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Prologue

 

SPRING—THE SEASON OF BEGINNINGS, OF life, the beginning of beginnings. Every debutante and escort worth their blue blood spent the majority of their childhoods preparing for this most special of days, April 1st. Music filtered through the Upper District on the night of the Spring Ball, a gentle melody emanating from the Rudleberg estate. Inside that estate’s humble, moonlit kitchen sat the culprit, a single pup resting soundly in her lap.

Sweet dreams—Fa in Bel Sogno.

A simple spell for the little pup fighting off sleep. Little did Melody know the true strength of the ancient evil for whom she sang, or her role in the game called The Silver Saint and the Five Oaths.

The Saint subdued the Dark One, and in so doing unleashed her silver essence. Again, unbeknownst to Melody, a torrent of glowing, powerful energy erupted from her, stretching beyond the kitchen, silver fractals like branches of a sacred tree enveloping the royal capital in its boughs. It spread slumber like scattered leaves not just to the Dark One but to every resident who called the city home.

Such power was destined to exceed the bounds of Paltescia’s walls, however.

When Melody concluded her song, the branches shrank, and the silver tree melted away, but so much mana could not simply vanish. Traces lingered, traces that should not have even existed but nonetheless were carried away by the wind to the north and west. The mana traveled slowly yet rapidly, aimlessly yet surely, as if guided by some unseen power.

 

“Very good. Let your proposal be so, Schroden.”

“Your Imperial Majesty honors me.”

Sometime before the song, far to the north of the Kingdom of Theolas, in the capital of the Rordpier Empire, a meeting had just adjourned in the palace in the heart of the city. The imperial princes were in attendance, joined by a select few nobles with enough influence to justify their presence. The exhaustion of a discussion gone far too long shadowed many faces.

At last, however, they’d reached a conclusion.

“Father, we needn’t belittle ourselves with petty schemes. We have the military might! Bring it to bear, I say!”

“Brother, we must address His Majesty with due respect in an official forum. Likewise, I find your eagerness to protest His Majesty’s decree similarly disconcerting.”

“One day, Schroden, I’ll take that silver tongue of yours and—”

“Enough, Sharlemein. You have given your argument. My decision is final. I’ll hear no more objections.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Forgive me.”

Prince Sharlemein shrank in reluctant deference to his father and lord. His younger brother, Schroden, paid his humility little mind, his attention fixed instead on the emperor while Sharlemein’s anger festered. That aloofness vexed him to no end. Was he not worth so much as a second glance?

“Come September, Schroden will journey to Theolas under the guise of a student,” the emperor decreed. “His true goal, I hope we all understand, is of the utmost secrecy.”

Prince Sharlemein, Prince Schroden, and those select few nobles attending the discussion bowed deeply in a show of their deep loyalty. The emperor, pleased with the display, exited the room. Sharlemein followed soon after with his factious supporters in tow, but not before one final glare at his brother, just to emphasize where things stood between them. Schroden did not dignify him with a reaction.

The Rordpiers loomed over Theolas from the north, an ever-present threat, their domain threefold the size of their neighbor’s. Strife boiled on the horizon. The future of the empire would be written in blood, and the author would be one of two men: the sixteen-year-old Sharlemein or his fifteen-year-old brother.

A tradition of primogeniture dictated that Sharlemein was to succeed the throne, but ultimately the decision belonged to their father. The royal family also included two princesses, either of whom could have been a ­candidate, but legally speaking, the nation lacked historical ­precedent for an Empress Rordpier, effectively neutering the girls’ chances. Schroden, however, posed a very real threat to Sharlemein’s birthright. The ­brothers waged a war for ­succession, and it would be won on Theolan soil.

Schroden returned to his room, where the lone candle on the table cast flickering shadows into an already grim space. He let himself sink into the sofa.

“Why must reason always be the last thing people see? At least they came around, save for that fool of a brother. ‘Military might,’ he says. Has he learned nothing? Theolas has been undergoing an economic golden age, and that’s bled into their retinues. Were we to butt heads directly, we’d win a Pyrrhic victory at best.” He snorted. “We can’t simply conquer for conquering’s sake. It’s their bounties we want. Salting the earth would gain us nothing but a kingdom of ash.”

The land of ice could boast about its legions and ­relative size, but its peoples numbered not even twice that of Theolas. Blizzards and snow ravaged the vast majority of Rordpier’s expansive lands, making for ­agricultural yields too poor to sustain a population much larger than their southern neighbor. Emperors old and new made to take those green pastures and ­bountiful fields for themselves, always to no avail; so it was that the imperial princes sought to do the ­impossible—in exchange for the throne.

The treacherous mountains to the west and the wide river flowing down their rocky shoulders had long served as physical borders and natural defenses against invasion, but what Theolas had and what Rordpier wanted was simply too valuable, and so, a century ago, the tensions erupted into all-out war. The two sides quickly reached a stalemate, geographical barriers preventing either from landing a decisive blow against the other.

Thus was born the truce that bound the nations to this day, a loathsome agreement that stood only to remind the participants of the futility of hostility. The conflict forced the emperor who initiated it into an early abdication.

In contemporary times, a large bridge connected the north with the south, but only the one. Sharlemein’s strategy had been to capture the bridge and use it as a staging point for a large-scale offensive. Develop fortifications. Bolster the military. Tax the people to see it done.

Schroden objected, claiming the strain this would place on domestic infrastructure was too great a ­sacrifice. He instead proposed they continue to ­proffer peace. By sending him to attend the Theolans’ most esteemed academy as a show of good faith, they could enter Theolas’s good graces. Information would ­subsequently flow. They could forge alliances and stir unrest. By ­weakening the kingdom first, they could conduct a smoother invasion at less risk to the empire or the lands they hoped to benefit from.

It was a simple plan, elementary for any tactician preparing for war, but it was not so simple for Rordpier. Even a century later, the scars of war left the nations’ relationship in a precarious place. Sending dignitaries was difficult enough, to say nothing of conducting an exchange program. Indeed, why would a kingdom allow potentially hostile actors to run amok, regardless of their purported intentions?

The prince was realistic. He conceded that achieving his goals on his own was unlikely. Therefore, he would serve as a decoy, the obvious spy, if the Rordpiers were to send one. Meanwhile, a particularly skullduggerous attendant joining him on his journey would perpetrate the true scheming.

This proposal turned the forum into a shouting match. Sharlemein, with his calls to action and denunciations of his weak-livered, coward of a brother. And Schroden, with his citations and numbers and logical reasons as to why the cost of the hawkish firstborn’s conflict was simply too high.

Ideally, they would have set the plan in motion in time for Royal Academy’s opening ceremony in April, but Sharlemein’s vehemency coupled with the emperor’s wavering delayed a decision until the night of April 1st.

Come September, just after term resumed following the summer recess, Schroden would attend Royal Academy. He had much to prepare for and many letters to send.

“So be it. If my role is to be a decoy, my sudden appearance will work in my favor. While they study and scrutinize me, they’ll leave themselves open to the true dagger at their backs.”

Schroden’s mouth curled, and the flickering candle cast a dark shadow over his face. The throne lay within his grasp.

He stood and paced to the balcony. The constant, ­oppressive cold was a bit less biting than usual. Often, the only spring Rordpiers could expect was a brief reprieve from the snow. Schroden’s eyes fell to the heaps of snow that had refused to melt since last winter, regarding them more coldly than the air biting at his skin.

“Theolas will be mine. And once it is…” Schroden gazed up, expecting to see stars, but found only dark, low-hanging clouds. Something sparkled among them: a single, twinkling speck. He grimaced. “More snow.”

They had plenty of that in this land of ice. Schroden did not think twice about his appraisal. It seemed spring would offer no reprieve.

The flake danced and swayed on its way down to his balcony. Repulsed, Schroden caught it in his hand.

There was no warning. Only a wish.

Sweet dreams.

 

Hirosaki Shuuichi was a twenty-three-year-old gardener when he boarded that fateful flight bound for England. He’d had dreams of studying their horticulture.

Plants were his life. All throughout school, he’d participated in gardening clubs. At first he was satisfied with trimming a hedge here or pruning a branch there, but the spectacles of nature that gardens of the west put on display planted a new, more passionate seed inside him. He wanted to be a landscape designer, and the only question was how.

During the haphazard process of answering that ­question, he happened to find himself aboard a plane. Even as he chatted with the woman next to him, his head spun.

The woman was Shirase Reia, a twenty-year-old ­college student on a tour of some kind that she’d won in a sweepstakes sponsored by a video game.

“And there’s ten of you, you said? Must have been a pretty successful game if the developers are splurging that much,” Shuuichi said.

“It’s crazy, huh?” Reia said. “They’re actually pair ­tickets, so there could be up to twenty, but, well, I’m going by myself. I’m not sure exactly how many showed up.”

“Hey, lucky me. If you’d used that extra ticket, you and I might not have gotten to talk.” Shuuichi smiled softly.

Reia blushed. “O-oh. Yeah, true.”

A twist of fate had placed them together, much to Shuuichi’s delight, for as it happened, he quite liked women. He liked dating women, talking to women, ­loving women, being friends with women—Shuuichi simply liked women. Some would balk at such frivolousness. Others might applaud his taste in gender. Shuuichi had heard it all.

He asked the girl about her hobbies, and she obliged enthusiastically. Only one thing occupied her mind these days: the game sponsoring this very trip.

Reia bombarded the boy with pellets of lore from a seemingly infinite silo of knowledge, eventually producing the game itself. She indicated one of the men on the cover. “This one’s my favorite.”

“Pale, blond, and handsome. Such a shame that I’m so tan.”

“Maybe,” Reia giggled, “but I think you wear it well.”

A goofy chuckle bubbled from Shuuichi’s lips. “You’re just saying that. So what’s this guy like?”

“Not at all like you, Hirosaki-san. What you see is what you get with him. He’s cold, calculating, crooked, and selfish to top it off. He’s perfect.”

“Reia-chan, I hope that’s not telling of your dating history. He sounds abusive to me.”

“Meh, it’s a game.”

“Your face, your fate, I guess.”

Shuuichi’s predictable reaction amused Reia. She went on to describe the plot at length, completing her transformation from a shy, reticent girl into a ­chatterbox without an off switch. Shuuichi couldn’t find one, at least, but that didn’t bother him. He listened intently, absorbing every tidbit of information. Nothing charmed him like a woman with passions.

Reia did not return to her senses until the end of her spiel. “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!”

“Sorry? What for?”

“For talking your ear off.” The heat in her cheeks intensified.

He donned that silly grin again. “So long as I’m ­chatting with a pretty girl, I’m in my happy place. I should be thanking you.”

Some people flattered with empty words, but Reia didn’t sense vapidness in him. Her cheeks burned even hotter. “I, um, don’t have many friends, so I don’t get to talk about this very much.”

“No?”

“I wasn’t sure what to think when you started randomly talking to me, but I’m, well, happy you did.”

Those mannerisms. The way she shyly brushed her hair behind her ear. Shuuichi was done for. “Go out with me, Reia-chan!” he whisper-yelled.

“Huh?! You—I-I don’t know what to say. This is a little sudden.”

“Is that a no?”

“You’re, er, single, I’m guessing?”

“Sure am. It just never works out for whatever reason. Every single person I’ve asked gives me a hard pass.”

“Your timing could use some work,” Reia muttered shyly, voice too low for him to hear.

“Hey, look over there.”

“Over where?” Raising her head, she followed Shuuichi’s gaze toward a woman on her way back from the restroom, a very remarkable woman. “Wow. She’s so—”

“Pretty,” Shuuichi sighed, gawking at the waves of her silky black hair.

She carried herself with grace and elegance all the way to the seat behind them, but not before Shuuichi made sure he got enough of an eyeful to last the rest of the trip. The sight turned his face into melted ice cream.

The woman was about their age, not that they could know that. Nor her name—Mizunami Ritsuko.

“Wow, she sure is beautiful,” said the grinning pile of pudding. “Whichever guy she decides to date has gotta be the luckiest man in the world.”

Reia’s amusement had run dry. “I think I know why you never have any luck with the ladies.”

“You do?! What is it? Tell me!”

“The fact that you need me to tell you means you’re already beyond help. Get used to being single.”

“No! I refuse! Please, Reia-chan! What am I lacking? Tell me and I promise I’ll change!”

“Ask someone who cares.”

“Don’t do this to me!”

 

Schroden awoke with a start. He lay on the balcony, his head throbbing. Fending off the vertigo, he gradually rose to his feet, fingers pressed against his temples.

“What happened? I…”

Unfamiliar thoughts littered his mind, thoughts that blended with his own, changing him in ways he could not yet perceive.

“Sheesh, my head hurts. Did I hit it on something? I need a mirror.”

He returned to his room, picked up the flickering candle from the table, and tried to inspect himself, head pounding all the while.

When he arrived at the mirror, what greeted him in the candlelit reflection was…

“What? But that’s not—”

A flash of intense pain. Schroden doubled over as his thoughts turned violent and innumerable. Memories that were not his flooded his mind. Knowledge he had no way of knowing. Words from the lips of a woman he did not recognize, speaking of characters and “plots” and “backstories.” Certain doom.

They were his. His memories from another time. Another life. Another name. These were Hirosaki Shuuichi’s memories.

Schroden groaned. “Was that…my future?” The thoughts blurred like a fading dream. “Who was that woman? She was awfully pretty.”

Her name eluded him, but the implications did not. She had spoken of him and his fate. Numerous paths. Successes and failures. It all followed from his ­enrollment at Royal Academy. In one future, his plan came to ­fruition and he was imprisoned. In another, his love for his homeland became love for another, driving him to betray his own family and sending him to an early grave. In yet another, he enacted his plan at the cost of that love. Another early grave, this time at his own hands.

A voice. “Most of Schroden van Rordpier’s bad ends are him dying one way or another.”

“He has tons of endings. His plan working is just one of them, but he still winds up dead.”

“So yeah, there’s pretty much no way to have his plot work out and keep him alive.”

Schroden heaved. The woman’s voice echoed ­painfully in his skull. His heart raced. His lungs ­defied him. He could not accept what the woman was ­telling him, and yet he knew her every word to be true. How? Why? On what grounds? Schroden did not know. It was a certainty he could not describe, but a certainty all the same.

He studied his face in the mirror again. His skin was like porcelain, his hair bright blond, his features ­handsome. One look into his eyes and the dread ­threatened to surge up anew.

Schroden van Rordpier was on the road to ruin.

The little speck he’d thought was snow wasn’t snow at all. It was a vestige of Melody’s spell, Fa in Bel Sogno, carried far to the north upon the wind at impossible speeds, where it met with the reincarnation of one Hirosaki Shuuichi.

In truth, coincidences often flowed from a series of events, a logical chain whose outcome defied understanding. This, however, stretched the definition of coincidence, but without a scholar on hand, one could do little but attribute that all-encompassing conclusion to that which beggared belief: a coincidence.

Schroden’s contact with that trace of mana had given him a brief glimpse into his past life, including a short conversation concerning the plot of an otome game by the name of The Silver Saint and the Five Oaths that he’d had with a woman on a doomed flight. The vignette, however, wasn’t long enough to convince the prince that these memories were his own, that he and Shuuichi were one and the same. Dreams were fragile, and as with most dreams, a great deal of it escaped his recollection upon waking. All he knew was that the face the woman had pointed to and the face he saw in the mirror were one and the same, so the doom she spoke of could only be his.

A happy coincidence.

“I-I’m going to die. I’m going to die!” And yet, though he remained without his memories, other pieces of his previous life manifested. “Not good, not good, not good! If I go to that academy, I’m as good as dead! I’ve got to find a way out. Something. Anything.”

Schroden van Rordpier, in all aspects except memory, had become Hirosaki Shuuichi. Ah, coincidences.

Schroden-slash-Shuuichi paced in a panic. “What was I thinking, putting myself in that kind of danger? All to conquer Theolas? What for? Wait, right. To become emperor. Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Shuuichi was winning the war for dominance, and the absurdity of his past behavior appalled him.

“Maybe I can persuade Father to… Nope, that ship has sailed. It’d be like moving a mountain. What am I going to do, tell him ‘Whoops, changed my mind!’? Maybe Sharlemein? Agh, yeah right! Did you forget he wants your heart for dinner? Mother’s entirely detached from politics, so she won’t be any help either. Oh! What about Ciestine?! She’s got a good head on her shoulders. She could throw me a bone—not! She hates me too! After all the grief I gave her, there’s no way she’s coming to my rescue. Gah, what was I thinking snubbing a cute little sister like her?! Was I insane?!”

Past actions notwithstanding, he was certainly ­going some manner of insane now. He continued to pace, ­chattering and murmuring and agonizing—until he froze in place.

“I’m toast. If I go to the academy, I could die. If I try to change things now, they’ll belittle me, and if worse comes to worst, I’ll be branded a do-nothing. No one needs a useless prince. I die again in that scenario.”

Schroden slumped and whimpered as if his demise had come early. Even if he did manage to retract his own proposal, it would squander all of his goodwill with the nobles and possibly make them suspect him of treason. Right now, with the imperial throne on the line, such accusations would not be taken lightly. Death was a very real possibility should someone accuse him of treason. Even Shuuichi could deduce that much.

A politically inept prince was no prince at all, but rather a hindrance. And hindrances would be removed, one way or another.

Schroden only had one choice.

“Time to leave the empire.”

It really wasn’t a choice. Not for a prince. But this was Shuuichi, basically a commoner, speaking now. The state of the empire did not mean half as much to him as his own life did.

He moved fast. Though a commoner in mentality, he retained the skills he’d spent his childhood cultivating. In no time, Schroden made his preparations and leaped from the balcony. Without aid. Using a curtain or some other makeshift rope would have left evidence behind. No, in true parkour fashion Schroden simply leaped. The guards posed no problem either. He knew their patrols front to back and slipped out of the palace with ease. If there had been any doubt that this newborn coward had been the one to suggest toppling a kingdom from the inside out, this display certainly dispelled it.

Schroden left a note before leaving. A single sentence: “Do not look for me.”

An attendant would notice it the next morning and bring it to the emperor in a wild panic, but by then Schroden was long gone. The emperor was in shock. The firstborn prince couldn’t believe it. All of the missing prince’s supporters were beside themselves. The throne had been in his grasp. He was leading the charge against Theolas. But now he was gone.

While the empire floundered, their plans delayed, Schroden found his way south into Theolas, but not by way of the bridge. Mountains bordered the country to the west, and a vast forest stretched from the foothills, through which the river that defined the north-south border ran. There was a stretch of that river where the current was gentle enough that small parties could cross without risk. Through here, Schroden furtively entered the kingdom.

As it happened, this particular route was the very same slavers used to attack Bjork’s village as a child before he became the fourth love interest. For ­better or worse, no one in the imperial court knew of its existence. The ­general leading the attack had thought only of himself and informed none of his commanding officers of his route, while simultaneously ensuring his ­subordinates’ silence. Those men had either died in action or were ­dismissed with their commander and became ­mercenaries, who did not live exceptionally long lives. All of this to say, Schroden was the only one in all the empire to know of this route.

That he knew it at all was implicitly frightening.

Schroden’s initial plan was to pass through Theolas into Hemnates, another westerly kingdom, but such a journey proved too taxing an endeavor even for the prince’s thoroughly trained legs. Before long, his body professed its limit.

“Water,” he wheezed. “Magic… How do I use magic?”

An imperial prince could not go without training in the arcane. Schroden had received the best, and while not at quite the level of an archmage, he commanded a powerful understanding of spellcasting. Unfortunately, presumably to make room for Shuuichi’s large personality, that knowledge was now lost to him.

Schroden lay in the dirt staring at the sky. His journey had left his icy skin darkened and thus obfuscated his identity. He’d walked topless for much of the way expressly to disguise himself, perhaps a tad shortsightedly. Exposing himself to the elements without food or water had drained his stamina.

“Here we go. Another bad end. Sorry, lady. Wish your warning didn’t go to waste.”

He didn’t know whom he was apologizing to. The voice in his head, perhaps. Yet he apologized nonetheless as his consciousness slipped away. Just before it went entirely, his lips moved on their own.

“I’m sorry, Re—”

“Ho, there. You all right, lad?”

A shadow darkened the sky and loomed over him, interrupting his thoughts.

These were the very first words Hubert Rudleberg spoke to Schroden. He hoisted the boy up and offered him water. The boy explained his situation in a roundabout manner, so as to hide his identity.

“Passed out in the middle of running away from home, hm? Say, need a job?”

“What? You’ll hire me?”

“We just so happen to be newly debt-free, and I just so happen to be looking for a young man willing to do a little labor. You’d work as a valet, and while I can’t promise extravagant compensation, the offer stands.”

“I-I’ll take it!”

The man guffawed. “Enthusiastic. I like that. I’m Hubert Rudleberg, acting bailiff on behalf of Count Rudleberg.”

“Sch…Schue! Pleasure to meet you!”

Schroden realized just in time that he couldn’t use his real name anymore. He ought to come up with a new one. In that moment, he felt a sort of inclination. An echo. Something drew him to that single syllable—Shuu.

“The feeling’s mutual, Schue. Let me show you the way. While we’re at it, why don’t you tell me the sort of work you’re interested in. I’ll take into consideration any particular talents you have, if you’ve got them.”

“I…suppose I’d like to work with plants.”

He didn’t know why, but the earth spoke to him.

“Plants, huh? Oh, you’ll want for nothing, in that case! You and I’ll do great things in these fields!”

“I don’t think that’s really what I meant, but thank you!”

“Finally, a fellow dweller of dirt!” the bailiff laughed. “I like you, Schue. When we get back, there are some weeds with our names on ’em. Let’s get moving! We’re burning daylight!”

“Yes, Mil—L-Lord Hubert! Too fast! Too fast!” Schue gave chase as his new, extraordinarily large lord darted away at a pace unbefitting his size, a melty grin on his face.

And so Schroden van Rordpier, second imperial prince, became Schue, valet-in-training to House Rudleberg of the Kingdom of Theolas.

The world lacked both its fifth love interest and ­direction. Where it was headed now, no one could know, not even the black-haired maid who had sabotaged events in the first place.

Chapter 1:
An Unannounced Guest

 

ON THE NIGHT OF AUGUST 15TH, A GIRL stood alone in the eerie darkness of the most feared forest in all the kingdom, the largest blightland in all the world—the Great Vanargand Wood. Who else could it be but Melody?

The moon soaked her in silver light as she stood in a freshly cut clearing (her work, of course). With her eyes shut and hands clasped, she began to chant. “Maid Magic Masterwork—Silvershine Raiment!”

Her eyes shot open, and she saw…nothing.

A sigh escaped her lips. “Still not working.”

Just yesterday, a great and vile wolflike beast—a ­monster, as best she could surmise—had threatened her and her lady. It was this spell that had come to their rescue. With hair of silver, eyes like lapis lazuli, and a brand-new argent uniform, Melody obtained a new power that allowed her to return the dark mana plaguing the land back where it belonged. Back “home.”

Some masterwork.

And yet, Melody could not shake her misgivings. In the moment, she’d felt that this power was indeed her peak, but in hindsight, she wondered what restoring dark mana had to do with maids. Now, she just felt silly, like she was reading back over a broody poem the morning after a particularly emotional night. Not that she’d ever considered herself a poet. In any case, she sought better understanding of this “Raiment,” and so had come to the Wood in the dead of night by way of Ovunque Porta, her all-purpose gateway spell.

Her timing resulted from an emergency meeting the Rudlebergs called not long ago, wherein they explained Melody’s unique magic to her in no uncertain terms. She was learning to be more prudent about using it. The Great Vanargand Wood offered her plenty of privacy to test this supposed masterwork of hers, if only she could cast it.

“Why can’t I use it anymore?” She looked down at her hands. What had been different back in that warped world of darkness? “That’s right. The bead.”

Black spots had infected crops throughout the Rudlebergs’ demesne. Melody had cured each and every one, collecting the particles into a condensed, crystalline bead. She remembered it being black, but when the wolf struck her down, she awoke to find it pure white.

She also remembered a little black pup crying for home. She’d granted his wish, and he vanished in a ripple of light. He was the white bead. Melody did not know how she knew that, but she felt that it was so. When she gripped the bead, it had become the threads of the Silvershine Raiment. After she cast the spell, the bead vanished.

It went back to where it belongs, she surmised. But the source of the dark mana went into Micah’s Uovo del Mago, and I’m still not sure if that was a good or bad thing.

Another mystery. Eggs did not typically swallow ­arcane entities on the verge of death then reseal themselves without a trace of having hatched.

Melody doubted her monster theory more and more. The wolf that attacked them seemed far more cognizant than any blight-tainted beast, and given that the Uovo del Mago was, by nature, heavily sensitive to mana, it would stand to reason that it might react to a being of pure magical energy. Maybe. Potentially. Hypothetically.

I certainly didn’t give it that feature, at the very least.

Neither Micah nor Melody could explain it any better than the wolf made of mana. What was that orb sealing it away? Why was it sealed away? And what was it doing beneath the Rudleberg estate?

The orb had unleashed a kind of haze that quickly coalesced into lupine form. For magic to act that way, to manifest as such a colossal creature, required a ­massive amount of mana. Had that strange, otherworldly space not been born with it, the earthquake that leveled the estate would have been paltry in comparison to the ­destruction that followed. Melody did not care to pursue that particular thought experiment.

Hostilities began almost the instant they encountered the beast. Were it not for Melody subduing it with her Silvershine Raiment, someone surely would have died. One egg-related incident later and all seemed well again, but Melody remained wary. Was that truly the end? They knew too little. Was the wolf alone? Was this a threat she needed to be prepared for at all times?

I really wish I could get the Raiment to work, just in case, but it isn’t cooperating. Maybe it does come down to the bead. Maybe I can’t call upon it without it.

She recalled the words spoken to her long ago. “I can sense power, but not the switch with which to access it.”

This had been the result of her magic screening at the church in her hometown when she was five. Of course, Melody wielded magic aplenty now, but only a few short months ago, this was not the case. Only after her mother’s passing, just before she turned fifteen, did the “switch” finally manifest for her. Its nature remained a mystery, as was much to do with her awakening.

“There must be something missing. Something that prevents me from summoning the Raiment.”

There had to be. Despite the extenuating circumstances, she had used it once before, and with a mysterious, ­immense confidence. She just needed to figure out the final piece of the puzzle.

“If it happened once, it’ll happen again. I’ll keep practicing until it does.”

That was something she was quite good at. Melody wasn’t simply born with gifts. She matched every ounce of natural talent with dedication and work ethic. Setbacks meant nothing to her. She and struggle were old friends.

“Gateway—Ovunque Porta.”

A plain, unassuming door opened before her, revealing a similarly plain room back at the temporary Rudleberg county estate. With a yawn, she passed through.

 

Melody poured her lady’s tea on the beautiful ­afternoon of August 17th while the sun hung high in the sky, so high it begged the question: What in the world were they doing outside at the peak of summer? Practicing their bacon routine? Hardly. A canopy courtesy of Rook and Schue staved off much of the heat. It wasn’t humid, nor was there any pavement or towering skyscrapers to turn the area into one massive microwave, so Theolan summers were really much milder than those in modern Japan.

They’d made the canopy out of debris salvaged from the old, collapsed estate. Indeed, Melody considered it quite humble, she who could have used the same ­materials to construct an entirely separate summer home were she not under strict no-summer-home-building instructions. Subtlety regarding her magic was a new concept.

“Hmm…”

“Something the matter, my lady?”

Melody lingered behind Luciana as her lady twisted her lips and crossed her arms in distress. The reaction was warranted after recent events, from the earthquake to the agricultural blight to the life-or-death standoff with a monstrous wolf—each a catastrophe in its own right and far too much for one girl’s shoulders to bear. But these disasters had passed. The house patriarch, Hughes, would handle the matter of the estate, Melody had cured the crops, and they’d banded together to slay the wolf. What, then, could have plagued her lady’s mind?

Luciana turned to Melody, brow wrinkled. “I can’t shake the feeling that I’m forgetting something important. You don’t remember what it was, do you?”

“Something important? You said the same thing not long ago.” The maid looked up in thought. Was it ­something she’d overlooked in their preparations? Not to her knowledge. Had orders slipped her mind? Impossible. If they were forgetting something, it was not immediately obvious to Melody. “I can’t say that I do, my lady. Perhaps it’s something to do with the academy?”

“Maybe? I don’t know. I just can’t place it.”

Melody crossed her arms, and together they thought. Little came of it.

“Strange,” Luciana mused. “It’s right on the tip of my tongue, and I think it was super important.”

“I’m afraid I can’t recall anything particularly ­pressing, my lady. It has been awfully hectic since we arrived. Perhaps it slipped your mind in the commotion. I’ll probe Micah and Rook at the next opportunity.”

“Please. Oh. Speak of the devil.”

“Miss Melody!”

Melody looked just in time to find Micah trotting their way.

“Micah, mind your manners,” Melody said. “A maid conducts herself with poise indoors and out.”

“It’s urgent, Miss Melody! You have a visitor!”

“A visitor? For me? Here?” Her acquaintances all lived in the capital, and she certainly couldn’t think of any who’d ride all the way to her lord’s domain to see her. Not a one. “Who could it be?”

“It’s him! It’d be quicker just to show you. Come on! Hurry! Chop-chop! Vamoose! He’s waiting for you in the foyer!”

“Good lord, Micah!”

The maid-in-training tugged, and her mentor could only surrender, nearly tripping over her own feet.

Micah giggled. “I can’t believe it. All the way here! Just to see you!”

“Can’t believe what? Can’t you just tell me who it is? Very sorry, my lady! I’ll return shortly!”

Luciana, left alone, sat in a daze for several seconds before shooting to her feet—“W-well, now I have to go see too!”—and giving chase like a sad puppy.

Micah hummed to herself the whole way, entirely in her element. Now this is how an otome game oughta be! Spontaneous romance is just what we were missing! And I get a front-row seat!

Melody, less so. What in the world is going on?!

The trio reached the foyer in a flurry of conflicting emotions, only to find someone else had beaten them there.

“So you’re here to see my sweet and beautiful Melody, huh? And just who do you think you are?”

“I, er—”

“You think the world revolves around that pretty little face of yours, d’ya?!”

The air rumbled.

“Awfully long way from the capital. Must’ve lost your way, little boy, because I know you didn’t come here to solicit my maid for whatever debauchery you have planned. Not while I live! Not while I breathe!”

“What are you two talking about?!” cried the accosted.

Conflict brewed in the foyer.

“Are we, um, interrupting?” Melody said.

“Is that Schue? And Lord Hubert?” Micah asked.

“What are those morons doing?” groaned Luciana.

The trio hid around the corner of an adjoining ­hallway, not out of politeness but instinct. The overbearing ­figures of Schue and Hubert obscured the guest while they apparently attempted to intimidate him into submission.

“They definitely weren’t here when I invited him in,” Micah said.

“Schue will be Schue, but what is Uncle thinking?” Luciana wondered.

“Incredulity can wait, my lady. We have to stop them!” Melody said.

Whatever fueled this hostility, the situation looked ready to boil over at a moment’s notice. The maid stepped forward to intervene.

Luciana halted her with her hand. “No. I’ll handle this.”

“My lady?”

With a gentle smile, Luciana strode into the foyer, fan out and ready by the time she reached the two ­belligerents. From there, all it took was a bit of mana and a snap of the wrist, and the folding fan became the Holy Harisen, primed for a torturous yet harmless smacking.

“Will you two get a grip?!”

Thwack! Paper met skulls. The victims cried out, then dropped to the ground in proper slapstick fashion. The maids looked on in awe.

“That thing packs a punch,” Micah commented. “And it’s totally harmless?”

“I-I did design it that way, b-but show a little restraint, my lady!” Melody pleaded. It was difficult to watch her own creation used for such mass destruction. She dashed from her hiding place.

“I’ll not apologize. It serves them right for being so callously rude to a guest. I do, however, apologize to you,” Luciana said, addressing the mystery visitor. “Forgive my house’s rudeness. I am…”

The air evaporated from her lungs the moment she made eye contact with the man. He was tall, and his sharp, piercing eyes glowed golden while his hair burned red.

“W-well met, Lady Luciana.”

“Lect?” Melody said, appearing behind her lady. “Is that you?”

Sir Lectias Froude was the third love interest in The Silver Saint and the Five Oaths, and perhaps the most lovesick knight in all the world.

“It’s been some time, Melody. Er, not much time, I suppose.”

“A-a few weeks shy of a month. Are you our guest? What brought you all this way? Nothing serious, I—my lady?!”

The harisen slashed between them, cutting short the knight and maid’s reunion. Melody regarded her lady with confusion, but Luciana ignored her inquisitive gaze and simply smiled.

Lect’s blood ran cold.

“It seems I acted a tad hastily,” she said.

“What do you mean by that, my lady?”

“Neither Schue nor my uncle were out of line. Back to manipulate Melody again, are we? Who do you think you are, waltzing into my estate with your wobbly knees and twisted morals, Sir Salacious?!”

“S-salacious?!” blurted Lect. “Where are you people getting that idea?!”

“Silence, beast! Behind me, Melody! I won’t let this wretched creature lay so much as a finger on you! En garde!”

“No, my lady!” Every bit as desperate as if they were again facing off against Garmr, the Dark One, Melody locked her arms around her lady’s and held her in place.

“Let me go! Let me at him! Let me at him, I say!”

“Calm yourself, my lady! Please! And where did you learn to speak that way?!”

“Sh-should I leave?” stammered Lect.

“I was so excited, and now everything’s ruined!” cried Micah.

Ryan the butler appeared right on time to witness the pandemonium at its peak. Indescribable horror widened his eyes. “What in the name of all that is good is everyone doing in front of our guest?!”

Chapter 2:
Lect’s Request and Melody’s Answer

 

“NOW, WOULD SOMEONE CARE TO ELUCIDATE?”

Ryan’s composed voice returned peace to the foyer. Two men and one woman sat shamefully before him: Hubert, Schue, and Luciana. Melody, Micah, and Lect observed from a safe distance.

“Lord Hubert,” said the old butler, “you said you stepped out of the office for a short break, so I went to look for you, and what do I find? Genuinely asking. I haven’t the foggiest clue.”

“I was, er…”

“Schue,” Ryan went on, “did I not send you to polish our lord’s boots? Ah, but silly me, you must have finished if you’re enjoying yourself here in the foyer.”

“I have not, Master Ryan,” the valet whimpered.

“You haven’t. And yet I find you napping.”

“Not on purpose! I was passed out! Lady Luciana did it!”

“H-how dare you pass the blame onto me!” the young lady spat.

“My lady.” Ryan’s eyes narrowed.

Luciana eep’d. “Y-yes?”

A chill swept through the room at the rage simmering under the surface of Ryan’s placid voice.

“I thought the academy might polish up some of your…rougher traits. It pains me, my lady, to see that you’ve returned home more rambunctious than ever.”

“R-rough traits?”

“Melody, convene with Lullia on a curriculum. Our good lady requires a refresher in matters of refinement. A thorough refresher.”

“Ryan!”

“As you wish,” the maid replied.

“Melody!”

Her lady’s pleading eyes did not deter Melody from her path. She has been more violent than usual lately. It must be the harisen I gave her.

Several acts in particular came to mind, primarily committed against Schue every time he made a pass at her. Melody had designed the Holy Harisen to strike without causing physical harm, but that seemed merely to enable Luciana’s baser instincts.

I wouldn’t dream of confiscating a birthday gift from her, which leaves only one option: remind her what it means to be a true lady, and make sure she never forgets!

“You’re in good hands, my lady,” Melody assured her. “By summer’s end, you’ll be back in proper form. Don’t worry. You’ve done it all before.”

“Please, no!” Luciana sobbed. “Anything but that! Please!”

It all came rushing back. The nightmares. Cruel flashes of her very first lessons in the capital. Melody was not gentle with herself and thus was not gentle with others. This Luciana knew firsthand, and to see Melody smiling to herself settled a deep, familiar fear in her gut. She wailed, but no one would listen. The others did not understand the horror of her sentence.

His lecture complete, Ryan turned his attention to Lect. “I apologize for the trouble our house has caused you, good sir.”

“I-it’s all right, really,” the knight said. “The blame’s partly mine for arriving unannounced.”

“See, Ryan?!” The giant Hubert pouted. “The boy troubled us first!”

“Right, yeah!” Schue hollered in agreement. “It’s all the pretty boy’s faul—”

“My lord. Schue. Need you further correction?” the butler said.

The boys jolted, apologized, and immediately fell silent.

Ryan heaved a sigh. “Lord Hubert, what exactly has our guest done to cause you such offense? This is so ­unlike you.”

Hubert waffled over his words. “It, er, well, he…” His eyes darted from the knight to Melody.

Ryan understood at once and sighed again. “Melody, escort Sir Froude to the parlor, would you?”

“Now, Master Ryan?” she asked.

“Yes. Regardless of his intentions, a guest is a guest, and we must receive him as such. You agree it’s only proper etiquette, yes, my lord?”

“W-well,” Hubert said.

“Yes, my lord?”

Under threat of Ryan’s sharp gaze, Hubert’s spirit withered. “Show him to the parlor.”

Ryan turned back to Lect and bowed. “House Rudleberg welcomes you, Sir Lectias Froude. I hope our meager hospitality is to your satisfaction.”

“Um, thanks,” the knight muttered.

 

“Tea?”

“Oh, thank you.”

Melody and Lect sat facing one another in the parlor, but they were not alone.

“So, what business do you have with Melody?” Luciana had planted herself squarely next to her maid and refused to budge.

“You’ll be joining us?” Lect asked tentatively.

“Is that improper too? If you ask me, what’s improper is an unmarried man and woman meeting in private, no matter their status. Am I wrong?”

“Well, no.”

“Your concern is much appreciated, my lady,” said Melody.

“I’ll always be there for you,” Luciana assured. “As a lady should. See? I know how to be a lady. Really, why waste time with all those lessons? Let’s be rid of those.”

“I’m not sure I see how that’s related.”

“O-oh.”

“You’ll do great, my lady. Don’t worry!”

“I-I’ll knock them all out in no time. Just you wait and see!”

“I know you will.”

The lady and her maid smiled at each other. A kind of love was in the air, just not the kind Lect had in mind.

“May I speak yet?” the knight requested.

That brought Melody back to reality. “Oh, of course. You came to see me. For what exactly?”

“I, er, wanted to…”

“To?” the girls echoed.

Silence.

More silence.

And yet more silence.

Five minutes of pure, uninterrupted silence.

“Get on with it!” Luciana snapped. Her patience was to be applauded, really, given her nature.

“I-I apologize! Right, well, um…”

“Is it bad news?” Melody asked.

“No. No, nothing like that.” Lect took a deep breath to steel himself. As he exhaled, the hesitation left his eyes. “Melody, would you…go to the Summer Ball with me?”

She and her lady blinked in bemusement, the weight of realization crashing down on them. Lect couldn’t blame them for their shock. It was an audacious ask after he’d lured Melody out to the Spring Ball without her consent. He’d promised that would be the last such occasion, and now here he was, having traveled across the realm to beseech her yet again. Lect thought he understood very well why they would react the way they did. Very well indeed.

“We forgot!” the girls blurted.

Lect thought wrong.

They “forgot”? Forgot what? he wondered. I’d braced myself for a tongue-lashing from Lady Luciana. Not this.

“Oh, good lord, what have I done?!” the lady lamented. “How could something like that slip my mind?!”

“I share the blame, my lady. It slipped mine as well,” Melody said. “Let’s be thankful we remembered before returning to the capital.”

