Summer’s eyes went dark, and her voice fell flat. “I /am/ trained, or did you not see? No. No, after all, I am done with the sword today. I shall go back to drifting along the corridors, waiting for you.” She couldn’t walk away, not with his arms still either side of her, but she lifted her chin proudly.
”Not well enough —” he tells her simply, “you need some more work but, if you so wish to spend your time floating around the castle for me then so be it.”
“I haven’t lifted a sword in over a year!” she snapped. “Of course I am not as skilled as Arthur’s most skilled knight! Even at my best I was not a match for you, and I never will be; I have accepted that!” She put her hands on his chest and pushed a little. “I will never be worthwhile at anything men value. I know this. I am neither a seamstress nor a chatelaine nor a mistress of the distillery, I am not pretty or witty in the way that men value. My worth is only that I might be married off for some alliance!”
Then she sat down on the bench and burst into tears.