After a moment of rest, letting the somewhat haphazard lunch settle in his stomach, Lancelot finally stood up, leaving the gazebo, when a servant intercepted him with an urgent bow.

"Esteemed Guest Lancelot, Princess Jila awaits you in the southern training arena. Please follow me."

"Of course she does," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose, thinking that dating foreign girls would not be his favorite thing… ever.

As they approached the arena, which was really more of a training pit ringed by stone bleachers and sparring dummies than an actual arena, he could hear the thump of fists striking something leather-bound. A familiar sound as he did the same since he could stand… And there she was, the fourth one, Jila.

Looking at her, she wore loose-fitting trousers and… Nothing on top. Which made him flinch, but the servant was unbothered. Looking closer, ignoring if he would be called a pervert, he squinted and finally realized that her chest, along with her hands, was wrapped in cloth that matched her skin.

“Fooled me for a moment…” Lancelot muttered under his breath, shaking his head, returning to watch more of her movement instead of her body.

Her shorter, compared to her sisters, black hair was tied back in a stubby tail, and she was punching a hanging sandbag like it had personally offended her ancestors. Maybe it did because each hit echoed like a drumbeat with enough power behind it to make Lancelot raise an eyebrow. Nearby, a group of palace guards watched from a shaded area, clearly having learned to keep out of her way when she was training.

"You're late," she yelled, throwing one last punch before turning and cracking her knuckles. "I was about to start without you!"

"You wouldn't believe how many times I heard the words ‘you’re late’ today," Lancelot replied, rubbing his temples. "We need to start comparing time zones or something because I have started thinking that something is wrong with you!"

"Blablablabla, nonsense!" Jila grinned, waving her hands before her flat chest. “Don’t care, doesn’t matter! Come, let me see how foreigners fight and compare some techniques with me!"

She tossed him a pair of sparring gloves and beckoned him into the ring... But holding them in his hand, Lancelot hesitated.

"We're fighting? Really?"

"Wrestling," she corrected him, "Bare hands, no weapons. Khulmani style, body against body, skin-to-skin, sweat-to-sweat. Have you ever grappled?"

“…”

“What? Afraid?” She snorted, rolling her eyes.

“I’m a man.”

“And?” She asked again, her eyes telling him she didn’t understand his issue.

“I am stronger than you.” He said bluntly, putting on the gloves.

"A bit." Jila suddenly agreed, and there was a surprised look on her face, “I expected you to say that it's not proper to touch a girl’s body like this, without having been married and after having sweaty, groany, and moany sex!”

“…” With a grimace, Lancelot couldn’t help but think about his mother, shaking the thoughts away, “You would fit right in at home…”

“Hah!” she snorted, beginning to stretch. “I know you are stronger. What I am curious about is your technique, “ she explained, and she was surprisingly serious, “I am a girl; I can’t be as strong as you boys, but… I can perfect the way I fight, and if your technique is lacking… I can win!”

“Yes… that makes sense.” He finished, throwing off his clothes, leaving only his trousers on as he stood opposite her.

"Good physique. I like it.” She smiled like a wild animal. “Now… Show me what your Avalon teaches its children!”

What followed was... chaotic at best.

Lancelot had to acknowledge that Jila was fast, surprisingly strong, and absolutely relentless. The moment he squared off with her, she lunged at him like a cat, aiming for his center of mass. Of course, like dueling with swords, he sidestepped, deflected her attempt, and tried to get a grip, only for her to pivot and trip him with a leg sweep.

He hit the sand with a loud thump, surprised and somewhat scolding himself… he wasn’t taking her seriously. She was smaller, she was weaker… And he paid the price for it.

"One point for me!" she declared with a laugh, offering a hand. “Don’t look down on me… I just told you I am well aware of how people look at me.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” He said, nodding and pulling her with him as he surged up, twisting so she lost her balance and tumbled. They both went down in a heap as he heard her laughing and rolling, trying to pin the other.

“Good! Great fight and trick!” She yelled as she tried to wiggle out of the sudden entrapment.

