Queen Charlotte’s Academy had once trained warriors. Now it trained statesmen, but they still sparred every day, only with different weapons: One point higher on an exam equaled a punch to the jaw; a smug smile across a courtyard twisted the knife. Students wielded pens like swords and waged their wars on battlefields of study; the hierarchy shifted with each assignment graded – with one exception. Eve Montesino always remained on top.

Always.

Eve’s phone burned a hole in her pocket as she strode forward, a dozen and a half formulas jockeying for a place at the forefront of her mind, her rehearsed speech playing on a loop. Students in tweeds and blazers too thin for the winter chill haunted the campus like specters, noses in books, scribbling feverishly around the age-worn statue of the academy founder, renowned less for founding the academy than for dueling his political rival in front of the students. This time of year, a brisk wind familiar to Academy upperclassmen terrorized gloveless fingers and students from warmer climates, frisking by the few withered leaves still clinging to the trees, daring them to fall.

This time of year, it happened to the best of them. 

No. Not the best. Not me. 

Shivering, Eve tugged the sleeves of her sweater down over her wrists and reached for the door to the dean’s office. Another hand beat her to it, palm slapping the door as if staking her claim on it. Ivy Jacobs shot Eve a lazy smirk as she shunted the door open and staggered inside, her gait made lopsided by the sagging backpack draped over one shoulder. Catching the door again as it swung shut, she held it for Eve with unusual courtesy; Eve nodded stiff gratitude as she crossed the threshold. 

“Jacobs.”

The smirk returned. “Eve.”

Eve pressed her mouth into a thin line, her nostrils flaring, but she kept her temper, mentally rehearsing her speech with renewed concentration to drown out the wet soles of Ivy’s trainers on the old hardwood floor.

What is she doing in here? As the incessant squelching massaged her frayed nerves, Eve consoled herself, Maybe her grades are failing and she’s dropping out.

Not likely, but she could dream.

She stopped outside Dean Thompson’s office and rapped on it, swiftly tucking a lock of glossy black hair behind her ear; as she waited, the squeaking finally, mercifully stopped.

“Come in,” the dean called, and Eve opened the door and stepped inside.

“Miss Montesino,” he greeted her, then peered over Eve’s shoulder. “Miss Jacobs.” Eve whirled around as Ivy entered the office. “Please, sit down.”

Eve sat, shooting a surreptitious glance at Ivy. The other girl eyed her with equal suspicion.

“What was it you wanted to ask about?” the dean asked, glancing from one to the other.

Eve took a deep breath, heat flooding her face; she refused to look at Ivy. “I would like to request consideration for the annual Queen’s Grant, sir,” she blurted, at the same time that Ivy said, “The Queen’s Grant.”

“You what?” Ivy whipped around to face Eve.

“What?” Eve snapped back, her defenses snapping up even as mortification overwhelmed her. “Why shouldn’t I?”

Ivy gaped at her. “I can’t believe this,” she said. “There is no possible way that someone with all the money she could ever want could be selfish enough to turn around and snap up this school’s one and only annual grant, when there are other candidates who actually need it.”

“Right. Because you’re the authority on what I need.” The words slipped out faster than her filter could catch them, like water through a leaking dam. As if on cue, her phone buzzed accusingly in her pocket; she snapped her mouth closed.

“Girls!” the dean barked; mutinously, they both fell silent. Eve shoved her hands in her pockets, her muscles thrumming with outrage-fueled adrenaline.

She doesn’t know. She has no idea what buttons she’s pushing, and she doesn’t need to know.

Even so, the injustice rankled. Not everyone needs to know the Montesinos’ business, her mother had warned her over the phone, so Eve held her tongue. She held her tongue when her friends joked about how the Montesinos probably considered Christmas on a yacht casual. She held her tongue when well-meaning professors asked about how her family was. She held her tongue and held her breath and held her head down, because not everyone needed to know, but everyone thought they did.

“There are many applicants,” the dean reminded them. “Bring your project proposals to me by next Friday, and I will review them and decide.” They both murmured assent, and Dean Thompson continued, “Both of you are exceptional candidates, and if I could give two Queen’s Grants just this once, I would.” Out of the corner of Eve’s eye, Ivy sat up a little straighter, then slumped back in her chair again as the dean continued, “I have confidence that both of you will submit work of the highest caliber.”

“Thank you, sir,” Eve heard herself say, as if from far away. She stood up and shook his hand, then repositioned her messenger bag and stalked out.

Quickening her pace at the sound of Ivy’s squeaking shoes, she flung the door open, not even slowing for the icy gust of wind that buffeted her in the face, stinging her ears and whipping her long hair into her eyes.

“Hey!” Ivy stormed up and tapped her forcefully on the shoulder, squinting as the wind hit her full-on.

Eve whirled. “I don’t owe you anything.”

“Um, I disagree.” Ivy snapped, stepping closer, even though she had to tilt her chin up to look Eve in the eye. “Withdraw.”

“Excuse me?”

“Withdraw. Don’t ask for the grant.”

“Are you going to try that with everyone else applying, too?”

Ivy rolled her eyes. “We both know you’re the only real competition.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Eve shot back, then added vindictively, “Being captain of the stupid fencing team doesn’t make you competition.”

A ferocious light entered Ivy’s gray eyes, but she said, “That’s your downfall, then. I don’t care if you’re Einstein or if you can’t add two and two.” She stepped closer still and stabbed Eve in the chest with her pointer finger. “You don’t need this like the rest of us, so back off.”

The edges of Eve’s vision blurred, and she closed the rest of the distance between the two of them, towering over the other girl. “What I don’t need is someone to tell me what I can and can’t do just because of what they assume about me.”

“Yeah? Welcome to my world.” Bright spots of crimson tinted Ivy’s cheeks.