“B-but what do I even do about it?! I still don’t know!”

“Don’t panic, my lady! You’ve still time to consider!”

“R-right. Yeah. There’s still time.” Luciana breathed slowly and deliberately, collecting herself. When she’d settled the pieces in her mind, the glare returned. “So. What’s this about the Summer Ball?”

“I-I’m sorry?” Lect stuttered.

“Where did this come from?” Melody asked. “I thought you said we were done after the Spring Ball.”

“Yes, well, His Lordship, Count Leginbarth, has ordered me to attend again. With a partner.”

“And that’s to be Melody,” Luciana said. “Again.”

The knight nodded. “As reluctant as I am to admit it, she’s the only one I can ask.”

“But wait, are partners necessary at the Summer Ball?” Melody asked.

“No,” Luciana said. “Only the Spring Ball strictly requires partners, as it’s many noblemen and women’s formal introductions into high society.”

“I thought so. In that case, I presume I have the option of refusing, don’t I?” Melody wore a concerned, confused expression.

Lect smiled, somehow communicating both reassurance and weariness. “Of course, if that’s your decision. I’m sure my lord will have words with me, but that’s the only danger I’ll have to brave.”

That and the women, if I attend alone, he added silently. But that burden isn’t Melody’s.

He went on, “May I ask what gives you pause? Is it being among high society as a commoner?”

“Partly, yes,” Melody replied. “My lady ought to shine at a ball, and it’s my job to ensure she does so brilliantly. I don’t want to divide my attention.”

“You mentioned something about still having time,” Lect said. “Did you mean until the ball? Lady Luciana, is it troubling you?”

The lady squeaked pitifully, red filling her cheeks like molten metal filled a mold in a forge. Steam seemed about to follow.

“My lady!”

“I-is she okay?”

“It’s complicated, you see…”

Melody told Lect about the proposal from Maxwell, the invitation to attend the Summer Ball as his partner.

Lect considered. “Lord Reclentos said that?”

“He delivered a formal missive personally just before we departed the capital,” Melody said. “My lady still hasn’t wrapped her head around it.”

“You departed two weeks ago. She still hasn’t reached a decision?”

“We’ve been…indisposed.”

“Right. I imagine so.”

Lect recalled the pile of rubble he’d glimpsed outside the estate. He hadn’t asked but did not need to in order to discern that they’d met with trouble here in the north. Luciana’s lapse in memory appeared to him as a matter of course.

“So how do you intend to respond?” he asked.

“What do you think I’m losing my head over, genius?!” Luciana shot back.

“My lady,” Melody said, “is there a particular reason you can’t accept?”

“A reason?” Luciana sat stunned. She hadn’t thought of it like that. “I…suppose there isn’t one.”

“Then what’s there to fuss over?” Lect said. “You’re by no means obligated to accept like you may have been during the Spring Ball, so what is there to lose by ­indulging him?”

“I just…”

Luciana was confused all over again. Why was she making such a big deal out of this?

They’re right. There’s nothing holding me back, she thought. But there’s nothing pushing me to accept either. Other than avoiding the awkward situation of having no one to dance with and being able to say I went to the Summer Ball with the lord chancellor’s son, I suppose. So why am I fussing?

Maxwell’s voice echoed in her mind. “Would you believe me if I told you that I would simply like to dance with you again?”

Luciana shrieked.

“My lady!”

Luciana buried her face against the couch. Maxwell’s smile taunted her, his choice of words tormenting her memories. Lect could only look on blankly.

“My lady, what’s wrong?!” Melody cried again.

“I can’t do it! I don’t have a reason! I just can’t!”

“You can’t? And for no reason? Does attending with Max—with Lord Maxwell offend you?”

Luciana shook her head as best she could with it pressed into a cushion. The crimson in her ears betrayed her expression.

He doesn’t offend her, but still she refuses? Why? Melody could not comprehend her lady. Matters of love, to her, went only as far as her skirt hovered above the ground. A shame she had not inherited her father’s intuition.

But Lect was a man in love and well aware of its debilitating effects. “I think I understand, Lady Luciana. You’re self-conscious.”

“Self-conscious?” Melody said. “About what?”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Luciana blurted.

The knight jerked to the side, and just in time. His reflexes saved him from a most harmless fate.

Thwack! Luciana smacked the sofa with her harisen right where Lect had been.

“My lady! Calm yourself!” Melody said.

“Th-there’s being shy, and then there’s this!” Lect cried.

He dodged again. Luciana’s battle with Garmr had awakened something in her, her dancer-like agility ­manifesting in this embarrassment-fueled rage. Even with all his training, the knight barely dodged out of the way of her strikes.

“That’s enough, my lady!”

“Don’t! Talk! To! Me!” the madwoman cried out between frantic swings. The shame. The indignity. That Lect of all people should read her so perfectly. She might never recover.

Luciana had spent her whole childhood out here in the rural backcountry that comprised her family’s ­demesne, far removed from concepts such as “romance” and “­relationships.” And while what she felt for Maxwell was certainly not love in the strictest sense, the fact remained that he represented many things for her. He had been her first escort. Her first dance partner. He was a man, and he was a special one. Where did those lines cross?

Maxwell’s first invitation had come at Melody’s behest. That time, context insulated the situation and numbed Luciana to the reality of it. This time, however, she could not hide from the truth. Maxwell, that vaguely platonic yet special man, had personally requested her company.

That this pleased Luciana she could not deny. Pride welled up at having impressed him enough at the last ball that he sought her out again. But that clashed with her humility. Was she sullying the young lord’s earnest invitation with petty self-gratification? It all came ­together in a volatile amalgam of shame that was now in the process of erupting.

In short, Luciana was self-conscious.

Another shriek. Another thwack.

“I hope I’m not asking too much for her to come back to her senses sometime soon!” Lect grunted as he dodged.

“My lady, please!”

She’s self-conscious over Max’s invitation? So then why is she acting like this? Melody’s mental gears turned. Because she’s embarrassed. Which would mean she really does want to accept but can’t bring herself to say so for some reason. In which case…

Lect reached his limit. He was quite literally backed into a corner and beginning to lose his footing. He stood wide-open. Even a madwoman could see that.

Luciana raised her harisen high.

“My lady!” Melody shouted. “I’ll accept Lect’s ­invitation, so you accept Max’s, and we’ll go to the ball together!”

The harisen froze a hair from its target. The red in Luciana’s face drained away. Still frozen in striking ­position, she turned her head toward the maid as if on a swivel. “We’ll go…together?”

“That’s right. If shyness is what’s holding you back, well, I’ve the perfect excuse to join you right here. With me at your side, my lady, you’ll have nothing to fear!” She threw her arms out in a dramatic show of confidence. “Your needs will be my number-one priority! I swear it on my maidly honor!”

Tears welled in Luciana’s eyes. The harisen became an innocuous fan as she flew into her maid’s bosom. “Melody!”

With a yipe, the maid toppled backward onto the sofa. “Goodness, my lady! Be more careful!”

“I’m sorry, I just… Thank you, Melody!”

“No thanks necessary. I am at your service, my lady.” Melody gently stroked her sniffling lady’s hair. “Which is to say, Lect, I accept your invitation.”

Lect grunted, his expression a complicated conflict of emotion. “I see.”

He did not know what to think about the fact that Luciana had tipped the scales for his beloved, so he stopped trying.

Luciana shot up from Melody’s chest. “Wait, no! You can’t go with this…this fork-tongued philanderer, Melody! It’s too dangerous!”

“Philanderer?” Melody said. “We shall have to discuss just where you’ve been learning such vocabulary, my lady, but I promise you there’s nothing to worry about. Lect would never hurt me. He’s my friend!”

Lect recoiled, throwing his hand over his heart.

“Yes. You know what? You’re right,” Luciana said. “He is your friend. A loyal friend to the end, our Sir Froude.”

Lect’s grip on his chest tightened.

I nearly forgot. Sir Salacious is as gutless as he is two-faced, Luciana thought. Schue and Uncle are putting me on edge.

Hubert, her own family, had especially inspired her possessive side, the depths of which she’d yet to fully glimpse. The Jealous Witch was alive and well.

“I’ll have to prepare a dress when we return to the capital,” Melody mused.

“That’s right! We will! I can’t wait!” Luciana said.

“‘We’? My lady, you’ll have no time for distractions, I assure you.”

“Paula mentioned having some ideas,” Lect said. “I don’t think you’ll have any problems there, Melody.”

“Oh, did she? That’s exciting.”

“No fair!” Luciana exclaimed. “I want to help!”

And so Cecilia was reborn. But just what sort of chaos would await her this time?

Chapter 3:
Capriccio in the Foyer

 

SOMETIME AFTER LECT’S PROPOSAL, ANOTHER meeting took place in the Rudleberg foyer.

“You said this was for the ball, but what exactly are we doing, Melody?” Luciana asked.

“Dance practice, my lady.” The maid clapped her hands and smiled at a confused Luciana. “You’re out of practice. Not since the Spring Ball have we had a proper lesson, so this is long overdue.”

“What about your work?”

Melody furrowed her brow. She spoke her next words with a gravitas befitting a terrible tragedy. “After a long and arduous debate with myself, I’ve come to the conclusion that preparing you for the Summer Ball is as much a part of my duties as seeing to the household. I’ve taken the necessary measures to ensure you may have my complete focus for the remainder of our stay.”

Only three days remained until they departed for the capital. Upon discussing the matter with Ryan, the butler, and Lullia, the housekeeper, they all decided that now was a good time to begin transferring responsibilities back to the county estate’s retinue.

“Question!” Micah’s hand shot up. “Why are we here too?”

Lect, Rook, and Schue stood beside her, equally confused.

“I’ll be covering some simple movements, and I’d like you all to learn with us,” Melody said. “More pairs will help things feel more realistic.”

“I have to dance?” Micah groaned. “Am I even tall enough?” She glanced around at her potential partners. They all had close to half a meter on her at least.

“Ten centimeters is the optimal height difference between dance partners, but what’s important is having fun. Let’s not mind the details.” Melody offered a reassuring grin.

“That’s right, Micah,” Schue said. “If height was everything, all the short princesses of the world would never get to dance.” He flashed what he surely thought was a winning and not at all goofy smile. “They deserve love too!”

“Right, um, why are you here?” Melody asked. “I never called for you.”

Schue belonged to the county retinue, the retinue who would be on their own once Melody and the others left in just three days. Starting tomorrow, the estate would operate under the assumption that they were already gone, so as to soften the transition. And yet Schue was here. Taking dance lessons.

“Don’t be like that, Melody! I thought we were special.”

“You’re just a manservant, but that’s looking tenuous to me!” Luciana snapped her fan into harisen form and swung with all her might, but there was no thwack. “What?!”

Schue continued after a dexterous dodge. “Tsk tsk, my lady. Did you think I’d never learn?”

“Enough,” someone rumbled.

“Ow!”

“Thank you, Rook,” said Luciana.

Schue rubbed the back of his head. A swift chop had killed his cartoonishly smug attitude quite effectively. “Rook! That hurt!”

“No more games. Melody is waiting to begin,” the valet-in-training mumbled.

“Right! I’m sorry, Melody. Lady Luciana here just keeps interrupting, doesn’t she?”

The maid simply replied, “Um, okay.”

“The audacity!” Luciana said. “Schue’s the problem, Melody! I was only trying to whip—to set him straight!”

“‘Whip’? Were you about to say you were going to whip me?!” Schue exclaimed.

“You’re a degenerate! You! Sir Gutless! Lay this ­villain low!”

“Er, me?” Lect said.

“Right before you is a flirt and scoundrel who is a threat to women the realm over, and you won’t do anything about it? You call yourself a knight?! What if he harms Melody?! Has the thought even crossed your mind?!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, you can keep that in its sheath, Sir Gutless!” Schue said.

“Everyone be quiet!” Melody roared. “For goodness’ sake, it’s a dance lesson! There is no reason for all this hubbub!”

The knight, the lady, and the valet slumped and apologized in unison.

“I can’t even begin to guess where this bad blood between you and Schue comes from, my lady, but—”

“You can’t?”

“My lady.”

“Er, sorry.”

“As I was saying, it makes me very sad to see you levy violence so readily against your servants.”

“No, Melody! Listen! I-I’m sorry, Melody!” Luciana turned frantic at the sight of her downtrodden and disappointed maid. “I’m sorry. I really am. It’s just the way it thwacks, Melody. It’s so satisfying, but clearly I’ve gotten carried away. I promise I’ll be more responsible.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that. Now, Sir Froude, I’ll thank you not to threaten to unsheathe your sword in my lady’s abode.”

“I-I apologize,” Lect stammered. “Could you, um, not call me that?”

“Oh, but it’s only proper, Sir Froude. What you ask of me would be a breach of conduct. You understand.” Melody smiled, but there was no joy in it.

“I’m sorry, Melody,” he said. “I let myself get swept up in the moment and acted against my own code. I swear to you it will not happen again.” The knight shrank in on himself, his voice faltering. “Now if we could…go back to normal.”

Melody sighed. “Never again, Lect.”

“You have my word!” He heaved a sigh heavy with relief.

Melody addressed the sore thumb next. “I didn’t request your presence for this, Schue. I really don’t like the idea of you using me to skip work.”

“I’m not!” he cried. “I got Lord Hubert and Master Ryan’s permission! Honest!”

“Are you telling me the truth?”

“I swear! You need men to dance the men’s part, don’t you?” Schue stood up straight in an elegant pose.

“You can dance? Come to think of it, you came here after running away from home. It wasn’t a noble house, was it?”

“Oh, please! Me? Nobility?” said the royal. He flashed one of his melty grins. “Anyway, it’s going to be you and Lady Luciana at the ball, right? In which case, you’re going to need an extra man to practice with other than Sir Gutless.”

“Who are you calling gutless?” Lect murmured.

“Just the knight who’s either too shy or too chicken to speak his mind.” Another grin, just for Lect.

“He’s got you there,” Luciana chided.

Lect grumbled.

“What is everyone talking about?” Melody asked.

Two more grins. One refined, the other like pudding. Schue and Luciana said, “Oh, nothing.”

Behind them, Lect could only frown and fume.

Melody did not pursue the issue. Ultimately, Schue would stay. Three pairs were unquestionably preferable to two if they sought to recreate a real ball.

“That leaves one issue,” she said.

“What’s the problem?” Luciana asked.

“If everyone’s going to be dancing, we have no one to keep a rhythm.”

“Yeah, I’m definitely not dancing if we don’t even have a beat to dance to,” Micah said.

She had learned a few basics from Melody, and Rook from Schue, but that was hardly enough to improvise with. Normally, Melody would have resolved this problem with magic, but that was unwise thanks to her new awareness of the need for subtlety.

“I believe I can help you there.” Hubert appeared at just the right moment.

“Uncle? Don’t you have administrative work to ­attend to?”

“Oh, don’t mind that, Luciana. I’ve just about ­finished and had a hunch you’d find yourselves in a bit of a bind.”

Thanks to Schue’s request, it hadn’t taken much of the bailiff’s mental faculties to deduce that their numbers would cause issues. It did, however, make for excellent motivation for him to finish his daily tasks.

“My lord, are you certain?” Melody asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be? My niece needs to practice ­dancing, so let there be dancing.”

“Oh, thank you!” Luciana said.

“It’s my pleasure!” the big man guffawed. “And I know my way around a ballroom, so we can rotate partners. Keep things fresh.”

“I didn’t know you could dance, Uncle.”

“Hey, I’ve been in your shoes before. Seen my share of balls during my time in the capital. I’m a little rusty, sure, but nothing I can’t shake off. What do you say, Melody?”

“We’re lucky to have you, Lord Hubert.” Melody beamed.

He blushed. “H-how about we start with Sir Froude and Luciana? I’ll take Melody. Schue, count us in.”

“Milord!” the boy protested. “How could you swoop in and steal the first dance like that?!”

“Now, Uncle, I know you didn’t offer your assistance just to get close to Melody,” Luciana said. “Unless you did, and that’s exactly why you let Schue put off work to join us.” She gripped her uncle’s shoulder, fingers digging deep. He hadn’t even noticed her slide up behind him.

“O-of course not!” he said. “Really, Luciana, I’m not sure baseless accusations are becoming of a lady.”

“Oh? Then there will be no objections to me taking her first dance?”

“Well, that’s not any better!” Schue said. “Lady Luciana’s partner should be Sir Gutless, while I dance with Melody. Lord Hubert, you clap a beat for us. I think we can all agree to that, no?”

“Actually, I’m, er, supposed to be her partner,” Lect attempted.

But the others spoke with a single mind. “Quiet, Sir Gutless.”

“That’s really starting to get old!”

“E-everyone calm down!” Melody said. “Why are we all fighting again?!”

An inscrutable fervor consumed the foyer, as ­mysterious to Melody as it was deaf to her attempts to quash it. Meanwhile, Rook and Micah quietly practiced by themselves, far from the others.

“Not going to join them?” the girl teased.

“No. I’d rather dance with you.”

Micah could read the valet’s expression. She knew the truth of his preference was less to do with her and more to do with the alternatives, but she blushed anyway. Rook could be awfully clumsy with his words. At least his footwork was passable, she thought.

The pandemonium reached a crescendo, and it wouldn’t calm until Ryan stormed in to save the day yet again.

Chapter 4:
If the Schue Fits

 

“LET’S BEGIN. IS EVERYONE READY?”

Despondent and dejected, Hubert began to clap a beat, a simple waltz in triple time. Three pairs stepped to the rhythm: Melody with Lect, Luciana with Schue, and Micah with Rook, as sternly prescribed by Ryan.

Lect and Melody made sense, given they would be each other’s partners on the day of the ball, while Micah and Rook matched well as beginners. That left Luciana and Schue, and though Luciana would have vastly preferred her uncle, Ryan had been very clear in his instructions. An adult had no business bickering with young folk, the butler had said, and so Hubert was relegated to rhythm duty. At least until they rotated partners.

The knight and the maid waltzed in nearly perfect sync. At least four months had passed since their dance at the Spring Ball, but their skill more than made up for the lost time.

I’m still in good form. What about the others? Melody snuck a look at her students.

Micah and Rook, the beginners, caught her eye first. They held steady, matching the rhythm, if clumsily. Not a disaster, though. There was an endearing charm to their stiff movements. Rook created a steady foundation Micah could build on, and together they put on a performance that was not altogether terrible. Given time, they might become quite good.

Seeing as they were only present to fill in the ranks, Melody felt confident giving them a passing grade.

A smile tripped along her lips. They’re doing just fine. Now how about Schue and my…

The smile faltered.

Luciana and Schue were, to put it lightly, completely incompatible. Natural enemies. Schue was a pathological flirt and ceaselessly made passes at Melody, and Luciana berated him for it at every opportunity. She despised the boy far more than he hated her, but that left them constantly at odds. Not a single thwackless day had passed in the Rudleberg estate since its lady’s return.

Melody worried this would reflect in their dancing, but what she saw defied her wildest expectations—they were dancing. Dancing well.

I don’t believe it. My lady, I’ve never seen you display such mastery.

This displeased Luciana greatly. “Cheeky little…!”

“Don’t hold back on my account, my lady. Be as rough as you like!” Schue laughed, unfazed by her threats.

After careful observation, Melody came to a ­realization. My lady’s leading. Schue’s simply adapting to her. And ­perfectly, at that.

It was hardly appropriate for a lady to lead a waltz, but Luciana wouldn’t be caught dead dancing to Schue’s rhythm. Her pride would have spelled doom for the ­entire performance if the valet didn’t skillfully cede control. And if the dance weren’t so bold yet refined, so gallantly beautiful, Melody would have had a few harsh words for her lady.

Instead, she was at a loss. Despite Schue’s claims, she hadn’t anticipated this level of skill. Only Hubert’s steady clapping resounded within the hall, yet Schue and Luciana might as well have been dancing to a full orchestra. One could almost hear the waltz to which they moved.

“He’s good,” Lect commented, taking notice.

“Yes, he is. I’m impressed.”

Even distracted by Schue’s talent, they did not miss a beat or a step.

“What house does he belong to?” Lect murmured. “He must have had extensive training.”

“Lord Hubert tells me they found him collapsed outside. Supposedly he ran away from home, wherever that might be. He always seemed the furthest thing from nobility, given his personality.”

“I see.”

Something to look into when I return to the capital, Lect thought.

The boy could spell trouble for Melody or the Rudlebergs depending on where he really came from. Lect made a mental note to search for persons within the kingdom who matched his description.

When the “song” came to an end, Hubert began his appraisal. “Regrettably, I have no comments for Sir Froude and Melody. You conducted yourselves ­perfectly, and I expect the ball will pose no issue for either of you.”

“Thank you, Lord—hmm? ‘Regrettably’?” Melody said, cocking her head.

Lect frowned, no doubt recalling the line of ­questioning he’d been subjected to upon arrival and ­connecting a few dots.

“Micah and Rook, you two need to refine your ­fundamentals, so there’s little I can add. Continue to practice, and the rest will come.”

“Okay!” Micah said. “Not that I think we’ll be dancing much anyway.”

“A matter of principle, I suppose,” Rook murmured.

“Not at all,” Melody said. “You never know when you’ll find yourself swept into something at a function and in need of experience. That’s what this is for. Best to prepare for any situation.”

“As if that’ll ever happen to us, Miss Melody,” Micah scoffed.

“I used to think so too, and yet I wound up attending the Spring Ball.”

Because you’re the heroine, dang it!

Melody and Micah shared a grimace born from very different places.

“Now then. New pairs, everyone,” Hubert said.

Lect moved to clapping duty, while Schue took his spot with Melody. Luciana partnered with Rook, and Micah with Hubert. That the bailiff had not kicked up a fuss was a testament to his unwavering composure, excluding his “regrettable” slip of the tongue earlier.

“Let’s have fun, Melody!” Schue said.

“Yes, let’s.”

He smiled in his unhandsome way, and Melody ­returned the gesture with a far more striking curve of the lips. Gritting his teeth, Lect counted them in.

It was like a gentle wave swept her away. Before Melody knew it, she was dancing, led by Schue’s masterful ­guidance. Her feet moved on their own. She knew what to do by pure instinct. It was effortless. Without words, Schue told her where to step, and she stepped, and something beautiful came of it. He was simply that good, far better than even Lect. Instantly, Melody ­understood. Not even Luciana could handicap this man.

The wrinkles in Lect’s brow deepened as he clapped. Just who are you, really?

“You’re very good, Schue.” Melody’s mind was on the dance.

“A compliment? From you? You shouldn’t have!”

The valet’s smile grew wider. As his steps lightened, so did Melody’s. Again, it happened naturally, instinctively, without words. Doubtless such a performance would have left many a noblewoman smitten at a real ball. It was almost intimidating, the way this singular routine could have such an impact.

Who is he? Melody found herself wondering.

She met his eyes. He was smiling in his idiosyncratic way and leading her through the dance. There was ­nothing more to the man before her.

Melody managed a glance in Luciana’s direction. Her lady struggled against Rook’s lack of initiative and skill.

“The good lady’s having trouble, huh?” Schue chuckled.

“Indeed she is, but it will make for good practice.”

“True enough.”

To Luciana’s credit, she was not struggling half as much as Rook. Forced into his first real lead role with only a few basic steps to his name, he screwed up his face in consternation. Luciana had to pick up the slack, and she had only ever danced with competent partners like Melody, Maxwell, or Christopher. The only reason her taking the lead with Schue hadn’t ended in disaster was because of his skill, something Rook distinctly lacked.

The result was Luciana’s worst performance yet.

“No, Rook, like this,” she said.

“Like this?”

“No, not there! Your foot goes—”

“Whoa!”

“S-sorry!”

Where there should have been open floor, there were feet, and despite Luciana’s own dancing talent, this partner was beyond her. There would be some bruised toes by the end of this routine.

Melody grinned. It’s a very good thing you’re getting this practice while you still can, my lady.

Being Maxwell’s partner would surely put Luciana in the spotlight, and that would mean many dance requests from men of all skill levels, including amateurs. Luciana had to be able to accommodate them all, lest she make a fool of herself in front of her peers and suffer consequences that warranted no explanation. In any case, Luciana needed practice with men like Rook just as much as she did with men like Schue. From the looks of it, the former was more pressing, so Melody left them to their own devices.

Elsewhere, entirely divorced from any such considerations, Micah savored the sight. “Free entertainment sure is nice, isn’t it?”

“You’re a plucky one, eh, Micah?” Hubert said.

Off to the side, Lect watched, clapping, scowling. Watching. Watching so closely one might have thought he was glaring, but perish the thought.

Oblivious to their completely neutral observer, Schue danced on, and Melody kept her eye on her lady. Luciana and Rook continued to stumble and trip, which Micah had to smirk at.

“A love triangle with the world’s prettiest maid at the head. What’s not to love?”

The young maid hardly paid attention to where she was stepping or how the not-so-sly Hubert was turning. This was too good. Besides, Hubert didn’t mind. The girl amused him.

He redirected his attention to the world’s prettiest maid and bore witness to the thing of beauty she and Schue were creating. And yet, all the while, Melody did not take her eyes off Luciana. There was a gentleness in them, a ­tenderness he had only ever seen in the woman he loved.

There are moments when it’s uncanny, he thought. Sometimes, she’s the spitting image of Selena.

He’d often caught Selena gazing at the child in her belly with the same love that Melody now turned toward her lady. How he had wished and daydreamed that that child had been his.

I hope she and the baby are doing well. Though I suppose the baby’s grown by now. I wish they’d come to visit.

Just as melancholy threatened to take hold, he noticed a pair of eyes on him. “Something on your mind, Micah?”

She smirked. “Should I make that a love square?”

“No. No, that’s all right. Don’t give Luciana any funny ideas, now.” Cold sweat beaded on his back.

Micah smirked wider. At her chest, the Uovo del Mago shook ever so slightly.

And on the lesson went. The next day, the Rudlebergs danced again, and Luciana improved. Rook became a better lead. Then came the day before their departure.

Melody nodded, satisfied with and proud of all they’d accomplished in so short a time.

But Luciana had reached the end of her fuse. “Melody! All you’ve done is dance with Schue, Uncle, and that knight!” she fumed. “When is it my turn?!”

“Dances are between men and women, my lady.”

“Ugh! The Spring Ball had a same-sex dance! Why can’t the Summer Ball have one too?”

“What can you do?” Schue said flippantly. “Don’t worry, my lady, I’ll dance with you!”

“I’d rather dance with a pile of pudding. It would be half as slimy.”

“I’m not slimy!”

Luciana hated how good he was. She hated how easy it was to dance with him. But more than anything, she hated him.

Chapter 5:
An Oblong Round Trip

 

AT LAST, ON AUGUST 20TH, LUCIANA AND her retinue prepared to make the journey back to the capital. Everyone had gathered to see her off—Hubert, Ryan, and all the county retinue.

“Oh, I can’t believe I’ll never see Melody again.” Including Schue. Schroden, second imperial prince of Rordpier, shed genuine tears his previous personality would have balked at. Shuuichi certainly was larger than life.

He trumpeted his nose into a handkerchief. Shuuichi perhaps belonged in a comic strip.

“Well, er, you will,” Melody said. “Whenever my lady comes to visit.”

“And that’s, what, next year at the earliest?” he sobbed.

“That’s a sorry case of heartache if I’ve ever seen one. Why not go with them?” Hubert joked. “Take a little sojourn to the royal capital.”

“Oh, no. No, I’m steering well clear of that place, thanks.”

“Quickest recovery I’ve ever seen.”

Schue’s tears dried up instantly. He’d seen enough fragmented glimpses of the future to know he did not have one in Paltescia. He’d run from the empire ­specifically to avoid that fate. It was a shame he’d have to part ways with Melody, but Schue would always look out for number one.

Ryan, however, did not share his priorities. “Regardless, you’ll be taking a trip there relatively soon.”

“Huh? Wait, why?” Schue asked.

“A precise date has yet to be decided, but given the state of the estate, I’d say it’s fairly likely Lord Hubert will have to visit the capital at some point in the near future. He’ll need an attendant. That’s to be you, Schue.”

“It is?!” Two voices overlapped in shock.

“Lord Hubert, why is this a surprise to you?”

“I hope for your sake you weren’t planning on ­slipping away without a guard again, Your Lordship.” A vein in Dyrule’s forehead throbbed, much like the vein in Ryan’s.

An earthquake claimed the original Rudleberg estate. Hughes had seen it for himself thanks to Melody’s magic, but those not clued in on her abilities—such as Ryan and Dyrule—still operated under the limitations of common sense. Obviously, Hubert had to notify the head of the house about the disaster. Obviously, that necessitated a trip to the capital. Obviously, a noble had to travel with a proper escort.

Schue disagreed. Going to the capital was the exact opposite of what his common sense told him, and Hubert was closer to a farmer than a noble. So this was all news to him.

“But, Dyrule,” Luciana said, “we need you here in case of a monster attack.”

“My lady, the nearest blightland is across the horizon, beyond the county itself,” Ryan said. “There’s very little risk of a stray monster wandering into Rudleberg territory. A much more realistic concern is something happening to a member of your house, which, with all due respect, is already dangerously small as it is. Rest assured, I have the family’s well-being at heart.”

Hubert and Luciana grunted in a kind of reluctant understanding. They could not argue.

“Personally, I think Master Ryan’s way more qualified to attend to Lord Hubert than me,” Schue said.

“I taught you better than that, boy,” the butler countered. “Who will administer the county if Lord Hubert, Dyrule, and myself are absent? There’s not much time, and clearly you’ve much to learn before then. Expect your lessons to be doubly rigorous from now on.”

The boy whimpered.

“I suppose we’ll be seeing each other again sooner than expected,” Melody giggled.

“Yeah!” Schue blurted. “Wait for me, Melo—”

“I’ll take that as consent,” Ryan said with a sneer.

“Oh, dear.” Schue’s grin flickered.

The preparations complete, Luciana and her retinue boarded the carriage while Lect mounted his steed. He’d ride separately alongside them.

“I’ll be back again around the same time next year,” Luciana said to her uncle. “Try to keep things standing until then.”

“I’d like to keep it that way myself. Though I’ll be ­seeing you whenever that trip Ryan insists on comes around. Until then.”

“We’ll keep the tea warm for you,” Luciana said. “Won’t you, Melody?”

“Rest assured, my lady,” the maid replied, stifling a laugh.

“Goodbye! Until next time!”

Hubert waved, and his retinue bowed. Together, they gave a hearty “Safe travels!”

The carriage rolled away, and the melancholy set in—only to be interrupted by a series of frantic yips and whines.

Don’t forget me, you fools! A small pup darted through Hubert’s legs and toward the carriage, howling bloody murder. You drag me here against my will then have the audacity to leave me behind?!

As Grail hurled himself onto the carriage, its passengers shared a belated, absent-minded “Oops.”

The purified Dark One, the ultimate villain of The Silver Saint and the Five Oaths, would have enjoyed its easygoing life as a pup much more if its captors—its ­owners did not forget it so readily. Lect’s arrival had totally usurped the pup in everyone’s minds. How the ancient evil had fallen from grace.

Those sad puppy-dog eyes came with an extra sting.

 

Grail’s rage subsided about an hour or so post-departure, and he snoozed belly-up in his basket.

As they rolled up to the tree where they’d lunched just before the earthquake, Melody asked Rook to stop the carriage so she could hop down.

Lect eyed her curiously from atop his mount. “Is there a problem?”

“No. I just think it’s time we got home.”

“Is that…not where we’re going?”

“Yes, but as much as I’d like to enjoy a leisurely journey—”

“The Summer Ball won’t wait around for us. We don’t have time for leisure,” Luciana said, descending from the carriage behind Melody. “All the more so now that Melody has her own preparations to see to. Best we abridge the return trip.”

“Then my next question is why did we stop?” Lect pressed.

“Because we’re far enough away. If you would, Melody.”

“Right away, my lady,” the maid replied. “Humble welcomes—Benvenuti Porta.”

A set of double doors adorned with lavish silver ­materialized in the middle of the road.

“Why is this so familiar?” Lect muttered. It came to him after only a moment of stupefaction. Just before the summer recess, Melody had appeared from a similar door in the middle of his estate. She’d led him through it to the academy. And then she’d done it a second time when they took an unconscious Rook into a strange forest.

This was not his first encounter with Melody’s uniquely absurd magic powers, but it was his first time experiencing instant, cross-city travel.

I didn’t have time to process those other times, but that’s some spell, he marveled. Paula didn’t even blink. Honestly, sometimes I think steel would suit her better than me, but that’s beside the point.

“Melody,” he said, “will this take us straight back to the capital?”

“Correct. To the Rudleberg estate, to be precise,” she replied. “I apologize for the abruptness. I’m to keep these spells a secret, and there was no chance to inform you earlier.”

“Oh. I see.”

“It’s as my lady says. Now that I’ll be attending the ball as well, time is of the essence. We need to make the most of it, so by her suggestion, we’re going to take a little shortcut.”

“A necessity I brought on. I apologize.”

“Please, I’m the one who accepted your invitation. I will say, though, it’s a good thing you already know of my magic. We don’t have to go to the trouble of pulling the wool over your eyes.”

“R-right.” As Lect absorbed the knowledge that he was one of the few people to know her secret, more joy bubbled up inside him than the lovelorn knight dared admit.

The Benvenuti Porta doors threw themselves open. Leaving Rook to look after the horses and carriage, Luciana led everyone else into the Rudleberg capital estate.

The foyer was empty, soundless, until Serena’s approach interrupted the silence. “Welcome home, my lady.”

“Glad to see you again, Serena.”

“And you as well, Gentlesister.”

“Home sweet home,” Melody said. “Inform His Lordship and Her Ladyship of our return, if you would, and see that you include Sir Lectias Froude. He’s our guest.”

“Yes, Gentlesister. Welcome, Sir Froude. I am Serena, one of House Rudleberg’s humble maids.” She offered a most perfect curtsy.

But that was not the reason for Lect’s surprise. “Selena…?”

“I’m sorry?” The comely maid’s head tilted to one side. “Begging your pardon, Sir Knight. Serena is my name.”

Lect’s heart hammered in his chest.

“Come to think of it, we never got the chance to introduce you,” Melody said. “As she says, this is Serena. A magical doll I’ve fashioned into a maid.”

The aforementioned missed chance came during Rook’s sudden growth spurt in the Wood. Pleasantries had fallen to the wayside in favor of more pressing, and more naked, concerns. Rook still had no recollection of the chaos he had caused.

“A…doll, you said?” Lect muttered.

“It’s a lot to take in, I know,” Luciana said.

Micah nodded. “Easier than ‘magical maid automaton,’ at least.”

But Lect’s shock was twofold.

This Serena, he thought. She looks just like Lady Selena in the portrait.

Count Cloud Leginbarth had sent the knight on a quest many months ago to seek out Selena—Melody’s birth mother. Lect had been given a portrait of her, painted when she was just a young woman in her teens, to aid in his search, and this maid very well could have stepped straight out of the image.

Too many things were happening during our first ­meeting for me to notice the resemblance. If His Lordship sees her, heaven save us all. He paused. Or maybe he ­already has. Perhaps that’s why he was so adamant about me bringing Lady Cecilia to the ball. He misses Lady Selena.

Cecilia’s appearance, in every sense, had shaken Lect’s lord to his core. He’d maintained his composure thanks to a mask of iron forged in the flames of politics. That it only slipped when he demanded Lect bring the girl that so reminded him of his beloved to the ball implied something had agitated the still-fresh scar on his heart.

House Rudleberg and House Leginbarth were both countships. Their estates, though separated by a gulf of wealth, were not all too different. Serena might very well have passed by Count Leginbarth’s carriage at some point. Supposing she had, Cloud might have caught a glimpse of her and been left to speculate, though he hadn’t yet interrogated the Rudlebergs over it. He might have wondered if it was a ghost born of lovesickness, some phantom of fatigue.

Theories aside, something tore open his lord’s broken heart and set it bleeding again. That must have been why he was so adamant about seeing Cecilia. Only this stranger carried the salve to soothe the Selena-shaped hole in his chest.

Seems I’m cursed to betray my lord yet again, the knight lamented.

Perhaps he needn’t have kept this secret, but Serena was not Selena. She was a doll of Melody’s creation, and so long as Melody had to hide her magic, so too did she have to hide her miracles.

What am I to do?

Conflict consumed the knight’s heart once more.

Chapter 6:
Party of Four Plus One Knight

 

AFTERWARD, THEY COLLECTED ROOK, AND the carriage and animals went quietly to the stable. Lect now sat in the parlor, meeting with his hosts.

“It’s an honor to have you in our abode, Sir Froude,” Hughes said.

“I only wish it weren’t so sudden, Your Lordship,” Lect said.

Hughes chuckled. “No need for all that fanciful terminology. I’m no sailor.”

“As you wish, Lord Rudleberg.”

Lect sat where Maxwell had on that fateful day nearly a month ago. The Rudlebergs sat across from him in the same fashion.

“Sir Gutless here,” Luciana began, “rudely intruded upon our estate with the sole intent of stealing Melody away for purposes im—”

“If I may,” Lect interrupted. “I’d like to tell the story in my own words. For my sake.”

Hughes noted the snarl forming on his daughter’s lips and needed no further explanation. “I believe that may be for the best.”

And so Lect told the story. In perhaps more neutral terms.

Hughes hrm’d. “Wait. Melody, you were at the Spring Ball?”

“Cecilia was you? Goodness, I didn’t even recognize you!” his wife said.

“How could you not?” Luciana scoffed. “I knew it was her at first blush!”

Her parents did not respond to that.

“In any case,” Hughes said, “you want her to attend the Summer Ball as Cecilia again?”

“That’s right,” Lect said. “I’ve already consulted Melody but thought it best to receive the permission of her employers as well.”

“And you gave your consent?”

“Yes, my lord,” said Melody. “With the intention of seeing to Lady Luciana’s every need.”

“Very well—er, what needs?”

“My lady has decided to accept Lord Reclentos’s ­invitation, on the condition that she isn’t alone. You see, my lord, she’s a tad shy.”

“I-I am not shy!” Luciana protested.

“Yes, of course.” Melody giggled. “Merely a slip of the tongue.”

Time had worked its magic, and Luciana could now speak of the matter without flying into a rage, though her face still flushed red and her cheeks burned.

Right on time, the count and countess snapped from their frozen stupor. “We forgot!” they cried.

“Mother! Father! How could you forget something so important?” Luciana said.

“I-I’ve just been so lost in my work,” Hughes protested. “And what with the estate collapsing, well…”

“Every free moment I have goes to tea parties with Lady Haumea,” Marianna said.

“I can’t believe you two,” Luciana said.

“My lady, you yourself remembered not half a week ago,” Melody reminded her.

“W-we were busy!” Luciana cried. “What about you or Micah? Where are your excuses?”

“I have nothing to do with this!” the little maid blurted.

Lect, for his part, was in a stupor of his own. Generally, it was unthinkable that an entire noble house could simply “forget” an invitation to the Summer Ball from the scion of House Reclentos, a likely contender for the next lord chancellor. The Rudlebergs’ airheadedness was truly legendary.

“At any rate,” said Hughes, “to summarize: Melody is to attend the Summer Ball as Cecilia and requires time to prepare, thus your returning through one of your doors.”

“Yes, my lord,” Melody said. “The original plan was to travel by carriage, arrive on the twenty-fifth, and spend the remaining five days preparing. However, now that I must consider my own arrangements as well, we thought it prudent to minimize wasted time.”

“Entirely understandable. Sir Froude, I’m to understand you will handle the matter of her dress?”