Although Jila was indeed like a cat, hard to pin down, with a spine wiggling like it was made out of jelly, turning and twisting at invisible angles… Lancelot wasn’t an amateur, either. Combined with his superior strength, by the third bout, they were breathless and filthy, but he won, forcing her to tap out or suffer a broken arm and a shoulder that would certainly pop out. After he let her go, Jila sat cross-legged in the sand, rubbing her shoulder and moving her hand in circles, but she didn’t look angry or disappointed.

"You're not bad. No wonder you could fight my Dad… I will need to learn more of your techniques to bring you down…"

"You're surprisingly vicious," he replied, brushing dust off his hair. "Going by what I heard while growing up, my mother was probably similar to you."

"Oh? Is your Mom a warrior?”

“Err… Kind of.” He nodded, pursing his lips.

“Hah… Lucky. Here, we are not exactly allowed to wear weapons.” She moaned with disappointment, “Oh well… I can still train; that is not forbidden for me, and… You were a better sparring partner than the last suitor Father threw in here. Hehehehe…That one cried."

"Did you break something?"

"His pride." She answered proudly. “And a finger.” She added, tilting her head as she looked at Lancelot. “You're different," she said after a moment, watching him. "Most people get all weird around me. Like they're scared they'll say the wrong thing, as if I care."

"I don't see the point in pretending," Lancelot shrugged. "My parents would have been disappointed too if I did."

“Hmmm… So," Jila asked suddenly, poking him with a toe. "You gonna marry any of us?"

“No, I don’t think so,” Lancelot answered immediately. “Marriage is not settled like this from where I come from.”

"Yeah, but you are not back home, are you? Anyway, I'm not looking to be some prize for politics, and I bet the others already told you that none of us do. But, I can see when there is nothing we can do… Father’s eyes were as such when he brought you forward…” She added, her eyes growing distant for a moment, “Maybe you should marry all of us. We can divorce once we're at your place, no?”

“My mother would love you…” He smiled faintly, shaking his head. “This whole trip has been madness since yesterday! I just came to deliver a message. Now I'm wrestling princesses and having to choose a future bride. What the fuck happened? Really?"

"Ahaha, welcome to how it is for us!" she laughed, lying back in the sand. "Especially in Khulman. We are noble girls… we have a lot of privileges, but they come with a caveat."

“I guess,” He nodded, lying beside her, arms folded behind his head. "I never really thought about how it is outside of Avalon."

“I also didn’t think what it's like behind Khulman.” She hummed, realizing it. “Well, whatever happens, if so, you at least are fun, look good, and smell good… so I wouldn’t be mad to wrestle with you in bed either.”

“Err…”

“But a warning!” She sat up, raising a finger.

“Hm?”

“You are going to visit my lil’ sis next… If you make her cry, and she cries easily, I will bite your dick off!”

“You are like my mother…” Lancelot muttered, watching the serious, burning fire in her eyes.

...

....

.....

Lancelot had expected to feel exhausted after leaving the training field, especially after a day like this one. He was ready to beg for a bed, a bath, and some silence. But instead, he felt… quite fine. And he wasn’t surprised that the guards led him down a quiet stone corridor the moment he tried to head back to his room. Wherever they were taking him, it was lined with woven silk curtains and an absurd number of wind chimes made from polished bronze. It was serene… haunting, even.

“This way,” the older servant said, taking him from the guards and finally opening a carved wooden gate. The air that greeted him was different than in any other part of the palace. Sniffing, trying to remember what he learned from Mikan and Morgan, he could tell that it was filled with the scent of familiar herbs, a bit of straw, and… feathers.

Sure enough, inside the secluded garden, open to the sun and making a big circle, stood a series of large cages. Some were open, others closed and covered. Close to them, he saw perches of varying sizes for falcons, eagles, and probably hawks. Many of them were occupied, said birds as they watched him enter with unblinking eyes.

In the middle of it all, kneeling next to a young hawk with a bandaged wing, there was the last girl he had to meet today: Meyli.

