Everwinter Keep could be considered the capital of Everwinter. The castle itself housed the ruler, their family, and their vassals, while the town around it was the densest concentration of fey in the territory. It was still on the edge of their nation, still considered the Outskirts, but it was the best of the Outskirts. For one, their walls were made of actual stone. Stone. Enchanted and everything. Yes, it was still ridiculously old and weathered, the external walls of the village scarred from centuries of battles with monstrous feybeasts, and the inner keep walls had only a hint of their original painted color, but Squirt had made do with wooden walls and no wards for years.

  Lucky bastards.

  The number of guard trainees had grown from five to nine by the time they completed the two-week trek here. Many of them had never left the villages they were born into, and more than a few had their jaws dropping in awe at the walls as if they’d never seen stone before, leaning out the carriage windows to stare at what was honestly a rather unkempt and somewhat decrepit town.

  Some of them genuinely hadn’t seen stone before, but that wasn’t the point.

  Squirt was riding on the back of their carriage, hunched over to make herself as small and invisible as possible on the luggage, counting down the hours until she was dismissed and could finally escape the irritating presence of every gods damned fey here.

  One of trainees muttered, “Lucky titled bastards.”

  She was quickly hushed by another, but managed the protest of, “I don’t see titled fey sticking their necks out for us!”

  Squirt practically rolled her eyes. Obviously. Why would anyone protect someone weaker than themselves? She could die from the irony of their whispered complaints, ignoring the fact that she shared many of their opinions.

  They were all dicks and they could all suck themselves.

  The caravan was greeted at the outer walls of the village surrounding the Keep proper by members of the lord’s personal guard. These were the guard members that served the Titled Everwinter in residence directly, instead of those like Squirt—and the rest of the trainees—who had taken more general vows to serve the crown and their country at large. As such, the lord’s personal guards ranked slightly higher on the scales.

  “Trainees, dismount!” called one with a particularly wicked looking scar on his face, holding a list in his hands and looking like he hadn’t bathed in a month.

  Squirt attempted to keep her nose from wrinkling as she quietly joined the trainees in line.

  “Alrighty, le’s see… Talif?”

  “Here, milord.”

  “That’s sir, dimwit.” He tapped his board on his shoulder, his brow twitching in annoyance. “Guards aren’t titled.” After one last glare in the direction of Talif, he continued reading down his list. “Xit?”

  “Here, Guardsman.”

  “Better. Numa?”

  “Here, Guardsman.”

  So on he went, until he squinted at the last name on his list and said, “Squirt?”

  Squirt kept her voice clear and her eyes down. “Here, Guardsman.”

  There was a pregnant pause weighted with incredulous disbelief Squirt could feel in her bones. Then the man burst out laughing. Uproarious, belching sounds that drew the eyes of the rest of the guards that had been doing the standard checks before allowing the caravan entrance to their town. “Yo, Dolf, Marn, come here, someone sent us a gods damned greenling as a guard.”

  More titters and laughter sounded. Squirt kept her posture perfect—head bowed, eyes down, back straight, hands flat on her sides.

  Maybe they’d send her back now—

  “Alright, in ye git, lass. Gods, can’t wait to see Instructor Hawke’s face when he realizes a greenling answered the damn call.”

  True annoyance crossed Squirt’s mind. Gods damnit, they weren’t dismissing her.

  Unable to do anything other than obey, she reluctantly followed the rest of the trainees into the village and up the road to Everwinter Keep proper.

  Squirt hated this already, and all they’d done was line up in the damn Keep training yard.

  They had brought the trainees inside the inner walls where the Keep itself was to join the others that had answered the call. It was technically the size of a small castle and not a true keep or outpost, but the name itself was traditional for all territories on the Outskirts. Inside those walls, they had lined up all of the trainees in an inner courtyard set aside for training. The ground was hard packed earth, softer to fall on than stone, but not as forgiving as grass. Still, the ground was clearly level and well-maintained, occasional tufts of grass holding on despite being trampled by soldiers daily. Barrels of training weapons lined one of the edges of the yard, with an entire section dedicated to archery complete with lanes and targets that some guards were practicing at even now.

  The trainees? Left to stand in formation and practicing patience in the yard.

  Rather than let her agitation show, she hunched in her stance, her scowl etched deeply into her features, her eyes down on the ground before her. She stood near the back, trying to fade into the crowd. Since they didn’t send her home immediately, she was falling back on plan number two—don’t draw attention, wait it out, disappear as soon as reasonably possible.