“That’s right, my lord,” Lect replied.

“On that note,” Luciana said. “Father, we need to prepare accommodations for Sir Gu—Sir Froude for the next five days.”

“Why is that?”

“We stepped into the capital through one of Melody’s doors. We didn’t pass through a gate or conduct any of the necessary procedures for entering the city, and in order for the timeline to make sense, we’ll need to wait for time to pass.”

“You mean to say Sir Froude will need to stay out of sight during the time he would have been traveling.”

“Exactly. On the twenty-fifth, we’ll take the carriage and horses outside again, then ‘officially’ return through the proper channels.”

“Yes, smart. That makes sense. I understand. Serena, tidy up a room for Sir Froude.”

“At once, my lord,” the doll replied.

“I apologize for the inconvenience,” Lect said.

“Not at all,” insisted Hughes. “But now that I think about it, won’t us playing host to a knight for the ­better part of a week get in the way of your preparations, Melody?”

“We’ve planned for that,” said Luciana. “Haven’t we, Melody?”

“We have, my lady. I happen to be friends with Sir Froude’s maid, Paula,” she said. “She’s seen my magic as well. If you’ll allow it, my lord, I can bring her here so that she might see to our guest herself.”

“Thorough,” Hughes said. “All right. See to it.”

“Yes, my lord.” Melody bowed most perfectly.

 

“Paula, are you in?” Melody arrived at the Froude estate by way of Ovunque Porta, with Lect’s permission, of course. “Paula?”

“Coming, coming!” A maid with a pair of braids ­appeared and, upon seeing her guest, lit up. “Melody? Long time no see.”

“Hello again, Paula.”

Paula was an old friend, one of Melody’s first, and another maid of all work.

“Already back in the capital? Uh-oh, did you miss my master?”

“No, we met. We’ve just returned, and he’s currently staying with us at the Rudleberg estate.”

“Noted. And the ball?”

“I’ll be attending.”

“He actually did it! I just might shed a tear.”

“My lady is terribly nervous, you see. I’ll be going to help put her mind at ease. I really should thank Lect. His offer couldn’t have come at a more convenient time.”

“I take it back. I’m going to knock his head in.”

Melody wondered at that.

“Anyway, how can I help you?”

“Seeing as we’ve arrived five days ahead of schedule, he’s staying with us until the timeline falls into place. I wanted to ask if you might help with that. I hear you have plans for my dress as well? We could provide anything you need in that regard.”

“Say no more! At a count’s estate, I’m confident I could put together something even better than last time. How did you run five days ahead of schedule, though? Did my master rush you?”

“Oh, no. I used this.” Melody cast Ovunque Porta.

Paula blinked but offered little else in the way of a ­reaction. “This is that door you pulled my master through. You did this with your magic?”

“I can connect it to any location I’ve been to before.”

“I remember you knocking him out with your magic the first time you came to visit, but this is something else.” Being a commoner without much knowledge of the arcane, Paula had little basis for awe. “One moment while I gather my things.”

She vanished to pack clothes and the things she’d need for Melody’s dress and various odds and ends. Before long, she returned clutching two big, bulging bags in each hand.

“That’s an awful lot of stuff,” Melody noted hesitantly.

“Three of these are for your dress. Materials and tools.”

“I, um, hope we’re not planning on making it too involved.”

“Ballrooms are battlefields, Melody. A ballgown, your armor. I will cut no corners here. Are we clear?”

“Y-yes, madam.” Melody saw a bit of herself in that hard smile. This was how she got when it came to maids, so she understood now was the time to smile and nod.

Why in the world does putting me in some silly old dress always get everyone so heated?

Stifling a sigh, she guided her friend through the door and into her family’s estate.

“Oh?” said Luciana, catching them right on time. “Who’s this, Melody?”

“Right, yes. Introductions. Paula, this is my mistress, Lady Luciana of House Rudleberg.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Paula curtsied, her normal brusqueness fastidiously brushed under the metaphorical rug. “My name is Paula, and I serve House Froude as a maid of all work.”

Luciana nodded. She expected nothing less from Melody’s friends. “The pleasure’s all mine. I look forward to seeing how you work. On Melody’s dress. Especially on her dress. I want to see the dress.”

“Of course, my lady. Rest assured, I will devote myself body and soul to the dress. And my master. But mostly the dress. Primarily the dress.”

“You’re a maid of the highest caliber, clearly. Wasted on that sorry excuse for a knight, Sir Gutless.”

“You’re too kind, my lady. My sorry excuse for a master simply cannot comprehend what’s truly important. That being Melody’s dress.”

“You’re both, um, aware that he’s standing right there, yes?” Melody said.

Luciana tittered poshly. Paula giggled innocently. And Lect, having come to greet his maid like a responsible master, stood there blankly.

He sighed. “Just take care of the dress, Paula.”

“Goodness, there’s my sorry excuse for a master now! I hear our esteemed Melody, in her magnanimity, has graciously accepted your invitation to the Summer Ball, all for her lady. Forget not your manners, my ­wobbly-kneed master. We owe Lady Luciana a debt of gratitude. And you need a spine.”

The knight grimaced.

“I quite like this maid,” Luciana said. “But I must admit, I rather like her master squishy and ambulatorily challenged.”

“Oh? No rest for the wicked, eh, Master?”

Luciana tittered poshly. Paula giggled innocently. Just like that, they were fast friends.

This pleased Melody…and confused her. What in the world?

As the first day of Lect’s stay with the Rudlebergs began, Paula set about the arduous task of creating it—Melody’s ballgown.

When asked for comment regarding her other ­responsibilities, Paula reportedly had only one response: “My master? Yeah, I’ll check on him. Later. Maybe.”

Chapter 7:
Rudleberg Week: Part One

 

PREPARATIONS FOR THE SUMMER BALL ­began in earnest that same day, August 20th. Paula spent most of her time arranging Melody’s outfit. On the day itself she would do her makeup as well. At night, Melody would send her to Lect’s estate via Ovunque Porta, and she would leave for home from there. The next morning, she’d do her daily duties before Melody picked her up. This way they could maintain the illusion that Lect had not, in fact, returned from his journey instantaneously.

“First thing’s first: designs!”

Paula regarded her audience. The venue: Luciana’s room. In attendance: Luciana, Melody, Micah, and Serena.

“Her Ladyship’s dress is already accounted for,” Melody said.

“Wait, no fair,” Luciana protested. “When did that happen?”

“Your mother approached me about it some time ago. I had Serena put it together while we were at the academy.”

“I’ve since received her approval,” Serena added.

“Then that just leaves Melody and Lady Luciana,” Paula concluded.

Micah’s hand shot up. “I can’t sew, but I’ve got lots of ideas!”

“Me too!” Luciana chimed in. “I’ve got ideas too!”

“Meaning we’re down two hands as far as needlework goes,” Paula said.

“Paula, Lady Luciana isn’t to be counted in the first place,” Melody reminded her.

“Ah, right. My mistake.” She scratched her cheek. “She blends right in.”

Laughter filled the room as the design meeting began in earnest.

“I’m of a mind that white is Melody’s color,” Luciana said. “She wore it beautifully last time.”

“But, my lady, silver suits her just as well, I think,” Micah countered.

“Silver’s best kept to the embellishments. She’ll have blonde hair, and if we make her too dazzling, she’ll ­become blinding,” Paula said.

“Not to mention how simply angelic Melody looks in pure white,” Luciana cooed. “At the Spring Ball, it was like she descended from heaven itself. There’s not a doubt in my mind—it must be white.”

“Aw, I wish I could have seen that!” Micah whined. “Paula, do you still have her old dress?”

“That I do,” she said. “That’s actually a good idea. Let’s use that as a base and build from there. Here you are, Melody. Now, chop-chop. Get changed.”

“Of course you kept that thing,” Melody said.

She should have known Paula would stuff it away somewhere in her mountain of luggage. How she wished they were discussing her lady’s dress instead. She would have had plenty of opinions on that. But her own? She couldn’t have cared less.

Melody surrendered to her fate, and Paula eagerly took advantage of her new, living dress-up doll. She was all too eager to apply a light layer of makeup and bring Cecilia back to life.

“Oh my gosh, you look amazing, Miss Melody!” Micah said.

Oh my god, oh my god, this is nothing like the game, but it’s perfect! Where’s the screenshot button?!

Such was the nature of the chronic otome gamer.

“Not bad, if I may say so myself,” Paula said. “Granted, I had an excellent canvas. Lady Luciana, they called her ‘the Angel of the Spring Ball,’ yes? And they called you ‘the Fae Princess’?”

“That’s right,” the lady replied. “As much as I wish I didn’t get that name. The attack sort of put it out of everyone’s minds, but before that she was the talk of the ball.”

“I share my lady’s reluctance, for what it’s worth,” Melody mumbled.

“The angel and the fairy,” Micah sighed. “That’s so dreamy!”

No one heard Melody. No one was listening.

“We’ve got to maintain that image. Let’s use it as the theme,” Paula said. “Are we in agreement?”

“The only convincing I need is standing right there,” Micah said. “I’m in.”

“No objections,” Luciana concurred. “Melody and looking heavenly go together like tea and cookies, as far as I’m concerned!”

Paula continued, “It’s decided then. Serena, any input? You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“Who, me?” the doll said.

“Yeah, Miss Serena hasn’t said a word,” answered Micah.

“Anything to add?” Melody asked.

Serena thought, glancing between her creator and her lady, and then appeared startled at what she’d just considered. “Now, to be certain, my lady, you and Gentlesister will attend together, yes? As a pair?”

“That’s the intention,” Luciana said. “Once Lord Maxwell’s approved of it, I suppose.”

They did not plan to reveal to Maxwell that Melody was, in fact, Cecilia, but rather to present the pretense that she and Luciana had gotten to know each other after the last ball. Though he was a friend, Maxwell was also a nobleman of high standing, and walls had eyes and ears. Better safe than sorry, they thought.

“Then what do you say to a matching ensemble?”

Serena might as well have set off a bomb.

“I hear you both made quite the stir with your dance at the Spring Ball,” Serena went on. “Imagine the reaction if you attended together in complementary outfits.” The doll cleared her throat before concluding with a dismissive remark about her lack of qualifications.

“Matching outfits,” Luciana murmured. “With Melody.”

“Matching outfits,” muttered Melody. “With my lady.”

They stared at one another.

“Oh, that’s a lovely idea!” said Micah.

“If we chase that angle, we’ll want to play down the mistress-maid aesthetic,” Paula said. “Emphasize a sisterly air. Matching silhouettes, but nuanced details. Fae-like for one, angelic for the other… Yes, I like it! If there are no objections, I vote for Serena’s idea.” She waited for opposing opinions. None presented themselves. “Then it’s settled! Matching dresses it is.”

Applause filled the room. Serena tried to hide the faint blush coloring her cheeks.

“In that case, let’s hammer out some of the details,” Paula continued. “Seeing as there are only three of us who can sew, let’s be ready to stitch by tomorrow!”

Motivated cheers rose from the girls.

The next day arrived with another round of cheers.

“And with that, we have our final designs!” Paula ­announced to grand applause. “Let’s not waste time. We’ll need to cut patterns, for starters, but we can’t appropriate Lady Luciana’s chambers for that. Is there a sewing room, by any chance?”

“On the ground floor,” Melody said. “Let’s begin the needlework there.”

“Don’t you have a spell that can put it all together lickety-split?” Micah asked. “Why don’t we use that?”

“I’ve come to the realization that I rely far too much on magic for my work. I’m making a point to restrict myself from now on, so we’ll make these dresses by hand. A little elbow grease now and then does a maid good.”

“No clones either?”

“No clones. Paula, Serena, shall we?”

“Right, Gentlesister,” Serena said.

“My needle hand’s ready to go!” Paula said.

Micah’s mouth hung open. “I, uh, still can’t sew, but I’ll help with little stuff!”

“Me too!” Luciana said. “I’ll help with little stuff too!”

“Oh? Someone’s got the spirit,” said Paula. “Are you sure? We’ll work you hard, maid or lady.”

“That’s what I’m counting on! I need to see your genius up close!”

“My lady,” Melody cut in. “Personally, I would rather you study and make ready for the next semest—”

“Whatever needs doing, I’m your woman!”

Melody simply stared.

Paula laughed. “Understood. As for how we’ll divide the work, Micah, Lady Luciana, and myself will do Melody’s dress. Melody, you and Serena can handle Lady Luciana’s.”

“Will you manage? You’ll be the only one sewing on your end,” Melody said.

“It’s either you or me. I don’t mind. Plus, making someone else’s dress is way more fun than making your own.” Paula winked at Melody and Luciana.

“Exactly!” Luciana said. “I’d much rather have a hand in Melody’s!”

“And I in my lady’s,” Melody agreed. “Thank you, Paula. Serena, we have a job to do and only the two of us to see it done, but we can’t afford any mistakes. Only the best for our lady.”

“Only the best.” Serena beamed.

They began working in tandem, Luciana and Micah hauling out tools and materials, folding fabric, and managing the excess as Paula sheared. True to her word, she kept them surprisingly busy.

There’s more to dressmaking than cutting fabric and sewing it together, Melody thought. But Paula knows that. She’s a maid of all work. I ought to focus on our own task.

“Serena,” she said, “let’s start by getting everything ready to sew. It’ll be more efficient if we both work at the same time.”

“Yes, Gentlesister.”

The maids went about all that needed going about when fashioning a dress, from cutting to stitching to embroidery to piecing together all the essential bobbles and embellishments. It wasn’t easy work, and while they engaged in light conversation in the early stages, their focus deepened as the tasks grew in complexity. The snip of scissors and rustling of fabric replaced all other forms of chatter. It was silent, but not awkward by any means.

When they had exhausted their usefulness, Luciana and Micah busied themselves watching Paula work, ­mimicking the movements of her hands as if they might learn to repeat them. Melody caught them at it a few times, a brief diversion before returning to her ­repetitive task.

During one such reprieve, she noticed something: a gentle, comforting tone wafting through the room, a voice humming a song. It was Serena. Did she even know she was doing it? Likely not. Her needle and thread bobbed in and out of the fabric in rhythm, and soon everyone was listening. Rather than ­distracting anyone, the song became the gentle fire that fueled the machine.

This is the lullaby my mother used to sing to me every night, Melody recalled. Serena not only looked the part of her mother, but she sounded like her too. Transient though her life was, the love inside her, fueled by Melody’s magic, was eternal, speaking to the quiet yearning of a still-grieving child who had lost too much. This, perhaps, was the source of the doll’s resemblance to her twin, Selena. Serena can never really take her place, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t appreciate these moments that remind me of her.

“Finished here,” Serena said.

“Thank you, Mom.”

“Mom?” the entire room echoed.

Melody instantly blazed red. Her face went so hot it could have melted ice. “I-I didn’t mean…! It was an accident! A slip of the tongue!”

“It’s okay, Miss Melody,” Micah said. “It happens to the best of us. We understand.”

Her magnanimous smile soothed Melody’s heart like salt might soothe a wound.

“No, you don’t!” Melody cried.

There was nothing she could do, nothing she could say, that would deflect the tender gazes of her coworkers. The damage was done. But it also made for a great place to stop and take a break, which was exactly what they did. Thankfully, this coincided with a change of topic.

“Your voice is so pretty,” Luciana told Serena. “Micah and I didn’t have much to do past a certain point, and it was so nice to just sit and listen.”

“You’ve got such a good voice, Miss Serena!” Micah said.

“Oh, you’re flattering me.” Serena giggled shyly. “I was just so happy, I couldn’t help myself.”

“Happy?” Luciana cocked her head. “About what?”

Serena’s gaze turned distant. “I was created to be where Gentlesister cannot be, do what she cannot do. It’s a rare thing for us to work together, to collaborate like this. It made me happy, and I felt a song come to me, so, well, I sang.”

Luciana and Micah sighed, their hearts touched in the proper, sentimental way. Perhaps they had taken for granted Melody’s constant presence. Serena enjoyed no such luxury. While Melody went off to Royal Academy, Serena remained to tend to the estate. While her creator visited with her lady’s family in the north, the doll stayed behind.

Melody created Serena to go where she could not, do what she could not. Had anyone given her the gratitude she deserved?

“Serena,” Luciana said quietly.

“Miss Serena, I—”

“I’m sho sowwy!” Out of nowhere, Melody hurled herself forward.

“G-Gentlesister?!”

A blubbering mess of a maid restrained Serena.

“I’m so, so sorry! I had no idea I was making you that lonely! Work is work, but I never should have taken you for granted! I’m sorry, Serena!”

Paula, Micah, and Luciana watched whatever was happening in shocked, not-so-reverential silence.

“You needn’t berate yourself, Gentlesister.”

“But Serena…”

The tears clinging to Melody’s eyes and the sniffles in her nose tickled something inside Serena, something precious and important. She was loved. And so she felt love in turn for this sad girl, this creator of hers—her flesh and blood.

Serena drew her close and gently cradled her head, stroking her hair as one might a child’s. In a voice so quiet only Melody could hear, she whispered, “Don’t cry. I’m here. I’m here, and I love you, Celesty.”

Melody wailed. “Mom!”

Again?! the others thought in perfect unison.

Serena had always known that Melody’s true name was Celesty. It was not such a strange thing that she should call her by it. Entirely within the realm of possibility. And not at all strange.

Work did not resume for some time after that.

Chapter 8:
Rudleberg Week: Part Two

 

ROOK GRIPPED HIS RAPIER, HOLDING IT steady ­between himself and his opponent. It was August 23rd, and while the girls were busy with dresses, the valet and the knight occupied themselves with sparring in the garden.

Lect and his longsword had the advantage both in reach and power. The victor of this bout was apparent. Should have been apparent. Yet the fight dragged on. Rook was evening the odds with magic, reinforcing his thin, flimsy weapon. He, as well as many inhabitants of this world, utilized such techniques to enhance their physical abilities, but he could apply the same ­technique to ­inanimate objects as well. With an ­infusion of mana, one could amplify a weapon’s cutting—or ­piercing—power, or render the monsters that roamed the land vulnerable. Magic was the blighted beasts’ only weakness.

As the match wore on, neither side willing to give an inch, an adorable little pup observed from the sidelines: Grail, the Dark One. The pup made himself ­comfortable as he nibbled on a strip of jerky he’d pilfered from the kitchen. Hmph. I would have felled the both of them handily in my prime. Quite comfortable indeed. Red hair has the upper hand in skill. What the young one lacks in physical strength, he makes up for with magic, but his technique is sloppy. Self-taught, no doubt. Still, he’s ­holding his own.

The Dark One munched. Its keen sense for ­combat hadn’t dulled despite the time it’d spent in this ­ignominious form. True to its prediction, the match went on with no clear victor. Eventually, it ended in a draw, though the duelists would have preferred the term “intermission.”

I’m hardly impressed. I do hope they don’t continue to disapp— Grail stopped chewing and stood. It sniffed, ­little nose twitching. Do my nostrils deceive? No. Impossible. I know this smell. The Dark One had caught the scent of kin. There’s more. More things. Things like me, yet so very different.

The pup sniffed and sniffed, tracking the stench of dark mana, but it could not find the source, as if the wind had carried it away.

It’s a hunt, then. Very well. Scurry off to your hiding place and tremble, for it’s the last thing you’ll do before you enter my maw! The Dark One widened said maw and let loose a mighty series of yips.

“Grail! There you are!”

The pup yipped less mightily as it timidly turned around. There she stood, the Dark One’s sworn enemy—Melody, the Saint. And she was not happy.

“Stealing from the kitchen again? No! Bad!”

Yipe. Run for it!

“Not so fast!” Melody snatched Grail up by the scruff of his neck, without using so much as a single spell. “Bad boy, Grail!”

I no longer fear you! When that beast fell, my cowardice fell with it!

“I guess you don’t want any dinner if you’d rather snack on jerky.”

Does your cruelty know no bounds?! Grail loosed a howl of true despair. The Dark One had chosen its path, that of the ever-starved mutt.

“Don’t be too hard on the poor thing,” Lect said.

“He could use more meat on his bones,” muttered Rook.

They sipped on water courtesy of Melody. She shook her head. “You two are going to spoil him.”

Swordsmen! the Dark One whined. I have misjudged you!

And so, the poor pup’s dinner was saved.

In return for their service, I shall inform them the ­moment I sense that mana again. They will have the honor of witnessing the assimilation firsthand!

Was Grail a good boy? A matter of debate. Was Grail a good Dark One? A matter of perspective.

 

Day four of the dressmaking found the gowns still very much works in progress. As miraculous as Melody’s masterworks were, not even she could turn a bolt into a ballgown overnight.

Micah couldn’t offer much help where needlework was concerned, so while Melody and the others slaved over fabric, she endeavored to make herself useful in other ways. Which admittedly still didn’t make her very useful. She, too, was very much still a work in progress learning her maidly duties, though that did not dampen her enthusiasm.

“Tea for you, my lady.”

“Thank you, Micah.”

For her part, Luciana plunged headfirst into review for the coming semester at the academy. She’d run out of things to help with, and with it excuses to put off the inevitable. Melody could be very convincing when she wanted to be.

Luciana grimaced. “Bitter.”

“Oh gosh, I’m sorry!”

It was all too easy to use a smidge too many tea leaves, as Micah had evidently done.

“Forty-two points, as Melody might say. That’s what this tastes like. Forty-two.”

“Hey, that’s passing!”

“It’s ‘technically not failing’ is what it is, Micah.”

“Sorry, my lady! I’ll keep practicing, my lady!”

“Please do.” With an amused-yet-weary smile, Luciana returned to her studies.

Micah exited and made for the kitchen to put away the tea set. On the way, she caught sight of Rook and Lect sparring in the garden.

At it again? They bored or something? Micah thought for a moment. Yeah, probably.

Lect did not live here and so had nothing better to do with himself, it seemed. The expectations for how men presented themselves at balls were much lower, so they had little to arrange beforehand. Even if Lect wanted to occupy himself with the ball for some reason, involving himself in his partner’s preparations would be improper.

So he sparred.

Actually, maybe I don’t mind getting to watch two hot guys hit each other. I wonder if Miss Melody would make me a smartphone. That would solve all of her screenshotting needs. And likely get her fired. The Summer Ball has so many good CGs. I’d be snapping photos the entire time if I actually went.

Memories of her old favorite game sprang to mind. Maxwell escorting the heroine into the ball by the hand. Schroden cutting in and asking for a dance. If the player got their affection levels high enough, even Christopher and Lectias could make an appearance.

Then there was the ride home. A sudden monster ­attack. The assault on the heroine’s carriage. Bjork Quichel sneering from afar.

“Wait.” Micah stopped in the middle of the ­corridor. “Isn’t there a combat encounter at the Summer Ball?” A monster attack. A carriage. She remembered it now. Somehow, by some means, beasts rampaged in the Upper District. “There’s a Bjork CG ­accompanying it, so he’s probably the one who sets it up, but it’s never fully explained in the game. Oh no. Oh no! Do I warn ­someone? Who do I warn? What do I say? That Bjork sends monsters after… Wait, Bjork? But Bjork is Rook now.”

Indeed, the man called Bjork Quichel was no more, grown into a strapping young man named Rook, who now worked as a valet-in-training.

“So maybe the ambush won’t happen? Come to think of it, without Bjork, what’s the Dark One even doing?” Stealing jerky and generally being a layabout, but that was neither here nor there. “Maybe I’m worrying too much. Even if there was a monster attack, we’ve got the heroine—er, Miss Melody on our side, and she can’t lose.”

She sighed in relief. “Wait, I was supposed to bring tea to everyone in the sewing room!”

Micah flew to the kitchen.

The world had no Bjork, and it had no Dark One. What, then, would it deign to do next?

Chapter 9:
Maxwell’s Mirth

 

FIVE DAYS PASSED IN A FLASH. ON AUGUST 25th, it was time for Luciana and her entourage to officially “arrive” at the capital.

“I’ll see you shortly, my lady.”

“Be safe.”

Melody smiled at Luciana, then looked to the sky. “Hide—Trasparenza. Flight—Ali da Angelo.”

The maid vanished, and then a sudden updraft whooshed by as she took to the air.

Melody went to scout a location to connect her gateway spell to, for the purposes of their ostensible homecoming. They needed a quiet, deserted road to come in on. Were someone to see one of her doors appear out of thin air, her secret would be out, and her future as good as lost. They couldn’t have any witnesses surprise them on the other side.

Of course, this was easier said than done this close to the royal capital. Travelers roamed the highways everywhere Melody could see. “Hm. We may have to go a ways out.”

She had to travel two hours by carriage to find somewhere suitable. “This will do. Better hurry. Humble welcomes—Benvenuti Porta.”

A lavish pair of silver double doors appeared and opened on their own. A carriage rolled through them, Rook in the box seat.

“Continue straight down this road,” Melody told him.

“Will do.” A simple matter, thanks to her positioning of the gateway. The valet cracked the reins.

“Melody!” Luciana waved from the window.

The maid waved back. As the last of the carriage exited the door, Lect and his steed followed it.

“Thank you, Melody,” he said.

She giggled. “It was nothing, really, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

With that, Melody surveyed their surroundings one more time before dispelling the door and trotting after the carriage.

Two hours or so later, they reached the capital.

“Paltescia!” Luciana cried, one hand to her chest, the other skyward. “I have returned!”

“Where do you come up with all of these performances, my lady?” said Melody.

I wonder what play she got that from.

Luciana stuck her tongue out cutely. “Just came to me.”

You can’t spell “ignoble” without “noble.” As infamous as the Rudlebergs were, they were still aristocracy, and together with the knight, they breezed past the long line of commoners awaiting entry and gained access to the city proper.

“It’s so nice to finally go out in public again.” Luciana breathed deep. “The world is my oyster!”

“Is there somewhere in particular you keep finding these phrases, my lady?”

“My brain!”

I sincerely doubt you can trace the etymological origins of that idiom back to your brain, my lady.

This was not the only anachronism Melody had ­noticed since being reborn in this world. She chalked it up to a psychological trick, a sort of cross-reality translation that made certain concepts comprehensible to her.

“Thank you again for your hospitality,” Lect said, similarly bemused. “I’ll take my leave now.”

“Do you have somewhere to be?” Melody asked.

“I’m off to inform my lord I’ll be escorting you—Cecilia, rather—to the Summer Ball.”

“What about Paula? She’s still hard at work on the dress.”

“She can stay, if it’s no bother. Something tells me she wouldn’t listen to me even if I begged.”

He and the maid shared a knowing grin. They both understood Paula well enough to know he was right. They would not succeed in prying the maid from her work when fashion was at stake.

“I’ll insist she pace herself,” Melody said. “If only for her family’s sake.”

“Please do. I’m off.”

“Safe trip.” Melody smiled and waved goodbye.

As Lect trotted away, a thought occurred to him. He liked the sound of those words when they came from Melody. “Safe trip.” They rang with familiarity and care and a number of markedly more outlandish implications that the knight was nonetheless eager to explore on his way back to his lord’s estate.

Luciana practically jumped into the air. “Oh! I nearly forgot!”

“Yes, my lady?”

“I have to give Lord Maxwell my reply to his invitation!”

“Ah, that slipped my mind too. Shall we return to the estate and pen a letter? I can deliver it myself.”

“Yeah! Thanks, Melody! To the manor, Rook! With haste!”

“Right away,” the valet said.

This summer’s ball was shaping up to be a hectic one.

 

That same day, sometime before the return of House Rudleberg, Anna-Marie and Maxwell convened in Christopher’s room with the crown prince himself.

“Feminine articles? For House Leginbarth, you say?” Maxwell said.

“So the Guild says,” Anna-Marie corrected. “They tell us there’s been a sudden surge in sales of products meant for women.”

The Commerce Guild benefited from generous ­subsidies, courtesy of the prince, and in return the prince enjoyed the occasional tidbit of information. The most recent discovery particularly interested him.

“I understand Lord Leginbarth’s sister is widowed,” Maxwell pointed out. “You’re certain these things aren’t meant for her?”

“These are items meant for ladies our age. The orders included things like underwear, nightgowns, and the like.”

“Are such garments not typically custom-made?”

“Which leads us to the next conclusion: Someone ­purchased these items in a hurry. They needed them ­suddenly and immediately.”

“You mean to say she’s appeared, this all-important ‘Saint’ of yours?”

As far as Maxwell knew, Christopher and Anna-Marie had dreamed of portentous things in their youth, seen visions of the future. This girl, their Saint, was supposedly the centerpiece of the visions, but had been missing for some time. She would supposedly rescue them from some doombringer called “the Dark One” or some such.

But circumstances had just changed. Was this her? Was she the one for whom they waited?

Anna-Marie wore a hard frown. “Given how different all this is from our visions, I’m frankly hesitant to set my hopes too high, but that’s all the information I could gather. House Leginbarth has suddenly and very recently become excessively secretive.”

“My guess is the count hopes to make the Summer Ball the venue for her grand debut,” Christopher said.

Maxwell wrinkled his brow. “That’s troublesome.”

“Troublesome how? It gives us the perfect chance to find out if she’s the real deal or not. Granted, we have to worry about the imperial princess too. Fantastic timing.”

“I’ve yet to see her,” Anna-Marie said. “Has she not arrived?”

“She won’t until the day before the ball. Not even I have had the chance to ponder her beauty just yet.”

Maxwell glanced at the prince. “Awfully presump­tuous.”

“We’ve dreamed of her brother, Schroden, and he’s as handsome as they come. I’m willing to bet on family resemblance. It’s keeping me going, really.”

Anna-Marie pressed her fingers to her temples, ­fighting off an oncoming migraine.

“A princess and a potential Saint. And the ball hasn’t even started!” Christopher griped. “Why couldn’t she have shown up at the last ball like she was supposed to? The girl I did bump into on the day of the opening ­ceremony was cute but no Saint. Just a black-haired maid.”

“You mean Melody,” Maxwell and Anna-Marie said in unison.

“Wait, you two know her?”

“We’re friends,” they harmonized yet again, then looked at each other. Coincidences.

“Why am I the odd one out?!” Christopher wailed. “Is there some Comely Maiden Club I’m not aware of?!”

It was a good thing Anna-Marie had secured this room with her Silence spell ahead of time.

“My condolences, Your Highness,” she said. “Anyway, on to more important matters.” She fixed Maxwell with a look.

Sensing the change in tone, Maxwell straightened up in his chair. “Those being?”

“Monsters will invade the capital soon.”

“What?!” The young lord recoiled. He had braced himself, but not for something like this.

“The danger may very well reach you, Lord Maxwell. I’m sorry for keeping it from you for so long.”

“What exactly have you foreseen?”

“An ambush. As best as we can tell, the Dark One will send them after the Saint,” Christopher said, recovered and thoroughly normal again. “It happens on her way home, while she’s in her carriage. That’s how it went in the, er, dreams anyway.”

“Impossible,” Maxwell refuted. “Monsters? In the royal capital? In the Upper District no less? How?”

“Can’t say. All we know is that it happens and the Saint makes it out alive. We don’t even know who ­orchestrates it.”

Maxwell’s shock rendered him mute.

“What complicates matters,” Anna-Marie ­continued, “is we don’t know for certain who the Saint is. All signs point to the girl the Leginbarths are supposedly ­sheltering, since that lines up with the Saint we know. But so much has diverted from our original visions, we can’t put our faith in assumptions. It’s entirely possible a totally unrelated third party might be the victim.”

“A third party?” Like who? Maxwell pondered for a moment, until Anna-Marie’s quiet stare finally brought him realization. “Lady Luciana?”

“Another thing that lines up with the Saint we know: You, Lord Maxwell, escort her to the Summer Ball.”

“You knew.” Maxwell shot to his feet, rage bubbling in his gut. “You knew all of this, and still you made it so?!”

“I’m sorry, Lord Maxwell. I truly am, but this isn’t the first time Luciana has met the conditions we thought exclusive to the Saint. She is, for all intents and purposes, a substitute for the person we’re missing, but she lacks the Saint’s power. She needs protection.”

He gritted his teeth. “And I am to protect her.”

“Exactly. The Dark One’s minions are invulnerable to everything save the Saint’s powers or weapons of silver. You’ll have to prepare appropriately.”

“You’ve made your point, but I’ve yet to receive a reply to my invitation.”

“You haven’t? Not a single letter?”

“No, though I believe she returns today. Perhaps tomorrow. In any case, there’s no need to fret just yet, but what if she declines?” Maxwell’s hard eyes softened with worry.

Anna-Marie smirked at him. “I think things will work out.”

“One can hope.”

 

After their long meeting, Maxwell took his carriage back to his estate. As the carriage pulled up to the manor, a familiar face caught his eye.

“Melody?”

She stood at the front gate looking lost, before finally speaking to the keeper standing guard there. “Excuse me, where might I deliver a letter?”

“Not here, I’m afraid,” the keeper said. “You’ll find a courier office at the rear gate. I do apologize for the inconvenience, madam.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll head that way.”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Maxwell said.

Melody whipped around to find a carriage pulling up next to her. When it stopped, Maxwell did not wait for a footman, alighting of his own accord.

“It’s been some time,” he said.

“It has, Ma…Lord Reclentos.”

The gatekeeper stood at attention before his lord, the marquess’s son. Melody quickly corrected herself with a curtsy.

“That letter doesn’t happen to be for me, does it?” Maxwell asked.

“It does. Lady Luciana sends it with her warm regards, my lord.”

“Thank you, Melody. I gladly accept.” Maxwell held out his hand.

This confused the maid. “What of procedure?”

House Reclentos maintained a rigorous postal protocol. All deliveries had to go through their courier office, where a worker would meticulously record it, but if Melody handed the letter to Maxwell directly, they would skip that step entirely.

“I’m well enough acquainted with the sender to permit an abridgment of the process,” Maxwell said. “I’ll be sure to inform the proper people.”

“As you wish, my lord. Here you are.”

Maxwell accepted and held the envelope up to the sun. The ghost of the letter inside peered back at him, withholding its secrets. “I don’t suppose you could tell me what it says?”

“That wouldn’t be quite as fun as reading it for yourself,” Melody replied with a giggle. “I’ll tell you this, though. My lady wrote it with rosy cheeks, so I think its contents will please you.”

“Well.” Maxwell returned her smile with a warm one of his own. “That does excite me.”

“Rest assured, my lord, the feeling is mutual. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course. Thank you again.”

The maid and the nobleman parted ways. Returning to his chambers, Maxwell wasted no time reading the letter. He had a partner for the ball, a fact that lifted one weight from his shoulders.

But a new worry replaced it. He had a mission now, a lady to protect. Come hell or high water, he would see it through.

A line at the end of the letter made him raise an eyebrow, however. “‘I’d like to beg a favor’? ‘Another pair will join us, a Sir Lectias Froude and his partner…Lady Cecilia’?”

He remembered that name. It was the Angel of the Spring Ball—the girl Luciana had danced with.

“I suppose this merits reporting,” he mused, then chuckled. “You are nothing if not willful, my lady.”

Chapter 10:
Lectias’s Lament

 

ELSEWHERE THAT DAY, LECT WAS ON HIS way back to his lord’s estate. He had much to report regarding his mission to escort Melody—Cecilia, rather—to the Summer Ball, but something was off. A frantic air suffused the estate.

It’s more than that, he thought. It’s tense. Taut, like a string. Harried. What’s happened?

He tried to stop a number of people for answers, but no one could spare him a single moment. It was enough to make him feel guilty for his lazy week.

Nothing for it but to ask my lord during my report.

Once Lect scheduled an appointment, his lord approved his entry almost instantaneously. And so into the count’s office he went.

“Reporting, my lord.”

“W-welcome back.”

Lect tried to hide his suspicions about his lord’s strange behavior. “As per your orders, I’ve sought out Lady Cecilia and secured her approval to attend the ball with me.”

“So you have! Very good!” Cloud lit up like the sun, then promptly withered, as if spying rain on the horizon. “Very… Very good.”

“My lord?”

“Er, well done, my boy. Very well done. Send her my regards, and invite her to visit soon.”

“As you wish.”

His lord said nothing else. Something was off. Lect thought he’d be overjoyed, but the count hunched in on himself and spoke almost apologetically. His reactions were terribly subdued, the mood in the office stifling.

“My lord, since my return, I’ve noticed a strangeness in the manor,” Lect said. “Has something happened in my absence?”

The count twitched. Something had happened, and evidently the count could not share it with Lect. The strangeness encompassed the entire estate. What kind of secret could the count need to keep from Lect alone, while the entire rest of the estate knew?

The count, unable to bear the weight of his knight’s scrutiny any longer, let out a sigh. “I suppose I will gain nothing from hiding it. You see, well…” The rest came out as barely a mumble.

“Pardon?”

Cloud raised his voice, reluctant though he was. “They found my daughter. She’s here. In the estate.”

“Pardon? My lord, is this a joke?”

That’s impossible, Lect thought. Never had he looked at his own lord thus, but never had he heard something so absurdly incorrect either. As a younger, more modern generation might put it, Lect regarded his lord with the stinkiest of eyes. Your daughter’s living her life with House Rudleberg, pouring her heart and soul into being a maid.

Lect knew the truth. He knew where his lord’s daughter was. They could not have “found” her. It was a lie. Pure chicanery. He let his incredulity show.

Count Leginbarth, however, went stoic. “Not long after you left, I received correspondence from Sable. They found her across the border. They found Celesty. He wrote that they were already en route back to the capital, and they arrived five days ago. She was ­emaciated. Her lonely pilgrimage in foreign lands had taken its toll, the poor girl. When Sable found her, someone had stolen her things and she was struggling to get by. Thank ­heavens he found her. She’s resting in private now.”

“I…see. And she has silver hair? Bright blue eyes?”

“Naturally.”

It was impossible. Lect knew it was impossible. Yet he dared to hope.

If Melody isn’t my lord’s daughter… He could love her. Freely. Guiltlessly. He could tell her how he felt. Later. At a later date. Once we’ve gotten to know each other better. It’s only proper!

Perhaps his beloved’s circumstances did not stay the knight’s advances, in truth.

“I’ve given her a new name,” Cloud said. “Celesty will go by Celedia.”

Lect snapped out of his stupor. Now was no time for delusions. A stranger loitered in his lord’s home, claiming to be his daughter.

He couldn’t delude himself. Melody was, in all likelihood, his true daughter. Her hometown was in the right region, she had the right hair, the right eyes, not to mention the matter of Serena’s entire existence. Any number of things might explain a coincidence, but, just this once, Lect was not willing to chalk up a living, breathing, magical maid automaton bearing the likeness of his lord’s beloved—and Melody’s mother—to chance. She and her creator bore an undeniable resemblance that no hackneyed reveal could refute.

But Lect knew nothing of this new girl, Celedia. He could not prove she was not who she said she was. Only Melody herself could do that, but that would spell the end of the life she had built from nothing.

And then she’d… Lect could not bear to think it. Sir Gutless the Lovelorn was a sensitive soul. The mere notion that his beloved might loathe him stung more deeply than any steel! I’ll just have to wait and watch for now, but something still eludes me.

“My lord, why are your spirits so low? Is your daughter’s return not a good thing?” Lect asked.

After the loss of Selena, her child remained the sole light of hope in the count’s darkened heart. As despair beset him, the thought of reuniting with his daughter provided his only solace. So why did he seem so reserved now that he had what he sought? The brief spark that news of Cecilia’s attendance at the ball had kindled in his eyes was blinding in comparison to the apathy with which he spoke of Celedia.

“Wh-whatever do you mean? Of course it’s a good thing! It’s a joyous thing!” The count barely managed a twitchy upturn of the lips.