She didn’t look up at first as he approached, absorbed in what she was doing. Her hands were moving carefully, adjusting the wrap around the bird’s leg, murmuring something under her breath. And then, a slight flash… And he understood. Magic. He had seen it enough times to know it, coming from Morgan, Leyla, or Arthur, so he remained unbothered and kept waiting patiently for her to finish. Only after tying the knot and examining the bird one more time did she look up, and even then, it was with a startled expression, as if she hadn’t expected anyone to actually arrive.

“Oh! P-Prince L-l-l-lancelot,” she stuttered, quickly bowing and nearly dropping everything from her hands. “I… I hope you didn’t wait long. I didn’t… I mean, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I walked quietly,” Lancelot waved it away, “Didn’t want to scare your patients.”

“Oh… Yes, they are easily startled,” She nodded with a nervous smile, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “They don’t like loud people. Or quick movements... Or sharp noises…”

“Sounds like I’m already doing well, then, as none of it happened. Good job, Lancelot~!”

With the experience of being an older brother, he knew how to word it, and it indeed made her giggle faintly. Encouraged by her response, Lancelot stepped forward and crouched beside her.

“Is she hurt badly?” he asked, motioning to the hawk.

“Just a sprain,” Meyli answered hurriedly, “She tried flying too soon after molting… She’s stubborn. But…” Meyli reached out and gently stroked the bird’s chest, calming it. “She’ll be better. With care.”

“I saw you use magic,” he said bluntly, making her blush, nodding her head.

“I do possess the gift of the Shamans,” she replied softly. “But I am not someone who has their power. My affinity is very weak… Only good for paltry tricks, but… it is enough for the birds, even if it is useless for humans. Like me…”

“Don’t insult yourself like that!” Lancelot snorted before he could stop himself. “Sorry…”

“It’s alright,” Meyli’s shoulders gave a tiny shrug, patting the bird’s head as they all began moving the moment Lancelot raised his voice. “I… like being... Ignored because of my uselessness. I like helping things that can’t speak; it is… easier, too.”

Lancelot watched her for a while, the way she kept her eyes on the hawk even while talking to him, as if unsure he would remain long enough to matter anyway. The contrast between her and Rashira, or even Jila, was striking. She reminded him to Galahad a little…

“Can I help?” he asked suddenly, and he could see how her eyes blinked, not knowing how Lancelot really meant that question. Help… In what way? “I won’t mess anything up,” he added quickly. “Promise.”

“I… um… okay,” she said with a tiny nod. Then, she motioned toward a shallow basin of water and passed him a small brush made from soft reeds. “You can clean her talons first... So you two get to know each other. Just gently… like this.”

Soon, they fell into a slow rhythm: Meyli checked the bird’s breathing and eyes while Lancelot carefully cleaned each talon she pointed at. It all happened… wordlessly. Yet, he had to acknowledge that the silence between them wasn’t awkward; it was peaceful and comforting.

“She likes you,” Meyli said after a while.

“The hawk?” he chuckled. “Which?”

“All. I can tell…” she mumbled quickly, then buried her face behind her long sleeves, red from the ears down, looking up at him from above the edge of her clothes, “You’re kind,” she muttered. “You remained silent. Others always want to ask, ask, and ask... never satisfied with what they have… With peace…”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was…” Meyli muttered, but then… Lancelot’s stomach woke up again, signaling that it was time for dinner. “Oh… You should eat something soon.”

“Trust me,” he groaned, “I won’t skip dinner like I skipped breakfast…”

“Oh?” She tilted her head. “Why did you skip breakfast?”

“It wasn’t my intention… But no one told me I’d be surviving a gauntlet of sisters from the moment I woke up. I thought at least I would have time for myself.”

“Oh… Oh… I see,” she said, lowering her head. “I am sorry… They are not bad, just…”

“It’s fine.” He chuckled, waving a hand, “I am a big boy!” He added, reaching out and rubbing her head entirely out of pure reflex, just as he always did with Morgan and Galahad. “I can handle them. Well… I will if I have the energy, so this time, I will bid my farewell, Meyli. Time to hunt down some dinner.”

“Um!” She nodded, with a surprisingly big smile on her face, enjoying the head rubs without thinking about it, “Good hunting…”