  Only things were not going as well on that front as she could reasonably hope.

  For one, all the other pixies had their gods-forsaken wings out to make up for their diminutive statures, and most radiated with obvious power. Since physics was malleable, while a pixie may not be able to physically lift something like a heavy log, with the advantage of their magical capacities they could usually enhance their own strength to at least compete with the naturally strong fey, though most pixies preferred magecraft over swordcraft. Still, regardless of their size, what pixies tended to lack in sheer physical bulk they made up for in magical prowess.

  Tended to, anyway.

  Unless they were like Squirt.

  She, meanwhile, was almost completely hidden behind some kind of shifter—rabbit, probably, judging by those legs and his inability to keep still.

  Oh, yeah. Cream of the crop here. A rabbit shifter, and a gods damned greenling pixie.

  Finally, doors on the above balcony opened and the new Lord of Everwinter strolled out along with the captain of his guard. One of the sergeants climbed up a wooden platform at the front of the courtyard and addressed the waiting fey standing at attention. “You have all been assembled on Lord Everwinter’s invitation to train here for one month. During that time, you will all be evaluated. At the end of the month, a select few of you may receive an invitation to stay on and join his lordship’s guard here.”

  Everyone in the courtyard looked at each other, excited noises escaping some of their lips. This was, after all, the opportunity of a lifetime for those on the Outskirts. Not only the chance to train with the illustrious Royal Guard of their lord, but the chance to join them as well.

  Squirt, however, shrank in on herself, scowling harder at the compact earth and grass beneath her handmade boots. A month? A whole month?

  It was clear that the guards she’d encountered weren’t dismissing her, using her as entertainment for the sheer audacity of her existence and vow. So long as she was seen as the butt of the joke, she could reasonably get away with just existing, but so long as she was the butt of the joke, they clearly had no intention of dismissing her

  Damnit all.

  In an ominous tone, the instructor spoke again. “Let us begin.”

  To Squirt’s dismay, they made her take off her helm. The color of her shortly cropped hair was easily noticeable in the direct sunlight, the forest green highlighted and blazing out like a beacon. More than a few of the other fey snorted.

  She ignored their words, but kept her wary eyes on them, watching for telltale hints of darker hostility in their auras. It was annoying all of their auras were vying for attention as they readied to run laps around the castle walls with their instructors, but the one benefit to her was that it would be easy enough to spot murderous intent if they turned from considering her an amusement to a challenge of their way of life.

  She hoped, anyway.

  Most fey weren’t interested in hurting her for no reason, after all. It was just that there were always a small minority that enjoyed cruelty, and she never knew when they would show themselves.

  Instead of drawing any kind of attention to herself, she simply passed off the helm as requested, ran her fingers through her hair to straighten it out, and lined up to run laps. Some of the other pixies made a stink about having to actually touch down to the ground, but Squirt just kept her head down and focused on the task at hand. They began, the instructors running around the group and barking out orders, herding them like sheep and forcing them to stay together. She kept to the middle of the pack, pushing herself to her limits to do so.

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  And very, very glad she’d been doing this for years, because by the end of the first lap, most of the other pixies had slowed down the group so much, they had broken off into their own contingent.

  She scowled. This is what they got for relying solely on their inherent magic. Her hair and eyes were beacon enough without using her wings.

  Not that she could, anyway.

  Though by the end of the second lap, she thought she’d end up joining the other pixies for sure.

  Luckily, they ended it there, only to announce their run had been the warm-up. Next, they led the group through a series of stretches and strength exercises, the superior physicality of the strong types like elves, orcs, and shifters coming out to play, though even the púca did well. Much to her annoyance, Squirt collapsed partway through the pushup exercises. The ab workouts she did well on, the pull ups she managed to pass, but pushups were just not a muscle group she had done much work with.

  She kept trying, anyway, her eyes darting around to the others to check their technique, adjusting as she could. It helped some, but her arms were jelly by the end.

  They were asked to line up, Squirt carefully choosing a spot at the back of the line, and when she reached the end, someone handed her a practice longsword. It was the standard weapon for the Royal Guard, and based on the others, everyone was being handed one. It was also just so absurdly heavy, it clunked to the ground as soon as they let go.

  She scowled down at it, silently admonishing it for being too damn heavy. There was a reason she had learned other weapons, damnit. Knives she could do.

  But nope.

  They wanted to torture the pixies. Clearly. Though most of the pixies had only just arrived in the training yard and were only now starting on the torturous muscle exercises, so she couldn’t be sure it wasn’t just targeted bullying. Especially since she normally could hold a longsword, she just couldn’t wield one.