Does he suspect it too? That this girl isn’t really his daughter?

Then why would he have given her shelter? Lect was at a loss.

“I’ve nothing more to report, my lord,” he said. “I should take my leave.”

“Right. Dismissed.”

The knight bowed and exited the room, leaving Cloud to his ruminations.

Cloud leaned back in his chair and heaved a heavy sigh. “It isn’t what I expected,” he muttered. “I thought—I knew the moment I saw her I would take her in my arms and never let go.”

She’s my daughter. Our daughter! I ought to have. I ought to have!

“So why do I feel…nothing?”

He’d been certain he would know her at a glance, that he would feel the same surge of emotion he’d felt upon laying eyes on Cecilia, twofold, but it never came.

“She’s just a girl to me,” he sighed. “A silver-haired, blue-eyed girl.”

Those features should have marked her. They should have meant she was of Cloud and Selena’s blood. Yet torturous apathy plagued the count. In a panic, he’d cut their reunion short, pretending it was out of concern for her well-being. He did not want her to think he did not care about her.

“I’ve failed you, Selena. I’m no father.”

Cloud gazed out his window at the vast expanse of sky stretching before him. And he felt nothing.

 

“Lect, old friend!”

“Oh, Sable.”

On his way out of his lord’s estate, the fire-haired knight met with his comrade in arms, Sable Pufontis.

Sable jubilantly jaunted over. “Many months it’s been. Too many. Are you well?”

“Well enough. Yourself? You were away in foreign lands searching for His Lordship’s daughter for an awfully long time.”

“Hale and hearty, as you can see. And bursting with pride! Nothing does the heart good like a successful mission.” Sable posed dramatically, as if his words were not convincing enough.

Lect grinned politely in an attempt to hide his ­growing weariness. “I heard. Well done.”

“Yes, well, it was a long and arduous road, but we made it in the end. That’s what matters.”

They started to walk.

“And she has silver hair. Blue eyes? Like lapis?” Lect said.

“Bluer than the ocean! And how her hair shimmers. I wish you could meet her, but she’s still on the mend, you see. You may not lay eyes on her until the Summer Ball.”

“She’s attending the ball? In her condition? Will she be well enough in time?”

“His Lordship insists on her attending the academy during the upcoming semester. He wants her to have some manner of debut before then.”

“It’s all very sudden.”

“High society can be an uninviting world. His Lordship has her best interests at heart, I’m sure. Though I do hope the girl’s health holds.”

Is my lord hoping to rush her into the dorms so he doesn’t have to see her? Lect wondered, but he cast such thoughts from his mind.

“I’ll be joining her as her escort,” Sable said. “She’ll not be dancing, however, given her upbringing as a commoner. Something to look forward to next time. And you? Have you any plans for the big event?”

“I’ll be there with an acquaintance of mine.”

“A partner? Of your own choosing? Now that’s a rare thing. I look forward to meeting her.”

Lect considered the poetic irony of the scenario, an irony only he could appreciate.

Sable was not the type to deceive. He would never knowingly bring back a fake just to appease Count Leginbarth. It would have benefited no one, least of all himself. So was it merely a twist of fate? A coincidence?

Who can know?

Lect certainly couldn’t, especially not before he’d even met the girl. Again, he elected to wait. It was all he could do. His friend saw him to the door, where they parted ways. Sable was going to be very busy guarding his new charge.

Melody’s secret. Serena’s existence. And now Celedia. So much to consider, and so few answers.

How many secrets would it take to break this knight’s back?

Chapter 11:
To the Ball

 

TIME MADE LIKE A BIRD AND FLEW. AUGUST 31st arrived with dizzying speed, ushering in the end of the summer recess and the start of the ball. Count and Countess Rudleberg attended, along with their daughter, their maid (under the guise of Cecilia), and their respective escorts, Maxwell and Lect. Three pairs in all. The count and countess would board a ­carriage they’d rented for the night, while the youths enjoyed one prepared by Maxwell.

“You look so lovely, Luciana,” the countess said. “And you too of course, Melo…Cecilia.”

“My lady did an excellent—er, you’re too kind, Lady Marianna.”

Idle conversation filled the foyer as they waited for the carriages to arrive, but they needed the practice. With hair golden, fiery red eyes, and a touch of makeup from the talented Paula, Melody had been transformed into the enigmatic Cecilia. Everyone had to adjust. Marianna kept slipping up and calling her by the wrong name, and Melody struggled to shed her maidly demeanor. They had until they reached the ballroom to fix old habits.

“I can’t stop thinking the two of you look like sisters,” Hughes commented.

Luciana giggled. “Do we?”

She wore a long, open-shouldered dress that flowed down her figure like waves of aquamarine, her trademark color now. A turquoise ribbon crisscrossed her chest and wound around her neck like a halter top, but it was purely decorative. There would be no wardrobe malfunctions should it come loose. A golden bauble clung to the center of her chest, inlaid with a pale blue gemstone that matched her eyes.

Melody’s dress was very much the same—open-shouldered and flowing, but angelic white instead of aquamarine. She had a matching halter in red, and her gemstone burned like the fire in her eyes.

It was a very pleasing ensemble, similar in silhouette but unique where it mattered. Their layered skirts even incorporated traces of the other’s color—white for Melody and aquamarine for Luciana. It did indeed make them look like sisters. A pair, complete only as a set. Never one without the other.

“My birthday’s on August 7th, but Melo—right, Cecilia’s is June 15th,” Luciana said. “That makes her my big sister!” She threw her arms around her newfound sibling.

Melody giggled. “Making my lady—rather, Lady Luciana the youngest, and good girls do as the eldest says. Will you be a good girl?”

“No, you have to be the doting type! I want to be spoiled!”

The foyer echoed with titters and giggles. The maid and her lady looked into each other’s eyes, smiling wide, as the count and countess watched tenderly.

Elsewhere, however, the gaze was not so tender. “What’s all this about?” Micah grumbled. “Where’s all this chemistry coming from?”

You’re the heroine! Flirt with one of the boys, for crying out loud!

“This is what happens when the alternative lacks a spine,” said Paula.

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t mind me,” Lect said with a grimace. He filled out his suit quite well, striking a handsome figure, but something about the Rudleberg family was impenetrable to him, and so he stood off to the side with the extras. This safety came at a price: putting up with Paula and Micah’s abuse. Rook joined them, but he didn’t seem interested in coming to the knight’s rescue. Or maybe his reticence was a kindness. Only Rook would ever know.

“Grow a pair and get over there,” Paula ordered. “Before she steals your partner.”

“I believe in you, Sir Lectias!” said Micah.

“R-right.” With the (partly physical) assistance of the maids, Lect finally approached the others. “Melody—er, Lady Cecilia.”

“Oh, hello, Lect,” the maid-in-disguise said.

“You, um, look very good. In the dress, that is.”

This was, in fact, his best effort. He didn’t even look the girl in the eyes, but he spoke. For better or worse.

“Thank you.” Melody beamed, and with her current attire, that smile struck Lect with an almost lethal amount of force. It was all he could do to keep a straight face. “Are you okay?”

“F-fine! Just, um, wondering when the carriage will arrive.”

Right on time, a knock came at the door. With quiet, steady steps, Serena approached and greeted the new arrival.

“My lord, my lady. Your carriage has arrived,” she said.

“Seems we’re off first. Will you manage without us?” Hughes asked.

“We’ll be fine, Father,” Luciana replied. “See you in the ballroom.”

“She’s in good hands, Your Lordship,” said Melody.

“I will see to the estate,” Serena added. “Please enjoy yourselves.”

Hughes nodded. “Sir Froude, I entrust Melody and my daughter to you.”

“On my honor, they’ll come to no harm,” the knight swore.

“I’ll, um, take your sincerity as reassurance.”

With that, the count and countess departed for the palace. It was not long before Maxwell replaced them in the foyer.

“Good evening, Lady Luciana,” the gallant lord said.

Luciana instantly flushed scarlet as her own greeting caught in her throat. Maxwell looked terribly handsome in that suit, she had to admit. He was meant to be her partner?

She came back to her senses after Melody tapped her on the back. “G-good evening, my lord. You honor me with your presence.”

“And you by allowing me to be in yours. Permit me to thank you for accepting my invitation.” He cracked a grin at her endearing nervousness. “Now, in your letter, you wrote of another.”

“Well met, Lord Reclentos,” said Lect.

“Ah, Instructor Froude. I don’t believe we’ve met since your short tenure at the academy.”

“Please, call me Lectias. I’m no instructor anymore.” Picking up on the teasing, Lect smiled wryly.

“Of course. Sir Lectias, then. Likewise, call me Maxwell.”

“As you say, Lord Maxwell.”

As dictated by propriety, Cecilia only greeted the lord once he had finished his exchange with the knight.

Maxwell addressed the commoner girl. “Greetings, I’m Maxwell. Maxwell Reclentos.”

“Cecilia, my lord. I’m only a commoner, but I’m honored to make your acquaintance.” She curtsied most perfectly.

Maxwell tamped down a mixture of surprise and respect at the execution of that curtsy. She’s been trained in etiquette. If she isn’t a noble, who is her family?

“If I may, madam, do you have a last name?”

“Pardon? A l-last name? It’s, um, Wa—er, Mc…”

“‘Mc’?”

“Y-yes. Mc…McMarden. I am Cecilia McMarden.”

Commoners in Theolas often bore two names. It was standard, in fact. Typically only orphans like Micah had a single name. Or amnesiacs like Rook. Noble houses by no means monopolized family names. Should the urge strike them, both Micah and Rook could apply for a family name of their own. In the case of orphans, this was often the name of the orphanage from which they hailed.

Trivia aside, Melody had not considered that she might need a last name herself. She had, at first, thought to give her actual name, Wave, but thought better of it. The next name that sprang to mind was one she hadn’t thought about in a long time—McMarden. Unfortunately for her, that was the one Maxwell heard. Thus, she became Cecilia McMarden, whether she liked it or not. Lest one question Melody’s mind or the multitude of other, better paths she could have chosen, consider: Melody was a good, honest girl to whom skullduggery did not come naturally.

“Pleasure to meet you, Cecilia McMarden,” Maxwell said.

McMarden, he thought. I’m not familiar with that name. But her first name, Cecilia. This is the name Chris and Lady Anna-Marie insist belongs to the Saint who appears in their visions. I’ll have to investigate further.

He made a mental note, then went on, “Please, call me Maxwell.”

“And you may call me Cecilia.”

So sorry, Max! the girl cried silently. I don’t like lying to you!

Things were going well so far, inner turmoil notwithstanding. Their conversation was cordial and natural.

Until Maxwell noticed something. “Say, I don’t see Melody.”

Everyone’s heart skipped the same beat.

Max! Why does that matter?! Melody thought frantically.

No one else thought the absence remarkable, so no one had bothered coming up with an excuse.

“She’s, um, not feeling well,” Luciana said, slowly ­piecing together her words as she spoke. “She’s resting.”

An excellent save. Or so they thought.

“Melody?” Maxwell said. “Resting while her lady is about to go to a ball?”

Like a bolt of lightning, the same thought struck the whole room. He’s right!

Melody sitting out such an important day was utterly unthinkable. Nothing could keep her from it. Nothing but the apocalypse or an injury that left her seconds away from bleeding out. The mad maid was simply that mad.

“She’s s-sleeping,” Melody added. Strange to be talking about herself in such a way. “I decided rather suddenly to attend the ball, my lord, and she worked herself ragged ensuring I had a dress for the occasion. Why, she only finished mere hours ago. She’s on strict orders to ­recuperate, you understand.” She glanced at her lady.

Luciana jolted. “Y-yes! Exactly! She begged me to wake her in time for our departure, but we all decided she needs the rest.”

“I see,” Maxwell said. “Well, her efforts were certainly worth the trouble. You look stunning together. With your hair as similar as it is, I suspect everyone will mistake you as sisters all night.”

“Thank you, my lord,” the girls said together, sharing a blush. And a relieved exhale.

“Shall we be off?” said Melody.

“Yes, let’s. I leave the estate to you,” Luciana told her remaining retinue.

They bowed and voiced their assent, Paula included.

Maxwell offered his hand. “My lady.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

He escorted Luciana out to the carriage.

“I suppose we should follow,” Lect said, offering his hand to Melody.

“Indeed,” she replied. “Let’s make it a pleasant evening.”

“R-right.”

Her hand was not a stranger to his. They had practiced dancing many times. But never did that touch make his heart race as it did now.

They were off to the ball.

Chapter 12:
Enter: Cecilia

 

THEOLAN BALLS DID NOT ALWAYS BOTHER with announcing every guest’s arrival. At most, guests needed only to enter through the door that befitted their status. They were generally liberal affairs.

So it was with the Summer Ball. The palace was brimming with guests, among them the Honorable Beatrice, daughter of Viscount Lillertcruz, and the Honorable Milliaria, daughter of Baron Faronkalt.

“Leave it to Luciana to make it back to the capital at the last minute,” Beatrice commented. “She couldn’t even spare a minute to say hello before the big day.”

“It’s cruel,” Milliaria said. “Is such a short letter really all we’re worth?”

Luna Invidia giggled. “You’re as close as ever if a few days without her is enough to upset you two this much.”

“And do you not share in our outrage?” Beatrice asked.

“I’d say I’m more excited than affronted.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know Luciana. Doubtless she has something in store that’ll take our breath away, and then we’ll be too busy oohing and ahhing to care one way or another.”

“You think we can expect a surprise?” Milliaria asked.

“What I want to know is what kind of surprise,” said Beatrice. “Care to share, Luna?”

“I haven’t a clue either,” she replied. “That’s why I’m excited. I’m sure it’ll be stunning, though, whatever it is. I’d expect nothing less from our Fae Princess. My Hero Princess.”

As if on cue, silence rippled through the ballroom like a wave, originating from the front doors. The center doors, to be precise.

“Oh?” Beatrice perked up.

“Who could that be? Someone prominent, I’m sure.” Milliaria’s hand shot to her mouth.

Luna giggled again. “I’m not disappointed.”

Luciana and Cecilia entered through the center doors with their partners, Maxwell and Lect. Some hissed to each other in hushed tones, others sighed in awe, but everyone noticed. That Luciana and Maxwell were together again after the Spring Ball did not surprise people quite as much as who joined them.

The Fae Princess and the Angel. Together again. Reunited after their legendary dance at the Spring Ball. This caused the greatest stir of all.

Maxwell sauntered in slowly, Luciana holding his right arm. Next to them, keeping pace, strode Lect with Melody on his left arm, mirroring the other couple. Spritely and divine, two sides to a beautiful coin, the women walked hand in hand at the center of the procession.

It did not take long for reverential silence to turn into whispers.

“That’s the one? That’s the Fae Princess? By the king.”

“With a Reclentos again? Could it be…?”

“Is that Sir Froude with them? The girl he’s escorting. Who is she?”

“That’s the Angel of the Spring Ball. Goodness, we’re in for a treat if she’s with the Fae Princess again.”

“I love their matching dresses. They look like sisters.”

“Sir Froude’s house is a viscountship in service to House Leginbarth.”

“The boy’s under the auspices of the count, then. And he’s with a Reclentos. Lord chancellor and vice-chancellor, together as one. Is it a message, do you think?”

Rumors and guesswork abounded. Little did they know the truth of the display.

“Feeling better, Lady Luciana?” asked the angel.

“Yes,” said the fairy. “Thank you, Cecilia.”

Luciana had been too nervous to enter the hall alone with Maxwell, so Melody held her hand to calm her nerves, and Luciana had refused to let go before ­passing through the door. There was absolutely no deeper ­meaning to the arrangement.

Incidentally, as Cecilia was technically a commoner beneath that fancy gown, she had to keep the proper forms of address in mind. Her lady was still a lady, after all. Just not her lady. A psychological distinction, more than anything.

The maidless lady finally let go, and the moment she did she was accosted.

“Luciana! You will explain yourself this time!” Beatrice said.

“You’re keeping one too many secrets for our liking,” Milliaria said.

Luna was comparatively composed. “Thank you for the excellent opener to the night, Luciana.”

“You two said the exact same thing at the last ball,” the culprit told her old friends. “And what are you talking about, Luna? All we did was walk in.”

The incredulous only grew incredulouser. Luna, however, was having the time of her life.

“That was you just ‘walking in’? You stole the ball with that maneuver!” Beatrice said.

“I did?”

Luciana had been far too concerned with the sweat on her back and the twisting sensation in her gut to pay attention to the effect of her entrance. Maxwell simply grinned, thoroughly entertained.

“Anyway, let me introduce you,” Luciana said. “This is Madam Cecilia. She sort of popped up and then zipped off at the Spring Ball, so I didn’t get a chance to introduce her last time.”

“People do not ‘pop’ or ‘zip,’” Melody said quietly. After Luciana’s friends introduced themselves, she returned the favor. “Cecilia McMarden, my ladies. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintances.”

“She’s a commoner, so everyone go easy on her. Understood?”

“Well, she’d make a fine noble,” Beatrice said. “We’ll keep a close eye on her, lest someone less deserving of the title gets the same idea.”

“A ball can be a dangerous place if you don’t know what you’re doing,” Luna agreed. “Stay close, okay?”

“Thank you, both of you,” Cecilia said, “but I’m certain I’ll be quite all right with Le…Sir Lectias here to protect me.”

The ladies squealed just loud enough to drown out the curse that left Luciana’s lips. Lect scowled, doing his damnedest to keep the blood from rushing to his cheeks. Maxwell, meanwhile, endured his own trial as he very nearly let a snicker slip out.

“Goodness, I hope I haven’t missed the fun,” a new voice chimed in.

“Lady Anna-Marie!” Luciana said with a start.

Maxwell regarded her as she approached. “Good day to you, my lady.”

“Lord Maxwell, always a pleasure.” Anna-Marie offered a soft, polite grin. The lord served as an excellent excuse for her to insert herself into the conversation. She turned to Melody. “You’re the one they call the Angel of the Spring Ball.”

“Oh, my lady, empty platitudes, I assure you. I am Cecilia McMarden, nothing more.”

Melody dropped into one of her trademark curtsies, sparking multiple internal debates around her. She wasn’t a noblewoman? Perhaps the other ladies needed to review their etiquette. Or perhaps she was just that good.

Anna-Marie, however, was immune to such concerns. You’re telling me this is the hottie I missed in spring?! I’m so stupid!

Calm, but not at all recovered, she said, “I’m sorry I missed your dance with the ever-charming Luciana here, but they say all who witnessed it felt whisked away to paradise. I don’t intend to make that mistake again.”

“P-paradise, my lady? I’ll, um, certainly do my best to live up to those expectations.” Melody did what she could to conceal the nervous twitch of her lips. She was not aware “they” had been saying anything at all about her dance with her lady.

Anna-Marie, watchful as ever, did not miss the subtle change in her expression. She took no offense. Pretty girls were pretty. This one so much so that Anna-Marie’s mouth moved before she thought. “I hope you’ll consider me for next year’s same-sex dance.”

“I, um, pardon?”

“If I may!” blurted Luciana. “Terribly sorry, Lady Anna-Marie, but Cecilia is already spoken for next year. And I’m afraid I’m not budging. Even for you.”

Beatrice blanched. “L-Luciana!”

Picking a fight with the perfect lady. Did she have a death wish?

“Oh, is that a fact?” Anna-Marie said.

Sparks flew between them. What would win this confrontation? Luciana’s love of Melody? Or Anna-Marie’s love of women? Truly, an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object.

Unfortunately, they would have to postpone their grudge.

“How about this?” Anna-Marie said. “I’ll pull a few strings with His Highness, extend the same-sex dance to, say, a dozen or so more songs.”

“An excellent idea!” Luciana said. “Then I could dance with Cecilia a dozen times!”

“I was hoping for a compromise.”

I’m going to the ball next year? This was news to Melody. She had a few opinions about it.

“And what does that make us?” Beatrice said. “Chopped liver?”

“I’m expecting a dance too,” said Luna.

“Don’t forget me!” Milliaria chimed in.

It was only then Luciana noticed something. “Lady Anna-Marie, is His Highness not here with you tonight?”

“He sends his regards, but he’s terribly busy,” she replied. “I’m here with my brother, as it happens. Well, I was before he wandered off to say hello to ­someone. I suspect he’s long said goodbye and resumed the ritual with someone else.”

Luciana looked confused.

“Is something keeping His Highness?” Melody asked for her.

“I suppose Cecilia wouldn’t know, being a commoner,” Beatrice said.

Luciana asked, “Know what?”

“Now, you I can’t make excuses for. It’s the talk of the capital. Wait, yes, I forgot. You were away for the summer.”

“What’s this rumor you speak of, Lady Beatrice?” Melody asked.

“They say there’s a Rordpier princess here in the capital. At this very ball.”

“A Rordpier princess?”

Melody and Luciana turned to Anna-Marie.

“Her Imperial Highness Ciestine van Rordpier, yes,” she confirmed. “Rest assured, Prince Christopher will make an appearance tonight, but escorting the princess.”

“Oh, wow,” Luciana breathed. “Have you met her yet?”

“Me? Oh, no. I’m but the humble daughter of a marquess. I’ll be seeing her for the first time tonight, same as everyone else.”

If even Lady Anna-Marie hasn’t seen her, I’ll bet no one has, Melody thought. But wait a minute.

“Lady Anna-Marie, I thought Rordpier and Theolas were on, well, unfriendly terms.” Melody had perused a number of items in the library during her time as Lect’s assistant at the academy, and one particular record said as much. Albeit in more complicated terms.

“You’re very well-informed for a commoner,” the lady replied. “You’re exactly right. Some hundred years ago, our nations warred, and relations have been strained ever since. Her Imperial Highness’s attendance tonight is meant to be the first step toward repairing that bridge.”

“She’s here to repair relations?” Luciana’s mind ­connected what few dots presented themselves. “I-is Prince Christopher marrying her?!”

She wasn’t alone in her assumption. Political ­betrothals were hardly rare. The other ladies eyed Anna-Marie with sympathy and concern.

Anna-Marie didn’t even blink. “We’ve only just begun the process of reparations. If there’s to be a betrothal, it’s a ways off. She’s to begin attending Royal Academy this upcoming semester.”

“Goodness, an imperial princess at the academy,” said Milliaria.

“She’s about our age. You never know, she might end up in your class.”

“Oh, I’d be honored.”

Anna-Marie smiled timidly. A typical reaction from a typical noblewoman. “Realistically, though, we can expect her to end up in Prince Chris—”

Another wave of quiet chaos rippled through the ballroom.

“Who could that be?” Melody said.

She glanced toward the source of the commotion to find the crowd’s next object of fascination coming through the center door, the one reserved primarily for counts.

Anna-Marie’s eyes narrowed. “She’s here.”

Maxwell wore a similar expression.

Melody’s eyes widened as two men and a girl entered the ball. One of the former was tall and rugged, with hair of silver and tidy but nonetheless prominent stubble—the vice-chancellor, Count Cloud Leginbarth. To his left, being escorted by another man with a long, dark ponytail, was a young girl, an ethereal, beautiful girl with hair the same striking shade as the count’s and eyes like the ocean itself.

The girl resembled not just the count but also someone else nearby.

Are you the one? Anna-Marie thought, hope and anxiety mingling in her heart. Are you our heroine? Our Saint?

Meanwhile, Melody had thoughts of her own. Wow. She has my hair and eyes. I wonder if they’re a common combination in this world.

Far less urgent thoughts.

Chapter 13:
Celedia Leginbarth

 

“I DON’T RECOGNIZE HER, BUT SHE SEEMS about our age,” Beatrice murmured.

Milliaria put her cheek in her hand. “She certainly wasn’t at our debut in the spring.”

“That’s Lord Leginbarth, yes?” Luna said. “He’s unmarried, I thought, and without any young relatives.”

After a moment of conflict, Lect said, “That is Lady Celedia, His Lordship’s daughter.”

Melody looked up at him. The knight stared back. Hard.

“Celedia,” Anna-Marie said. “Celedia is her name, Sir Lectias?”

“Correct.”

Anna-Marie was slipping, saying things without thinking. Not Cecilia? Why? Is she not the heroine? But she has to be, if she’s Count Leginbarth’s daughter. Wait, of course! Cecilia already exists, and she spoke with the count at the Spring Ball. It would have been awkward to name her after a stranger, so he went with Celedia. Gah, this is so hard to keep track of! This is what happens when the main character’s fashionably late!

Leginbarth and his party vanished into the crowd ­before the lady could settle her thoughts. In the ­meantime, the others got to gossiping.

“Luna’s right. Lord Leginbarth is unmarried,” Beatrice whispered. “Who’s the mother?”

“Maybe she was born out of wedlock,” speculated Milliaria. “But then why hasn’t anyone seen her until tonight?”

“If she’s here, she must be of age. Do you think she’ll attend the academy?” Luna wondered aloud.

The vice-chancellor was well-known inside and ­outside the palace, as close to a celebrity as one could find in noble society. The ladies couldn’t help but theorize.

“It isn’t our business,” Anna-Marie snapped at them. “And it’s disrespectful to the count to question it. His Lordship bringing her here means he has every intention of legitimizing her and treating her as his own. Consider that, and then consider how such baseless conjecture against a Leginbarth might reflect on you.”

Beatrice nearly jumped out of her skin. “Y-you’re right. Terribly sorry.”

The rest of the gossipers followed suit.

“Apologizing is the first step,” Anna-Marie said. “Doubtless His Lordship knows he’ll be subject to far worse murmurings tonight. Be mindful, should any of you speak with him.”

“Of course,” the ladies replied, hanging their heads.

Anna-Marie smiled, and the tension finally lifted, but just then a servant approached.

“Pardon me, Lady Victillium.”

Just when she thought they’d get back to their friendly chat. “Yes? Can I help you?”

“His Majesty has summoned you. I’m told it’s urgent.”

“Well, I wonder what I’ve done to earn that honor.” Never letting her ladylike poise falter, she addressed her company. “I do apologize for this, but I must take my leave.”

“You can hardly keep His Majesty waiting,” Luciana said. “Please, don’t mind us.”

“I wish we could have talked longer. Lord Maxwell, be a good escort and don’t let your partner out of your sight. Not that you want to, I’m sure.”

“Naturally,” the lord replied.

“Now then. A pleasant evening to you all.”

Anna-Marie excused herself.

“A summons from the king,” Melody muttered in her wake. “I wonder what it could be.”

“Something to do with the princess, like as not,” Beatrice said. “But goodness, so much hustle and bustle, and the ball hasn’t even formally commenced. What do you all say we find somewhere to rest before the opening address?”

“That sounds perfect,” Milliaria agreed. “Shall we relocate to the lounge area?”

Luna and Luciana were on board with the idea, but Melody had other plans. “Sir Lectias and I ought to pay our respects to Lord Leginbarth, shouldn’t we?”

“Yes, I suppose we should,” Lect replied reluctantly.

As his direct lord, and the one who had ordered his attendance in the first place, it was only proper that Lect and his partner say hello.

“Should I join you?” Luciana said.

“No need, thank you,” Melody said. “We’ll only be a moment, so please, relax and enjoy yourself with your friends.” Another reason to see to the obligation sooner rather than later. Cecilia had come to support her lady, but Luciana would manage in the maid’s absence, ­surrounded by her friends. “Lord Maxwell, I leave Lady Luciana to you.”

Maxwell puffed a short chuckle. “First Lady Anna-Marie, now you. Lady Luciana’s certainly not wanting for love.”

“She is very lovable, after all.”

“That, I cannot deny.”

“Can I help you?!” Luciana fumed, steam near to ­billowing out of her crimson ears.

“We’ll return shortly,” Melody said.

“You better!”

With a bow, Cecilia and her escort wandered off toward the count.

 

“I believe I saw him go this way.”

Lect let Melody lead the way. He needed the time to steel his nerves. Who are you really, Lady Celedia? My lord’s daughter is Melody—Celesty, rather. He glanced down at her. It seemed like just yesterday. Her silver hair, her lapis lazuli eyes, her perfect, luscious, bare skin… Back! Away, demons!

“Lect? Why are you shaking your head?”

“S-surveying the ballroom. For His Lordship.”

“You’ll make yourself dizzy that way.” Melody giggled. “Silly way to look for someone.”

The knight’s cheeks reddened to a shade similar to his hair. Stay focused, Lectias. Stop letting your mind wander.

Right when he was in the middle of a sigh, someone called out to him. “Lectias!”

“Oh. Brother.”

“Brother?” Melody said.

Viscount Lyzack, patriarch of House Froude, was the spitting image of his younger sibling, if his younger sibling was skinnier and a tad softer around the edges. “This must be the fair maiden I’ve heard so much about. Greetings and good day. I am Lectias’s older brother, Lyzack.”

“A pleasure to meet you, my lord. I am Cecilia McMarden. Sir Lectias was very kind to offer me the opportunity to attend such an illustrious event.” Melody curtsied in her trademark, flawless way.

Lyzack noticed and his eyes narrowed. “You’re very learned, for a woman of your standing. Where did you study?”

“Under my mother, my lord.”

“Then a very learned mother she is.”

“She was a lovely woman, and your praise would have surely honored her.”

“Right, well…” Lyzack trailed off, intuiting that the mother Melody spoke of was no longer with them.

An awkward silence followed, one Lect freed them from. “Brother, have you seen His Lordship?”

“Just that way.” He pointed in the general direction of a throng of people, but it was enough to go off of.

“Thank you. We were just on our way to pay our respects.”

“If you’ll excuse us, my lord,” said Melody. She bowed and made to leave.

“A moment, madam,” Lyzack said suddenly.

“My lord?”

“Might you be interested in an education at Royal Academy?”

“I-I beg your pardon, my lord?”

“Wh-where did this come from?” Lect said.

Lyzack did not wait for their shock to abate. “This isn’t charity. There would be a very rigorous examination process, and you’ve missed an entire semester, but all the same, I’m quite serious.”

Cecilia stammered. Melody knew her answer, and it was an unequivocal “no.” From a logistical perspective, it was impossible on account of serving as her lady’s ­attendant, but from a social perspective, it was a terribly tempting offer coming from both a friend of Lect’s and the head of a noble house.

Sensing her inner turmoil, Lect approached his brother and whispered, “What’s the meaning of this?”

“She’s an impressive girl. Can you blame me for ­being drawn to potential? I think she has a real chance at ­gaining admission.”

“I’m well aware, but you know that isn’t what I meant!”

“Marrying into nobility is a difficult thing,” Lyzack replied calmly. “Having an education lowers the barrier substantially.”

Lect recoiled, cheeks on fire. “Wh-wh-what does that…?!”

Melody eyed him curiously. “What does what?”

“Don’t mind him,” Lyzack chuckled. “He’s just shy.”

“Shy?”

On one end, a knight with a face full of crimson. On the other, a beaming viscount. Melody was close to short-circuiting.

“My apologies, madam. It was in poor taste for me to lay such a proposal on you at an event such as this. Regardless, the offer stands. Should it ever strike your fancy, seek me out. Any time of the year, any time of the day. Lect knows where to find me.”

“I, um… Thank you, my lord.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Until we meet again, Madam Cecilia. Which hopefully will not be too long.”

As smoothly as he’d appeared, Lyzack vanished into the crowd.

“That man,” Lect growled.

“What brought that on, I wonder.”

“He’s a clerk by trade, and quite good at his job. Shame he takes it with him wherever he goes. He’s always had an eye for talent, and I suppose you just so happened to tickle his fancy, Me—Cecilia.”

“I’ll take his interest as a compliment, then, but I’m a maid first and foremost. My lady takes precedence, no matter what.”

“Right.”

“Now, we’ve a count to greet. I’d like to meet His Lordship’s daughter as well.”

“Right…” Lect quickly softened his expression before he revealed how little that prospect interested him.

 

“It’s an honor to see you again, Your Lordship.”

“Likewise. Likewise, Madam Cecilia.”

For someone who’d put Lect in a choke hold to ensure Cecilia’s presence tonight, his reaction was somewhat muted. Melody couldn’t have cared less. She was not privy to such context, and something else had caught her attention anyway.

“Does something ail you, my lord?” she asked.

“No. No, nothing at all. Why do you ask?”

“You have bags under your eyes. Faint, but I can see them.”

Cloud dabbed at his eyes. “Work. All these damned responsibilities have intruded on my sleep. That’s all. You needn’t fret over me.”

“I see. Then I apologize for my imprudence, my lord, but do look after yourself.”

She smiled, and his heart squeezed.

Why? The excitable organ pounded in his chest. This is how it should have felt. Our flesh and blood. Selena’s final gift. This is how it should have felt when I laid eyes on her. Why is it happening now?

Every beat hit his chest like a hammer, driving the nail of self-loathing deeper into the man’s sad heart. How he’d leaped for joy when he learned Sable had found his daughter. How he’d waited with bated breath, endured sleepless nights, just to meet the one who would finally make right what troubled his soul.

But she never came. The one who appeared in her stead was nobody. Cloud felt nothing for her. Perhaps his hopes had been too much to place on a single girl.

She was a beautiful girl. She had his silver hair, and her mother’s blue eyes. And Selena was her mother. She had to be. So why did the girl not mend the hole in Cloud’s heart? The count agonized for days, through yet more sleepless nights, pondering his own loathsomeness. No one had noticed.

No one except Cecilia.

Cloud thrilled, a terrible, wretched reaction.

How is it that she can elicit such emotion from me? This girl, who bears nothing of who Selena was. It was not love, not romantic love. Then what? What could it be? She’s nothing like Selena. She’s not. She’s…

He looked into her eyes. They were fiery and red. Indeed, not Selena’s. Not blue. Not the ocean. Not like lapis. But gentle all the same. Tender. Very much like—

“Father.”

Cloud practically sprang out of his shoes, as if the voice had caught him in the middle of a crime. His horrible, loathsome thoughts melted away. “Y-yes, Celedia?”

“Who is this girl? I haven’t many friends, and I’m terribly lonely. May I know her name?”

Celedia Leginbarth appeared before Melody and Lect, her long, silver locks cascading down to her chest. Her lapis lazuli eyes took them in. Sable Pufontis, her escort, flanked her.

She wore a soft green dress embroidered in silver, and it, paired with such an innocent smile, drew blushes from every man within eyeshot. She was an oddity. Exotic.

But no red came to Lect’s cheeks.

“Yes, of course,” Cloud said. “This is Madam Cecilia. Madam Cecilia, this is my daughter, Celedia. Do be patient with her.”

“Greetings, Lady Celedia,” Melody said. “My name is Cecilia. I’m not of noble blood, so I hope this isn’t impertinent, but I hope to have the pleasure of getting to know you better.”

“Cecilia,” the girl muttered.

“Y-yes, that’s right, my lady. Cecilia.”

Celedia watched her. Studied her. Blankly. Her mouth hanging slightly agape.

“Lectias Froude,” Lect introduced himself. “I am a knight sworn to House Leginbarth. I expect we’ll see much of each other, Lady Celedia.”

“Lectias Froude…”

“He was my companion on our quest to find you,” Sable said proudly.

“Your…quest.”

Sable cocked his head. “My lady?”

Suddenly, she snapped to her senses. “Celedia Leginbarth,” she said with renewed clarity. “I am very glad to have met the both of you.”

She smiled, and Melody smiled back.

Silver hair and blue eyes, she thought. Just like me. They say everyone has three identical twins in the world. Funny, meeting one here.

When it came to maids, Melody was there. Anything else, and her common sense abandoned her. What else was new?

Unfortunately, in her naivety, she failed to notice the glimmer in noble Celedia’s eye.

Chapter 14:
The Summer Ball Begins

 

“APOLOGIES FOR OUR ABSENCE.”

“Oh, Cecilia!” Luciana said. “Welcome back. Who’s this?”

Melody and Lect found their way to the lounge area, regrouping with the others, but a new pair followed them.

“This is Lord Leginbarth’s daughter, Lady Celedia, and her escort, Sir Sable.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Celedia said.

“Sable Pufontis,” the knight said. “Honored to make your acquaintances, my ladies.”

“Likewise. I’m Luciana Rudleberg.”

Celedia went blank again. “Luciana…Rudleberg?”

“Um, yes. That’s right. That’s my name.” Luciana shrank under the girl’s sudden intensified scrutiny. “This is my escort for the night, Lord Maxwell Reclentos.”

“Charmed, Lady Leginbarth,” he said.

Celedia blinked, settling her deep-blue eyes on him. “Maxwell Reclentos…” She blinked again, switching to Luciana. She repeated this several times.

Is this girl well? Maxwell wondered. I’m told she’s to be our savior, but something about her feels…off.

The girl’s mind wandered away. Her lips moved but formed no words. None the others could hear, at least. She was repeating the names in a tone audible only to herself. Cecilia. Lectias. Luciana. Maxwell. And then, finally, “Why?”

Sable said something to her, and she returned to her senses. Concerned, disturbed, and otherwise curious gazes washed over her. A sweet, pitiful smile came to her lips.

“I’m sorry. This is all very new to me, and I’m still terribly nervous.”

“Oh, I can understand,” Luciana said in a gentle, ­reassuring tone. “This is only my second ball, and I still clam up on occasion. It’s nothing to chastise yourself over.”

“Thank you, Lady Luciana. That’s very kind of you to say.”

“She’s only recently come to the capital and has few friends,” Melody explained. “Would you all mind terribly much if she were to join us?”

“No objections here! We don’t mind at all, do we?” Luciana looked to the others. They all smiled in agreement.

Melody sighed in relief.

“Thank you. You’re all so generous.” Celedia smiled softly.

“All rise for His Royal Majesty the King, Her Royal Majesty the Queen, and His Royal Highness the Crown Prince!”

With the herald’s cry, the royal family entered the ballroom. All eyes went to the stage on which they stood.

Melody tilted her head. “The prince?”

“What about him?” Luciana asked.

“I thought he would be escorting the imperial princess.”

“Now that you mention it, that’s true. I wonder who she’s with instead.”

His Highness wore a regal mask of stoicism, but the faintest twitch of his eyebrow betrayed a hint of ­indignation. Or perhaps it was only a trick of the light.

I don’t see Lady Anna-Marie either, Melody thought. I wonder what she’s up to.

“My countrymen,” the king began, “it is with great pleasure, and doubtless great redundancy, that I come here to confirm the rumors. An honored guest joins us tonight—Her Imperial Highness Ciestine van Rordpier, of the Rordpier Empire.” A murmur swept through the crowd. “As I’m certain you all know, our nations share a history, a history of bloodshed. But let the dead rest this evening and the past lie, for we are taking the first step in setting things right. Her Imperial Highness joins us tonight as an envoy of peace, and she will attend Royal Academy as a symbol of our future bond.”

The murmur rose to a buzz. Evidently, few knew of Her Imperial Highness’s planned attendance at Royal Academy.

“I suppose it’s as Lady Anna-Marie said. In all likelihood, she’ll be in His Highness’s class. Your class, Lady Luciana,” Melody said.

“That’s certainly where this seems to be headed,” she muttered.

Rumors and suppositions spread through the crowd like wildfire.

“Do you suppose Her Imperial Highness will join Prince Christopher’s class?”

“This ends in a betrothal. Mark my words.”

“Perish the thought! Prince Christopher remains true to Lady Anna-Marie!”

“And a fine concubine I’m sure she’ll make, but she simply doesn’t compare, in terms of political expediency. An imperial princess for queen consort would be of great value to the realm.”

“The day Lady Anna-Marie becomes a mere concubine will be a dark one indeed.”

