Today was Octavius’ turn. The soldiers switched out who lead the trainings, as the popular opinion among the military was that this was a waste of time. These people would never be Nevermerean, and some soldiers were plain tired of trying to act like it.

Octavius, on the other hand, always fulfilled this duty with diligence and nonchalance. He wasn’t the king nor a power in his kingdom; the decision wasn’t his. He was a soldier with orders, and he would execute them to the best of his ability. How he felt about the women they trained hardly mattered. In fact, he for one didn’t care whether they assimilated to Nevermerean ways. That wasn’t his problem to be concerned with.

This session’s trainees were the lowest, most incompetent level. Younger girls or women who had recently had children and were only just able to join in. The soldier’s eyes scanned for an assessment of basic physical competence, his gaze hiccuping when it came upon Magda.

A lot was whispered about the Minister of Foreign Affairs. Octavius tried to steer clear of gossip but the things surrounding her were just a little too tasty to keep from at least inhaling. It was said that she had a way with men, that around her they became like puppets. It was also said that rather than assimilating the Coheedsmen to the Nevermerean way, she had been assimilated into their way.

Seeing her now, Octavius didn’t judge. He understood. A part of him had come to live Cambria. Granted, there was no place in that city for men, really…

“It seems,” he said to the women, we have a guest appearance with us today.” He held his hand to Magda, inviting her to step forward. Unaware of her new title, he said, “Lady Ivanova has trained with our military already. Perhaps you would give a demonstration?” The mandatory twelve to eighteen training was no small thing. It was six long years of daily drills. Even if the lady hadn’t practiced in years she was still on better footing than these others who had been holding wooden spoons rather than swords all these years.

Magda was keeping one eye trained on her stepdaughter until the Nevermerean trainer caught her attention. She smirked as he called on her, gaze running over him with typical amusement and interest. He was a handsome thing, she’d give him that. Magda’s grown accustomed to the roughly hewn masculinity of Coheesmen. To see a specimen of more sophisticated craftsmanship was refreshing.

“It would be my pleasure,” Magda said, stepping forward. She’d been idle for a time after mandatory training, but since coming to Coheed, Kaalim had offered her a few lessons of his own. Of course the lessons were only a vehicle for her to sink her teeth into Kaalim, but they hadn’t been a loss entirely.

Magda would take whatever weapon she was offered. The trainer would set the rules, so she would happily hear them as she sauntered forward.

Octavius, pleased the lady had agreed, dipped his head low in respect before focusing his attention on the students.

“Your job right now is to study her. The way she holds her weapon. How she waits for her opponent. Her footwork. Her eyes. Her expression.”

Octavius he had a wooden sword in his hand and then handed Magda one. Quietly, to her, he said with a grin,

“Your job is to make sure you do it the way you were trained.” It was a little unorthodox and really he should have been more cautious with how he stepped around Magda, but the comment couldn’t keep a wink from one of his eyes.

He turned and walked some steps away, giving her space.

“When we start,” He told the onlookers, “we give ourselves space to access our opponent. I take my stance,” he did, “and I watch her closely, trying to discern just what I think she will do. Our rules of engagement are as follows: this is practice, not a duel. We aren’t trying to wound one another, but to display superior craftsmanship in the art of swordplay. We will be focusing on our stance, our formation, and the angles of our blades.”

Magda accepted the sword from Octravius, fingers brushing agains this as she smiled back prettily. “Yes sir,” She responded in a low, playful whisper before stepping back and readying herself.

Magda tested the weight of the wooden sword in her hands. It was solid enough, but its relative lightness to steel would make her task a little easier. Magda was not a fool enough to think she was anything other than wildly outmatched. But her objective wasn’t to win. For her, it was about putting on a good show.

She raised her sword, still as a serpent waiting to strike. Her black eyes scanned across Octavius. Each little movement, from his shifting feet to the quirk of his mouth, was taken into account. She said nothing; she just waited, a vague smirk on her face and a dark sparkle in her eyes.

Octavius was not impervious to seduction. In fact, he was likely among the weakest of men, easily charmed by beauty and even more easily manipulated by it. He noticed the brushing of fingers and his face flushed. Her pet smiled quickened his heart, and her playful whisper made his knees feel weak. He coughed and stuttered, mumbling incoherently as he too took his position.

For the soldier, this wasn’t a power play. It was a demonstration. Suddenly, seeing the way Magda was looking at him, he felt like this was a different kind of battle. He was more than willing to lose.

“It is easier to be the defender.” He told the onlookers. “But it is more advantageous to be on offense.” He started moving towards Magda, his wooden sword up. He wouldn’t pull any fast ones or try to trick her up. When he brought in his sword it was forward and simple, easily blocked.

She delighted in the boy’s obvious fluster. Seduction was, for a time, the only power Magda held, and it was a comfort to know she held it still. She sway slightly as she waited for Octavius’s swing. Magda blocked it, as by Octavius’s design, and quickly countered with a swipe of her own.

Offense, as he said, was more advantageous.

Octavius was pleased with Magda's counter. It was not deft enough to throw him, thus he caught it with his sword and verbally applauded,

"Good!" He wanted the women watching to learn what to do, to know how this should look. It wasn't an emotion-charged flurry like the Cambrians and Coheedsmen liked to think it was. The art of swordplay was just that--an art. A dance. A calculation that had no room for how they felt, only for the next step, the precision of their movement.

Octavius came in at her again, this time with a jab, though of course he pulled his force.

Magda maneuvered out of the way, but only narrowly. She was grateful for Octavius’s restraint, but knew it would only get her so far.

She swung back at him again, an elegant arc but one easily blocked, leaning into the dance as her playful gaze flickered over Octavius.

They continued this way, exchanging a few more well-placed attempts that were easily parried. It was a demonstration, after all. When finished, Octavius raised a hand towards Magda.

“Please, give it up for the Minister of Foreign Affairs.” He promptly brought his hands together in a clap that was not at all reciprocated by the women of Coheed in attendance. One younger girl did clap, but otherwise they stood with straight expressions, clearly unimpressed. They’d been watching men of Coheed spar their whole lives.

Turning to Magda, Octavius cleared his throat awkwardly and said,

“Well, I thought you did a wonderful job, Lady Ivanova.” He dipped his head respectfully.

It bothered her in a way that surprised her.

Magda kept her chin high, not dipping in acknowledgment of the clapping—for there was none to acknowledge. So instead, she kept her eyes trained on Octavius, for he at least seemed to by on her side.

“One has to start somewhere,” Magda responded with playful humility (an act, just like everything else), “But I certainly have much to learn."