Grace did not smile at all. She stepped out into the bright courtyard beyond and took the first turn toward the city, the two black-plate shadows sliding into place at her shoulders.

Free. A little. Enough to taste it.

Here, she was on her own turf. Gatewick was hers to walk. Not like the Ashford Estate or Velmire. She needed here no Circle Four battle mage glued to her back. Elyne. Cough. Cough. Two knights from her new order were plenty. Strong enough for a midday stroll.

What a hassle. Reborn in a new world and still stuck inside like a fragile egg because she was a kid, and a noble kid on top of that. No wonder she knew this world only out of books and lectures. She rolled her eyes inwardly and kept a steady pace.

The first houses came up fast. Half-shut shutters. Doors propped open. Midday meant quiet streets. A cooper eating on a stool. A washerwoman pausing to nod. A cart and a sleepy horse. People who saw them stepped aside or bowed; most just kept eating and talking.

Walking like this felt… calm. She glanced back out of habit, half expecting Elyne to materialize and scold her. Nothing. Good. Waiting had been dumb. This felt better. Independent.

Since arriving in Gatewick, Elyne had eased up. More room to act. The throne room earlier proved it—the way she watched, then let Grace decide. I can work with that.

They cut into a narrow lane where the stone held some cool. The knights matched her pace without a sound.

Her mood climbed a notch. At first, being "ordered" into the courtyard had rubbed her wrong. Shouldn't I be ordering her like that? Then she reminded herself: she was still a kid, and Elyne was her governess. Fine. Whatever.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

The waiting had been the real irritant. Hottest day of spring and no one showed. And how does it look if I'm late to the mayor? Not that she cared about him. Appearance, Grace. Basic PR.

Once she chose to go on her own, the weight slid off. The streets didn't expect her without a parade. A few faces flickered with recognition from Marketday, but most people didn't know her on sight. It was almost… light. No peasants diving for the cobbles just because she walked by.

A murmur rolled up from ahead. Not loud, but tight. Grace lifted her chin. Half a block away, the flow of foot traffic pinched around a small knot in the street. Voices overlapped, quick and sharp. Something had people's attention.

She slowed a step. The knights did too, shifting half a pace closer without being told. Okay. Let's see what this is.

--::--

Liam was on city duty with Tomas, doing the slow midday loop that usually meant nothing happened. Gatewick was a quiet town most days, locals watching locals. Since the princess arrived, though, there were more strangers in the lanes and not all of them came to buy bread. Liam kept his eyes up and his hand near the new knife on his belt, the one he and Myra had argued about at Marketday. It wasn't much, but it was his, and he meant to prove he could use it if he had to.

"Guards! I need the guards!"

The shout snapped both boys around. Tomas elbowed him, and they jogged toward the sound, boots knocking a quick rhythm over stone. It came from Copperpot's Alchemies, one of only two alchemy shops in town.

Felix Copperpot himself was at the counter, red-faced and bristling, white hair sticking up like shocked thistle. Across from him stood a man with road dust on his boots and a voice like a cracked bell. Behind the loud one loomed another, bigger by a head than either guard, arms knotted with muscle and a jaw that said he didn't love words.

"Master Copperpot," Liam called as he stepped inside, letting his voice carry without shouting. "City guard. What's the problem?"

The room had that tight feeling right before something broke. Jars lined the walls in neat rows, amber and green glass catching the light. A few townsfolk had paused at the door, noses in like hens at a fence. Tomas slid sideways to block the threshold with his shoulder. Good. Keep the crowd out.

The loud man slapped a small stoppered vial onto the counter. "The problem is this charlatan sold me junk," he said, stabbing a finger at Felix. "Said it was a vigor draught. Took my silver, and it's river water. I want my coin back, and then some."

Felix drew himself up, dignity in the way his hands refused to shake. "I sold you a circle-one tonic suitable for fatigue," he said crisply. "You were warned to take only two spoonfuls per day. You came back this morning claiming you'd finished the bottle overnight and 'felt nothing.' That is misuse, not fraud."

The big man shifted, eyes on Liam. Not hostile, at least not yet. Measuring. Liam felt the weight of the knife at his hip like a thought and chose not to touch it. Talking first. Always talking first.

"Names," Liam said. He kept his tone level and official, like Ser Edgar drilled into them. "Start with you."

The smaller man curled his lip. "I'm Lord Bastan Tharrock, boy. Mind your tongue when you speak to a noble." Behind him, the big one took a slow step closer, filling the space like a door. "Don't you dare say I'm lying. This shopkeeper sold me junk. If you don't give me justice… you'll regret it."

Liam stopped for half a heartbeat. Then he set his shoulders. He wore Gatewick's badge. That meant the law first, even if he was young, even if he was a commoner.

Guard doesn't bow to volume. Guard keeps people safe.

He flicked a look at Tomas. Tomas gave a tight nod.

"Lord Bastan Tharrock," Liam said, keeping his tone respectful but firm, "I have to remind you that threatening the town guard is a felony in Gatewick. We can examine your claim about the potion, but we don't accuse an honorable citizen without proof."

Bastan's eyes narrowed. "Proof? My word isn't proof enough?"

"Not for fraud," Liam said. He pointed with two fingers, not the whole hand. "You can file a sworn statement at the hall. Bring any receipt or witnesses. Master Copperpot will sign a note of contents and date. If the clerk finds fraud, there's a fine and restitution. If it's misuse, there isn't. Those are the rules."

The big man, shifted again. Tomas grounded his spear butt with a thud and slid half a step to the side to keep Kord out of Liam's blind spot. The crowd at the door pressed in a little more. Felix Copperpot set out paper and ink with hands that tried not to shake.