“Maybe you should drop out. You’ve made it very clear that you know all Montesinos are the same, so go ahead! Save yourself the trouble!”

Ivy laughed, a brittle, almost hysterical sound. “Oh, trust me, I would never dream of thinking that. No, one of your Montesino ancestors dueled the founder of the school, but the rest of you don’t have the guts to do anything more than make passive-aggressive jabs at everyone who isn’t you.”

Now Eve laughed. “What, you want a duel?” Ivy flushed, and Eve smirked. “That’s what I —”

“Yeah.” 

Eve stared. She’s mad. She’s lost her mind. 

Picking up steam, Ivy challenged, her eyes gleaming with intensity again, “Tomorrow. Fencing foils — no one gets hurt. Loser backs out of the grant application and doesn’t propose her project.”

Warnings and cautions skimmed through Eve’s mind: Fighting was strictly forbidden on school grounds. She hadn’t fenced since last summer. She didn’t have to stoop to Ivy’s level. She had nothing to prove.

She had everything to prove.

“Deal,” she said, her voice as cold as the steel of a blade.

A light frost dusted the ground as Eve stepped onto the field where Ivy stood waiting, tying her curly hair into a tight ponytail. A crowd sat gathered on the icy bleachers, their breath clouding the air as they huddled together to watch; word traveled fast when only one member of a party knew how to hold her tongue. Ivy surveyed Eve’s outfit with sharp amusement: a buttoned-up white shirt tucked into black trousers, long black hair worn loose. “Do Montesinos always duel like they’re dressed for a speech?” 

“I saw no reason to change,” Eve said, twirling her foil as she strapped on her padded chest guard. “It’s not like I’ll be breaking a sweat.”

The crowd oohed. Ivy smiled and pulled down her mask. “No,” she said. “I don’t expect you will.”

They stood facing each other — there was no equipment for their illicit duel, nothing but two fencers with masks, jackets, gloves, and chest guards, and one judge, a younger student who knew the rules but lacked the hand-eye coordination to have any real skill at the sport.

“Three touches,” said Ivy.

“Three touches,” Eve agreed.

The judge sucked in a deep breath, drinking in the scene. “Three! Two! One!”

Ivy charged; Eve waited, deflecting Ivy’s attacks with a few quick flicks of the wrist. She had speed, that was for sure, and force — Eve parried deftly and riposted, striking Ivy squarely in the chest.

“One for Eve Montesino!” the judge yelped.

Ivy’s eyes narrowed. They returned to their places.

“I guess being a fencing captain doesn’t even make you competition when we’re fencing,” Eve called, unable to resist.

Ivy flew at her almost before the judge had called “One!” Eve responded too slowly.

“One for Ivy Jacobs!”

Starting positions. Eve’s heartbeat thudded an erratic rhythm in her chest; sweat beaded on her palms, stifled by the gloves.

Montesinos did not lose.

“Sounds like you underestimated me,” Ivy spat, her voice muffled by her mask. “Again.”

“Don’t worry. You won’t get lucky twice.”

“Three! Two! One!”

This time, Eve attacked; her foil struck Ivy’s forte as the other girl blocked. 

“Why is this so important to you?” Ivy demanded, wrenching her foil free. “You don’t need this like I do.”

“You have no idea what I need,” Eve flared, lunging again. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know enough.”

Eve Montesino, drop the Eve. The family name was all that mattered, a family full of ancestors that had attended Queen Charlotte’s Academy since its foundation and churned out wealth, success, power. A family fracturing in two. “Yeah,” Eve said, every syllable injected with bitterness, “everyone does.”

Ivy feinted; Eve sidestepped and scored another touch.

“Two for Eve Montesino!”

For the third time, Eve stood in the footprints she had imprinted in the frost. “Why do you always have to be the best at everything?” Ivy called. 

“Three! Two! One!”

“Why do you always have to be the best at everything?” Eve retorted. “Tell me what pressure your family puts on you to succeed because of the –” her voice shook — “greatness in your blood, like it’s something inherited. How every time they call they tell you that you can do better. That it’s never —” she swung wildly — “ever enough! That you’re the best because —”

“You have to be.”

Two voices spoke the same words at the same time, and Eve missed a strike, caught off guard.

Ivy hesitated, the point of her foil hovering at Eve’s chest, then lowered it. She removed her mask, and Eve slowly followed her lead.

“Because your family,” she said, not meeting Eve’s eyes, “puts all their hopes on you.”

She reached into her pocket and showed Eve the screen: “MONTESINOS IN FINANCIAL CRISIS IN MIDST OF ONGOING DIVORCE.”

“I thought the headline would be a little catchier, at least.” Eve looked away.

“I’ve never been a Montesino,” said Ivy. “I don’t know what it’s like to have the pressure of a family who does things. I only know what it’s like to have a family who’s trying to do things, who wants me to do the things they never could. I won’t say I know what it’s like, because I hate when people say that to me. But I… I think I know where you’re coming from.”

A tear spilled down Eve’s cheek, burning her ice-cold cheek; she shut her eyes.

“I…” Ivy swallowed. “I was wrong. To assume.” She tossed her foil on the ground. “I still want this grant. But I’m going to earn it.”

Eve watched her go, an idea pulling at her, and then she found her voice. “Wait.”

Ivy paused.

“I was thinking.” She swallowed hard. “The grant goes to one project. Not one person.”

Ivy turned, scanning Eve’s face for a catch. “I was wrong, too,” said Eve. “I thought I knew you when I never even took the time to try. Now, I think… we’d make a good team.” She hesitated. “Maybe even good friends.”

A real smile stretched across Ivy’s face, replacing her usual smirk. “I’m willing to test that hypothesis,” she said.

Two warriors walked away from the battlefield at peace.