If Lancelot had ever thought training with his grandfather was one of the most intense experiences he would go through, he now had to reconsider that thought after being led into Tula-Kahn Rhanak's private residence. Passing through gold-inlaid doors beneath banners that were made from actual horse skin and woven into the roof of the long, vaulted hall, he felt that he had just passed into another world. Kind of.

"You will like it here," the Kahn announced with pride, keeping a hand on Lancelot's right shoulder hard enough to make him stagger forward a step. Suddenly, he had a feeling that the Kahn was kidnapping him. His guards thought the same thing, but with a wave of Lancelot’s free arm, they, as much as they hated it, stepped back, not interfering… Letting him be brought away by Rhanak. The only positive was that the Kahn’s own guards stopped following them, too. "This is where my legacy breathes and blossoms. Just so you know, you are the first foreigner to come in here. I mean, from males because I do have a few wives who are from other countries."

Lancelot wanted to say something… but there was not much to do. Suddenly, the man, after announcing they would be allies, had become a different man. Was… was this his true self? Lancelot didn’t know, but he felt so confused….

"I present to you," the Kahn said, his voice rising with theatrical flair after arriving at a room where, for some reason, people were already waiting for them, "my daughters. Each of them is strong, believe me. Each of them is ready. Tonight, you will dine with them, speak with them, and tomorrow, you will spend the day with each one in turn."

"Uh…" Lancelot finally managed to open his mouth, but that was all he had time for.

“First,” The Kahn raised a hand, gesturing to the most petite girl of the five. "My youngest, Meyli. Well, not the youngest, but the youngest who is at a marriageable age."

Blinking his eyes, Lancelot looked at the girl in soft lavender robes and hawk feathers braided into her hair, bowing shyly. When she spoke, her voice barely carried across the room.

"I… I help the palace hawks when they get sick," she said. "And I sew bandages. Or train them…" She muttered while glancing at Lancelot, trying her best to stand still, not knowing where to look... Then their eyes met. Of course, she instantly looked away, blushing from ear to toe…

“Nice to–“

"Jila!" the Kahn bellowed before Lancelot was able to say a proper greeting.

Just then, a taller girl stepped forward with something that looked almost like a hop. Looking at her, she had short hair, rolled-up sleeves of her robe, and heavily calloused palms that she didn’t even hide.

"Father, this one at least looks capable," she said with a grin. "But we will see if he has the stamina!"

“Excuse me?” Lancelot blinked, then blinked again, but she just smirked, measuring him, trying to decide if he had what she wanted in a man.

"Third," the Kahn continued, beaming, "Seltana."

Feeling increasingly confused, he turned where the Kahn pointed him, seeing a statuesque girl in perfectly ironed, straight white robes step forward. She gave a crisp nod but not a bow while she held Lancelot's gaze like she was trying to decipher if he was just good-looking or if he had anything on his mind, too.

"He doesn’t look like the ones you tried to hawk on us last time," she said simply. "I assume he has smarts this time around?"

“…” Lancelot swallowed, gulping down his Father’s favorite words, three exact ones: What. The. Fuck?

"And now," Rhanak continued, "Tarsine."

The girl who stepped forward this time around didn't seem to do so; it was more like she glided. Her dress sparkled with gold decorations sewn into it while she tilted her chin slightly, judging Lancelot's posture, the state of his hair, and the features of his face, doing it in one glance.

"Mm. Your grooming is acceptable," she said in a somewhat haughty voice. "We shall speak later. In private."

“…” By then, Lancelot didn’t even react. He just kept going with the flow.

"And finally…" Rhanak's voice lowered a touch, "Rashira."

The eldest daughter barely stepped forward, just enough not to seem rude. Then, she crossed her arms, and her golden eyes narrowed with unmasked suspicion. Then, with apparent anger, she looked at her Father and took another step as if shielding the rest of her siblings from Lancelot.

"I don't like your face," she said bluntly.

“Well, it is one I was born with.” Lancelot raised an eyebrow. "Should I change it? Sorry, can’t do it."

"No, you can’t. And that'd be cheating." Then she huffed and glanced at her Father one more time, “We are not commodities… Father.”

"Wonderful, yes?" the Kahn declared, ignoring her and turning to Lancelot, gesturing at the girls. "Each strong in her own way, all ready to be brides, and all of them are already capable of producing sons strong enough to rule any kingdom!"

"I—"

"Good!" the Kahn declared before Lancelot could protest. "Then tomorrow, you will spend time with each one, learn about them, about us. Maybe even fight them, bond with them through sweating. Who knows?" His eyes flashed. "You may even fall in love!"

"That's… not usually how we do it in Avalon," Lancelot interjected, pressing it through gritted teeth.

"We are in Khulman!" the Kahn said with a strict voice, clapping him so hard on the back that Lancelot could swear his spine cracked.

...

....

......

“Are we sure of this?” One of Rhanak’s leading, old advisors asked, standing with his Kahn while the night was quiet, nearing its darkest hour.

“It is a fact we can’t fight Avalon," the Kahn answered, raising a goblet to his mouth and sipping wine. “I decided on that after stepping foot onto their airship. So, I changed my approach. Our approach.”

“True.” The man mumbled, holding onto a long staff, his arms and neck surrounded by a necklace, having animal bones hanging off them, next to… clumps of CC. “The rest of the Shamans agree. Though I don’t know if your daughters will.”