It didn’t take much to set the peerage’s infamously active imaginations to work. Soon, the gossip would turn to disorder. Anna-Marie had many supporters, unlike the princess of an enemy nation, and this threat to the people’s favorite royal couple only lowered Her Imperial Highness’s popularity further.

“We were told in no uncertain terms that a betrothal hadn’t even been considered,” Beatrice murmured.

“I suppose it’s possible they kept Lady Anna-Marie in the dark,” speculated Milliaria.

“Perhaps this is why they’ve never formally gotten engaged,” Luna said.

“Lady Luciana,” Melody said, “I’ve never seen the royal couple together myself. Is the prince’s betrothal to another really so difficult to believe?”

“I would say so, yes,” she replied. “They have incredible chemistry. At the academy, they’re rarely apart, and it’s like they exist in their own world. It’s hard to describe, but I’ve witnessed it.”

“I see.”

How sad, Melody thought. What’s best for the realm isn’t always what’s best for the self.

The misunderstanding flourished. If only the people knew the truth of their relationship, of their lack of ­official engagement. It was a mercy that Anna-Marie was not present to hear such things.

In truth, the royal couple existed only in the public’s imagination. Their perpetual protests and behind-the-scenes interference kept them from marrying. The matter of the imperial princess was hardly a few weeks old, and a ­betrothal hadn’t crossed anyone’s mind yet. As things stood, the two countries had a long way to go before either trusted the other enough to unite via holy matrimony.

But as sure as the sun would rise, the people would gossip. And loudly, at that.

“Silence!” roared Lord Chancellor Reclentos, standing imposingly behind His Majesty.

The assembly obeyed at once.

A glance from his metaphorical right hand told the king he had the floor again. He cleared his throat, then gestured toward a large door. “Let this night mark the ­beginning of a bright new future for our two realms. Enter! Presenting: Her Imperial Highness, the second princess of the Rordpier Empire, Ciestine van Rordpier!”

A grand set of double doors directly across from the stage slowly, dramatically creaked open, and the orchestra struck up a tune, drowning out yet more murmurs. The people wanted to know who dared trample on true love. They would soon find out.

At last, the way was clear, and a girl stood in the archway.

But the murmuring rose again. This was not she.

“Weren’t we expecting a princess?” an onlooker muttered.

“What is she doing there?” another whispered. “What’s happening?”

In place of a princess, or even a woman, stood a ­strapping and handsome figure in a prince’s regalia, matched in extravagance only by Christopher himself. At the man’s side, presumably serving as his partner for the night, was Lady Anna-Marie Victillium.

The ballroom’s lighting shimmered in their golden hair as the pair made their way toward His Majesty, the stranger’s icy blue gaze slaying every maiden it caught.

“How beguiling,” one swooned.

“I feel as though he’s read my very soul,” said another. “I’m frightened, and yet I can’t look away.”

The crowd’s anticipatory malice vanished, replaced by fascination. What made this strange, androgynous ­beauty’s hair shimmer so? What did it see with its ­piercing eyes? How might its porcelain skin feel to touch?

“That explains what Lady Anna-Marie was called away for,” Luciana said. “But His Majesty said princess. What is a prince doing here? Is Her Highness missing?”

Luciana’s curious mind raced, but Melody was not deceived, for she had the eyes of a maid. “That, Lady Luciana, is a woman.”

“What?” It took Luciana a moment to process that. “What?!” She did a double take and studied those ­androgynous features more closely. They divulged ­nothing. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. Frankly, it doesn’t seem to me she’s even making any effort to hide it. Her curves are evident, ­particularly in the chest region, and she’s taken no ­measures to conceal them.”

“Wait. You’re right.” Luciana re-examined her, this time with her eyes on the right places. She did have curves. Her masculine garments confused Luciana at first, but upon closer scrutiny, it was obvious they’d been tailored to fit a feminine figure. “Now I can’t remember why I thought she was a man.”

“Her mannerisms, if I were to wager a guess. She carries herself in a very…flirtatious way. It’s difficult to describe, but it’s artificial in a sense. It’s as if she’s emulating the ‘perfect man’ as perceived by women, directly appealing to their sensibilities.”

“I’m not sure what that means, but long story short, that’s Ciestine van Rordpier? The second imperial ­princess of the Rordpier Empire?”

“In all likelihood, yes.”

Ciestine van Rordpier was a very handsome woman, then. She fit naturally at Anna-Marie’s side.

“In any case, I believe it’s safe to assume this is what Lady Anna-Marie was summoned for,” Melody went on. “They must have been waffling over a partner for Her Highness until the last minute.”

“True. Obviously, Prince Christopher would be the first pick, but how do you reconcile a pair both wearing a prince’s regalia? It’s a confusing image.”

“I can imagine the debates they must have had, ­deciding if her partner ought to be male or female.”

“But ultimately they landed on Lady Anna-Marie at the last minute. That can’t have been easy for her,” Luciana said. “I wonder why she dresses like that.”

“Why indeed.”

“And another thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Something about Her Highness just…makes my blood boil. Why is that, do you think?”

“I could not begin to guess.”

Elsewhere, far to the north, in the County of Rudleberg, a young man’s ears burned. And no one would ever know.

 

“Terribly sorry to trouble you with my selfish requests, Lady Anna-Marie.”

“I-it’s no trouble, Your Highness. I’m honored you would have me.”

The princess and the marquess’s daughter continued their short walk to His Majesty’s stage, whispering to one another.

Anna-Marie flashed one of her practiced grins to her audience while stealing a glance to her side. The resemblance is strong. She might as well be a genderbent Schroden.

Ciestine was the spitting image of The Silver Saint and the Five Oaths’s fifth love interest. The only ­notable difference was her gender, and the princess’s frigid, ice-blue eyes.

I’m not sure what I was expecting, but definitely not this. Let me guess—more butterfly-effect crap that we caused! It was her go-to whenever things did not go to plan, but in truth, most of the blame belonged to an unrelated party by the name of Melody. Ignorant of this, Anna-Marie had only herself to chastise. Aside from the fact that she’s, well, a girl, which is admittedly hard to ignore, all of this is the same as what happened with Schroden.

In the game, he, too, had suffered the peerage’s scrutiny and suspicion, only for his charm to melt that wariness into fascination. Not even those who were beguiled changed their tune. Ciestine had a vise grip on the noblewomen of the ball.

Not that that’s too surprising. Even in Japan, there are plenty of actresses with their share of female admirers. The only question is what the heck that’s going to mean for the narrative!

A lot could change depending on that answer. Would Ciestine supplant Schroden entirely as the fifth love interest for the purposes of the plot? Or would the plot itself shift around his absence?

How am I supposed to know?! Yeah, let me just tell the future real quick! Even as she screamed internally, Anna-Marie presented the perfect lady.

When they at last stood before the king, Ciestine greeted him not with a curtsy, as expected of a lady, but with a princely bow. His Majesty, swallowing his opinions regarding the gesture, greeted the princess, and so the first dance began. Traditionally, at all royally hosted balls, this would belong to a single pair—the king and queen. The Spring Ball was the sole exception, functioning essentially as a debutante ball, but this year was particularly special. The palace was playing host to an imperial princess, and in light of that, His and Her Majesties ceded the floor to Ciestine and her partner, Anna-Marie.

Wish I could have known ahead of time! Anna-Marie grumbled beneath her flawless smile.

Ciestine offered her hand. “May I?”

Anna-Marie accepted with well-concealed hesitation. “Of course, Your Highness.”

The center of the ballroom parted, making way for them, and the Summer Ball commenced at last.

Huh? As the first song struck its first chords, before Anna-Marie could even think to take her first step, her feet were already moving. What?!

Ciestine swept her away. She led her partner as a conductor led an orchestra, with grace, with mastery, and above all, with a fluidity that told Anna-Marie’s body how to move faster than her own brain could. The audience was as awestruck as she.

“Lady Anna-Marie is more exquisite today than ever,” an onlooker sighed.

“They must have practiced together in secret. They’re in perfect sync.”

“I wouldn’t mind this being the night’s main event. Oh, I can’t look away.”

Anna-Marie was lauded as many things. A genius. A beauty. The perfect lady. In truth, that perfection resulted from a lifetime’s worth of blood, sweat, and tears. She was, after all, only a young Japanese girl in the body of a terribly ordinary aristocrat. Any indication to the contrary was a testament to her dedication. She took some pride in that, particularly when it came to dance. She thought she could handle a waltz or two quite well, if she said so herself.

And yet.

She’s in a league of her own!

Anna-Marie, for all her pride, felt like a hill in the shadow of a mountain. All her practice was ­meaningless in the face of such talent. She needn’t have bothered practicing because she was not dancing now. Ciestine was. Anna-Marie was merely along for the ride.

She was in Ciestine’s world now.

An alien feeling came over Anna-Marie. Her feet moved in ways she knew they could not—could never. Even as the illusion draped over her, she saw it for what it was. This was not the freedom it pretended to be.

This could be trouble.

Any other lady would have fallen prey to the subtle hypnotism. The allure of Ciestine’s eyes. The naive misconception that a woman would never lay a hand on another woman. The magic of the dance. All of it created a cunning camouflage to hide the truth; this was not a woman—this was a predator.

Anna-Marie’s guard went up. “You’re very talented, Your Highness.”

“Why, thank you, my lady.” Ciestine’s pale blue eyes narrowed into a pair of icicles, then softened with a smile. “I practice.”

Agh! I like them cute, personally, but maybe I’m starting to see the appeal of… No! Focus!

Anna-Marie’s proclivities were her own worst enemy. Despite the very real danger of the situation, her sincere love of women put her at a severe disadvantage. Ciestine was perhaps a more formidable opponent than Schroden ever could have been.

“I have to,” the princess rasped quietly. “If I want to be better than him.”

“Sorry?”

A shadow seemed to pass over that androgynous face, but Anna-Marie was too distracted to notice. By the time she looked, it had already passed, and the princess was smiling again.

The song slowed. The dance ended. Ciestine relinquished control, and Anna-Marie was free, back in the realm of tempered mediocrity.

They bowed to His Majesty as applause washed over them.

She thinks I’m wrapped around her finger now, I’m sure. Anna-Marie glanced at the princely princess as she waved to her adoring public. At least it was over, and the Summer Ball could begin in earnest.

As the next song started, she and the princess retired. Christopher joined them, and he asked their guest what she hoped to accomplish before the night was through.

“Seeing as I’m to attend the academy,” Ciestine said, with her low yet ambiguously feminine voice, “I’d like to get to know my schoolmates.”

A wave was coming, but was it a tsunami or merely a matter of perspective?

Chapter 15:
An Imperial Invitation

 

CIESTINE AND ANNA-MARIE’S DANCE ­enraptured its audience, but as they moved, Melody couldn’t help but feel a sense of déjà vu.

Where have I seen these moves before? she wondered.

She couldn’t have witnessed this before, however. This was the first time she’d ever seen the imperial princess, and yet the way she stepped and turned felt oh-so ­familiar. Try as she might, Melody never managed to place this ­apparent recollection, and so the dance ended.

“How vexing,” she muttered.

“What is?”

“I’m not sure, but that’s the issue. It feels like there’s a piece of food trapped between my teeth, and I can’t quite get—” Melody yelped shrilly, her voice cracking. She’d forgotten whom she was with.

Lect looked down at her with concern. He stood on her right, while Luciana flanked her on the left. Melody had been whispering with the latter all throughout His Majesty’s address, and the former had made himself practically invisible while they conversed. As a true gentleman ought to, of course. The presence, or lack thereof, of his innards had nothing to do with it.

“Sorry, Lect. I was just thinking. It’s nothing important.”

“No trouble?”

“No trouble.”

None that Melody could place, anyway. As far as she knew, it was a fleeting feeling and nothing more.

“Then, um,” Lect stammered, “would you mind?”

“Mind? Mind what?”

He extended his hand but would not meet her gaze. That, coupled with the gentle music, sparked a realization. He was asking her to dance. Albeit extremely poorly.

“No, I suppose I don’t mind,” she giggled. “But I would prefer a proper invitation. We mustn’t forget our manners, Lect.”

He grimaced. “Would you, Madam Cecilia…care to dance?”

“I’d love to.”

At last, she took his hand. As they made their way to the floor, Melody caught Maxwell in the middle of extending the same invitation to her lady, who was taking it about as well as one might expect.

I can’t do everything for you, my lady. Hang in there!

 

“Melo—” Luciana choked back the final syllable. “Cecilia! You’re supposed to have my back!”

“I’m afraid that is beyond the scope of my responsibilities.”

Luciana was livid. As soon as the song ended, she marched her fiercely blushing self over and shared a few choice words with her maid, but Melody was unrepentant. Settling her nerves was one thing, but accepting dance offers for her was another matter entirely. Luciana knew this, of course. She was only venting out of embarrassment. All that adorable aggression had to go somewhere.

“I must say, you two practically owned that last song!” Beatrice said.

The others accompanied her.

“They made quite the pair, even when they were ­dancing with entirely separate partners,” said Luna. “Their matching dresses certainly help. You were like stars compared to all the others.”

“They just might hold a candle to that first dance if they were together,” Milliaria said.

“Wh-why, of course,” Luciana said. “Cecilia and I are the greatest pair to ever grace a ballroom.” She twirled her hair around a finger, as if all of her bluster had abandoned her at once. “According to someone. Probably. I’m sure.”

“You don’t sound convinced,” Beatrice said.

“Anyway, aren’t any of you going to dance?”

Only Melody and Luciana had joined the last song. Beatrice, Milliaria, Luna, and even Celedia hadn’t dared the ballroom floor since arriving.

“That, unfortunately, is up to the whims of my brother, who seems to have come down with a terrible case of wanderlust,” Beatrice grumbled.

“I’m afraid Charles may have passed it on to my cousin, Liber,” Milliaria said. “He’s supposed to be my partner, but I haven’t seen him since he was whisked away.”

Beatrice groaned. “I apologize on my fool of a brother’s behalf.”

“My father is my partner for the night, but he’s gone off to pay his respects and hasn’t returned yet,” Luna said.

“A similar story for you, then?”

“That said, this isn’t like the Spring Ball. Partners are entirely optional. As far as I’ve seen, there are quite a few strays like us, so I don’t particularly mind.”

“That makes sense,” said Melody. “But Lady Celedia, what about you?” The other ladies had excuses, but Celedia’s partner stood right beside her.

Celedia smiled sadly and hung her head. “I, um, can’t. Dance, that is.”

“You can’t dance?”

“As embarrassed as I am to admit it, no. My father only found me little more than a week ago. Before that, I lived as a commoner. Like I said, this is all very new to me.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I was told he wanted me to have a proper debut before my enrollment at the academy, and I’m grateful to attend such a beautiful event, but it was all I could manage to memorize the rules of etiquette, much less learn to dance.”

“It can’t have been easy to learn all that in so short a time,” Luna said. “It’s certainly not your fault that dancing fell by the wayside. Sir Sable, I take it one of your responsibilities tonight is to field invitations and tactfully turn them down?”

The knight nodded. “There are many ways to respectfully decline. A lady ought never resort to ‘I can’t dance.’”

“I can certainly see how that might reflect poorly on her.”

“What’s more, my health is rather delicate,” Celedia went on. “I’m told it must improve before I even think about dancing.”

“Goodness, you poor thing.” Beatrice frowned at her.

She smiled wistfully. “I would like to dance to at least one song by the next ball. It’s something of a goal of mine.”

“There aren’t any balls in autumn, so your target should be the Winter Ball in December,” Luciana said. “That sounds perfectly achievable to me.”

“I very much hope so.” Another smile. Another twinge of melancholy.

Melody giggled. “Something to look forward to. I may not be there to see it come to fruition, but I’m sure it will be something to witness. I wish you the best.”

The girls’ jaws dropped in unison. Except Luciana’s, that was.

“Cecilia, we won’t see you at the Winter Ball?” Beatrice asked.

“I’m afraid not. I’m a commoner, after all, and it’s only because Lect—er, Sir Lectias happened to need a partner that I was offered the role.”

“Exactly,” Luciana said. “She felt so terrible for the poor man and simply had to come to his rescue. Out of pity. Because he was so miserable.”

“Let’s put a pin in unpacking that phrasing,” Luna said. “Cecilia, did I hear you call Sir Lectias ‘Lect’?”

“Oh, yes,” Melody replied. “How embarrassing. I know how improper it is, but Sir Lectias is a very generous man, and he considers me a friend. I’ve made a point to mind my tongue in public, but it gets away from me at times. My apologies.”

“‘Lect,’” Beatrice repeated.

“‘Happened’ to be in need of a partner,” said Milliaria.

“And he’s a ‘friend,’” said Luna.

The knight suddenly found himself the focal point of three pairs of curious eyes. Posh fans went up to cover each of the ladies’ mouths, but they did little to conceal the conclusions burning in their eyes.

I know this look, Lect thought. I see it in Lady Haumea and Lady Christina’s eyes!

He remembered their torment at the Spring Ball. Girls would be girls. None could resist the sweet scent of a potential romance.

“Cecilia,” Celedia chimed in, “did you come with Sir Lectias tonight against your will?”

“Oh, no. It’s admittedly intimidating to attend such an affair as a lowborn, but so long as it’s for a friend, it’s nothing I can’t endure.”

And it helps that it’s for my lady, Melody added silently. Always a maid first.

“Oh.”

“Lady Celedia?”

The light left her eyes. Due to her poor health, these sudden spells worried the others, but Celedia quickly collected herself. “I apologize if that was a silly question.”

“N-not at all. Are you feeling okay, my lady?”

“I may not last the entire night, but I’ll stay as long as I can. Thank you for your concern.”

“Do take care of yourself.”

There was that sad smile again. Melody returned it with a brighter one.

They continued to chat among themselves for some time, until a guest appeared.

“I see everyone’s here.”

“Lady Anna-Marie!” Luciana said, promptly righting her posture. “Your Highness!”

All of a sudden, the group’s collective height grew as they all straightened.

“Be at ease, friends. We’re here to introduce you to someone very special,” the prince said.

A tall, handsomely beautiful figure appeared behind Christopher. A man at first glance, then a woman at second.

“Greetings,” she said. “Ciestine van Rordpier, second princess of the Empire of Rordpier, and your future schoolmate, at your service.”

She wore the gentle, demure smile of a maiden, but in a distinctly masculine, and noticeably sensual, way. It very nearly engendered squeals from the ladies. Most of them, anyway. Luciana was an exception, already numb to stunning beauty in part thanks to Maxwell, and Melody was, well, Melody.

“We’re squiring Her Highness about and introducing her to those she can expect to meet during the upcoming semester,” Anna-Marie said. “She’ll join our class, so some of you will actually be classmates.”

“I’d love to know their names,” Ciestine said.

“Right, this is—”

“Her first!” Luciana blurted. “I have someone who I’d like to introduce first!” She dragged Celedia out from the shadows of their group. “Apologies, Lady Anna-Marie, Prince Christopher. She’s new to both of you too. This is Lady Celedia, Lord Leginbarth’s daughter.”

“P-pleasure to meet you,” Celedia said. “That’s right. I am Celedia Leginbarth.” Though flustered, she did not forget her curtsy or her melancholic smile.

So this is her, Anna-Marie thought. If things were normal, she’d be the one we need in order to defeat the Dark One, but since everything’s all wonky, we can’t know for sure if she’s actually the Saint. She has the hair and the eyes and that pitiful look down pat, but her name, and this timing…

In The Silver Saint and the Five Oaths, the heroine’s reunion with her father was a bittersweet one. She’d lost her mother, been removed from all she knew, and been thrown into a new life with new ways and new people. Subdued grief shadowed most of her very first smiles, as seen in CGs.

“So you’re the one,” Christopher said while his companion pondered.

“You know me, Your Highness?”

“Only your name. Being a prince comes with certain privileges, like hearing of new classmates before anybody else.”

“Classmates? I’m to join your class too?”

“In that case, yours is a face I’d do well to commit to memory,” Ciestine said. “I hope our acquaintance will be a pleasurable one.”

“L-likewise, Your Highness.” Celedia’s face burned.

The others introduced themselves in turn. Maxwell wouldn’t be in the same year, and Lect wasn’t even a student, but they too introduced themselves. Neglecting to do so before royalty would have been rather rude, to say the least.

They went in order of status, meaning Melody—or rather, Cecilia—would go last. As she waited for her turn, something brushed past her ears, a sound so quiet, so imperceptible that she nearly mistook it for a breeze.

 

…ine…me…!

 

Everything went black, like a dark haze dropping over Melody’s vision. She tried to shout, but her voice betrayed her. Her eyes flew wide open. In the span of a single second, the world vanished. Then she blinked, and she could see again.

“What? What just…?”

The scene before her hadn’t changed. The others were still introducing themselves. No one acknowledged what had just happened. The haze vanished without a trace.

That was awfully vivid to have been my imagination, Melody thought. Perhaps it was a spell of lightheadedness, but she deemed that unlikely since she maintained her health rigorously.

She was out of ideas and out of time. Her turn had come. She opened her mouth to introduce herself.

“Princess Ciestine, won’t you tell me about your homeland?” Celedia said just as Melody stepped forward.

Melody was stunned for a moment. It was like the lady hadn’t even seen her.

“The empire? Well, we’ve no shortage of snow,” the princess began.

Ciestine did not seem eager to chastise the girl’s breach of conduct. Neither did Anna-Marie or Christopher or even Lect. Luciana alone pouted, as if she herself had been slighted, but she could not resolve the issue without committing a faux pas of her own.

Maybe I’m not to speak because I’m a commoner? Melody thought. What exactly does etiquette call for in this situation?

She wasn’t used to this feeling. It was like everyone had forgotten her, and she didn’t know what to do about that.

Then came a snap, like the sound of a folding fan ­shutting with great force.

“What a rude bunch you are. Shameful, the lot of you.”

Everyone whipped toward the voice. A refined young lady in a dress of pure crimson stood before them. Her heels clicked against the floor to mark her approach.

“Lady Olivia?” Anna-Marie said.

Olivia Rincot’dor stopped before Ciestine and ­curtsied with all the dignity befitting a duke’s daughter. “We meet again, Your Highness.”

“And to what do I owe the pleasure, my good lady?” Ciestine asked.

“My business is with my father, actually. I just happened to be passing by when I chanced upon an act of impropriety that demanded correcting.” Olivia fixed Celedia with a cold glare. “You. You interrupted this one before she could introduce herself to the princess. What do you have to say for yourself? Is this the way your governess taught you to behave? Genuinely, I’m asking.”

Celedia looked between her and Melody, croaking pitifully. Indeed, she appeared every bit a toad in a hawk’s talons.

“M-my lady,” Sable said, struggling to calm Celedia.

Lady Olivia. She’s my lady’s classmate, Melody recalled. Daughter to Duke Rincot’dor.

Melody stepped forward. This altercation was about her, after all. “I’m honored you would come to my aid, my lady, but your kindness is wasted on me. I’m only a commoner, you see.”

“Then I extend the criticism to your partner there,” Olivia shot back. “You’re of noble blood, are you not? Yet you stand there, dumb as a statue, while someone insults your charge. Disgraceful. Have you no dignity?”

Lect’s mistake dawned on him with the tenderness of a ton of bricks. With a legendary grimace, he apologized to Melody.

Olivia covered her mouth with her fan and scoffed, then addressed Anna-Marie. “The greatest shame of all is that such vulgarity should come to pass under your and His Highness’s watch. You are to lead by example. What was wrong must be made right, not least of all for the sake of the aggrieved.”

“Yes. Yes, you’re right,” Anna-Marie said. “It’s as you say, Lady Olivia.”

“An inexcusable slip,” Christopher said. “I thank you for opening my eyes to it.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Olivia cleared her throat. “In hindsight, I may have overstepped and come across too harshly. In any case, I apologize for intruding. Excuse me.”

With a curtsy, she disappeared into the crowd. Their group remained in a stupor for several seconds.

“It did slip our minds that Cecilia had yet to introduce herself,” Beatrice said awkwardly.

“You’re right,” Milliaria said. “My nerves must have gotten the better of me and made me forget. I’m so sorry, Cecilia.”

“I-it’s quite all right, everyone!” Melody said. “No need to make a mountain out of a molehill!”

Ciestine approached her. “I’m guilty as well. Tell me, to whom do I owe an apology?”

“You owe me no such thing, Your Highness. I’m but a commoner. My name’s not of value to you.”

“You’re surely of some value if you’re here at this ball.” Ciestine’s expression softened. “Please, I insist.”

“Very well,” Melody said. “My name is Cecilia McMarden, and it’s thanks to my partner, Sir Lectias, that I have the privilege of attending tonight. I’m not enrolled at the academy, so I fear this may be our only chance to meet, Your Highness. Regardless, it is an honor.” Punctuating her textbook greeting, she dropped into a model curtsy. A most perfect one, by any measure.

Most people could not boast that they could win hearts and minds with such a simple, etiquette-prescribed gesture, but Melody was not most people. As she straightened, she met the princess’s eyes with a flawless smile. Heavenly. Angelic, even.

Her aura left Ciestine stricken. Melody had forgotten to restrain her maidly mannerisms, perhaps because she stood in the presence of such an esteemed personage.

Anna-Marie, too, bore witness in awe. In more private company, she might have squealed. I’m beginning to understand why they call her the Angel of the Spring Ball. She’s definitely as pretty as one.

Holy crap, she’s cute, Christopher thought, in his own crude way. She’s got this holy aura, like she’s the purest thing in the whole world. Not for mortal eyes. And she’s only a commoner. I’m not sure if even I’m in her league.

Ciestine’s gaze sharpened as she recovered from her surprise a step faster than the others. So, you’re the “Angel” I’ve heard so much about. It’s not often legends live up to their names. Now, how might you be of use to me?

With her icicle eyes and tempering smile, she said, “Fair Cecilia, might I trouble you for a dance?”

Melody blinked. Now she was the toad.

Everyone shared a collective, inner cry of disbelief. The reverie was over.

Chapter 16:
Ciestine van Rordpier

 

HOW DID I GET MYSELF INTO THIS? MELODY pondered how her actions had birthed this consequence as she and Ciestine faced one another on the ballroom floor.

The princess was quite tall for a girl, and she had to look down to meet Melody’s eyes. She still wore her trademark handsome grin. “There’s no need to be nervous,” she said. “Dance as you would with your partner.”

“Y-yes, Your Highness.”

A commoner could not deny a princess, and so Melody found herself in the arms of royalty. Lectias and Beatrice, Maxwell and Milliaria, and Christopher and Luna joined them. The girls would finally get to dance. Plus, Lect’s lord had technically ordered him to engage partners other than Cecilia, so the arrangement worked out in his case, though he could not deny his curiosity regarding Ciestine’s intentions.

Luciana and Anna-Marie insisted on lending Milliaria and Luna their partners, as it would have been a tad awkward to send Beatrice out alone.

Ciestine regarded the trembling girl before her with satisfaction. A commoner. Uneducated. Pretty, granted, but that card’s already been played. And her partner’s only a knight. This will be easy.

Disquieting thoughts, to be sure, but Ciestine bore no ill will toward the girl herself.

She’ll be a stranger to me after tonight. The perfect tool. A quick dance is all I need to get a read on the Theolan peerage.

The princess was well aware of the commotion her dress had caused. She stood out. But aristocrats cared too much for propriety and appearances to voice their true thoughts regarding her peculiar tastes. In public, anyway.

Not that I’ve any need for someone brutish enough to shout their opinions from the rooftops.

If Ciestine wanted to learn the truth, to see their true faces, to discern friend from foe, she had to hear the voices they thought she could not hear, peek where they thought she could not see. A dance offered the perfect opportunity for her to scout for potential allies. Should they exist, she needed to rally them quickly, for her goal would not wait for them to reveal themselves. Cecilia happened to make the perfect tool toward that end since, as a commoner, she would be easily handled and easily forgotten, especially since she didn’t attend Royal Academy.

No one would look twice at a commoner. Ciestine would take the girl for a quick spin, accomplish her objective, and continue on with her night. Simple.

I do feel sorry for the girl, putting her on the spot with a princess, but I have no choice. You are but a stepping stone on my path to crushing him. Count your days, Schroden. They’re numbered!

 

“Congratulations. Another princess for the imperial family.”

Fifteen years prior, in March, a troubling yet successful delivery yielded a baby girl thanks the emperor’s third-favorite concubine, Albedira.

“No. No! You mean a prince! It was a boy I carried! Don’t lie to me!”

“I-I’m sorry, Mistress, but it is a girl. A beautiful girl.”

“Guards! Take her away! Cut her lying tongue from her mouth and feed her to the blight beasts! I’ve given birth to a prince! We have a prince!”

Albedira was an exceptionally driven woman. Long had she held ambitions of one of her own ascending the Rordpier throne. So blindly did she chase this dream that she only dimly realized the emperor’s consort had already produced a son, and just yesterday had produced another. Not even the fatigue of childbirth could quell her passion.

The midwife disappeared, but not to be de-tongued nor fed to monsters. She had done no wrong.

“My son. You are my son. You must be. The throne will be yours, my son.”

Being born to Albedira was the first of many misfortunes to come for Ciestine.

From the start, the emperor displayed little interest in the baby his concubine carried, already having sired two princes. When it became known that he was not to receive a third boy, his apathy hardened. Ciestine’s upbringing and education consequently fell entirely to a mother who refused to accept who she was.

Thus, the princess was raised as a prince. Every ­feminine mannerism, every potentially womanly inclination was swiftly and harshly corrected. From her vocabulary to her wardrobe, Albedira meticulously controlled her daughter’s childhood in the hope that she would realize the truth: She was, in fact, a boy. But Ciestine knew. She knew from the moment she knew her own name. She was, and wanted to be, a girl.

This caused her no small amount of distress. She was a smart girl, an observant girl. She knew she could not protest as her mother put her in trousers and suits when she would have preferred dresses. She was also a fearful girl and lacked the courage to look to her servants for help. The emperor, though perfectly aware of the situation, did not care for her plight.

Ciestine was alone.

She did have a brother, however. A real prince, born just a day before her, and to the empress consort herself. Ciestine wished she did not, because Albedira despised the boy and everything he represented. The siblings were enemies, whether Ciestine wanted to be or not.

Ciestine was sharp, far more given to learning than her mother. She breezed through Albedira’s curriculum effortlessly, and all of her tutors spoke highly of her ­development, much to Albedira’s pleasure and Ciestine’s relief. Few things brought her mother pleasures, but even this one was short-lived, because Schroden was a genius as well, even more so than Ciestine. He was also stronger. And faster. In every measurable aspect, he ­surpassed her, and what she struggled with, he overcame with ease.

Worse, thanks to Albedira’s insistence that her daughter was a prince, the siblings were constantly compared to one another. Ciestine became Schroden’s shadow, always haunting his steps but never matching his stature. A silly princess playing at prince. For all her talents and accomplishments, it was her inability to live up to the masculine role ascribed by her clothing that defined her.

Albedira shunned her just the same as the others. Always, Ciestine came up short, try as she might to satisfy her mother, to live up to a standard she could not meet.

Ciestine’s only reprieve, her only avenue of acceptable self-expression, was her rivalry with Schroden. Only in the context of that reprehensible prince did Albedira allow her to speak her mind. So Schroden became her punching bag, Ciestine’s oppressive muse. It certainly helped that the prince was easy to hate. Thankfully for Ciestine, his scoffs and smirks provided the perfect targets for her repressed rage.

If only hatred and success were positively correlated. As she neared her fifteenth year of life, Ciestine drew no closer to usurping him.

And then, in April, the news reached her.

“Schroden’s missing?”

“Yes, Your Highness. It’s highly confidential, but the imperial court is in chaos as we speak.”

The princess had amassed quite the support network during her short life—people to keep her apprised of events and methods by which she might outdo her brother. She’d mastered the art of schmoozing.

“Do we know why? Or how?”

“It’s unclear, but last night there was a secret council. Both princes attended.”

“Hmph. Cut out the princesses. Typical.”

The informant said nothing. Rordpier’s laws stated women could succeed the throne just like men, but its traditions told a different story. Not once had an empress ruled the empire, and in all likelihood, one never would unless it became the only option. Princesses simply held less value than princes, regardless of the legal line of succession.

“Find out what that meeting was about. And where my brother ran off to,” Ciestine ordered.

“It will be done.”

Months passed. The council guarded whatever they’d discussed closely indeed, so it took some time before Ciestine learned the truth.

“They wanted Schroden to study abroad in Theolas?”

“As per his plan, he was to infiltrate the kingdom, sow unrest, and prime the nation for its downfall.”

“Interesting. And I’m sure he could have seen it through, all but securing the throne for himself. So then why did he vanish?”

“I’m sorry to report we’ve nothing more to add on that front. He left only the one letter.”

“Then it wasn’t a kidnapping. But if he left of his own accord, again, why? His plan had been approved. It baffles the mind…though it does present an opportunity.”

“An opportunity?”

“Why, it brings a tear to my eye, the thought of my brother’s carefully laid plans going to waste. If only there were someone to take up the torch and champion them in his stead.” She smiled at the informant. “Loath as I am to play with his scraps, it would appear I’m the only one qualified to do so.”

“So it would.”

Ciestine laughed at herself. She’d spent so long ­studying that boy and chasing after all his endeavors that she’d inadvertently become an echo of him. That suited her fine in this instance.

With some difficulty, but hardly anything beyond her talents, Ciestine convinced the emperor to use her in Schroden’s place and secured her ticket to the Kingdom of Theolas.

“I’ll never understand what drove you to abandon all of this, dear brother, but I’ll gladly clean up your mess if it means the empire will know me. And it will know me.”

Chapter 17:
To Dance with an Angel

 

THE SONG BEGAN. A WALTZ. MELODY MADE to take her first step.

Huh?

But her foot had already moved somehow. Ciestine had guided it into motion, just as Schue had during their practice dance at the county estate.

A less skilled dancer would not have noticed such a technique. They might assume they had suddenly and ­miraculously improved, and that perhaps it had ­something to do with their compatibility with their partner, but a practiced dancer would recognize the truth, just as Anna-Marie had. Ciestine was a puppeteer, ­fooling her toy into thinking it had free will, a ­psychological technique she’d inherited from Schroden.

Melody finally knew why the girl irritated Luciana. It’s because she moves just like Schue.

She couldn’t contain her laughter. Such an odd coincidence. They looked alike too, but it was a testament to Schue’s idiosyncrasies that she hadn’t noticed. Fascinating, the way a tan and a silly smile could hide such an obvious resemblance.

But anyway, I’m used to this style of dance. Melody knew how to handle it, how to enjoy it, even. We’ll see who’s the lead, Your Highness!

This night would produce yet another legend.

 

Ciestine let her eyes wander as she whirled through the ballroom. As expected, many watched her dance in awe, while others failed to hide their disgust behind ­plastered-on smiles. A few didn’t even do her that courtesy and sneered openly. Even fewer showed no interest ­whatsoever. The Theolan peerage was a rich tapestry indeed.

She made mental notes about whom to follow up with, and then felt something. Something wrong. Instinctually wrong.

What’s this, now? The princess scanned her surroundings but found no threats. What could have sparked that twinge of wrongness in her gut?

She began to turn, and then it dawned on her. I’m…I’m not leading!

Cecilia should have been under her thumb. She’d thought she was leading the dance this entire time—­because she was, just not of her own volition. It hit her then. This was the wrongness. Cecilia had realized what Ciestine was trying to do and adapted to it, allowing her to lead and effectively making herself the true lead in the process.

Impossible!

It was worse than she thought. Cecilia had assumed complete control in the short time the princess let her attention wander. Every move Ciestine tried to make, Cecilia circumvented it.

This has never happened. How can this be?!

Their eyes met. Ciestine spied a glimmer of childish amusement in the commoner’s gaze. Cecilia grinned at her, proud of her little prank, and simply continued to dance. She said nothing, but Ciestine could hear the taunt as clear as day. “Took you long enough.”

Is that a challenge? The princess’s eyes twinkled. Her handsome grin sharpened into a smirk.

It should come as no surprise that Ciestine was a sore loser. Dancing was her forte. She would not take it lying down when someone so brazenly provoked her. Her initial objective be damned—this mattered to her more than anything.

Lest it be forgotten, however, the song was a waltz. Not at all a competitive endeavor, and not at all given to the kind of fanciful, showy acrobatics that might coincide with a contest.

Nonetheless, their dance morphed into something that enraptured the entire ballroom and elicited ­fantastical ­images. Ciestine was as a lovelorn knight beseeching an angel. The angel could not stay, however, and their love could not flourish. The dance told a story of desire, of longing for that which lies just out of reach.

Which was to say, metaphorically speaking, Melody was winning.

 

“How beautiful,” Celedia sighed.

Anna-Marie and Luciana observed the dance from the sidelines with her and Sable.

“Oh, I wish so badly that were me with Cecilia right now,” Luciana said. “But it is a breathtaking sight.” She looked torn between swooning and ripping her handkerchief in half.

The others were on tenterhooks waiting for one or the other.

Anna-Marie had never seen the Angel in action, not like this, anyway. She was starstruck. Her dance with Lect had been something, but this—this was divine, an absolute spectacle. Cecilia’s best by far.

It reminded her of a certain type of person.

“She’s like the main character of the ball,” Celedia said for her.

But her voice was dead. Lifeless.

“Lady Celedia?” Luciana said, worry creasing her brow.

Celedia turned to her, expressionless. “Lord Maxwell is your partner, yes?”

“Th-that’s right.”

“How did that come to be?”

“W-well, he…asked me, I suppose,” Luciana replied. The memory brought a brilliant shade of red to her cheeks. She hung her head, and therefore could not see the emotion flickering across Celedia’s face.

“I see. He asked you.” Her lips moved but made no words, as they’d done before. “…me.”

“I-I’m sorry?”

“Lady Celedia!” Sable said.

Anna-Marie tore her eyes from the dance to find the lady near to collapsing. “Oh my goodness. Are you okay?”

“Y-yes. Just a little lightheaded is all.” Her complexion went pale as a ghost’s. “I’m terribly sorry. Sir Sable, might we retire early?”

“Of course, my lady. Take my arm. The entire shoulder, if you must.”

“Goodness, but we’ve only just met,” Celedia said. “That won’t be necessary. For now.” Steadying herself against the knight, she turned to the ladies. “Send my apologies to the others. Excuse me.”

“Be well,” said Anna-Marie. “Sir Sable, let not a speck of harm come to her.”

“Over my dead body, my lady,” he said.

“See you at the academy,” Luciana said.

Celedia replied with a smile before bowing and taking her leave.

Anna-Marie watched her go, her apprehension lingering like a fog hanging around her. Please be okay.

 

As the final note of the song warbled into silence, applause erupted. Ciestine and Melody bathed in an ovation that dwarfed what the first dance had received.

Ciestine, somehow out of breath after a mere waltz, panted as she reassessed the situation. Beads of sweat trickled down her forehead. I never did manage to reassert myself. And yet…

And yet she had never felt this way before. Showers of applause were nothing new to her, so what was so special about this time? Why did it feel so different?

What the princess did not understand was that this was what she’d always sought. Recognition. Acknowledgment of a job well done. Things she had never experienced in her life and thus failed to recognize.

“Your Highness, thank you for the dance. It was a riveting experience,” Melody said.

“Yes. Yes, it was. Thank you for indulging me, but enjoy your victory while it lasts. Next time, things will be different.”

“We’ll see about that.” Melody beamed, and the princess’s heart leapt. “Shall we return to the others?”

“Y-yes, let’s.”