  Glancing back at the fey handing out the swords, she noted the amused smirk on their face and huffed. Targeted bullying it was.

  This must have been a dud—a weapon purposely unbalanced to teach students the difference. Still, it was what she was handed, so she’d fucking do it.

  Through sheer willpower, Squirt lifted the sword, stumbling back a bit as she tried to hold it steady as it was longer than she was tall and entirely unwieldy, only for one of the instructors to suddenly snatch it from her hand. The man was roughly twice her size, his hair graying and one eye blinded by a scar across it, his mouth almost entirely covered by an impressive gray mustache. “Whoops! Wrong sword there, lass.” He handed her a different sword hilt first, giving her a smile with a distinct twinkle to it.

  Wary of his intentions, she watched him carefully as she accepted the sword, then dropped her eyes to study it. She didn’t know what material it was made out of, but it was remarkably light compared to the other sword she’d been holding, even discounting the switch from longsword to short sword. She frowned at an etching on the blade, recognizing the runes, parsing out the enchantment on it. There was a weight enchantment, as well as bluntness, likely to make it a training weapon instead of a deadly one.

  Her eyes flickered back up to him, and she gave him a polite bow, dropping her eyes as was correct. She did not say thank you, as to do so would be binding herself to an offered boon for him. It was a better practice sword, not a gods damned miracle. She owed him no debts.

  Then, because the gods hated her, she was paired with one of the biggest fey there. A very stout young fey, probably a bear shifter by the size and heft to him. His eyes and hair were the bright pink of spring, meaning he, at least, had plenty of magic at his disposal.

  At least Squirt’s opponent clearly didn’t use it on her to strengthen his blows, thank the gods, but her irritation grew at the somewhat dopey, sympathetic smile on his face while he swung the sword down at her with gentle, easy movements. And yet, despite him holding back as he was, each blow for each exercise they were led through made her teeth clatter. By the end, she was exhausted and furious, slipping to her knees as she guzzled from her waterskin.

  The shifter gave her a kind smile and nod before following the others to the mess hall for lunch.

  Squirt took another moment to gather enough strength to stand when the older fey returned, squatting in front of her with a grin. “Good sword?”

  She dropped her eyes, gasping out the expected, “Yes, my lord.”

  He chuckled, setting a sheath and belt before him. “Here. You can keep that one with you this month.”

  She gave him a bow, noting it was likely so he didn’t have to hand her one personally every time. With that in mind, she gratefully accepted the sword for what it was—the opportunity for someone as important and powerful as the man before her to never speak to her again.

  Afternoons, it seemed, were for practical lessons.

  “Alright, line up, recruits!” barked the instructor.

  Squirt chose a spot near the back, next to one very beautiful, exceedingly powerful elf. They were of neither gender, looking effeminately masculine. Or was it masculinely effeminate?

  “Now, there are two types of guards—the guardsmen that man the walls and maintain order, and the hunters that maintain the Wylds. We’re gonna test you for both, meaning it’s time to see how you all do as hunters. You’ll be working in pairs, so shake hands with the fey next to you.”

  The elf glanced around, looking in every direction for someone, anyone at all, to pair with. Only the others had already paired themselves off, and with a hunch to their shoulders and a wrinkle of dismissal to their nose, they slowly turned towards Squirt. Their aura spiked with their anger, and Squirt responded by keeping her posture as demure and subservient as possible.

  They muttered darkly to themselves as the instructor continued. “You will have the rest of the afternoon to go into the woods surrounding the town. Bring back the feystones of any beasts you manage to snag. Instructors will be roaming the woods as well, so keep it clean. No stealing stones from another pair, or you’ll be dishonorably dismissed, you hear?”

  A chorus of acknowledgement rose up. A tiny bit of relief wove its way around Squirt’s heart that at least she wouldn’t have to deal with fey attacking her pair.

  “Dismissed.”

  The elf’s aura snapped in annoyance once more as they glanced down at Squirt. Though they followed the crowd as the others trudged out to the main road, they hung back and waited, approaching one of the instructors as Squirt dutifully followed behind.

  There was a hushed conversation between them that left both of their auras sharp with anger before the instructor finally growled out, “Deal with it, trainee. You’re stuck with her. Now move out before I assign you both punishment duty.”

  Right. Because it was fair to assign it to them both. If Squirt could, she’d glare at the bastard.

  He turned and left, grumbling about pissants, leaving her with the silently seething, haughty elf, who turned their ire-filled gaze on Squirt.