Bastan smiled without warmth. "You're very proud of your rules, pup. Are you aware who I am?"

"You told me," Liam said. "It doesn't change the process."

The noble's gaze flicked to the knife at Liam's belt, then back up. "Move aside. I'll take my coin from the till and we'll be done."

"No," Liam said. "Step away from the counter."

He lifted a hand, palm open, to guide Bastan back. It was a rookie move, the kind Ser Edgar always warned about. Don't touch unless you mean to seize. Bastan jerked his arm away on purpose, stumbling a half step into the shelf. Glass chimed. A jar wobbled.

"You all saw it!" he howled. "He attacked me. A nobleman! On purpose!"

For a blink Liam froze. Then the big man stepped in, one hand under Bastan's elbow, all helpful bulk and steady grip. The noble's face twisted into a smug little smile.

"When an officer threatens my life," Bastan said, voice going smooth and cold, "I am within my rights to defend myself against this shameful attack by a corrupt guard."

The air changed.

Liam had heard the stories. How the room gets tight when someone casts. How sound goes thin, how your skin prickles before the world turns sideways. He had never felt it until now. Pressure built behind his eyes, like a storm trying to fit through his skull.

Bastan raised his left hand.

The expression from the tall man shifted into a grin that showed too many teeth. A bracelet winked on Bastan's wrist, a small pearl threaded there that Liam hadn't registered before. It began to glow. Soft at first. Pretty.

"Stop," Liam snapped, already moving. "You're making a mistake." He drew his knife. Beside him, Tomas brought his spear up, point leveled. The shop felt very small.

The pearl chimed.

Light jumped inside it and then the glow went white and wrong. The stored force snapped loose with a sound like a bell breaking.

Tomas, who had stepped half a pace ahead, jerked as if grabbed by invisible wire. For a surreal half-second he kept moving. Then from mid-thigh down, both legs were simply not there. Blood hit the floor in two red sheets. His spear clanged away and he folded forward, still reaching for Bastan on reflex before his body understood.

Behind him the wall blew open. Glass, wood, and plaster punched outward. Shelves sailed. Jars shattered. Felix Copperpot yelped and ducked behind the counter as a rack of droppers scythed past where his head had been.

Liam lunged at Bastan with a sound he didn't recognize, knife low for a disarm, all training evaporated under the need to stop this. The air hit him. Not a push, a hand the size of the room. It crushed his chest and threw him sideways into the opposite wall. His shoulder took the slap of stone; his head bounced hard enough that the edges of the world went black and sparkly. He slid down among broken glass and twitching sprigs of something that smelled like mint and smoke.

Up. Up now. Move.

He could hear himself breathing in little animal sounds. His right arm would not answer. His left dragged him across the floor. The knife had skittered under a shelf. He reached anyway with empty fingers.

Tomas screamed once, then gasped, then went silent except for a wet rasp. The sound shot through Liam worse than the impact. He blinked grit out of his eyes and saw Tomas on his back, eyes wide, hands clawing at air, two bright pools widening under him. The spear lay useless and shining beside a boot that wasn't there anymore.

"Felix," Liam croaked. His voice sounded wrong in his own ears.

The alchemist popped up and vanished again, hands scrabbling under the counter. He came up with a roll of linen and a jar that reeked of alcohol, face gray.

At the door, the crowd shrieked and ran. A few stood frozen, mouths open.

Bastan's lip curled. "Kord, finish the other one off. We only need one side of the story."

The big man nodded and drew a blade.

Fear hit Liam cold. So this is it? No heroics. No armor. Just a shop and a knife he'd barely trained with. Myra's voice flashed in his head anyway. You always wanted to be a hero, Liam. But heroes come home. No charging dragons, all right? He swallowed. I promised. He was sorry, not for himself but for making her grieve. He shut his eyes.

A girl's voice cut across the room, clear and almost bored. "I'm not even a week here and I already need plans to expand my dungeon, don't I?"

Liam's eyes flew open. He couldn't see her yet, but Kord had stopped. Bastan looked annoyed, not afraid.

"Who do you think you are, little girl?" the noble snapped. "I've no time to play. Leave so my man can finish his work."

"Leave so you can murder more of my town guard?" the voice answered, flatter now.

Silence pinched the air.

Bastan lifted his arm. The small pearl on his bracelet woke, soft at first, then too bright. Liam staggered to his feet, knife in hand. "Stop—big mistake—stop!"

The pearl chimed.

For half a heartbeat a thin light flared around Bastan, like a shield trying to form, then shattered. Something purple ran over his wrist and into his forearm, unmaking more than it burned. His face changed from smug to terrified. He screamed.

Kord spun for the door, charging the voice. He got two steps. An invisible weight slammed him into the rear wall hard enough to rattle the shelves. He slid down, spat blood, and went still.

Footsteps crossed the threshold. Two knights in black plate filled the doorway like moving doors. Between them walked a small girl with bright curls and a face that wasn't impressed by anything.

Her. His princess.

The shopkeeper burst from cover, babbling thanks. One knight hauled Bastan up like a sack of grain and slung him over a shoulder. The other knight knelt and, with a grim economy, slid his hands beneath what remained of Tomas, lifting only his upper half. There were no legs, and definitely no breath. The spear clattered uselessly aside.

"Town hall," the girl said, voice even. "We'll find someone for this on the way. No more time for more distractions." Her chin tipped toward Tomas without drama.

The shop was packed now, people crushed to either side of the door. "Move," one knight said, and a path opened. Grace turned and stepped out first, the knights following with their burdens.

Liam pushed off the wall, everything ringing, and limped after them into the light. Following them.