Even as Ciestine escorted Melody back to their group, the pounding in her chest didn’t abate. What this could mean, she yet lacked the faculties to deduce.

“Oh. Has Lady Celedia gone home?” Melody asked when they rejoined the others.

“She wasn’t feeling well. She didn’t look well either,” Luciana said.

“Then I suppose it’s for the best. It’s a shame I didn’t get to say goodbye.” Especially since this was to be her last appearance as Cecilia. She wouldn’t get this chance again.

Regardless, the ball went on. Lect, desperate to satisfy his lord’s conditions, danced again with Milliaria, then Luna, and even Anna-Marie, but this attracted an actual, physical line of women, each eager for their turn with him. For better or worse, he would have no issue meeting his quota.

Melody, now free, danced with Maxwell and Christopher, but primarily passed the time chatting with Luciana and her friends. Though few, some brave souls did dare to ask for the Angel during a couple of songs, but no one prevailed against her guardian. Luciana’s defenses were impregnable.

After some time, Ciestine and her guides moved on to converse with others. The princess didn’t leave without requesting a second dance with the commoner at a later ball, but Melody could offer only a noncommittal promise. Cecilia may not ever appear again, after all. Some stalwart men invited Ciestine to dance thereafter, though most of her partners were female. She’d only ever practiced the man’s side of ballroom dancing, after all, and therefore had to turn down those intrepid few men who asked.

However, Ciestine did take some satisfaction in the fact that her charms worked on both sexes.

Chapter 18:
Hounds on the Hunt

 

CELEDIA PARTED WITH SABLE UPON ARRIVING at the Leginbarth estate and retired to her room. Her lady-in-waiting remained with her until Celedia breathed slow and deep.

Her chest rose. Her chest fell. It rose and it fell for a long while as the night deepened. At its darkest, her chest rose, and it did not fall.

Celedia rose and swung her feet to the floor. Her nightgown brushed her ankles as she sat on the edge of the bed. Once she was sure she was alone, she stood up and threw aside the curtains. A deluge of moonlight drowned the room save for one shadowy corner. She approached that corner and kept approaching, even as she neared the wall. She stood a hair’s breadth from the wall itself and still did not stop.

And then she vanished, like smoke into shade.

 

The ball stretched well into the night. The adults could while away several more hours, but the younger lords and ladies began seeing themselves out.

“See you next semester, Luciana,” Beatrice said.

“See you!”

“Cecilia, I’m so sad I won’t get to see you again,” Milliaria said.

“Thank you, madam. I’m flattered you feel that way.”

“I expect a certain someone will cook up another excuse to invite her again when the time comes,” said Luna. “I wouldn’t say goodbye just yet.”

Melody giggled. “Oh, you and your jokes.”

“Um, is she always like this, Luciana?”

“Always,” Luciana said. “It makes my job a breeze.”

“I’m beginning to feel a little sorry for a certain someone.”

Beatrice, Milliaria, and Luna departed in the same carriage soon after. Their partners—Beatrice’s brother, Milliaria’s cousin, and Luna’s father—made a brief appearance, but exchanged little but polite greetings. Doubtless they each anticipated scoldings in the very near future.

“Luciana,” someone called out. “Cecilia.”

“Ah! Lady Anna-Marie,” Luciana said.

Anna-Marie caught them after seeing Beatrice and the others off.

“You’re alone?” Luciana asked.

Christopher and Ciestine were noticeably absent when Anna-Marie approached.

“His and Her Highnesses are caught up in a conversation, but I managed to slip away. We won’t be leaving for some time, so I wanted to say goodbye while I could. It seems I’ve missed a few of you.”

“You’re too kind, my lady,” Melody said.

Anna-Marie eyed her. “Do be careful on your way home, Cecilia. Will you promise me?”

“Y-yes? I promise?”

“Sir Lectias, watch her closely. Vigilance, understand?”

“I… Yes, my lady,” the knight said.

Lect and Melody wondered what had come over her. A laugh broke the contemplative silence.

“Ever the worrier, Lady Anna-Marie,” Maxwell chided.

“Yes, Lord Maxwell. Yes, I am,” Anna-Marie said. “How readily you forget the incident at the Spring Ball. I’ve been beside myself all night, praying we don’t have a repeat.”

“I understand now. Thank you for your concern, my lady,” Melody said.

“No need for thanks. The gray hairs to come are ­entirely self-inflicted. Thankfully, I’ve received word that Celedia arrived home safely.”

“Good news,” said Maxwell. “I’m very glad to hear that.”

“As was I.”

“I’m told she was feeling unwell,” Melody said. “It’s certainly a relief that her health held.”

Melody breathed a sigh, too relieved to note the ­tension in their words.

“The same goes for you, Lord Maxwell,” Anna-Marie said. “Lady Luciana’s safety is in your hands.”

“I’m aware. Keenly so.”

Shortly after, their carriage was ready, and Luciana’s group put the palace behind them.

It was a quiet ride home. Lect was already a man of few words, and Maxwell kept a dutiful silence.

Melody spoke up. “It’s a good thing Lady Celedia made it home safe.”

“I suppose it is,” Luciana replied, and not at all enthusiastically.

“That’s a very curt way to put it,” Maxwell said.

“I’m sorry,” Luciana sighed. “I just don’t think I like her very much.”

“Oh? But why?”

“Because. She didn’t apologize to M—Cecilia.” Confused glances. “When we were introducing ourselves to Princess Ciestine, she interrupted her. In all honesty, I nearly lost my temper, but I couldn’t in front of the princess. Thank goodness for Lady Olivia.”

“I do recall that,” Maxwell said. “Lady Celedia didn’t apologize?”

“She dithered an awful lot, but no, actually, I don’t remember her apologizing,” Lect said.

“You were awfully quick to do so, though,” teased Melody.

“Because, well, you deserved it, and I, er, was genuinely sorry.”

Their short skit lightened the mood, if only slightly.

“Anyway!” Luciana blurted. “All I wanted to point out is that everyone said they were sorry, even Princess Ciestine—even her partner, Sir Sable—but Lady Celedia never did. That doesn’t sit right with me, so I don’t like her.”

“She simply missed her chance, I’m sure,” Melody said.

“Maybe. I hope so.”

Ciestine had asked Melody to dance almost immediately following the incident, and Celedia had gone home before they returned. Melody was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. The timing had been awkward.

“It was her very first ball,” Melody said. “I’m sure she was a mess of nerves. You’ll be in the same class at the academy, so maybe you’ll come to like her once you get to know her better.”

“Maybe.” Luciana crossed her arms and grumbled.

Just then, a far-off howl cut through the night.

“Was that a wolf?” Melody asked.

“There are no wolves in the capital,” Luciana replied. “It was probably a dog.”

“It wasn’t close at least, whatever it was,” Lect said.

“I could have sworn it came from in front of us.” Melody opened the window and peered down the road before them. “Nothing, as far as I can see. Huh?”

Glancing behind them, just for the sake of caution, she noticed a shift in the inky darkness.

“Cecilia?” Luciana said.

“Apologies. I thought I saw something.”

“What?” Maxwell threw open the door and peered behind them as well.

The driver sputtered, “M-my lord!”

“Do not stop us! Maintain course!” Maxwell squinted and strained his eyes, but he couldn’t pierce the night.

“Allow me,” said Melody.

Mother used this spell all the time. It’s simple enough.

“Lamplight—Luce.” A little orb of light flickered to life at her fingertips. An elementary spell any mage, ­amateur or professional, knew how to cast. Melody couldn’t use magic, but tonight she was Cecilia McMarden, and something so basic hardly demanded secrecy. “Go!”

She flicked the orb, and it flew back in an arc, evaporating the darkness and revealing the hidden danger lurking within it.

Said danger roared. Five black wolves stalking the rear of the carriage bellowed in futile rage, then hurtled toward the vehicle.

“Monsters?!” Melody and Maxwell shouted together.

Luciana gasped. Lect braced himself. The driver was an absolute mess.

“M-m-m-monsters?! H-h-here?! Wh-wh-wh-what do we d-d-do?!”

“Whatever you do, don’t stop!” Maxwell barked. “They’ll pick us off like carrion if they catch us!”

“Yes, my lord! Not stopping, my lord!”

By some stroke of luck, or perhaps misfortune, the streets of Paltescia lay barren at this hour—it was only them and the wolves on the roads. Maxwell shut the door and shoved his hand into the cushions behind his seat, fishing around for something. When he freed himself, he was clutching a sword.

“I don’t suppose you have another back there,” Lect inquired.

“Afraid not.”

“Very well. We’ll have to do this the hard way then.” The knight cracked his knuckles. Swords were his specialty, but woe be upon the fool who thought disarming this warrior would even the odds.

“You’re going to fight?” Melody asked.

“If it comes to it. Those are stalker wolves. But what are night-hounds doing outside the Great Vanargand Wood? If they’re here, that means…” Lect grimaced.

“They escaped,” Maxwell finished grimly.

“There are sentries all around the Wood’s perimeter. Such a breach should have caused chaos in the Lower District long before the beasts made it here,” Lect growled. “How the hell is this even possible?!”

“I have the same questions, friend, but we have more pressing matters at hand.”

“Right. I apologize. Now, not to be the bearer of more bad news, but I don’t think I can take five stalkers all on my own. I presume by that sword you mean to help?”

“That’s the plan.”

“They’re speeding up!” Melody shouted. She’d been keeping a close watch on their pursuers. Three of the wolves fanned out behind them as two flanked the carriage. The one on Melody’s side bared its fangs. “Stay back! Luce!”

A flash flew from her fingertips directly toward the stalker wolf. Blinded, the beast yipped, recoiled, and lost its footing. The carriage quickly outpaced it as it tumbled to the ground.

“Nice one, Me—Cecilia!” Luciana said.

“It won’t stay down for long! Lord Maxwell, how is the other side?” Melody asked.

“Not good! It’s pulling ahead!”

“What?!”

The wolf running in parallel with the door side of the carriage was quickly overtaking the vehicle and too far away for Maxwell or Lect to slow down.

A blood-curdling scream erupted.

“The driver!”

Savagely intelligent predators, these wolves. All they had to do was kill the coachman, and they would leave their prey defenseless. The wolf leapt into the air, eyes and fangs set on the man in the box seat.

We’ll never make it! Melody lamented as a triumphant howl rang through the night.

“Carry me, cradle of wind—Respi-Dea.”

Melody couldn’t believe her eyes. The howl hadn’t come from one of the wolves. Just in the nick of time, Rook darted through the air, his blade held firmly between him and the attacking wolf. On his back rode none other than Grail.

Rook slammed into the wolf and then kept flying past the carriage. The beast howled in agony as his sword sank deep into its hide.

Chapter 19:
Luciana, Harisen Warrior

 

THE CARRIAGE STOPPED. THE HORSES stamped and snorted, and while someone usually might manage to calm the animals, the driver had passed out from fear. The four remaining stalker wolves kept a wary distance, sizing up this new threat.

“Rook!” Melody shouted, leaping from the carriage.

The valet ran over. “Mel—Madam Cecilia, Lady Luciana, are you okay?”

“Thanks to you, but what are you doing here?”

They were still a ways from the Rudleberg estate. What reason could Rook have for being out at this time of night?

Rook removed the pup from his back and held him out. “He started to howl like the sky was falling, then slipped out of the manor. Micah told me to go after him, and he led me here.”

“So that was the howl we heard!”

“Do you think he knew we were in danger and came to our rescue?” Luciana said. “Yeah, right, but thanks anyway, boy. You saved us.” She patted the pup on the head.

He squirmed indignantly. Don’t push your luck!

“You get cuter every day. But anyway, there’s still four of those wolves left. That’s better than five, at least.” Luciana let herself relax a little.

Rook’s eyebrow twitched. “Five. Still five, my Lady.”

“Five? But you skewered that—”

Before the words could leave her lips, the incapacitated stalker wolf shambled to its feet, then regrouped with its pack. The beasts eyed the group, wary and patient.

“But you stabbed it straight through the heart! I saw!” Luciana cried. “Were you not using mana?”

All monsters were impervious to non-magical damage. Only spells or mana-infused weapons could slay them for good. No amount of bludgeoning, slashing, goring, maiming, or even blasting could stop the mysterious beasts. Not for long anyway.

“I most certainly was, but I could feel it as my blade entered its body. I struck nothing.”

“What? But how?”

“The sensation was familiar. It brought to mind it.”

“‘It’?” Luciana gaped at the monsters, the black, seemingly invincible wolves. The resemblance was obvious. “The wolf! The big one!” She swiveled to Melody.

The maid concentrated mana in her eyes as she nodded. “I see it. The same dark mana.”

“So it’s the thing with the thing all over again?!”

“What ‘thing,’ my lady?” Rook asked.

“P-point being, this isn’t good. Neither of us could even scratch it. The only thing that worked was when Melody did the, um…”

“Laundry m—”

“Housemaid!” Luciana interjected, shoving her hand over his mouth. Couldn’t forget the death glare. “The housemaid thing! And what a powerful technique it was!”

They would have to rely on that power again, surely, but Melody sadly shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t managed to replicate the spell.”

“Th-that’s not good. Now what?” Luciana blanched. They were powerless.

Just then, a horse neighed, slipped from its harness, and darted into the night.

“Oh, come on! What now?!”

Lect and Maxwell rushed to join them.

“I let it go,” Maxwell said. “They’re trained to return to their stable when spooked, so if luck is on our side, someone will notice and send help.”

“The coachman is safe inside the carriage,” said Lect. “That aside, Rook—I believe that was your name—why are you here?”

“You saved our coachman, and I extend my thanks to you on behalf of my house, but I do believe an explanation is in order,” Maxwell said.

Melody, Rook, and Luciana provided one, leaving out the parts about their previous encounter with a black wolf.

“So not even magic will avail us,” Maxwell said. “Still, I see no peaceful way out of this situation. Rook, you can fight?”

“I can.”

“I’ll certainly take five-on-three to five-on-two, but this darkness puts us at a severe disadvantage.”

The only light came from Melody’s Luce spell. This wasn’t modern-day Earth, where street lights punctuated the streets at regular intervals, and night lay thick over the city. The driver had illuminated the way with a directional light spell, but he was unconscious. They had to squint and strain simply to confirm the wolves still circled them.

“Allow me. Luce.” More orbs of light sprang from Melody’s hand. Ten in total drifted into place, creating a perimeter of light around the group and the threats. “That should do it.”

“And how. Madam Cecilia, you are truly a prodigy,” Maxwell said.

“I’m what?”

“Simple as the spell is, to maintain ten of them at once is no mean feat. It’s a shame your talents aren’t being polished at the academy.”

Even that’s too much?!

Melody easily could have produced a hundred or even two hundred of the things. She’d never paused to consider a paltry ten impressing anyone.

“I-I’m flattered, my lord,” she stammered, wincing.

“Now we have a chance,” Rook said.

“There’s a reason stalker wolves are also known as night-hounds. Without cover of darkness, we’ve robbed them of their preferred hunting style. The scales tip ever so slightly in our favor,” Maxwell said. “If only we could hurt them.”

The valet and the lord readied their swords.

Lect braced. “If it’s possible to hurt them, rest assured, we will,” he said.

“Take shelter in the carriage. They won’t get past us.” Maxwell offered a reassuring smile to the ladies.

For once, it did not faze Luciana. “No, thank you.”

“What?”

She stepped forward and flicked her wrist. The fan in her hand transformed into a harisen.

“And what in the world is that?” an incredulous Maxwell asked.

“My weapon of choice. The harisen!” She whipped it through the air, and it let out a satisfying thwack.

“A hari-what?” Maxwell said. “Begging your pardon, Lady Luciana, but we cannot allow a woman to put herself in harm’s way with that for a weapon. Please, stand back.”

Luciana sneered at the lord. “Your suggestion has been noted and will be considered at my next convenience. Cecilia, you retreat to the carriage and focus on maintaining the light spell. If something happens to that light, we’re as good as dead.”

“But my…! Lady Luciana!” Melody protested.

The lady turned and lowered her voice. “I want you to watch and try to think of a backup plan. It’ll come down to you if we can’t pull through on our own. Please, Melody. For me.”

Melody swallowed her misgivings. “Yes, my lady. Your dress is charmed, so you ought to be safe, but please, be careful.”

“Knew I could count on you! Be back soon. Promise.” Leaving Melody at the carriage, Luciana trotted back to Maxwell, Lect, and Rook.

“I never approved of you joining us,” Maxwell said.

“I never asked,” she countered. “This is my fight just as much as yours.”

Maxwell had no reply. Where did the young lady hide all that dauntless bravery?

The stalker wolves took this as their cue, and one of them charged for the lord. Maxwell fumbled with his sword, only for Luciana to beat him to the defense.

“The only way I’m leaving is if you slay these mutts before I do,” she said.

The lady danced. Exactly as Melody had taught her, she danced. She knew these steps from more than ballroom experience now. They’d even bested Garmr. With those same, lithe movements, she pirouetted around the attacking wolf.

“That’s enough!” she cried.

Her harisen slammed squarely into the beast’s side, a beautiful swing like a tennis stroke. The wolf howled in pain and went flying to the edge of the street.

Lect’s jaw dropped. Maxwell’s jaw dropped. The wolves’ jaws dropped. The afflicted stalker had no visible wound and yet lay there on the ground spasming in pain.

“Come on!” Luciana said. “Who wants to die next?! There’s plenty more where that came from!”

“Lady Luciana, would you please mind what you say?!” pleaded a voice from behind, the only voice that could manage words after that display.

Luciana staked her claim. This fight belonged to a girl in a ballgown, and she didn’t feel like sharing.

Chapter 20:
A New Way Forward

 

LUCIANA’S IMPRESSIVE PERFORMANCE WAS not a portent for the battle to come. Quickly, things devolved into a stalemate.

They could not damage the beasts. Luciana’s harisen certainly hurt them but could inflict no lasting damage. The group held the wolves at bay, but the longer the fight dragged on, the more ferocious the wolves became. The monsters knew this was dangerous prey. Maxwell was dangerous prey. Particularly his sword.

Maxwell swung, and a wolf whined. The wound didn’t vanish this time.

“Your blade can hurt them,” Lect said. “Why? Is that… Is it made of silver?”

“Precisely. Though, in truth, it’s a ceremonial bauble we keep in our carriage for entirely superstitious reasons. Better than nothing, I thought, but it’s proven quite effective.”

Maxwell was lying, of course. It had been prepared in advance for this very purpose.

And that can only mean this attack has something to do with the Dark One, he thought. Divergences aside, this proved the ancient evil’s revival was nigh, as prophesied by the royal couple.

What are those creatures? the aforementioned ancient evil wondered while nestled in the legendary Saint’s arms, back at the carriage. Their mana is similar to my own and yet different from what I’ve felt before. Thralls, by the look of their energy. But whose? And why do they attack? Who is so foolish as to send such weaklings after the Saint? Unless… The pup sneered. As best a pup could. This master of theirs either doesn’t know who they’re dealing with, or they’re foolish to a fatal degree. After all, not even I can sense her saintly aura. One would never suspect it unless predisposed to suspicion.

Grail chuckled menacingly. Fool. Fool! I only came because I thought this mana my own, but I’ve smelled more appetizing scents at breakfast! In fact, the odor I smelled some days ago was far more enticing. Nevertheless! I could not best this wretched girl, and now you shall meet the same ignoble fate!

Melody shut the pup’s oddly chuckling mouth. “Hush, Grail.”

Eyes infused with mana, she analyzed the battle. These creatures were nothing to her. A single Missile Guidato dart would have made quick work of them. Her mana seemed to serve as a natural repellent for the mana enshrouding the monsters, so doubtless her spells could pierce the veil and damage the wolves’ physical forms. The fly in the ointment was, of course, how to do that while keeping her secret. Outing her magical talents was tantamount to tying a noose around the neck of her life as a maid, and using the Cecilia persona as a cover was risky to say the least.

Then again, maybe she could trust Maxwell. Melody knew she could, but it wasn’t him she was worried about. The death blow to her way of life could come from anywhere anytime. Maxwell was the son and heir to a marquess, and that was a messy business.

Not to mention the fact that they were in public. Eventually, the chaos would attract attention. Manors in the upper district sat spaced generously apart to allow for those all-important, grandiose courtyards and gardens, so things were quiet for now, but that wouldn’t last with all this noise—to say nothing of the ten brightly glowing orbs shining in the dead of night.

What do I do? If they can take the wolves out on their own, great, but… Melody examined Maxwell’s blade. To her enhanced eyes, it glowed a pale white. That’s almost like the color of my mana. So that’s why he can cut through the dark energy and actually damage them. If the others had that same advantage, they stood a good chance. But what spell do I use? And how do I cast it without anyone finding out?

She considered enveloping them in their own veil of mana, but three shining beacons of magic wasn’t exactly subtle. They already had ten of those. Perhaps she could turn invisible and deal with the monsters herself? Subtle in a certain sense, but subject to intense confusion and scrutiny, which were the last things she needed.

Argh, what do I do?! The longer this takes, the more danger they’re in. Think! Think, Melody! Oh, if only that pesky dark mana weren’t there!

A light bulb flickered on over Melody’s head. “If only the mana weren’t there. That’s it!”

Grail gurgled.

“Oops! Sorry.”

She quickly let the pup down on a carriage seat, then returned to the battle. It’s so simple! Why didn’t I realize it sooner?! The problem’s the dark mana shrouding the wolves. Get rid of that, and there’s nothing protecting them anymore!

“Come, arcane winds—Argento Brezza.”

A gale picked up around the battlefield, charged with Melody’s mana. She’d used this very spell to whisk away the dark mana plaguing the crops in her lady’s county, and it had worked beautifully. Despite its name, Argento Brezza—silver wind—was entirely colorless, odorless, and imperceptible. The winds breezed over the monsters and swept away the mana covering them like brushing salt off a dining table, then the gale carried the mana up into the air and condensed it, just as it had with the mana ­afflicting those crops.

Might come in handy for summoning the Silvershine Raiment, she thought.

The others finished the job swiftly. Rook swung, and his blade struck true. The stalker wolf let out a death rattle, twitching on the ground before it finally stopped moving.

“It worked?”

The remaining four froze in shock.

“Eyes forward!”

Lect slammed a mana-charged fist into a wolf’s face. As the creature bounced against the hard road, Lect swung his leg up to bring his heel down on the wolf’s head. The beast howled its last.

“I’m not entirely sure why, but our attacks are working now!”

“They need help,” Rook said, indicating Luciana and Maxwell, who had been holding their own against three stalker wolves by themselves. They hurried over.

All three wolves eyed Maxwell and his dangerous blade. Luciana managed to distract one, but the remaining two were pushing the lord to his limit. He wouldn’t last much longer.

“Whoever’s looking out for us, I owe them my gratitude,” Maxwell said.

Lect quickly relieved Maxwell of one of the wolves, leaving him to face the other on even terms. Maxwell swung his silver sword in a great arc.

It worked. Without numbers or darkness, stalker wolves were little more than household pets. Lect summarily disposed of his foe as well.

“Oh, did someone even the odds? Looks like we win!” Luciana said. “Take this!” She reeled back and blasted the beast with a full-bodied swing of her harisen. It crashed to the side of the road, where it lay twitching yet alive. “Huh? I was told we could hurt them!”

“The harisen is meant to be harmless!” Melody ­reminded her, shouting from the carriage. “Harmless yet torturous!”

Maxwell shot Cecilia an incredulous look.

“Oh, right.” Luciana groaned. “Rook, would you please?”

“Right away.” The valet put the spasming beast out of its misery.

Fatigued panting replaced the snarls of the hounds and swishing of swords.

Luciana raised her fist skyward. “The day is ours!”

Were this a video game, the fanfare would play right about here. Melody could not provide any such tune, but she did find her lady awfully fetching in her moment of victory. She settled for a round of passionate applause and a makeshift spotlight with her Luce orbs. It was the least she could do.

 

Noise soon returned with a vengeance. Monsters had appeared in the Upper District, and the neighbors finally noticed. Reclentos knights hurried to the scene, alerted by the riderless return of one of their horses, and they escorted Melody and her party back to the Rudleberg estate.

“I’ll return to the palace and report what happened,” Maxwell said.

“Allow me to—”

“No need, Sir Froude. I implore you to stay, if you’ll forgive my brusqueness. The Rudlebergs would be safer for your presence.”

The knight could not respond. Melody and Serena rendered the estate safer than the royal palace itself, but the uninitiated (that is, Maxwell) viewed Rook as House Rudleberg’s only protection. Lect, not knowing the full extent of the mad maid’s powers himself, could only agree with the lord’s assessment.

“Lord Maxwell, do you know what’s going to happen with school tomorrow?” Luciana asked.

“Well, had this not happened, we would have returned to the dorms and assembled in our classrooms at noon, but I suspect the academy will put a hold on that. They won’t jeopardize the safety of their students at a time when the capital could be compromised.”

Luciana’s shoulders slumped. “Another delay.”

“I assure you, this isn’t the norm.” Maxwell offered what solace he could with a smile.

Then the lord went off to do his due diligence. Melody was finally free to return to her (mostly) natural self, and she wasted no time righting her appearance. One last check in the mirror to ensure her uniform was in order, and she was ready for work. In the dead of night.

Her powerful smile quickly faded. That was awfully frightening.

Monsters in the capital. They’d come out of nowhere. Melody had had her share of run-ins during her excursions into the forest, and these pests hadn’t been much stronger than the ones she was used to, but she wasn’t used to her lady being present during those encounters.

The maid’s failure to protect her lady at the Spring Ball still hung heavy on her. Her charms and defensive magic could do some wondrous things, but not even they could spare Luciana from harm this time, meaning Melody hadn’t done enough. She’d made a promise to her mother, a promise to be the most perfect maid in the world. Of late, she’d realized doing that meant ensuring her lady’s happiness, but how could she protect something so immaterial if she could not even ensure her mistress’s physical safety?

From her magical storage dimension, she removed the condensed bead of dark mana. Ostensibly, it was the same as the last one, and yet somehow different.

It’s somewhat prickly? Like it’s angry or doesn’t want to be held.

Something told her this would not help her in her search for the Silvershine Raiment’s trigger. A sigh escaped her.

“What if there’s another monster like that, shrouded in this mana?” she wondered aloud. “What if it happens on campus grounds, where I’m not allowed?”

She would live in the dorms with her lady, of course, but as a rule, servants were not allowed on the actual campus where lessons were held. Yet Melody was the only one capable of fighting against the dark mana. Maxwell’s sword had done some damage, but that seemed unreliable at best.

“How do I protect my lady? What can I…?” Her thoughts trailed away as inspiration struck.

Melody hurried to the dining hall. Everyone already huddled there, comforting one another in the wake of the incident.

“Melody,” Paula said. “Back to being a maid already?”

“It’s what I am,” she said.

She and Lect hadn’t returned to their own estate yet. “Shame, really. Cecilia might be my magnum opus. I wanted to ponder her visage a while longer.”

“Then I have good news,” Melody mumbled.

“Huh?”

“Lect.” Melody approached him, clenching her teeth as she did.

The knight froze. “Yes?”

“I have a favor to ask.”

“A favor?”

“I—that is, Cecilia McMarden, would like to apply for enrollment at Royal Academy!”

“She what?”

“She what?!” roared Luciana, Micah, and Paula.

With me at her side, the maid resolved, no harm shall come to my lady!

 

The Wood lay quiet. In the moments just before wolves ambushed Luciana and her company, the moon cast a mosaic of shadows through the blightland’s gently swaying trees. From one such penumbra, as if out of thin air, a girl appeared.

Celedia Leginbarth.

The grass welcomed the girl’s feet as she strolled, unafraid, clad in nothing but her nightgown, and gently humming. “Seems nobody’s home. Vanargand must be off plotting somewhere.” A chilling giggle slithered from her throat. “Just as well.”

With a deceptively beautiful, unassuming smile and awash in the glow of the moonlight, the girl continued to walk, sending casual glances toward the shadows until a stalker wolf emerged from them. The boorish stranger growled menacingly, intent on ruining the girl’s midnight stroll. Also known colloquially as night-hounds, the beasts were masters of darkness, and certainly not to be trifled with in their own territory.

Celedia regarded the wolf with mild amusement, raising her fingers to her lips as if she’d just heard a joke. “My, how scary.”

The wolf warned her with another growl, but it was too late. The monster salivated as it took in this rare treat of an easy hunt. And such tender-looking prey as well. Oh, how wrong it was.

Even beasts, it seemed, were subject to hubris, for in its ravenous hunger, the wolf failed to notice the girl’s fingers, placed gently at her lips, as the nails turned pitch black. And her mana—oh, her mana. How it swelled within her, as massive as the ocean.

The stalker wolf roared and bounded for the girl, sealing its fate.

“I see through you.”

Celedia sidestepped the charge and then waited. Sure enough, four more wolves leaped from their hiding places, aiming for the girl while she was off-balance. Surely, this was the end, and dinner was imminent, but the wolves would not feast this night.

“Come, my sweets,” the girl said. “Good hounds.”

She raised her hand, and in a blink, black lines streaked from her fingers, shooting into the air, then arcing back down—straight through the five wolves’ hearts.

Silence swept in to replace the snarls and howls. Celedia stood amid the quiet. The beasts spasmed and writhed on the black lines—Celedia’s dark, elongated talons grimly impaling their chests. Her nails began to beat and pulsate like veins, as if pumping something into the monsters. A dark haze oozed from the beasts, and they rose once more, very much alive, and formed a line in front of the girl, each lowering their head to her.

“That’s it. Good little mutts. Don’t make me waste my breath now.”

Her eyes directed the wolves toward the shadow she’d emerged from. They nodded in an uncanny, animalistic kind of understanding before marching into the darkness between the trees. Celedia followed soon after.

Five stalker wolves and Celedia emerged from the shadowy corner of her room at the Leginbarth estate. “Go. Go and rid me of this nuisance.”

She opened the window, and the wolves dove through it to rid their lady of a certain nuisance.

In the silence and solitude of her room, Celedia danced. “Cecilia, Cecilia, Cecilia. Such a lovely name. It should have been mine.” In the silence and solitude of her room, she sang a wordless song. “Maxwell. Oh, Maxwell. You were to invite me to the Summer Ball. It was meant to be.” She froze and looked out the open window at the naked moon above. With a sinister giggle, she said, “It should have been me. Because I’m the heroine of this world. Isn’t that right, Leah?”

A shadow stretched from the girl’s feet, born of the lunar radiance. A twisted, inhuman shadow in the shape of a wolf.

Chapter 21:
Cecilia McMarden

 

THE MORNING AFTER THE SUMMER BALL, September 1st, should have ushered in the first day of a new semester at Royal Academy. Alas.

“What is it about this year and first days getting ruined?” lamented Christopher.

“I almost feel bad for the academy,” Anna-Marie said. “They handled things fine in the game. Classes ­continued the day after the Spring Ball attack, and the second ­semester started right on time after the monster ambush.”

“Less paperwork and fewer worried parents to deal with in the digital world.” Christopher grunted. He and his partner in crime, Anna-Marie, were discussing events in his chambers.

“No Lord Maxwell today,” Anna-Marie said.

“Do you want to explain the concept of a video game to him?”

“Fair enough, although he is a big help. Regardless, let’s get the facts straight.”

The night before, Maxwell and a cohort of knights had come to the palace in a panic, causing no small amount of uproar in the process. Naturally, Prince Christopher and Anna-Marie had an inkling of what had happened. They’d heard the details in private.

“It was so late, I don’t really remember much of it, to be honest,” Christopher said.

“Me neither. It was a lot to take in. The written report will jog our memories.” Anna-Marie produced the documents Maxwell had prepared and got to reading.

“To think, the heroine role went to Luciana and Cecilia over Lady Celedia. She didn’t get jumped by any monsters, did she?” Christopher asked.

“No. And that’s accurate information. I had good people watching her,” Anna-Marie said.

“You have ‘people’ now? What’s next, you gonna turn crime lord on me?” Christopher asked.

“Would you relax? They’re just some old blightland explorers I hired through the Commerce Guild. They’ve got recon experience, so I use them as an extra set of eyes and ears sometimes.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Then what’s your problem?!”

“Anyway,” Christopher said, getting them back on topic, “so your ‘people’ say they saw no monsters near Lady Celedia, and nothing coming or going from the Great Vanargand Wood. How are they so sure? That place is enormous.”

“There’s a certain margin of error, granted, but there are only so many routes one could reasonably take that lead to the capital,” Anna-Marie said. “I had them watching every single one. I thought they’d find me some kind of lead instead of literally nothing.”

Christopher’s stomach dropped. “What if they can teleport?”

“Don’t even joke about that. We’re royally screwed if we have that kind of magic to contend with.”

“It’s totally a genre staple, though. Why wouldn’t the Dark One be able to teleport?”

“If it can, none of the lore I read mentioned that, but… Oh god.”

They shared a weighty sigh.

“That ‘Rook’ guy who showed up to help,” Christopher said. “Who’s he?”

“Luciana’s valet-in-training and guardsman, apparently. He can use magic too. Supposed to be a formidable fighter.”

“Didn’t have your people verify that?”

“Look, I’m not perfect, okay? They were focused on the Wood. I shouldn’t have relied so much on Lord Maxwell. Sorry I didn’t foresee every little thing.”

“I’m thinking we’re gonna need some more people before long.”

“On that, we agree. We’ve done nothing but react since April. When’s the last time we took the initiative?”

“Knowing who the Saint is sure would go a long way.”

“Speaking of, Lord Maxwell mentioned that at some point during the fight, everyone could suddenly hurt the monsters.”

“Right, yeah. Think it was her?”

“Hard to say.” Anna-Marie crossed her arms and frowned. “That’d mean the Saint is either Luciana or Cecilia, but neither of them meet the criteria.”

“How’s that?”

“At this point in the story, the Saint can’t use magic. Her powers haven’t awakened. In the game at least, only she has those powers. Her magic is unique. So it’s an ­all-or-nothing sort of thing. If she’s awakened, she can use her special Saint magic. If not, she can’t. And she has to have made an oath with someone—like one of the love interests—but neither Luciana nor Cecilia have much going on in that department.”

Aside from an oath a certain maid had pledged to her late mother, but Anna-Marie had not accounted for such a fringe case.

“Luciana can use water magic,” Christopher said. “And Cecilia cast Luce, according to the report. Nothing ­special there, aside from the part where she had ten lights up at once.”

“Right. So realistically, all signs still point to Celedia.”

“But Luciana’s the one who got attacked.” The prince groaned. “Man, this is confusing. We might have to just be happy we made sure Maxwell was ready for anything. Take what we can get.”

“Maybe so.”

Another world-shattering sigh gusted through the room.

“On an unrelated note,” Anna-Marie said, “this part about Luciana ‘walloping’ the wolves with a harisen. What’s that about?”

“Don’t look at me.”

“It says she was ‘very fetching bathed in the magical light.’”

“Max did not write that!”

In this world born of fiction, sometimes reality proved even stranger. Much to the royal couple’s frustration.

 

“I know I said I wanted to meet again soon, but it’s hardly been half a day,” Lyzack said.

“My apologies, Brother,” Lect said.

“Please forgive our intrusion, Lord Froude,” Melody said.

Lyzack’s two visitors lowered their heads.

“Please, it’s no bother. I said you were welcome anytime, and I’m a man of my word.”

The viscount was staying in the capital for the ball. His brother and his brother’s (future) partner, Cecilia, arrived at the temporary residence for a visit. He led them to the parlor, where they could converse properly.

“Now,” Lyzack began, “I take it your coming here today is a sign of your interest in my proposal. You want to attend Royal Academy?”

“Yes, my lord,” Melody said. “I’ll subject myself to whatever examinations are required.”

Lyzack grunted. Cecilia hadn’t seemed particularly eager when he first suggested this to her at the Summer Ball, but he knew that earnest look on her face.

Quite the change of heart to have overnight, he thought. His younger brother kept shooting her nervous glances. Methinks it’s safe to say it wasn’t Lectias’s doing either.

Lyzack did not want for filial piety, but he could not deny that a certain member of House Froude sorely lacked spinal integrity, quite unlike the girl holding the viscount’s gaze. Lect very much needed a spirit like hers in his life, Lyzack thought.

“Might I be so bold as to ask what brought about the change of heart?” he asked.

“Of course, my lord. After our meeting, I spoke with Lady Luciana about the academy. She told me much. Being primarily self-taught has not caused me any inconveniences in my day-do-day life, but it dawned on me last night that a more formal education in the things I already know could be good for me.”

“Oh? You speak as if you’ve something in mind.”

“Arcane studies, my lord. I’d like to hone my skills and study the mechanisms of magic more closely.”

“Magic? So you’re a mage then.”

“Lamplight—Luce.” An orb of light sprang from Cecilia’s palm. Any spellcaster could have done likewise, but then she produced another. And another. And so on until ten orbs of light glowed around her.

“So you are, and not just any mage either,” Lyzack said.

“This is the only spell I can cast in tandem to this extent, I’m afraid.”

“It’s plenty to impress, I assure you. You’re a prodigy. That much is already evident.”

“I’m embarrassed to say I was blind to the significance of my abilities until very recently.”

“Yes, well, that is the hazard of being self-taught.” Lyzack took a moment to mourn all those hidden gems who lacked the proper teacher to polish them—and to praise himself for not letting this one slip through his fingers. “I thank you for being brave enough to share this with me. It will make endorsing you that much easier.”

“That’s a relief,” the girl sighed.

Lyzack turned to business, his demeanor sharpening. “Now, I proposed that you apply to enroll, but the truth is, I cannot pull any strings in order to make your case.”

“No?”

“You’ll need to meet with my lord, Count Leginbarth, to undergo an interview and entreat him directly before you can undergo a screening.”

“Your lord?”

“The vice-chancellor. In a list of names, you would sooner find his by counting back from His Majesty’s. A powerful man, to say the least. Impress him, and it should be simple enough to appeal to the academy thereafter.”

“This isn’t a frivolous matter for someone like him?”

“He may see it that way and refuse to see you, true. In that case, I’m afraid I won’t be able to do anything to help you, but I do think you stand a good chance.”

“But we’ve hardly spoken. How can you be so sure?”

“Madam, I am a very good judge of character, something you will no doubt prove when you meet with His Lordship.”

“I see. I’ll certainly do my best.”

Lyzack nodded, impressed with the girl’s drive. He handed her a piece of paper.

“What is this?” Cecilia asked.

“Your resume, to be submitted to His Lordship. You’ll include details like your name, age, childhood residence, and the like.”

“I understand.” She took the pen from the viscount’s outstretched hand. It must have been a time-sensitive matter, she supposed.

While Cecilia worked, Lyzack invited Lect to a neighboring room. “Seems she’s come around after all. What did you say to her?”

“Why do you ask me questions you know the answer to, Brother? It wasn’t my doing.”

“I thought as much. She’s spirited. Driven. But she seemed hesitant at best last night. I can’t figure out what caused such a drastic shift in attitude.”

Lect furrowed his brow. “You’ve heard of the monster incident?”

“A dozen times now. You can’t strike up a conversation without hearing about it again. Why?”

“It was our carriage that was attacked.”

“What?! Good lord, Lectias, are you all right? Is Madam Cecilia well? She’s putting on an awfully brave front.”

“There were no injuries, for a mercy, but she’s frustrated at her powerlessness. She could only wait and keep the battlefield lit for us.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, seeing as this is more your field than mine, but it’s my understanding that battles ­generally require vision. After what she showed me, I struggle to believe she was anything less than indispensable.”

“Naturally, but she wishes she could have done more. It’s as simple as that.”

