As if exchanging a handshake, their blades match one another in greeting. The echo of dull steel making contact with equally dull steel rings above them as they're locked in the exchange, Lucina's feet pushing into the ground as the weight from her Father's attack causes her soles to sink slightly into the earth below.

"A good start. You don't disappoint, your highness."

She pushes back, crying out with a deep yell as she swings the blade away to have him hopefully off balance. When she's free from his weight, she makes her own lunge forward, the blade above her head so that she can try to catch his guard from above rather than a forward strike.

"Do you hold back against me because of my being a woman, Sir Chrom?"

It's an assumption with no real evidence, but one she cannot help to make while facing the man who would one day be her patriarch. She'd heard so many stories about him, so many tales of his skill and compassion. The way he'd wielded his sword, the famous blade for which the kingdom had been protected by, so many different anecdotes which had made her long to know first-hand what it was like to match swords with the man she idolized. It astounds her, in the passing thought, that her excitement and joy in the moment isn't more obvious or noticeable by him.