4

Asher puts an ear to the door, then nudges it open with their shoulder. They briskly check through the rooms before calling, "All clear."

What exactly they think will be of risk to you in a place like this, you have little idea. No doubt your mother had some choice words warning Asher what would happen if anything were to happen to you.

Heading into the suite, you take in your surroundings.

You have five rooms at your disposal: one bedroom for you, a smaller one for Asher, a bathroom, a sitting room with a circle of plush couches and armchairs surrounding an ornate, green-tiled fireplace, and a study with a desk and deep ceiling-to-floor bookshelves. In accordance with your request when applying to the Academy, the rooms include:

Glass double doors open from the sitting room onto the balcony; when you inhale, the scent of sweet night-blooming flowers wafts inside. With a table and two chairs overlooking the gardens, the view will be spectacular in daylight. Now it's night, a soft lantern glows, sending the flicker of shadows up the wall.

Emerging into the study, you find Asher unpacking your trunks, placing books carefully upon the shelves. They look up and smile.

"I hope Noble Beaumont and the Honorable Dominique have as much space as this," they say. "Or they might fight like cats."

Asher ducks their head in a diffident nod, their stack of books in their hands. "I hope it sorts out smoothly," they murmur. "When Oliver and Josiane were fighting, it felt like it went on forever. But you sorted it out in the end."

Oliver is your younger brother, now twelve. He was a baby when your father Georges, a blurry figure you hardly remember, passed away. Oliver and your older sister Josiane were less than cordial for a long time, though they have settled down in recent years. She called him a brat and a hanger-on, while he called her a bully. Both were in the right. Or the wrong.

You'll never forget the looks on their faces. It was as though they were both small children, and you were a severe schoolteacher. Even Josiane, five years your elder, looked like she might cry.

"I have my ways," you say.

With Asher's assistance, you unpack your trunk. Your clothes and belongings look small in these surroundings, and you're accustomed to having more around you. Still, the rooms are beautiful, and you have plenty of space to place something personal.

You rummage through your trunk, alighting upon…

The toy was once an animal, but time and wear have turned it into a lumpy gray thing whose identity no one remembers. Fabien, your mother's old friend from university and Westerlind Seneschal, had it repaired and washed after it came apart, and though it was never the same, you were delighted that it was back in some sort of shape. Looking at it brings a strong pang of nostalgia, and you place it on your pillow. A piece of home.

Asher smiles in its direction and shucks off their jacket, smoothing its sleeves absently. "Do you want to talk before you sleep?" they say.

Your bedroom sports a wonderfully large bed, with four posters and an intricately embroidered canopy. You get changed for bed, pull the covers over you, and wait for Asher to come in. They knock, of course, and venture in, still wearing their pants and shirt, but with a thin, dark pullover on top.

They hesitate a second before sitting cross-legged on the parquet floor.

Asher glances up at you to make sure you're serious, and then perches on the edge of the bed. They run a hand over the thick embroidery on the coverlet.

"I'm looking forward to being here," they say. "It feels like a nice place. And it'll be good being with you."

They're quiet for a few moments.

"How do you feel about getting engaged while you're here?" they ask, all of a sudden. "Sorry. That came out wrong. I meant to say it more delicately. But I was curious."

Your mother would prefer you to marry someone you cared about, of course, but you suspect she might try to overrule your wishes if there were someone amenable who was advantageous enough to the throne. Hopefully it won't come to that.

"My choices aren't always my own," you say, "but that doesn't have to matter. I'm part of something bigger than myself."

Asher nods, their expression resolute. "I understand," they say, "and no matter what, you'll have me around."

Your eyes are beginning to drag closed; the flight and all the space and people has caught up with you. Asher stands, and pats your coverlet.

"You should rest," they say. "I'll check over the building, and then turn in."

The door closes, leaving you alone. You're between one thought and the next when sleep takes over.

Next

You wake uncertain of where you are for a moment, then the memories of yesterday surface. Your blankets are warm, soft, and cozy, and the bed is a most comfortable size—though not quite as large as the one in your palace bedroom.

Birds are singing outside the window, and the fall sunlight is golden and gentle. Someone's moving around in the next room; Asher, most likely.

Digging your toes against the texture of the sheets, you stretch out as wide as you can. Even so, you do not reach the outer edges of your bed. After a few minutes, Asher knocks lightly on your door.

"Prince Irad Motahhari, it's time to get going," they call softly.

You roll out and turn your attention to your wardrobe.

The Archambault winter uniform is made of luxurious dove-gray wool, and includes a satin tie striped with delicate sky-blue. Before arriving, you ordered a set of uniforms handmade to fit your measurements and your style preference. The fine ivory-colored shirt and tie are mandatory, but there are other areas of choice. You chose:

The gray-and-blue plaid skirt is neatly pleated, and reaches just above your knees. Once your shirt and tie are fixed, you pull your gray jacket over the ensemble. The picture of an Archambault Academy student: you could have stepped straight out of the prospectus.

When you emerge, Asher is, of course, up and about. Since they're not a real student here, they are wearing their usual nondescript gear of a well-tailored black suit; they greet you cheerfully.

"I need to be off early," they say. "I'm to have a tour of the estate with Degen, the groundskeeper."