“I see. Yes, I see.” Lyzack considered Cecilia’s passion in this new light, saddened to see her resolve spring out of trauma. “I very much would have preferred her to make this choice under less grim circumstances.”

“She wouldn’t have budged for anything less.”

Lyzack saw the tired smile on his brother’s face, and he knew. It was a practiced expression. “I hear you ­instructed a class for a time. Any plans to return for the new semester? It’s going to get difficult for you and your paramour to meet when she moves into the dorms. Shall I beseech His Lordship on your behalf, dear brother?”

Lect grumbled. It was a long grumble. “I’ll consider it.”

The viscount allowed him his vacillation. They had time.

When they returned to the parlor, they found Cecilia staring a hole through her resume.

“Something I can help with?” Lyzack offered.

“Oh, my lord. It, um, concerns my hometown. I…don’t actually know where I was born.”

“You don’t know?” Lyzack looked at what she’d ­written. She’d put down the Avarenton March, but left the town blank.

“I never really paid it much mind, growing up. It never actually occurred to me until this very moment.”

“I…I suppose that can happen.”

Cecilia sighed. Lyzack could not reproach the girl. Small, isolated villages often referred to their communities simply as “home,” he had heard, and the Avarenton March was vast. Perhaps Cecilia hailed from one such village. It would certainly explain her ignorance regarding her own magic.

Or maybe she was lying, which she absolutely was. Melody had already slipped up giving her real last name. If she then gave her actual hometown, Cecilia wouldn’t serve as much of a disguise anymore.

“You can simply leave it as is,” the viscount said. “The march will suffice.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Lyzack gave the resume one final review to scan for errors. “We’ll submit this to His Lordship, then likely schedule the interview for a later date. I’ll have to get in contact with you then. Where might I direct my correspondence?”

“My estate will do,” Lect said.

“Am I to take that to mean you’re living together?”

“D-don’t be ridiculous! It’s only for the sake of ease!”

Lyzack did ever so much enjoy toying with his gutless brother.

After seeing his guests off, he contacted Count Leginbarth at once. His Lordship was still trapped in the palace dealing with the aftermath of the monster infiltration. It would likely be a few days before he could grant an audience.

But to Lyzack’s surprise, this was not the case. The viscount gathered his things and rushed to the palace, as per his lord’s instructions.

 

That evening, when Count Cloud Leginbarth found a moment to spare, Lyzack Froude bowed before his lord. “Thank you for seeing me, Your Lordship.”

“At ease, friend. Now, I’m told this concerns Madam Cecilia?”

Cloud was surprised at himself. What was he doing? He didn’t have time for this immediately following an incursion of monsters in the Upper District. The Royal Chancery lacked the capacity for something so superfluous now of all times, but the moment Cecilia’s name came up, Cloud had to know.

What am I thinking? And after how little thought I afforded Celedia when she was forced to leave the ball early. Cloud’s self-loathing fed into itself.

Regardless, he entertained Lyzack’s petition.

“She wants to attend the academy?”

“Yes, my lord. And if I may, she’s an incredibly gifted mage. I believe she’s more than qualified to undergo the examination process.”

“Hmm.”

“Additionally, I believe the education would lend itself well to an eventual engagement with Lect, should—”

“Should what?” the count growled.

Lyzack jumped. “M-my lord?”

“Er, n-nothing. Ahem. Apologies.”

What in the world am I doing?!

The words “engagement with Lect” had ignited something visceral in Cloud. A strange rage flared up out of his control. Why did he care so much for this girl? She was not his daughter. She was nothing to him.

“For those reasons, I, um, put forward Madam Cecilia as a candidate for enrollment,” Lyzack ­continued. “I might also advise a meeting, so that you may ­ascertain her qualifications for yourself, Your Lordship.” He handed Cloud her resume. “You’ll find them detailed here.”

“Ah, yes, I never did get her full name. Cecilia Mc…” The count read it again. “McMarden?”

“My lord?”

Cloud sat frozen, his eyes fixed on those eight letters. McMarden. Her name is McMarden. The same as Selena’s. Is she related? Impossible. I’ve searched her entire family history forward and backward, and never found a “Cecilia” among the names. It must be a coincidence. Nothing more. Just a…

The image of her golden hair and red eyes flashed through his mind. He recalled her smile and the way it elicited both sadness and fondness in him. Why?

Cecilia McMarden, who are you?

 

Melody doffed her disguise and returned to her true, maidly self. Lect and Paula had departed for their estate. All returned to normal.

“Feels good to be home.” She giggled at her uniformed reflection before leaving her room.

Luciana was waiting for her. “Will it work out?”

“My lady, what are you doing all the way over here at the servants’ quarters? I’m afraid it’s hard to say. It will take some time to work through the whole process.”

“Phooey. Oh well. I’m sure there’s nothing they can throw at you that you can’t handle! And then we can go to school together!” She squealed. “I’m so excited!”

“My lady, nobles do not bounce! It’s unbecoming. And remember, I’m going as Cecilia, not Melody. Do keep that in mind.”

“Yep, gotcha!”

Melody shook her head. Her lady was such a handful sometimes. They reached the family room together.

“I’m still not sure about this attending the academy business,” Hughes said.

“I must admit, it’s worrying,” Marianna agreed.

The count and countess regarded their maid with concern.

“Rest assured, Your Lordship, Your Ladyship. Lady Luciana’s safety is guaranteed with me at her side!”

“That’s not what we meant,” they groaned.

“Oh.” Melody cocked her head. What did they mean, then?

“Um, excuse me!” Micah’s hand shot up. “I think it’s great that Miss Melody gets to go to school, but what about her maid work?”

Only Micah, the otome gamer, stood a chance of rivaling Luciana’s glee over the whole affair. Finally, the heroine would do something actually resembling what a protagonist should do. Yet the parts of Micah that understood Melody’s devotion to maid work ached at the idea of her having to abandon her life’s purpose.

“We have considered all of that, Micah,” Melody said. “By day, I’ll be Cecilia the student. By night, I’ll be Melody the maid, always at my lady’s beck and call! Who says I can’t wear two hats?”

Labor laws, as it happened. If this world had them, that is.

“We do,” the family plus Micah said.

“What?! Why?!”

And just like that, it was back to the drawing board.

Epilogue

 

SPRING—THE SEASON OF BEGINNINGS, OF life, the beginning of beginnings. Every debutante and ­escort worth their blue blood spent the majority of their childhoods preparing for this most special of days, April 1st. Music filtered through the Upper District on the night of the Spring Ball, a gentle melody emanating from the Rudleberg estate. Inside that estate’s humble, moonlit kitchen sat the culprit, a single pup resting soundly in her lap.

Sweet dreams—Fa in Bel Sogno.

A simple spell for the little pup fighting off sleep. Little did Melody know the true strength of the ancient evil for whom she sang, or her role in the game called The Silver Saint and the Five Oaths.

The Saint subdued the Dark One, and in so doing ­unleashed her silver essence. Again, unbeknownst to Melody, a torrent of glowing, powerful energy erupted from her, stretching beyond the kitchen, silver fractals like branches of a sacred tree enveloping the royal capital in its boughs. It spread slumber like scattered leaves not just to the Dark One but to every resident who called the city home.

Such power was destined to exceed the bounds of Paltescia’s walls, however.

When Melody concluded her song, the branches shrank, and the silver tree melted away, but so much mana could not simply vanish. Traces lingered, traces that should not have even existed but nonetheless were carried away by the wind to the north and west. The mana traveled slowly yet rapidly, aimlessly yet surely, as if guided by some unseen power.

 

Three titans sat like gemstones inlaid in the bosom of a vast, Y-shaped mountain range: the Kingdom of Theolas, the Kingdom of Hemnates, and the Rordpier Empire. The peaks bound each nation, protecting their borders; but to the west, on the Hemnates side, slumbered riches, true gemstones.

By order of the Hemnatian crown, those gemstones were mined, and from those riches sprang a town. In that town lived an orphan, if a girl of fourteen, a year from adulthood, could still be considered an orphan.

She dashed between stalls, bread clutched to her chest.

“Stop! Thief! Thief!”

“Maybe if you say please!”

The girl, lithe as she was, bounded up a wall, scrambling onto the building’s roof. The baker stamped his feet. “Get back here, you little…!”

The girl cackled. “Thanks for the bread. Don’t worry. I’ll put it to good use!”

“Damned urchin! I better not see you again!”

She sneered, took a deep breath, and shrieked. “Help! Someone! Gowin’s trying to force himself on me!”

“Good lord, woman! What in the hell are you—” Gowin took a moment to appreciate the number of young women eyeing him up. “Demon girl! You lousy good-for-nothing!”

But the baker’s sharp wit pierced only the air. The girl was gone.

Minutes later, Leah emerged from the shadows into a shady alley on the outskirts of town. She did not know why her name was Leah. She hadn’t had a name before, and it was the first one she thought to give herself. So she was Leah. She thought it suited her. It didn’t mean ­anything, and she didn’t know why she liked it, but she did indeed like it, strangely enough. It didn’t matter what her name was anyway. No one would know it but her. She’d always been alone, no one to look out for her, no one to take care of her. Most kids met grim fates under those circumstances, so surely she’d had someone at some point, and surely that person called her by a name.

Leah bit into her pilfered bread. The thrill of the chase ebbed away, leaving the previously entrancing loaf of bread mere, drab sustenance. It was all business, in the end. She took no joy in her spoils because, somehow, deep down, she knew stealing was wrong. She only did it because she had to, because she’d starve otherwise. No one would employ a street urchin, and there was no infrastructure in place to support people like her, not even orphanages.

It was a town born of riches, by the rich, for the rich, a cesspit of inequality and privilege.

Leah couldn’t even leave, ensnared in the system as she was. She couldn’t waltz into a new town, unwashed and mangy, and discover some brighter future. No, she had to steal. She had to. And yet she had standards. Morals. She wouldn’t let the machine chew her up. Leah put on her little show as her one meager act of defiance against the ­society that had forsaken her, a spiteful mask of joy in the face of despair. She had to at least pretend. She had to.

The class disparity in the town was a gruesome thing. The working class—miners, primarily—suffered poor conditions and frequent workplace deaths. The streets overflowed with children whose parents had left for the tunnels one day never to return. Leah figured she was one of them, not that she’d ever know for sure.

“Wish that guy quipped as good as he baked. Needs a wife.”

Leah let herself savor the bread, if only for spite’s sake. She thought about a future where she wasn’t so destitute. Maybe she could have done him a favor. She just as quickly discarded the idea. The baker was too old and too portly for her. She might have been an urchin, but she still had standards.

I prefer more of a tan, she thought. And a cute smile. Whatever those are.

She didn’t have a clue where she got those preferences. She just had them. Maybe one day she’d actually meet someone who met them.

Wonder who I’m holding out for. Maybe he’ll show up in my dreams.

Leah made herself comfortable against the dark, dingy wall at her back and gradually dozed off. She had to rest when and where she could. There was no telling when someone would come looking to take what wasn’t theirs.

 

“Uh-oh,” she panted. “These guys are serious.”

“Get back here, urchin!”

“You can’t run forever!”

“And you sure as shit can’t hide! Get over here!”

Leah’s miniature heist had not gone according to plan this time. She’d thought the trio of travelers would offer easy pickings, but then they caught her trying to nick their things. If only that were where her bad luck had ended.

“Those little legs won’t carry you forever!” a man snarled.

The trio pursued, keeping pace far too well for Leah’s liking as she leapt from rooftop to rooftop. They stomped their feet down and kicked themselves into the air, easily closing any distance she managed to put ­between them. These were not spellcasters, but they were skilled in mana manipulation—vagabonds who made their living prowling blightlands, hunting and selling their spoils. As such, they specialized in using magic to enhance their physical attributes.

Leah was lithe, but she couldn’t outpace the superhuman.

“Don’t worry, we won’t treatcha too rough!” one of the pursuers cackled.

“Like ’em scraggly, eh?”

“Hey, ain’t no stench can’t be scrubbed out! Sprinkle a little water on the brat!”

I picked the wrong people to mess with! Leah ground her teeth. No choice.

With a swift turn, she changed direction, sprinting toward the mine.

“C’mon, don’t be like that!”

These mountains were rife with precious jewels, but there was one shaft in particular that had been sealed off. Its veins dried up, and the risk of cave-ins was especially high there. The wooden boards blocking the entrance staved off most curious explorers, but Leah was just small enough to squeeze through. It was her only hope.

“Stop, you little pickpocket!”

“Ain’t gonna be no safer in there than out here! After her!”

“You’re not gettin’ away!”

The travelers saw her destination and rushed to cut her off. They could eventually manage to force their way into the shaft, but three grown men barging their way inside might set off a cave-in. If they were going to catch her, they’d have a better shot outside the mine.

But luck remembered Leah just in time.

“I’m gonna make—”

Sweet dreams.

The moment Leah leaped for the opening into the mine shaft, light flashed so brightly it penetrated her mind. The sun seemed to rise inside the dark cave for an instant, and when the moment passed, Leah fell unconscious.

The girl hurled herself into the tunnel with more force than was probably wise. Even from outside, the men heard the crash. Then the earth rumbled.

“Stop!”

They did. Scuffing and sliding through the dirt, they halted their momentum just before the sealed maw of the mountain, just in time for the rocks to start falling—with the girl still inside.

The men gulped.

“What, uh… Whaddya s’pose happened to her?”

“Girl’s dead. Or she will be soon.”

“Wh-what do we do?”

“Nothin’, I guess. Just one orphan, right? They go missin’ all the time. Plus, she had it comin’. She tried to steal from us, boys!”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s true.”

Satisfactorily justified in their apathy, the men left. Out of sight, out of mind. Except one man chose to speak up.

“Say, did either of you see that snowflake thing flash just before she flew in?”

“Not our problem,” the remaining two spat.

And so the town lived happily ever after, in perfect, peaceful silence, uninterrupted by the defiant cackling of a thieving street urchin.

 

College student Shirase Reia, twenty, sat aboard an England-bound flight. Not for any grandiose reason. She was an average girl with average taste in otome games, and she just so happened to win a sweepstakes sponsored by one. That was why she was on this plane. No other reason. The notion of traveling abroad was alien to her. If it weren’t for the sweepstakes, she wouldn’t even consider it. She had no talents or ­passions to speak of. She was an average girl. But maybe, just maybe, with this adventure, she could be a brave average girl.

So maybe she did have a reason to be on this plane.

An especially talkative boy sat next to her. One Hirosaki Shuuichi, age twenty-three. The gardener dreamed of expanding into landscape design. When Reia asked how he planned on achieving that, he didn’t have much to say other than, “We’re about to find out.”

He was a funny boy. He managed to get Reia talking about herself, which was no mean feat.

“And there’s ten of you, you said? Must have been a pretty successful game if the developers are splurging that much.”

“It’s crazy, huh? They’re actually pair tickets, so there could be up to twenty, but, well, I’m going by myself. I’m not sure exactly how many showed up.”

“Hey, lucky me. If you’d used that extra ticket, you and I might not have gotten to talk.” Shuuichi smiled a funny, unkempt sort of smile.

Reia blushed. “O-oh. Yeah, true.”

A twist of fate had placed them together. Shuuichi was her polar opposite. If not for him, Reia would have gone the entire trip not speaking a word.

Reia found herself envying Shuuichi’s extroversion, though she could not help also being thankful for it. She would have easily worked herself halfway to a panic attack sitting in total silence next to a boy like him. He had tan skin, like those pickup artists she’d always been told to avoid, but he was actually very sweet. Not at all the type to disrespect women.

As the flight went on, Reia grew more and more fond of the boy. Shuuichi always had a new question, and he seemed genuinely curious about her interests. That was how she’d gotten to talking about the game sponsoring the trip.

Then came the lore barrage.

Even Shuuichi seemed a bit taken aback, but Reia was too lost in her rant to notice. Eventually, she produced the game itself and pointed to a boy on the cover: Schroden van Rordpier, the fifth love interest of The Silver Saint and the Five Oaths. “This one’s my favorite.”

“Pale, blond, and handsome. Such a shame that I’m so tan.”

“Maybe,” Reia giggled, “but I think you wear it well.”

A goofy chuckle bubbled from Shuuichi’s lips. “You’re just saying that. So what’s this guy like?”

“Not at all like you, Hirosaki-san. What you see is what you get with him. He’s cold, calculating, crooked, and selfish to top it off. He’s perfect.”

“Reia-chan, I hope that’s not telling of your dating history. He sounds abusive to me.”

“Meh, it’s a game.”

“Your face, your fate, I guess.”

Reia found his reaction amusing. If she ever met someone like Schroden in real life, it’d definitely be a terrifying experience, but he wasn’t real, and that was the important part. So long as Reia was in no real danger, she could peer through the glass and swoon and adore all the horribly toxic men she wanted. The protagonist, Cecilia, was really quite strong for enduring it all.

Obviously, I want someone nice in real life, Reia thought. Someone like Shuuichi-san.

“Reia-chan? Why’d you go quiet?”

“Oh, um, sorry. So, Schroden’s like, um…” She quickly changed the subject, embarrassed by her private ruminations.

Shuuichi listened closely and dutifully as Reia summarized Schroden’s route, so closely and dutifully that eventually the summary turned into a lengthy and detailed lecture. People never listened to her so keenly when she went off like this.

Reia did not return to her senses until the end of her spiel. “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!”

“Sorry? What for?”

“For talking your ear off.” Her cheeks flushed.

Shuuichi donned that silly grin again. “So long as I’m chatting with a pretty girl, I’m in my happy place. I should be thanking you.”

Some people flattered with empty words. Reia didn’t sense vapidness in these, however. Her cheeks burned even hotter. “I, um, don’t have many friends, so I don’t get to talk about this very much.”

“No?”

“I wasn’t sure what to think when you just started randomly talking to me, but I’m, well, happy you did.”

She meant every word. She wasn’t used to speaking her mind, but Shuuichi and his candid heart encouraged her to let go.

The boy returned her gratitude with a cryptic look. Cryptic until he spoke, at least. “Go out with me, Reia-chan!”

“Huh?!” Reia’s mind raced. Her heart raced. Flustered, she stuttered out the truth. “You—I-I don’t know what to say. This is a little sudden.”

“Is that a no?”

Oh. He jumped to that conclusion fast.

She hadn’t said no, as a matter of fact, just that it was sudden.

Her heart thudded. If only to keep him from hearing it, she said, “You’re, er, single, I’m guessing.”

“Sure am. It just never works out for whatever reason. Every single person I’ve asked gives me a hard pass.”

“Your timing could use some work,” Reia muttered shyly, voice too low for him to hear.

If he’d asked a little later, I just… M-maybe I could have given him a proper answer.

“Hey, look over there.”

“Over where?” Raising her head, she followed Shuuichi’s gaze toward a woman on her way back from the restroom, a very remarkable woman. “Wow. She’s so—”

“Pretty,” Shuuichi sighed, gawking at the waves of her silky black hair.

She carried herself with grace and elegance all the way to a seat behind them, but not before Shuuichi made sure he got enough of an eyeful to last the rest of the trip. The sight turned his face into melted ice cream.

The woman was about their age, not that they could know that. Nor her name—Mizunami Ritsuko.

She’s so beautiful, Reia marveled. She can’t be any older than us, but she looks like a real woman. So mature and elegant. Wait, no, that’s beside the point!

“Wow, she sure is beautiful,” said the grinning pile of pudding. “Whichever guy she decides to date has gotta be the luckiest man in the world.”

Didn’t this guy literally just ask me to go out with him?! Yeah, she’s pretty, but come on! How am I supposed to trust you don’t do that to every woman who passes by?

Reia’s amusement had run dry. “I think I know why you never have any luck with the ladies.”

“You do?! What is it? Tell me!”

“The fact that you need me to tell you means you’re already beyond help. Get used to being single.”

“No! I refuse! Please, Reia-chan! What am I lacking? Tell me and I promise I’ll change!”

“Ask someone who cares.”

Or figure it out yourself!

“Don’t do this to me!”

Reia did, in fact, do that to him, and with a shoulder more frigid than the Arctic. All the while, she remained blissfully unaware of how precious their remaining time together would prove.

 

Leah woke from a restless stupor. Her body ached. She’d gone into the mine shaft as limp as a rag doll, and taken a beating upon landing that her new bruises attested to. Those she could not see, though she could very much feel them. Her entrance disappeared behind her, sealed off by fallen rocks. Not a single ray of light squeezed through the blockage.

Leah stumbled to her feet and scanned the darkness. “What happened? Why am I here?” Unfamiliar thoughts littered her mind, thoughts that blended with her own, changing her in ways she could not yet perceive. “I can’t see a thing. Where’s the way out?”

Using the wall as her guide, she ventured deeper. Every step was a gamble, a leap of faith in the darkness. Despite her acts of courage, her reward remained out of reach. She was no closer to an exit. Every so often, more rubble fell, reminding her that this place could bury her alive at any moment.

Where was her bravado now? Her mask of unrepentance? Lost somewhere in the black void. A girl with tears in her eyes replaced the rogue with the devil-may-care attitude. Still, Leah trudged on, refusing to give up on the light that surely lay at the end of this tunnel.

She walked for what felt like miles, took innumerable turns down innumerable forks. The winding, cavernous path seemed to stretch on forever, guiding her deeper into unknown entrails where only disappointment awaited. Ragged, beaten, and short of breath, Leah sank to the hard ground. She couldn’t keep doing this—physically or mentally.

What’s going to happen to me?

Her throat went dry, rendering her voice a rasp not worth the effort. She let her eyelids droop as exhaustion overwhelmed her.

Suddenly, everything shook—the ground, the walls, the entire mine shaft.

“E-earthquake?!”

Leah pressed her back against the loose, earthen wall and waited for it to stop, but it only intensified. The ground beneath her feet began to shift, then crumbled away completely. Leah screamed as rocks tumbled down. Just when they struck the place where her head had been, however, the earth took her.

The second time she awoke, gravel and stone crushed her lower body. Somehow managing to crawl her way out, she examined her new surroundings. She was in some kind of cavern—the natural kind, hollowed out by the forces of nature. Hard stone walls radiated a ­mysterious, pale light, the only light that allowed Leah to make out the chamber at all. From end to end, the space was about the size of a small apartment. She must have fallen through a crack somewhere.

What’s…an apartment? Leah had made the comparison, and yet she did not know. Curious. Regardless, without an exit, her situation had not improved. Am I going to die here? Wait. What is that?

Examining the cavern one last time out of desperation, she spotted an odd, spherical object in the center. Upon closer inspection, she found an orb embedded in the ground.

It’s about the size of a basketball, she thought. Wait, what’s a basketball? And why did she continue to confuse herself so?

Some kind of device, now weathered beyond repair, fixed the orb in place. Leah tried to pick the orb up. “Oh. It came right out.” For its weight, the metallic sphere popped out surprisingly easily. She turned it over in her hands, studying it. “Is it a container? Maybe there’s a keyhole or something somewhere. A power button?” Another unfamiliar word. “‘Power button?’”

Suddenly, the ground shook again. Leah crouched and threw her arms over her head, praying she might be spared a second fall.

The orb, meanwhile, crashed against the rocky floor with an unpleasant crunch, then rolled out of sight. Fractures webbed the cavern’s walls. Rocks thundered as an avalanche crushed the orb beneath a flood of earth and stone. Leah stared at the debris covering the place where the orb should have been.

Shortly, a dark haze began to ooze from the crevices and cracks of the craggy rubble. The ooze thickened to a stream, and then a torrent of gas, coalescing into a physical form.

A form Leah recognized.

“A black wolf?”

Memories flashed before her eyes, playing out the story of a girl with silver hair and eyes like lapis lazuli who battled fate, struggled against tragedy, and emerged victorious. It was a beautiful story of triumph. It was the story of the Saint and her companions, the people she loved, and the ways in which they supported each other. A story about a girl who did not want for people who loved her. A girl whom Shirase Reia admired very much.

“Cecilia,” she muttered, “Leginbarth.”

Leah fell to her knees. The dark wolf stirred her memories, flooding her with information in a violent rush. For every tidbit she picked out of the barrage, ten others ricocheted off her overwhelmed mind. Between that and the crippling reality of her situation, she couldn’t possibly hope to decipher the deluge.

In the end, all Leah could cling to was Cecilia and her story. Though her mannerisms had become closer to the girl called Shirase Reia, that girl was still a stranger to Leah.

“Oh? You possess a fine vessel, mortal.”

Leah snapped her head up as a strange voice echoed through the cavern. The wolf was speaking to her, but she knew of only one wolf who could do that.

“The Dark One… Vanargand?”

“‘Dark One’? Vanargand? The Dark One?!” The great beast guffawed. “Oh, you amuse me, mortal! How trite! How theatrical a thing to call Sangreal!” The wolf’s laughter boomed, seemingly without end. “The mortal can jest!”

Leah could only watch in shocked silence until the beast calmed itself.

When it did, it fixed her with a grim gaze. “I like you, mortal. Would you care to make a deal?”

“A deal?”

“A deal. Become my vessel. Yours is empty and remarkably large for a human. You would take to my eminence quite well, I should think. Bend but not break.”

“Become…your vessel.”

“Indeed. In exchange, I will grant you anything your heart desires. A simple matter for one such as me.”

“Anything my heart desires. What does it desire?”

“That, mortal, can be answered. Worry not your feeble mind.”

Leah flinched as the wolf dematerialized into a fog that enveloped her. It slithered into her body through every orifice, and she began to scream.

“Fear not. Surrender yourself. Bare your very soul. Confess all your heart craves to me, the eighth vessel of the Sangreal Project—nay, to Tindalos, the Dark One!”

As her body soaked up the last of the haze, Leah shrieked. Tindalos squirmed into her depths, following the river of her memories, until it found her one, heartfelt desire.

To be Cecilia Leginbarth.

That desire far surpassed the bounds of Leah’s life. In truth, it was Shirase Reia’s wish. But now, with her life and Leah’s blending together, it shone more vividly than ever.

The self-proclaimed Dark One let loose another cavern-rumbling cackle. “Yes, I see. I can grant this wish. You may consider it fulfilled while you sleep.”

Leah’s mind fell away, sinking into a mire of darkness. Just before Tindalos took over entirely, a single thought flitted through her mind. I wish I got to see Shuuichi-san again.

Tindalos was deaf to this particular wish, as the Dark One’s corruption silenced it.

Dark mana coated Leah’s body, healing her wounds, turning her plain brown hair silver and her chestnut eyes bluer than the ocean.

“Now then, let’s see about fulfilling that request of yours. Cecilia Leginbarth aims to please.”

Some time after resurfacing, Leah—now Tindalos the Dark One—happened upon a wandering knight by the name of Sable Pufontis.

Side Story:
Anna-Marie’s Debonair Day of Roguish Romance

 

MANY MONTHS BEFORE THE SUMMER Ball, just a few weeks after the Spring Ball and the attempt on the crown prince’s life, a different incident rocked the city.

Claris walked through familiar halls with a housemaid pushing a cart carrying a tea set. They passed many doors but stopped at a specific one, straightening their clothes before quietly entering.

The lady-in-waiting approached the bed. “Good ­morning, my lady,” Claris whispered to the amorphous bulge beneath the blankets. “It’s time to begin the day.” But the bulge didn’t stir. “My lady, as warm and ­comfortable as you might be, we really should be—”

She gently peeled away the blanket, assuming her lady had simply stayed up too late again, but she did not uncover her charge, only a sloppily thrown-together pile of dresses.

Anna-Marie Victillium was missing.

“Oh dear, I thought we were done with this,” the housemaid said with a nervous laugh.

A rage so poignant it made her shake welled up in Claris and turned her face dark red. Even she had her limits. “That rotten little hooligan!”

Her expletive echoed all throughout the estate, and none were spared its sting. No one would reprimand her. They were right there with her.

“I suppose she’s finally had enough. Couldn’t help herself, could she?” said a kitchen maid preparing breakfast.

“We ought to sympathize with our lady. She’s been terribly stressed lately. You could see it in her face. The way I see it, it’s a good thing that she’s back to her old self,” said another.

Elsewhere, a pair of housemaids tidied a freshly vacated bed. “Weren’t you assigned to clean near her chambers? You didn’t see her leave?”

“Neither hide nor hair. How does she do it? I’m admittedly curious.”

“Oh, the storm that’s coming for our lady. Will it ever end for poor Lady Claris?”

“Best wipe that smirk off your face before she sees you.”

“Smirk? On my face? Nonsense.”

Lady Anna-Marie Victillium, daughter to Marquess Victillium, was the sort of noblewoman one couldn’t help but gawk at. Favored by Prince Christopher, intelligent, beautiful, and endlessly charismatic, she had been dubbed the Scarlet Seductress by the reverential aristocracy, and most considered her their future queen. From academics to etiquette to charisma, she was said to be without peer. The perfect lady.

That was the Anna-Marie the public knew. But those close to her knew a very different Anna-Marie. Those people had a little more sense. There was no such thing as perfect, and it most certainly was not how House Victillium’s servants would have described their mistress. They preferred “rambunctious,” “difficult to control,” “boyish.” Much more human terms that were, in actuality, far closer to the truth than the hyperbolic legends.

A sigh filled the silence of the estate’s office. “So she’s back to old habits.” The butler, Hagen, wore a complicated expression, torn between surprise, frustration, relief, and apathy.

Another sigh, this time emanating from the grand desk in the back of the office. “So it would seem. What of her guard?”

“They recently informed us that they’ve lost her, Your Lordship. As they did the last time. And the time before that. They’re currently investigating her whereabouts.”

“Well, I’ve a clever daughter. I ought to be proud, shouldn’t I?” Marquess Gald Victillium indulged in his third sigh of the day, and it was only morning. He ­massaged his temples. “Continue the search. When someone finds her, resume surveillance.”

“The usual, then.”

“If we drag her home, she will only learn to abscond more cleverly the next time. Best she savor this taste of freedom and get it out of her system. After all, Hagen, what’s one day of merriment?”

“As you say, my lord. Her duties are indeed light today. There were to be more, but she dispatched them swiftly. Quite recently, in fact.”

“Clever, clever. It would bring a tear to my eye if I weren’t so impressed.” Gald glanced out the window with a tired smile.

Hagen followed his gaze. “Will they find her?”

“Doubtful. It would be a first.”

These two men carried a great weight. Upholding a marquessate was arduous enough without such a willful family member. They shared yet another sigh.

It’s not behavior that befits the Scarlet Seductress or the perfect lady, the marquess lamented. I’ll simply have to continue to see to it that we maintain a front of elegance and poise.

Gald had a clever daughter indeed, a fact that came at much administrative cost.

 

“Ah! So nice to get to stretch my legs finally!”

In a quiet alley in the Lower District, Anna-Marie basked in her clean escape, a spring in her step. Noblewomen did not typically prance about so, but perhaps an average, modern-day, Japanese high schooler would have. This behavior should come as no surprise, then, seeing as she had once been the latter.

In any case, this girl was certainly not Anna-Marie. She did not move like Anna-Marie, and she did not look like Anna-Marie. Lady Victillium had crimson hair that burned like fire and sharp eyes that pierced like daggers, along with a figure that could slay any man at a glance.

This girl lacked all of that. Her hair, done up in a ­ponytail, was closer to bronze than crimson, and she wore glasses, dulling any spark in her eyes. A binder around her chest effectively muted one of the Seductress’s most prominent curves. Plain makeup gave her the mien of an average, youthful commoner. Clothing-wise, she could have passed for a wealthy merchant’s daughter, but certainly not a marquess’s.

It was the perfect disguise. The future queen dressed as a lowborn? Preposterous! That preconception alone was perhaps the strongest element of her camouflage.

“That and the fact that hair dye isn’t commonplace,” she corrected herself. “Granted, it’s a little silly to think ­literally no one’s ever tried it before, but that’s an otome setting for you. Even if this is technically reality now, I guess.”

Anna-Marie—now the plain Anna—emerged onto a bustling street. As it happened, she’d used a simple, plant-based hair dye that merely darkened her natural shade and would come out with a wash. She couldn’t snap her fingers and change her features on a whim like a certain maid, but it was a clever solution nonetheless. Anna-Marie thought so, at least.

“Anna! Goodness, it’s been so long.”

“Good morning, madam. How’s business?”

“Oh, you know. Speaking of, how about some freshly squeezed apple juice?”

“It must be going well with acumen like that! I’ll have a cup.”

“Coming right up.”

The woman’s pitch was not as important as the ritual itself. The praise itself did not matter. It was a matter of presentation.

Anna meandered along a street not far from the Upper District with apple juice in hand. This was the life. Her second life, as a matter of fact, not counting the obvious. Anna-Marie liked to don this persona when she was stressed and needed to unwind. Being the perfect lady came at great mental cost for a girl who was, in essence, a high schooler, and though living this charade for nine years after regaining her memories had done much to shape her into a noblewoman, she still craved these ­retreats in order to nourish her soul.

The street she’d chosen served as a major hub of ­activity in this part of town, the hustle and bustle ­lending it life and vibrancy. Anna chewed on the straw in her drink as she took it all in. The juice was sweet, and a little pulpy, but that made it feel rustic. She watched passersby come and go while she gnawed on the bits of apple.

Being a noble’s got its perks, but this really feels like home to me. Maybe I can kind of understand the heroine for running off.

Anna had a secret second goal for the day’s outing. According to the annals of her endless knowledge of The Silver Saint and the Five Oaths, today was the day of an event—“A Debonair Day of Roguish Romance”…

 

After a month and a half of being catered to and trained as a proper lady, Cecilia, the heroine, grew tired of the upheaval in her life and fled her father’s estate. In mid-May, donning a set of commoner’s clothes she’d hidden from him, she absconded to the Lower District, only to find herself lost in the massive city. Eventually finding her way to a large, bustling street, Cecilia ­wandered in a confused daze, ultimately stumbling into a gang of bad characters.

“Whoa there, Miss, look what you’ve done. You’ve ruined my finest clothes.”

“I-I’m so sorry.”

Fruit juice splattered the front of the man’s shirt when Cecilia bumped into him, but that wasn’t exactly a ­natural series of events. The situation was dubious at best.

“Wouldn’t have knights and guards if ‘sorry’ was enough to cut it, but maybe your family can make this right.”

“I-I…”

The man and his entourage encircled Cecilia. She didn’t know what to do. Telling her family anything seemed like the worst possible option when she’d just run away from home.

The man sneered. He knew this game well. “Look, I’m not out to swindle anybody. I just need these clothes, see? Maybe you could come home with me. Wash this stain out.”

“Really? Will that settle this?” Cecilia relaxed. She’d done laundry all the time when she was a commoner. She could agree to these terms. This way, her father didn’t have to get involved.

Perhaps if she hadn’t been so concerned with her father, she might have noticed the dark intentions shadowing the man’s face. “Just follow m—”

Before the man could close his hand around Cecilia’s, a cup came flying at his face and fruit juice soaked him all over again. Cecilia’s handiwork blended into this new, far less humble splotch as it seeped down his clothing. Cecilia and the man’s flunkies could only gape.

Then someone grabbed Cecilia’s arm and yanked her back. “Stop gawking and let’s move.”

This new, hooded man tugged again, forcing Cecilia to run, the thugs shouting behind them as they vanished into the crowd.

“I can’t believe you were seriously about to go along with them.” The man sighed.

Finally, Cecilia realized the truth of what had ­happened. What had almost happened. Suddenly her blood was very cold.

They came to an empty alley, the thugs nowhere to be seen. The hooded man let out a relieved breath when he confirmed their escape. “I don’t think we’ve been followed.”

“Um, who are you?” After very nearly being dragged off by men moments earlier, Cecilia was understandably cautious about this supposed savior.

“What is the count thinking, letting you wander around in those clothes with no protection?”

Cecilia jumped. This man knew her father. “E-excuse me, but can you tell me your name?”

Noting the terror in her eyes and the fragility of her voice, the man shrugged and lowered his hood. Her expression changed instantly. Her hands shot up to her mouth, holding back a shout of surprise.

“I can’t rightly leave you to fend for yourself, now, can I?” He smiled in resignation.

Cecilia knew this man. Everyone knew this man. “Y-Your Highness?”

He was supposed to be at the palace, and yet here he was, the second most important man in the realm, standing before her…

 

It really is an event, Anna-Marie recounted nostalgically. The prince, sneaking around outside the palace, finds the heroine, sneaking around herself. They wander, ­pretending to be a couple to keep from being discovered. Not that anything like that is gonna happen today.

It couldn’t happen without a heroine. What kind of story would there be without a main character? Plus, the prince himself wasn’t out and about, so unfortunately, this little reverie was dead on arrival.

Prince Christopher happened to be indisposed at present on account of the dormitory system being put in place in response to the attack at the Spring Ball. There was much to be done, and many things to reschedule, so in all aspects—temporally, physically, mentally, et cetera—the prince leaving the palace in any capacity was a mathematical impossibility.

It’s all one big butterfly effect that got set in motion the moment we got our memories back. I know I’m beating a dead horse, but seeing the consequences with my own eyes really makes it sting.

Anna took a sip of her juice and exhaled. It doubled as a sigh.

She was out today for pleasure and business both. Someone had to see what would become of the event that never was. What would happen if the heroine showed up, but there was no prince to save her? Something inappropriate for the genre, ­undoubtedly. Cecilia Leginbarth wasn’t at Royal Academy—that much Anna could confirm—but that didn’t preclude her being somewhere else in the capital, especially with how far off the rails the plot had veered.

Luckily, this event didn’t vary. It had to happen on this particular day, so Anna-Marie could plan ahead. Ideally, Christopher should have been here, but circumstances demanded flexibility. She’d have to stand in for him. Anna-Marie was glad to. Christopher, less so.

“I bet nothing will happen. If it does, though, I’m here. If not, I can enjoy my day off.”

And then it happened. Maybe Anna-Marie was an oracle. Or maybe it was more of that main character privilege she and Christopher enjoyed so much of.

“Whoa there, Miss!”

Anna whipped toward a particularly gravely and ­generally unpleasant voice. It couldn’t be, could it? But sure enough, there were the men, and a girl at the center.

“Look what you’ve done. You’ve ruined my finest clothes.”

Fruit juice splattered the front of the man’s shirt when the girl bumped into him, but was that really what happened? The situation was dubious at best.

“I-I’m so sorry,” the girl stammered.

“Wouldn’t have knights and guards if ‘sorry’ was enough to cut it, but maybe your family can make this right.”

“I-I…”

The man sneered. He knew this game well.

Wow! It’s literally the game! Word for word! Anna-Marie thought. Er, not the time! Why the heck’s the event even happening?! That girl’s not even the heroine!

The heroine was supposed to have silver hair. This one’s was black!

Anna reeled back, apple juice in hand.

“Look, I’m not out to swindle anybody. I just need these clothes, see? Maybe you could come home with me. Wash this stain out.”

“Really? Will that settle this?”

Everything was unfolding exactly as ordained by the narrative. Anna prepared to play her part. Her hard, wooden cup drew a beautiful arc through the air as it flew forth on a direct path toward its cranial destiny.

“I can do that. Stream—”

“Just follow m—”

Before things could go too far off script, cup made contact with face. The girl’s strange improvisation fell on deaf, juice-covered ears.

The man clutched his nose and growled. Perhaps destiny had been working out her throwing arm.

Anna dashed in while the men were dazed. “Don’t gawk! Run!”

An awfully similar line to Christopher’s, but she hadn’t exactly prepped for this. Anna yanked the girl’s arm and forced her to run, and she did, looking utterly baffled the whole way.

