9

Javi surveys you with a suspicious expression.

"Actually," he says, sweeping into the room with head held high, "I was wondering about performing a little test."

Behind him, his bodyguard Ibarra looks briefly irritated, then goes to sit unobtrusively in the reading corner, watchful and ready.

"What sort of test?" Dominique says brightly.

"A sparring match," Javi says, and points at Asher. "Between me and them. To see how Irad Motahhari's bodyguard holds up during an attack."

Asher sits up very straight, looking entirely alarmed. "Prince Irad Motahhari," they start to say uncertainly.

Javi claps Asher jovially on the shoulder. "You're not scared, are you?"

Asher looks to you desperately. They clearly do not want to do anything of the sort—and yet. If Asher trounced Javi, it would ruin Javi's day, and perhaps raise Asher's spirits in the end.

Asher nods minutely, and rises. Beaumont has given up any pose of nonchalance, and is watching eagerly; Dominique looks thrilled. Both sidle back to leave Javi and Asher plenty of room to move.

As Javi shrugs off his jacket and drops it to the floor, Asher carefully hangs their black jacket on the back of their chair, then rolls up their sleeves to reveal muscular forearms. The fight begins.

Next

Javi crouches, lowering his center of gravity, then lunges forward to punch Asher in the solar plexus. Asher barely gasps, and darts sideways to put Javi off-balance, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck. Javi straightens with a grunt and jabs an elbow backwards, catching a lucky blow on Asher's throat.

Asher spins, fast enough that you can barely catch their movement. You've seen them practice a hundred times; you've sparred with them yourself. They catch Javi in an armlock, Javi's arm wrenched behind his back. Javi struggles wildly and tries to bite Asher's arm, but Asher does not even react.

Asher glances up, meeting your eye. They look uncertain, not knowing how far to take this. It's your call.

Javi looks furious, but Asher has full control of the fight. They twist Javi's arm and bear him to the ground, kneeling astride his back to keep him from rising. Javi kicks ineffectually at the ground, then slumps.

"Fine, fine!" he snarls. "I yield."

They face each other for a moment. Asher holds out a hand to shake Javi's, but instead Javi stalks out of the room without a word. Asher looks stricken.

"I didn't mean to upset him," they say.

Ibarra rises from her vantage point and claps Asher on the shoulder without rancor. "It's not you," she says. As she goes to follow Javi out, she adds, "Maybe it's time to turn in."

You are inclined to agree.

Next

As soon as you're in your rooms and the door is safely closed, Asher bursts out, "I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have fought him at all. Now I've made everything worse."

They're hugging their jacket to their chest. You remember, suddenly, the moment they swore into your service. You were both ten; even kneeling to kiss your hand, they seemed like they were about twice your height. Then, their face was radiant with excitement. Now, they look absolutely miserable.

Asher raises their gaze to meet yours, sighs, and then smiles, dimpling their cheek.

They're quiet for a moment, looking down at the jacket in their arms, and when they look up, there's an uncertain, but warm, expression in their blue eyes.

"It was maybe a bit fun," they confess. "Getting to show off in front of you."

They stumble over the words. They've always treated you with care, but there's a kind of affection in their tone that you hadn't noticed before. But you're certain they wouldn't dream of saying something outright unless you were to do so.

You meet Asher's blue eyes, and allow your gaze to track over their familiar features. The strand of pale hair brushing their cheekbone. The hollow of their throat. The faint frown lines between their brows. "I'd like to talk to you about how I feel," you say. "It's not just that I see you as a servant."

"Prince Irad Motahhari…" they say, then falter.

Asher starts to reply with their usual amiable tone, but then their mind must have caught up, because they stumble to a halt.

"Oh," they say softly. Their cheeks have flushed, and their eyes are bright. "Oh, I see."

"I like this. I do," they murmur. Then they shake themself and pull back.

"We shouldn't," they say. "I shouldn't. You're meant to be finding someone to marry here, and we can't…"

They stand up abruptly.

"I should check the rest of the building for the night," they say. "I'll…I'll see you tomorrow."

You are left alone. The room feels suddenly cold.

With thoughts of your first day and Asher's anxiety running around your mind, you listen to the creaking of the old building until you fall asleep.

Next

For a moment, you're not sure if it's your imagination, but as you blink awake, you hear it again. Footsteps. Someone is moving around Vercher House, and they're approaching your door.

You light a candle and stride to the door. As the walker passes, you throw the door open. They shriek in shock; in their room, Asher calls out and races into the room with you.

The walker is Beaumont, wearing a dressing gown and looking very tired and very disagreeable. "What are you doing?" they snap.

"You go back to bed," Beaumont snaps, then, reconsidering, says, "I couldn't sleep. There was no sense keeping Dominique up."

In the light of their candle, their dark eyes are tense.

"I'm sorry I disturbed you," they say in the tone of someone unused to apologizing. "I'll leave you alone."

Beaumont turns on their heel and disappears into the dark hallway. As you watch them go, you feel sleep overtaking you once more. When you wake in the morning, the whole thing feels like a dream.

Next Chapter

Chapter 2: In A Class Of Your Own

Prince Irad Motahhari Of Westerlin "Delighted" To Learn Outside Palace Life, Says Queen Estell

-Daily Letters

Between rushing from class to class and back again, and getting used to all the new faces, your first fortnight at Archambault Academy passes quickly. It's different, dealing with teachers and fellow students rather than learning from a tutor alone or with your siblings, and the whole thing is truly noisier than you're used to.

Mostly, it's Vere and Clemence who are in charge of you and the other Vercher House students, focusing on Politics and Natural Science, since final-years are expected to have mastered the basics already. But you do have other sessions in between with students from Ursel House which are larger affairs: Literature, Mathematics, History, and a variety of other lessons for young leaders. For those, sometimes you're taught by Chiara, a Teranese woman with intense feelings about mathematical formulae, and sometimes Anthony, an elderly gentleman who would happily recite poetry for hours and claims to have taught here for fifty years. Only a few years older than you is Eugene, who takes the occasional class among the others.

On top of that, fortnightly visits take place from academic luminaries, scientists, famous artists, most of whom are personal friends of Pascal and have little else to do but come to teach Archambault students how to be the best they can be.