  Wonderful. They were hostile. Exactly what Squirt didn’t want.

  Without another word, the elf stomped off down the main road after the crowd of other pairs, muttering darkly to themselves about having to carry dead weight. They didn’t acknowledge Squirt again until they had exited out the walls and were in the forest proper, their anger thankfully remaining as general distaste and not violent hostility.

  Still, Squirt flinched when the elf turned to her and said with a glare, “Stay quiet, stay with me, and stay out of my way.”

  She kept her eyes lowered in deference and murmured, “As you wish.”

  There was an odd pause where the elf didn’t say anything before turning around and stomping into forest.

  She followed them dutifully as they muttered complaints about having to babysit the greenling, keeping all of her opinions to herself.

  Hours passed. The sun started to dip, the color turning golden and hazy when her elf companion started to sweat. They still hadn’t caught anything. It was too early in the year—the feybeasts too weak to want to target a strong fey with their angry aura out on blast. Sensing their rising agitation, Squirt did her best to disappear behind them, careful to do nothing to attract their attention.

  Eventually, they ran their hands through their long brown hair and swore loudly. One hand on her pouch, Squirt waited for their next move.

  To her relief, they sighed, their anger traded for disappointment and not violence. “Damn it all. Sorry, little one. We’re going back empty handed.”

  She dropped her eyes, keeping her retort to herself. “As you wish.”

  They returned to the castle just before the gates closed for the night, and to the elf’s relief, they were not the only pair to return empty-handed.

  The rest of the month went much the same rain or shine. Laps around the castle, followed by strength training and weapons drills. They’d have lunch in the mess hall with the actual Guard members and then would spend the afternoon doing “group activities.” She was always paired with fey powerful enough that she remained wary of doing more than simply obediently following their directions, no matter how annoying. By day three, she was fairly confident in her assertion that she would be forgotten entirely by the end. She hadn’t earned their respect, just kept her head down and out of their way so her presence was tolerable and forgettable. The sooner she could be free of these idiots, the better.

  Some of the practical exercises were meant to simulate protective formations around specific targets, escorting them from one side of a hillside outside the walls to the other. The rough terrain allowed for dynamic strategies, while the lack of trees made it easy for the instructors to get a solid view of the action. Unsurprisingly, no one asked her opinion on any of their strategies, and more than once she saw the group’s loss coming a mile away.

  She kept her mouth shut.

  There were more hunting exercises, some that were real with an instructor following a small group, and others that were simulated, with a guard playing the role of a person in need of rescue, a bandit, or a particular type of feybeast.

  There were also magecraft days where most of the pixies really shined. The first day was just spent blasting targets in different environments with whatever means they wanted. Luckily enough, she wasn’t the only one to opt for a bow, though unluckily, she was the only one who didn’t cast a spell as she fired it, making the exercise pointless beyond giving the others more opportunities to make her the butt of every goddamn joke.

  Assholes. No way was she wasting any of her materials on fucking target practice. With how she was never allowed time to hunt on her own, how everyone she was partnered with didn’t know how to hunt for shit, and how she was severely limited in her resources, she was forced to conserve what she had, anyway.

  Even if it irritated her.

  As the days went by and she had to suffer the arrogance of each one of the fey who made mistake after mistake while acting like she was the burden, her temper started to boil.

  The two worst offenders were the fire fata Jul, a powerful type of mage, and Zakam, a bull shifter. Each were powerful in their own right, but Zakam was all brawn and no brains, while Jul was simply an arrogant asshole. Although, annoyingly, Jul was also just really good at pretty much everything. Apparently, he’d had an ennobled childhood, meaning he had the perfect hair, the perfect grace, the perfect poise, and perfect control over his fire. There was nothing harder than trying to convince someone whose entire identity depending on their own perfection that they were not always the smartest in the room, because unfortunately enough, they rarely listened to anyone that wasn’t as perfect as themselves.

  And while the man was many things, sneaky in a forest, he was not. He was even worse than the elf, and the glare he leveled at the instructor who pointed it out was more than enough to keep Squirt’s own mouth shut.

  Zakam, by contrast, simply charged ahead without bothering to form a plan. And annoyingly, the strategy worked for him. He won pretty much every challenge except the hunting ones. Even more annoyingly, the hunting ones were arguably more important on a daily basis than being able to bull charge through an opponent’s shield line.

  And his repeated wins only tripled the arrogance he had at the beginning.

  So, by the last day, Squirt was really, really fucking tired of their arrogance.

  And then she had her moment.