Free Nobody's Princess by Esther Friesner

and take it, princess,” Glaucus said. His smile was encouraging. “I just want to see what you can do with that. Don’t worry: I promise not to hurt you, and the gods know you won’t hurt me.”
    My hand closed on the hilt and I picked up the sword. “In that case, I’m ready to learn,” I said.
    My first real sword fight was a worse disaster than my first time using a real spear. The heavy blade was made for a grown man and was beautifully balanced. That was the only thing that kept me from dropping it more than I did. My first swings were wild. When I swatted a tree trunk, the vibrations made my hand tingle and smart. I didn’t even manage to cut the bark. As for my efforts to imitate Glaucus’s fighting style, they were clumsier than a pig trying to walk on its hind legs. I know he didn’t expect much of me my first time, but I’d expected more of myself.
    I don’t care
what
he said about just wanting to see what I can do with this blade,
I thought.
He
must
be judging me. I’ve got to show him I can do better than this or he might change his mind about letting me train.
    The fear of being dismissed made me redouble my efforts, but with the same lack of effect. Glaucus held me at bay effortlessly, while I panted and stumbled and kept wiping sweat out of my eyes. I finally got so frustrated, trying to break through his guard, that I lost my patience and charged him, holding the bronze sword high over my head and howling like a wolf. He sidestepped and tripped me as I went flying past. When I sprawled on my face in the dirt, he touched the back of my neck lightly with the tip of his own weapon.
    “There’s no shame in dying in battle, princess,” he said. “But this would have been a very stupid death. The lesson’s done.” Then he picked up my sword and strode away. I was left to trail back into the palace, sore, exhausted, and convinced that I’d made such a fool of myself that Glaucus would never want me on the training ground again. I decided that I wouldn’t give him the chance to banish me. Instead, I stayed in the palace the next day, joining my sister and the other women. I sat near Clytemnestra while she worked at the big loom, surrounded by servants, slaves, and ladies of the palace, all of us busy at the woman’s work of making cloth. My hands were still sore from my wretched attempt at swordsmanship, my fingers clumsy as I held the distaff and tried to make the spindle obey me. I hated every moment, but I stuck to the tedious chore because I’d decided it was my only future.
    The room where we worked was well lit by the sun, heavy with the fresh scent of washed fleece. The women chattered while they worked, hummed old songs, told stories, spoke gently or impatiently to the younger girls who were still learning their skills. It was a peaceful, safe place, but so is a grave.
    I looked at my sister. Her face was serene, all her attention focused on the pattern she was creating on the great loom. In that instant, I realized that she no longer envied me anything—not my looks, or the way the grown-ups seemed to favor me, or even the fact that I’d be queen of Sparta someday. Our rivalry was over; she had what she’d always wanted. She, too, was going to be a queen.
    I spent five days with the women, inside the palace walls. Every time I considered stealing back to the training ground I remembered my failure. My face burned with fresh humiliation, and I abandoned the thought once more.
    On the sixth day of my self-enforced captivity, something happened that changed everything. We were all working together, as usual. By now it was quite clear that each thread we spun or wove or embroidered was intended for my sister’s bride goods. The older women murmured about how strange it was that the queen didn’t come to help prepare her daughter’s dowry.
    “It’s natural,” one of them remarked, her needle making a pattern of lilies along the hem of a gown. “She doesn’t want to face the fact