The Last Warrior Queen

I am nothing but a pawn for my father. He’s not even really my father. I was sent to live with an obscure sect of nuns when I was seven with nothing but my adoptive father’s name and the necklace my mother had left to me before she died. Sylvia de Regan was my new name and Lord Regan was my new father. I only ever met him in person the one time before being sent to the nuns in the north. Apparently my mother knew of them since no one within the Regan estate had any idea who these nuns were. My father cared little about the logistics, only that I would be out of his sight and he could call upon me when he needed to marry me off. The one meeting I had with my father was very brief. My mother lay dying and everything had already been arranged. My new father took one look at me and called me an eyesore. He vocalized his joy at having me sent far away from him. I will admit, I don’t look anything like anyone within the Southern Kingdom and I’m not sure of my lineage at all. Only that my mother came from a kingdom in the north and I looked like her. The standard of beauty within the kingdom is dark hair, brown almond-shaped eyes, and luscious lips. I am pretty much the opposite of that. Light brown hair, round green eyes and a mouth that turned up at the edges. I wouldn’t say that I’m ugly, my pale skin is clear and I have a strong bone structure like my mother. But my sharp features made me less feminine according to most in the south. When I arrived at the nunnery, the Head Mother told me that I should expect to marry decent and be happy with a husband who didn’t beat me. I soon learned that this was no ordinary nunnery in the slightest. I am quiet by nature and do not converse easily with others. I prefer to take stock of my surroundings and be sure of who I can trust before I open my mouth. The nunnery prepared me well for life and I quickly learned skills that would be important for survival. Not embroidery, charm or conversation skills as most ladies learned. But strategy, observation and most importantly combat. This nunnery was located inside a rather large castle that was closed to outsiders. Within it’s walls were women who had found their way there for one reason or another. Some were like me, waiting to be used by their fathers. Others were there to become nuns and live out the rest of their days behind the castle walls in service to God. There were also knights. They were there to protect the nunnery. And they were also there to train us. The Head Mother made sure that all the women were trained in self defense and combat. Any woman who was being prepared for marriage was required to know how to defend herself and others. By the end of our time at the nunnery we were expected to be able to run an estate, care for those in our charge and defend our territory if necessary. Of course our newfound skills were hardly advertised to our families. We also had to learn to do useless skills such as embroidery so as not to draw attention to the nunnery. They didn’t want anyone investigating them. It really was quite small to begin with. There were about twenty nuns including the Head Mother, and about eight women preparing for marriage including myself. Many rooms in the castle were empty, even with the dozen or so knights staying here as well. The knights were responsible for training us and combat training was my favorite. Sir Roderick told me I had a gift for it and that he had never seen anyone fight like me on any battlefield. I thought he just meant that he had never seen any woman fight like me, but eventually I came to realize that he meant anyone.