“Not up to them.” Rhanak snorted his face back to the same way Lancelot got to know him when they first met. “The kid is a prince, and he will have a wife from Khulman. That is that! Our bloodline is strong, and it will thrive there. One day, my descendants will rule both Khulman and… Avalon.”

…

….

……

The sun had barely climbed above Dagar Khun when Lancelot found himself led through the outer courtyards of the palace, escorted by two silent guards and one very enthusiastic stablehand who wouldn’t stop chattering about the best mares and how they breed the perfect horses for both long-distance trips and short bursts of speed.

Was this some kind of innuendo? Or was it just his mother’s influence, thinking of skewed ideas… He couldn’t tell anymore. But, just recalling Yuri’s usual behavior, he was now sure that if he brought a girl home for political marriage… she would laugh until she could no longer stand.

“How did I end up like this?” He asked himself, but nobody could answer that.

Waiting near the open arena was a girl already mounted on a horse, bow in hand, her posture proud, and her eyes still just as angry with impatience as they were yesterday. Looking at her, recalling her name as Rashira, Lancelot began properly examining her looks. She had a sharp jawline, a tightly braided ponytail of jet-black hair, and wore leather armor trimmed in red like the guards he saw around the Kahn. Her arms were gripping her bow, and her horse was pawing the earth like it was ready to start, just as impatient. By estimation, she had to be around sixteen or seventeen years old, closest in age to him.

“You’re late,” she said before he could even open his mouth and offer a morning greeting.

“I’m actually a few minutes early,” Lancelot replied, smiling, masking his rising annoyance, especially because he sensed that logic would get him nowhere with her.

“Sure. Early is still late if you keep a warrior waiting.” She nudged her horse forward, circling him once as if assessing the quality of her newest opponent. “So, they sent you, huh? I have to give it to you, prince from the sky. Your entrance was something nobody had seen before, but in person, you do look softer than I imagined. I don’t care much about yours or my Father’s plans; my sisters and I are not things that can be sold between men. Better remember that!”

“Wait,” Lancelot raised a hand. “Softer?” He asked, getting hung up; the only part he cared about because he was sure he would NOT take a wife anyway.

“Hmph!” Rashira snorted, then pointed towards him, “Your hands. Too clean. Too smooth!” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Bet you haven’t even fallen off a horse before.”

“No, I did not,” he muttered, not explaining that they don’t really use horses that much. As for his hands, he couldn’t help but look at them, realizing that they looked clean, yes… but because of the care afforded to him. Thinking about it, not one of the soldiers in his Father’s army looked really rugged. Was it the monster meat?

“Thought so,” she smirked, bringing Lancelot out of his thoughts just as she tossed him a bow and a quiver with a surprising lack of ceremony. “Don’t fall off this one because I don’t want to explain to Father why the sky-boy broke his neck.”

Before he could retort, the stableboy had already brought out another horse, prepped just for him. On the other hand, Rashira had already turned and kicked her mount into motion, galloping toward the first of several targets lined up along the edge of the arena they were in. She let loose two arrows mid-run, both striking true, and wheeled her horse in a bit more showy arc than needed, which made the other stablehands watching from afar whistle in appreciation.

Lancelot sighed at the whole weird affair, but he was not one to stand back when provoked, so he mounted his own horse with much less flair and followed her demonstration.

It didn’t take long for the whole ‘date’ to devolve into nothing but pure challenge.

Each pass between them became a duel of nothing but pride: Rashira fired with a grace that came from relentless practice, and Lancelot, who, after nearly losing his balance on the first lap, pulled himself together and managed a respectable pace and even a multitude of surprisingly solid hits. Every time he scored a bullseye, Rashira would click her tongue and fire off another perfect shot, usually without even looking at him.

Still, her expression shifted as the contest continued. The better Lancelot was getting, his body getting used to the rhythm and to the exercises, there was less scorn in her eyes, replaced with curiosity. And when Lancelot, through sheer stubbornness, shot two arrows mid-gallop and hit a moving target at the far end, she blinked her eyes once. Just once… quickly continued to look as if it was nothing worthy of praise.

“Hmph…”

“What was that?” Lancelot asked, riding up beside her, smirking.

“Nothing. The luck that guides the hands of amateurs.” She shot back at him.

“You sure? Maybe I’m just talented.”

“Don’t get cocky, sky-boy.” She looked straight ahead. “But… I am not one without eyes. You did okay. For someone with no experience.”

“I’ll take that as high praise,” Lancelot replied with a smirk. “I’ll also be honest… this was fun! I usually practice with the blade, but… this was a nice change!”

“You’re different,” she said suddenly, watching him, noticing that Lancelot was indeed honest and wasn’t just saying it because…

“From what?”

“From the others.” She stated coldly, with renewed anger. ”Father tried to marry us off already,” Rashira muttered. “They brag, but I always managed to draw their true colors out. Usually, they quit by now, but… You… just kept trying, even when you looked stupid doing it.”

“I inherited it from my mother.”

“Hah,” A snort escaped her before she could hide it. “Khm. Keep on edge, though. I will watch you… I will see through you. My Father may want to push us onto you for more power… But he can’t do anything if you also refuse it.”

“Should I?” Lancelot asked, making Rashira raise her brows and get shocked by what he said to her next, “Don’t worry. If that is your goal, I will gladly say no. From where I came from, we don’t do forced marriage… and none of you are my type anyway.”