When they managed to lose their pursuers in a crowd, Anna found herself muttering, “I can’t believe you were seriously about to humor them. Where’s your common sense?”

“Er, humor what? Common sense?”

The girl simply could not comprehend what was ­happening or why they were running. No way this was the heroine. She couldn’t even grasp the reality of the ­situation. That put Anna oddly at ease. It was uncanny how closely things had followed the script in her head, but this was an actual human response—just not the heroine’s.

“For crying out loud, where is she?!” a man shouted.

Anna snapped out of her thoughts and pulled them off the main street.

“I think,” she panted, “we lost them.”

They’d slipped out of the crowd and down a quiet ­alleyway far down the street. Anna was back on script, but the words were apt.

“Um, who are you?”

Anna wiped her brow while a confused—but really quite cute—voice behind her questioned her. Another line straight out of the game. She scoffed. This girl wasn’t even the heroine. Whatever force was at work here, it was a stickler for the weirdest details.

As if that’s even a thing. Christopher would have run into the heroine during the opening ceremony if some force was looking out for us.

If some universal power really did command things to align with the narrative, one would assume it would prioritize the heroine being present during it. The fact that they still lacked a heroine proved they were on their own.

Anna’s lips seemed to move automatically. “What is the count thinking, letting you wander in those clothes with no protection?”

The girl behind her gasped. Fearfully, she asked, “E-excuse me, but can you tell me your name?”

Anna jumped. Focused on running, she’d never turned around to so much as look at the girl. She finally did, and in this canon, it was the savior who was rendered speechless.

It’s her. But…why?

Standing there in innocent befuddlement was Luciana’s maid: Melody.

 

Sometime before her encounter with Anna…

“You’re certain, my lady?” Melody said.

“Positive! You leave everything to me and go enjoy yourself. You’ve got the day off!”

Melody and Luciana stood at the back door of the Rudleberg estate, but something wasn’t right. Uncanny even. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Melody was in plain clothes while her lady was the one in a maid uniform.

“My lady, I’m the only maid in the entire manor.”

“And that’s exactly why you need to take care of ­yourself. You need a break, so you’re getting one, even if I have to force you. Honestly, it’s like you live and breathe work. Well, today I’m the maid. A maid-for-a-day, if you will.”

Melody swooned. “A maid for a whole day. My, that sounds lovely! I’d love to—”

“You’re a maid every day!” Luciana barked.

The line between servant and mistress was getting awfully blurry in this exchange.

“I put in the request with the Guild, but unfortunately, we haven’t had any takers,” the lady said.

“Which I just can’t wrap my head around. It’s the perfect job!”

“Not everyone is as wise as you, Melody.” Luciana sighed. Reputation was a powerful thing, and the Ignobles’ preceded them. Finding good help seemed hopeless. “Royal Academy’s new term begins next month. Today’s our last chance to give you time to yourself. Please. Go relax a little. For me?”

“I…” Melody started to protest. “Yes, my lady. As you wish.”

“Good. Leave the estate to me. I did a lot on my own back home, so we’ll manage for the day. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Very well. I suppose I’ll be off then.”

“Yes, you will. Have fun!”

So Melody went on her first daycation. There was only one problem: How should she spend it?

“This was so sudden,” she muttered. “I’m not even sure what to do with myself.”

Oh, the sad fate of the workaholic.

For lack of other options, Melody wandered to the Lower District. There, she happened upon a bustling street and set herself to meandering, when a group of men accosted her. Melody could have sworn the big one bumped into her first, but he claimed the opposite, ­saying she’d stained his shirt. She quickly became ­flustered as he pressed her, all the more so when the man and his posse demanded compensation from her family, of which she had none. None that she could remember, at any rate. Father? What father?

Just when it seemed they’d struck a deal, a second cup came flying at the man, someone tugged on Melody’s arm, and suddenly she was running. It was, frankly, a lot to process all at once. Where was her “common sense”? What did common sense have to do with anything? What had she been “humoring” other than a wronged man’s reasonable request?

The woman dragged her all the way to a dark, empty alleyway. Only then did Melody get nervous. The woman mumbled something about a count and “protection,” and Melody gasped. Did she know something about her? Was that why she’d taken her here?

But when the woman turned, by some irony, she was the surprised one.

 

“And that’s about everything as it happened, from my perspective.”

“Huh.”

Anna face-palmed. After exchanging names, Melody had proceeded to explain her side of the story. The big reveal: She was more wary of Anna than of the men she’d escaped from. But could anyone blame her after the disguised lady’s ominous slip of the tongue?

“If I can ask you something, Anna, do you know who I am?”

“Huh?”

“I presume you knew that I’m a maid in service to House Rudleberg. You spoke of His Lordship. Something about clothes or protection?”

“Oh.”

Finally, it dawned on her. Anna had botched her first impression masterfully. To her, it was a meaningless quote, but to Melody, it was a targeted strike. No wonder she was so mistrustful.

Y-yeah, that was my bad, Anna admitted.

Silence swept in as Anna searched for a way to repair this misunderstanding. “Oh! So you’re Melody, right? Rudleberg maid?”

“Y-yes, I did say that.”

“I thought so! I heard all about you from Lady Anna-Marie. I happen to be a maid myself! For House Victillium!”

Melody put her hand to her mouth. It did little to stifle the noise she made. “Goodness, you should have said so sooner!” At last, some piece of this mad incident shocked her, but her surprise came tinged with joy.

“My lady’s told me all about the wonderful servant her new friend, Lady Luciana, employs. She speaks very highly indeed of a black-haired maid.”

“O-oh, well, I don’t know about all that.” Melody rubbed her cheeks, failing to wipe away the blush. Despite her protests, though, she didn’t look all too displeased.

Most people would have called that performative modesty. Anna-Marie had a different word for it. Oh. My. God. She is adorable! Adorable!

All great truths needed asserting twice. For emphasis.

“I don’t know many girls my age with hair like yours,” Anna continued, “and I could tell just by looking how refined you are. I knew at a glance you had to be her and you were a maid like me.”

“Oh. Oh, my. You could tell just by looking?” Melody’s expression was quickly exceeding language’s ability to describe. She wore a crooked, repressed sort of smile.

If I’m sending maid signals even when I’m out of uniform, my goodness! she raved inwardly. My skills must be reaching new heights!

Anna, meanwhile, simply hoped her story was working. “So, um, I recognized you, is what I mean to say. And when I saw all those men around you, I, er, sort of acted without thinking.”

Melody fell back to reality with a start, then cleared her throat. “I understand now. You’re a House Victillium maid, you said? Then I owe you an apology for my ­rudeness. Thank you for coming to my aid.”

She smiled at Anna, who finally relaxed. She had to improvise that story on the fly, but it all worked out in the end.

Or so she thought.

“So, what sort of duties does your work entail?” Melody asked.

“Um.”

“There aren’t many estates on the scale of a marquess’s. Your retinue must be quite expansive, and oh, the responsibilities you all must have. I imagine they’re far more involved than anything a count’s estate demands. Oh, I’m so jealous!” She blushed like a maiden in love.

Anna very nearly swooned just looking at her.

“I, er…”

“Is there a particular area you specialize in? Tell me everything!”

“I-I suppose you could call me a…housemaid?”

“A housemaid! So you clean and tidy bedrooms! Have you ever seen to Lady Anna-Marie’s?”

“B-but of course.”

Melody giggled. “I see to Lady Luciana’s bedroom myself. Something we can bond over!”

“Y-yes. It is.”

I didn’t sign up for this! What do I do?! Anna found herself at the edge of a maid typhoon, and unfortunately, those weren’t tracked by any official weather broadcast system. Anyone unlucky enough to get caught in the path should seek shelter immediately and hope for the best!

She had to calm Melody down or this would never end.

“You simply must tell me what sort of product your estate uses to polish the banist—”

“Melody!” Anna grabbed the mad maid by the shoulders.

“Anna?”

“Melody, does a maid discuss her house’s internal affairs?”

That struck Melody like a punch to the solar plexus. Her complexion waned. “What… What have I done?” Melody hunched like a criminal marching to the gallows. “I have no words to express my shame. I’m a disgrace to our profession.”

“D-don’t be so dramatic. Simply learn and grow.” Anna had only meant to slow her down, not utterly crush her. “Everyone makes mistakes. Ensuring they don’t happen again is what’s important. That’s how we improve. What’s more, you have Lady Anna-Marie’s praise and respect. Someone with that honor has no business losing their nerve over something so trivial. Now, chin up! This is yet another step toward becoming a more perfect maid!”

“Yes. Yes, Anna, you’re right. The world’s most perfect maid doesn’t stay down when she falls!”

Anna’s pep talk worked wonders. She learned a little something from this experience as well: Never bring up maids around Melody. Ever.

With her charge finally calm, Anna listened to the rest of the story. Even when she understood the full picture, though, she couldn’t wrap her mind around why someone so obviously not the heroine was doing heroine things.

The way we got here is different, but everything still somehow fits into the narrative, she reflected.

Melody said the same things as the heroine but for fundamentally different reasons. She’d taken a different path but still found her way to the men and done exactly what the heroine would have. It boggled the mind that reality could work out exactly how the game had, as if by some cosmic coincidence.

The oddities didn’t stop at today’s event either. There was the attack at the ball not long ago. Despite ostensible deviations, everything played out (almost) exactly how it should have. Events were following the plot, and yet the sum of their parts did not amount to the actual plot at all. Then there was the girl Christopher had run into on the first day of the academy. It should have been the heroine, and instead it was a black-haired…

“Melody, did you happen to go to campus on the day of the academy’s opening ceremony?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. I had to deliver something my lady had forgotten.”

“Did you happen to run into anyone at the time?”

“I did, as a matter of fact. Just as I was turning a corner, I recall running straight into a handsome boy with dark hair. I still wonder who that was.”

Mystery solved. Anna wanted to scream. Again, the event happened, but instead of the heroine, it was Melody? But at the ball, it was Luciana who was the heroine. Then Melody’s the heroine again today? Suddenly, her universal force theory wasn’t sounding so crazy. So there is something mandating these events, just in an awkward, incomplete sort of way.

As far as Anna knew, her and Christopher’s meddling had prevented the heroine from appearing as necessary for the narrative, but events and story beats were still ­unfolding, regardless of her absence. Perhaps some unseen force propelled the plot. Certain things made more sense that way. That force could randomly select someone—whoever best suited any given moment—to play the part of the heroine.

God, that’s straight up the worst possible scenario. It meant any random bystander could suddenly carry the weight of being the heroine. And they wouldn’t have any of the powers of the Saint.

Anna glanced askance at Melody. A date event was one thing, but what if this was one of the combat ­encounters? And against the Dark One’s thralls? Melody wasn’t a mage. She couldn’t defend herself. Such a matchup could only end one way.

Dead end. Game over.

Otome games were, in essence, a kind of simulation game. They simulated choices and branching paths. Make the right calls and get a good ending. Mess up and get a bad one. Really screw up, and the heroine would die outright. A dead end. It was up to the player to decide which they wanted to see, and because it was a game, this came at no personal risk. There was no actual danger. Good ends didn’t marry you to anyone and dead ends didn’t put you in a hearse. Because it was a game.

This, however, was not a game. This was real life. Real life did not care for balance, whether or not the main character was around, whether or not they could overcome the odds. The story would simply go on unimpeded.

Anna shook her head. Thinking too much again. Baseless conjecture. She had no proof for any of this, but neither did she have any proof against it, and so she could not entirely dismiss it. The plot might trundle on without the heroine. It might not. She had no way to know.

“Are you all right?” Melody asked.

“Hm? Oh, yes! Fine!”

She had to remember not to get lost in her head. It made her prone to missing what was right in front of her, such as the currently more pressing issue: what to do about Melody.

I can’t just send her on her way, can I?

Unfortunately, the Debonair Day of Roguish Romance did, in fact, come with a potential bad end. Whether they were headed toward it depended entirely on the actions the heroine took in the next few seconds.

“Allow me to thank you again, Anna.” Melody dipped into an elegant bow. “I ought to be fine on my own now. I’ll be on my—”

“Wait!” Anna held out her hand, blocking her way.

“Y-yes?”

I knew she was gonna go with that choice! I totally called it!

Melody was truly an impressive girl. In no time at all, she’d sussed out the most direct course to the worst possible branch of this event. Were this a visual novel, Anna’s sprite would be swapping to its “shock” ­variant and her background would be some kind of stock beta flash. Why? Because of genre tropes. Best not to ­question those.

You only got a bad end for this event if you didn’t pursue it. Despite the fact that the writers had gone out of their way to prepare an entire script for the date, they’d given players the option to skip it entirely, thus triggering the bad end. Perhaps they were masochists.

Seriously, I feel like the norm is to have the boy force you into it anyway. Whatever happened to playing hard to get? Good lord, Christopher’s an invertebrate in every iteration!

This Christopher was an entirely different person, granted, but Anna did not particularly care about the details when it came to dissing him. Everything was perpetually his fault, now and forevermore. Because she said so.

I can’t let her go. If she leaves…

If, after being rescued by the prince, the player selected “I’ll be fine on my own,” they would find themselves accosted again by the same men. The heroine would hear them shouting at her and turn back.

Then the screen would go black, displaying only the following dialogue.

“Finally found ya. You really gave us the runaround, little lady. And after we were so nice to ya.”

“Ha! They gotcha good with that juice, though.”

“Shut your trap! You! Girl! This is all your fault. And now you’re gonna make this right or we’re gonna do something we both regret.”

And then the text window would vanish, making way for the next screen-filling message.

 

And no one ever heard from her again.

BAD END

 

The worst part was that it was designated a “bad end.” Not a dead end. The implications were chilling.

Who puts something like that in a game for school-aged girls?! Did the rating system not catch that?!

Granted, many considered the game’s realism a point in its favor, and one couldn’t argue with the markets, but that was irrelevant where real people were concerned. It went without saying that Anna could not let whatever happened beyond that black screen come to pass.

She had to do something before this ditz of a girl stumbled headlong into disaster. “Melody! Let’s go on a date! You and me!”

The most surefire way to avert disaster? Make sure the heroine goes on that date. The role of guide would have to fall to Anna, her rescuer. No protagonist and no male love interest around. Was this even the same event anymore?

And we’re both girls. Well. The narrative has spoken!

“A date? With you, Anna?”

“Y-yes! That is, we could, er, spend some time together. It happens to be my day off too, and I hadn’t decided how to spend it.”

“Oh, is that so?”

It wasn’t. This narrative was built on lies. Bald-faced lies.

“Seeing as we’re both free, why not get to know each other better? Take a walk around the capital?”

Melody rested her cheek in her hand. She could think of no reason to refuse, but she didn’t want to burden Anna. For reasons unclear to her, Anna had been concerned for her safety, but this was so sudden. The invitation simply didn’t seem genuine to her.

In which case, I ought to refuse, she thought.

For all her maid madness, Melody was still Japanese, with all the aggressive modesty that came with the culture. Perhaps that all-powerful narrative force was bent on tragedy today.

Anna read the hesitation on Melody’s face. Uh-oh. At this rate, she’s gonna have another run-in with those so-and-sos. I’ve got to turn this around before she leaps straight into who knows what!

She had just the thing.

“I thank you for the invitation, but—”

“We can talk about maids.”

“…But I’d be remiss to turn down such a lovely offer. A date it is then!”

An exquisite oral pirouette.

“Shall we, then?” said Anna.

“Indeed.”

They returned to the main street, a touch of red ­coloring Melody’s cheeks as she fixed her gaze on Anna. Oh so very much like a maiden in love.

“Oh, I can’t wait to hear what maid stories you have to tell.” Melody giggled.

“Wh-where to start?”

Anna set them on a route she knew by heart, praying she could come up with literally anything to talk about before they arrived at the first location.

 

The Debonair Day of Roguish Romance consisted of three stops in total. No variation. The player couldn’t decide the destinations.

Anna guided them to the first: a sophisticated outdoor café near the Upper District.

Melody blinked. “An ice creamery?”

The sign out front read “Ice Cream Café - Dolcettio,” and featured a cone topped with the frozen delight.

“You guessed it. It’s the most famous frozen dessert spot in the Lower District,” Anna boasted. “They’re heavenly, I tell you.” Indeed, every table was full, and a line snaked away from the order counter. Indoor seating was a pipe dream, to say the least. “It’s not usually this packed, but it happens to be their hundredth-day anniversary. There’s a special sale going on.”

“That, um, certainly explains how busy they are.”

This was it. The reason the event had to happen today, and why Anna could never forget it. Melody, decidedly less enthusiastic than her escort, seemed a little stupefied. Overwhelmed, Anna thought, though this presumption missed the mark.

Why is there an ice creamery in a world that’s otherwise akin to medieval Europe? Melody thought.

Ice cream was by no means a modern invention. Frozen desserts and the like dated back to before recorded history, but they were certainly a luxury in more ancient times. What was a modern invention was the easy ­availability of the treat and the simplicity of ­producing it, the main obstacle being, of course, ­freezing the things.

The game’s world lacked refrigerators. You could find primitive ice houses, perhaps, but no freezers that Melody knew of. Yet this shop sold the treats by the dozens. Clearly there had to be some sort of temperature-controlling technology at play.

I thought I was done being reminded of this fact, but I’m certainly not on Earth anymore.

There, refrigeration didn’t arrive until the modern era. This world seemed placed squarely during the medieval era. Anachronisms. Then again, this wasn’t medieval Europe. It was simply like medieval Europe—an ­important distinction.

“Let’s go in, shall we?” Anna said.

“Right. But is that even possible? They seem awfully full.”

“Ah, but, Melody, this is a date. We’re on one, even as we wait, and dates are supposed to be fun, no?” She flashed her most charming grin.

“That’s true. There’s no shortage of maid-related topics we might discuss in the meantime!”

“Y-yeah. Exactly.”

So they waited. And Anna was stuck. She couldn’t exactly go anywhere. She’d dug her own grave quite thoroughly.

“Apologies for the wait, valued patrons. This way, if you please,” a server said after an agonizing thirty minutes. To Anna, it felt like days. She didn’t know it was possible to talk so much about maids of all things.

Among the subjects Melody expounded on…

 

“…At least, those are my thoughts on what it fundamentally means to be a maid. What about you, Anna?”

“Goodness me, I couldn’t agree more. It’s so nice to meet another maid who shares my exact feelings about everything you just said!”

“Oh? We’re of like mind then!”

 

“Say, Anna, have you any rug-cleaning strategies you would be willing to share? I always find myself struggling against stubborn dirt and fine hairs that get knotted in the threads.”

“I’m sorry, Melody. I wish I could tell you, I really do, but House Victillium demands strict secrecy regarding all of our ultimate housecleaning techniques. I mustn’t reveal them.”

“Ultimate?! Housecleaning?! Techniques?! Do all the noble houses maintain such traditions? I-I wonder if House Rudleberg does.”

 

“Regarding uniforms, Anna, I’m of the mind that any skin shown is a sin sewn. Skirts were made to flow. The longer the better, I say.”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to judge. In fact, I’ll prepare something for you next time. I’ll show you the light, Melody. Prepare to be blinded!”

“S-such passion in your eyes. Yes, you feel strongly about this. I can feel it. Well, this maid isn’t giving up without a fight!”

 

The latter example perhaps failed to demonstrate Anna’s agony. She was a woman of passionate opinions.

A man in a butler’s uniform escorted them to a private booth on the second floor.

“I didn’t realize there was seating up here,” Melody said.

“The privacy’s not unwelcome by any means, but why did they give it to us?”

It might have had something to do with the volume at which they prattled on about maids, maids, and more maids. It did not occur to them that they’d been effectively contained.

The second floor offered a quiet retreat from the low buzz that droned on downstairs. Windows beside the seats looked out over the city. They weren’t so high as to provide a sweeping panorama of the capital but still offered a striking glimpse.

Come to think of it, this might be the first time I’ve sat down, relaxed, and had a cup of tea since coming to this world, Melody realized. Pouring the tea was her pride, but drinking it was her pleasure. In her past life, she’d often visited quaint little cafés, comparing and contrasting, seeking out which made the best cup.

An easy smile flitted across her lips.

“You like it here, I take it. Good,” Anna said with a giggle. “I’m glad.”

“I do. Thank you for bringing me here. It’s a lovely place.”

“Wait until you’ve had the ice cream. Let’s order something.” Anna showed her the menu.

“Vanilla. Of course. Mint chocolate, strawberry, and is that a ‘tea’ flavor? Quite the variety.”

“The one in the Upper District has even more.”

“There’s a branch there?”

“Lord, can you imagine the uproar if there wasn’t? If the blue bloods didn’t have their taste of luxury before the masses, there’d be red blood running in the streets.”

Anna had a point. Desserts were a luxury, and nobles were nothing without their indulgences. According to her, the nobler branch sat near the heart of the Upper District and predated its Lower District sibling by no less than a year.

Anna settled on mint chocolate, and Melody on tea flavor. The tea (of the liquid variety) arrived first, and they sipped while they waited for their treats. Maid talk returned with force.

“Now, I’ve given quite a lot of thought to the various types of keyholes used for different kinds of doors, and the way the cleaning methods differ for each is really quite fascinating.”

“Not to be rude, Melody,” Anna rasped, “but can we scale up the conversation? Just a tad?”

The ice cream arrived not long after, though long enough that Anna was rendered a husk by extremely dense, domestic technobabble. Seeing those scrumptious scoops, however, put the life back in her eyes. At last. Sustenance.

The butler-themed server placed the desserts before the girls with a soft “Enjoy,” then retreated.

“Oh,” Melody breathed. “I see now.”

It was her first time encountering the confectionery in this reality, but to Anna, it sounded as if it were her first time encountering it ever, as it well may have been for a typical resident of this world.

A humble scoop of ice cream and two wafers each rested in a pair of shallow parfait dishes. Melody’s tea flavor consisted of plain vanilla blended generously with leaves. The sharp, minty aroma of Anna’s pick tingled her nostrils.

“Yours looks good,” Anna said.

“As does yours.”

The ball of mint chocolate was a vibrant shade of green, likely incorporating genuine mint leaves, with a sizable helping of chocolate chips sprinkled on top. It smelled much stronger than anything on Earth.

Presentation-wise, expectations were high. And yet…

“Anna, is it much the same at the Upper District branch?”

To be sure, these treats were plenty sumptuous for a commoner, but for a noble? Melody could not help feeling the ice cream was awfully plain. The cafés she visited in Japan offered servings that seemed like feasts in comparison.

“You really ought to switch your brain off every now and then, Melody. Just enjoy.” Work was rarely a good topic for a date. “Admittedly, it is a little ordinary. Expensive as they are, you’d think there would be a bit more flair to them. Sometimes I do get frustrated that nobles get all the good things.” Anna let out an ­exaggerated sigh.

Melody giggled. “They do a little extra in the Upper District then?”

“Larger dishes, seasonal fruit, chocolate, cream—they make works of art with all the toppings they have on offer. They forgo it here for the sake of making it affordable.”

“I see. Good to know.” Ever the dedicated servant, Melody filed away that information for later. It might make an excellent surprise for her lady and her family. She’d do well to visit the Upper District location sometime, she noted.

“Anyway, I say we dig in.”

“Right. Let’s.”

Spoons in hand, they each took a bite. Heaven greeted their tongues.

“So good!” they moaned in bliss. Melody had gone especially long since her last indulgence.

Anna glanced at her and considered the beaming smile on her face. The private booth part’s new, but everything seems to be going well. She picked tea. I picked mint chocolate. Meaning…

One of the choices the player could make during this event was what item on the menu the heroine would order. Christopher always picked mint chocolate, and Anna had followed suit. Depending on which flavor the player chose, a certain scene could play out.

“Is there something on my face?” Melody asked.

Anna readied her line. “O-oh, no. I was just thinking, your ice cream looks awfully tasty.”

“It does?” She looked down at her scoop, then at Anna’s, then let out an amused breath. “Oh, fine. Would you like a bite?”

Melody held out her spoon.

Anna let out a deranged squeal in the silence of her mind. Finally! Finally! I get to see the heroine! Er, Melody! But I get to see the heroine’s side of the CG! Screw you, POVs!

This was the raison d’être of café dates, an intrinsic element. One could not exist without the other. It only occurred if the heroine chose a flavor other than Christopher’s, though.

In the game, the heroine was on the prince’s mind ever since their encounter at Royal Academy in April. She left an impression on him in the course of their few meetings in the game, but never so much as when she saved his life at the Spring Ball. He fondly recalled the bravery and dignity of her expression in that moment. But this girl was somehow different. Distant. Fragile, almost. He struggled to recognize the girl who had monopolized his thoughts. She happened to spot him staring as she ate, but he couldn’t admit a whiff of what he was thinking, so he settled on talking about ice cream instead.

The heroine, utterly oblivious to romance, offered the prince the very spoon she’d eaten with. The prince, though flustered, couldn’t refuse. They had to act like a couple, lest they expose their true identities. Hence, with fiery cheeks, he accepted.

Shame I’ll be missing the Christopher CG, but… Oh yeah. Who cares?

Anna gratefully accepted the proffered tea-flavored ice cream and savored every last bite of it. But this wasn’t over yet.

“I hope you don’t plan on being stingy. Fair’s fair.” Melody closed her eyes, parted her fair lips, and waited.

Anna let out a deranged squeal in the silence of her mind. I get to see the heroine! Melody! Whatever! I get to see the heroine’s side of the CG! Screw you, POVs!

This event had it all. Feeding the boy. Being fed by the boy. Colloquially known by fans as “Humiliating His Highness,” this event was obviously a favorite among the game’s community. Many a player took great glee in seeing the crown prince blush so fiercely in one scene after another.

What Melody had for maids, Anna-Marie had for otome games. Maybe they could have made something beautiful together, but the world wasn’t ready for that.

“That was delicious,” Melody said.

“And the ice cream was good too.”

Anna had never been happier to do someone else’s work. She got to experience all her favorite scenes in glorious reality. For better or worse, her little comment slipped past Melody’s ears, and once everyone had had their fill, in all respects, they moved on to the next location.

 

Paltescia was a grand castle town, layered into three distinct sections. At the center sat the palace, from which all of the royal capital propagated. The Upper District encircled it, and the Lower District encircled that. Generally, the closer one’s residence was to the palace, the greater their standing. This held true for the Lower District as well as the Upper. Dividing the two districts, and thus the highborns from the lowborns, stood a great wall, restricting passage to only those with the proper credentials. Melody had accessed the district on her first day in the capital thanks to a temporary permit issued by the Commerce Guild, but now that she was formally employed, she could come and go as she pleased.

There were other divisions as well, invisible and marked by naught but disparity. The strip of the Lower District directly bordering the Upper District, occupied primarily by wealthy merchants, was commonly referred to as the high quarter. The vast majority of the capital’s residents lived in the inner quarter, the largest of the three subdivisions. Beyond, straddling Paltescia’s outer walls, was the outer quarter, the den of the destitute.

In the game, Prince Christopher often skulked about the Lower District in secret, so as to witness the state of his people with his own eyes. His ostensible “date” with the heroine was but one of many covers he used toward that end.

First, they came to the high quarter. The café would help sell the illusion of their relationship as well as provide the prince a point of comparison with the ice creamery’s Upper District relative. It also served as a ­window into the common people’s lives. Next, he escorted his fair partner farther out, to the inner quarter, where the blood of the city ran through its thickest ­arteries. Here, the lower and middle classes mingled, forming the bulk of the commoner population.

And there was one particular place that served as the quarter’s most accurate barometer.

“Have you ever been out this way, Melody?”

“I can’t say I have. I’m unfamiliar with the markets in this part of the city.”

Anna had guided Melody to one of the inner quarter’s many marketplaces. Nowhere would one find a more exact indicator of everyday life than here. Not that Anna was in any need of that. She wasn’t the prince, and she was only following the pre-established route.

“I’m surprised,” Anna said. “I thought you would have had your eye on every grocer in the city.” Anna expected a girl with Melody’s passion for all things domestic to have at least a cursory understanding of the places and prices throughout the city.

Melody smiled awkwardly. “Oh, no. I hadn’t considered the inner quarter as an option at all.”

“Oh. Right. I suppose that makes sense.”

Anna’s thinking had been that of a modern Japanese girl and was not, in fact, common sense for a society such as this. Most noble houses did not send their servants out to grocery shop but maintained private relationships with dedicated traders who would procure goods upon request. The Rudlebergs, however, were new to the capital and had yet to enter into any such partnerships, and so Melody’s errand-running was more the exception than the rule. Even then, the inner quarter businesses dealt in items of a quality that hardly befit nobility. Even the Ignobles had certain standards to uphold.

Melody had considered all of this, and thus conducted her Lower District shopping primarily in the high quarter, a costly option that had pushed her to foraging in the Great Vanargand Wood.

“It’s a bit of a walk as well,” she explained.

“Right, you’re your estate’s only maid. That would complicate things.”

In Melody’s case, not actually. A few clones would solve the issue handily, but the fact remained that shopping this far out was an inefficient use of time. There were always better things to do.

“Is your house not looking to hire more help?” Anna asked.

“His Lordship has put out a hiring notice, but we haven’t had much luck finding applicants.”

Even Anna knew of the Rudlebergs’ reputation. She wasn’t surprised they were having difficulties attracting new staff. “If you’d like, I could speak with Lady Anna-Marie and have her refer somebody to you.”

House Victillium did not lack connections. It would be a simple matter. Anna-Marie considered Luciana a friend, and doubtless Anna-Marie’s father would not object to her getting into the Hero-slash-Fae Princess’s good graces.

Another awkward smile graced Melody’s face. “That’s very kind of you, Anna, but you needn’t go to the trouble.”

“Oh? It’s no trouble at all.”

“Well, it’s…” Melody chewed on her next words for a long while. Anna could only wait in suspense. The maid let out a breath. “I really do appreciate the offer, but it’s a matter of finances, I’m afraid.”

“Finances? Oh.”

Any servant who earned a marquess’s approval had to be qualified indeed. Yet with qualifications came the one thing the Rudlebergs could not afford: a higher salary.

“It simply isn’t feasible for my mistress’s house to bear an expense fit for a marquess. Someone of that caliber would be most welcome, make no mistake, it’s just a matter of, well, as I said—finances.”

“I understand. I do. It’s a difficult problem with no easy solution.”

Luciana’s family earned a generous reward for her bravery in saving the prince’s life, but not even that was enough to line the Rudlebergs’ perpetually empty pockets. Anyone looking for work with a noble house likely knew that, hence the shortage of applicants.

“I’m sorry I can’t be of more help,” Anna said. “I should have considered your position before running my mouth.” Her shoulders fell and her head drooped. For all her knowledge from her past life, and for all the prestige her family’s name afforded her, she was ­powerless to aid her friend.

Melody regarded her tenderly. “Now, Anna, I’m not accompanying you out of expectation. The thought is more than enough. Thank you. Genuinely.”

“Melody…”

Life as a noble meant displays like this were a rare thing indeed. Sincerity. Authenticity. Candidness. This smile was a treasure.

Oh gosh, she has such a pretty smile, Anna swooned. Forget substitute, she could be the real heroine and I wouldn’t question it.

What a coincidence.

“Won’t you explore the market with me?” Melody said.

“O-of course!”

Hand in hand, they entered the bustling marketplace. Thanks to its position in the high quarter, the street they’d passed along earlier had been busy. The businesses there attracted affluent clientele, so that even at its most boisterous a certain reverence hung in the air. As for the men who’d accosted Melody and the contradiction they represented, well, what have we learned about exceptions? The capital was a rich tapestry of peoples.

In contrast, this place was boisterous in the truest sense. Frequented almost exclusively by average commoners, it prized function over form and didn’t bother to sand down its rough edges.

“Vegetables! Fresh vegetables! Get ’em cheap!” a vendor hawked.

“You there, Miss, you look like you could use some fresh fruit.”

“Your husband’s a lucky man! Tell you what. Here’s a little extra on the house. Just for you.”

Voices flew about the street, shopkeepers peddling their wares to every passerby who so much as glanced their way. Once upon a time, one may have witnessed a very similar sight in premodern Japan, a different age captured here in the noise and chaos. Tall piles of vegetables and fruits vied for shoppers’ attention, and butchers displayed freshly cut meat. Some of it was recognizable while others defied categorization. Unfortunately, the market lacked fishmongers. That might have been more familiar to the Japanese visitors.

Suddenly, Melody stumbled with a yelp.

Anna put her arm around her shoulder. Someone had bumped into her. “You okay?”

“Yes. It’s awfully crowded.”

“This is a fairly popular hub, even by inner quarter standards.”

It was odd, though. She remembered the market being bustling in the game, but the heroine never had an accident like this. And that didn’t sound right, given it was such a classic trope of the genre.

“If it’s not a bother, might I hold your hand?” Melody asked timidly. “I wouldn’t want to get separated.”

“Absolutely.”

No way I’d forget if something like this happened! Anna’s heart leapt for joy. Something to do with her being a substitute heroine maybe?

This was the heroine. Not a substitute. The actual heroine. It could not be stressed enough.

Incidentally, the whole thing had less to do with Melody and more to do with Anna-Marie and Christopher’s meddling. Ever since they’d enacted their staging service, the capital’s population had grown steadily. Plus, thanks to their economic policies, the average citizen had more wealth. With greater spending power came more purchases came more tax revenue. The result: thriving marketplaces beyond anything Anna had seen before.

She had yet to put that together herself. She was busy holding a pretty girl’s hand.

They took the grand tour, stopping at whatever shops happened to catch their eye, then took a break for lunch. Stalls selling food offered places to sit and eat, similar to a food court. They availed themselves of both.

Farther into the market, the businesses became quainter. The girls found themselves surrounded by sundries, antiques, and other miscellaneous crafts.

“Seems the crowds are thinner here,” Melody said.

“Thank goodness for that. We can actually take our time.”

This part of the market was practically deserted compared to the food area, which spelled the end of the hand-holding part of the date, much to Anna’s dismay.

“Why not buy a souvenir to remember the day by?” Anna said.

“Oh, yes! But I wonder what my lady would like.”

“I meant for you, Melody.” Anna shook her head. Leave it to the maid maniac to jump to Luciana at the mere mention of gifts. “Oh, well. If that’s what you want. I’m sure we’ll find something once we start looking.”

“Right. Let’s do that.”

They visited a number of shops selling a wide variety of trinkets, from wood carvings to gorgeously woven rattan handbags. Despite the trinkets’ questionable practical utility—especially all the star-shaped pottery—the sheer breadth of scope of the items was impressive.

“Oh, these are souvenir souvenir stores. I can see myself putting these things on a shelf somewhere and forgetting all about them in a week.”

“The rattan handbag seemed practical,” Melody said.

“Would you use it?”

“No, I already have a bag.”

“That’s exactly what I mean. They get you with things that seem useful at first, then you use them for a while and realize what you already had is better. Everything we see is window dressing, Melody. Forever window dressing.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“The worst souvenirs are the ones you buy from places like these. Trust me.”

Painful memories came rushing back. Her days as a high schooler, going on field trips, spitefully buying things against her friends’ warnings, enduring the confused expressions on the giftees’ faces. Once the magic of the trip faded, she always found herself asking the same question: “Why did I buy this?”

She had no doubt those items were still collecting dust with her family even now. They were impossible to throw out. Anna felt the call of the void. Perhaps one day she’d look back on those days fondly, but for now, her high school days remained fresh and the scars tender.

While Anna was off in her own world, a shop caught Melody’s attention. She stopped in front of it. Ornaments and baubles dressed this window. Anna’s otome senses tingled.

“Welcome,” an employee, a quiet and modest woman, said. “Please, have a look around. Take all the time you need.”

“I will, thank you,” Melody replied.

Quiet lady. Antique store. Is this what I think it is? The heroine had stopped at a store like this in the game. Anna glanced between the woman and Melody. The latter’s eyes were fixed on something at the far end of the shop, a selection of hand-stitched dolls, in front of which sat it. A ring with an azure gemstone.

The heroine Anna knew fell for that ring immediately. At first the attraction seemed to stem from the azure stone, which matched her eyes, but in truth, the ring reminded her of her late mother’s eyes. It was like staring into the same gentle pools from her memories.

She’d still be grieving right around now, Anna recalled. Her mother passes, then a man calling himself her father shows up and takes her from everything she’s ever known. She’s in a precarious state at this point in the story.

In fact, the heroine triggered this event by running away from home. Anna appreciated her pain, but Melody was not her.

So then what about that ring is she stuck on? Either way, first thing’s first.

“Something catch your eye?” Anna said.

It was Christopher’s line. It would trigger a number of choices. Four, to be precise. “No. Nothing,” was the first. The second, “That azure ring.” The third, “That red ring.” Lastly, “That yellow ring.” If you aimed to romance the prince, you had to pick the first option. The heroine would then leave the store in a flushed hurry, but the prince would notice. He’d buy the azure ring anyway and later present it to the heroine as a gift, prompting her to open up to him about her mother and earning the player a hefty affection boost.

Picking any other option would simply lead to him purchasing the ring without hearing the heroine’s story. No affection boost.

Which choice is Melody gonna pick?

She pointed toward the ring. “That azure…”

Ack! Wrong one! You’re not gonna boost my affection that way, Melody!

Granted, it really couldn’t get much higher, but it was the principle of the matter. As an otome gamer, Anna could not abide sub-optimal routing.

“That azure-eyed doll,” Melody finished.

“Hm? Doll?”

Not a ring. A doll.

Anna followed the trajectory of Melody’s finger. She was pointing past the rings at the dolls behind them. She indicated a cute little thing with chestnut hair and, of course, azure stones for eyes. It was a simple thing made of fabric and stuffed with cotton, and it just so happened to use the exact same shade of stone as the ring.

“Ah, yes,” the employee said. “Well-made isn’t it? I’m quite proud of it.”

“It’s your handiwork? It’s adorable, and the stitching is very professional,” Melody said. “I do quite like it.”

“Why, thank you. It’s for sale, you know. Would you like to take her home with you?”

“Yes, I think I would. How much is it?”

“Stop!” Anna blurted.

“Anna? Is something the matter?”

She didn’t know how they got here, but this wasn’t in the script. Anna had to get them back on track, and letting Melody pay for herself would only mess up the event more.

“I’ll buy it.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you wanted it too.”

“I don’t. I mean I’ll buy it for you, Melody. As a gift.”

Melody raised her eyebrows. “No, Anna, you can’t do that! I won’t let you.”

“I want to give you something to commemorate our date. Can’t I?”

“I don’t know…”

Anna had insisted on paying for everything all day, as it happened, and Melody was willing to let most of it slide, but this was another matter. This was a completely personal purchase. She didn’t feel right letting someone else foot that bill.

But refusing might cause offense, Melody considered.

The employee stepped in with the perfect solution. “Why not do an exchange?”

“An exchange?” the girls said.

“If you’ll direct your attention a little to the side, you’ll see there’s another cute doll just next door.”

Next to the azure-eyed doll sat another azure-eyed doll, but with silver hair instead of soft brown. Side by side, they almost looked like sisters.

“Oh, she is cute,” Anna said.

“They’re like a mother and daughter,” Melody said.

“Mother and daughter? I was thinking sisters.”

They cocked their heads at each other. Strange that they had such different impressions. Regardless, the shopkeeper’s suggestion was a good one. This way, Anna could fulfill her own criteria, though without the ­affection boost on account of Melody choosing a more direct path. Sad.

“I like this idea,” Anna said. “What about you, Melody? Am I allowed to buy you this cute little brunette?”

“Are you sure? You didn’t want a doll until now.”

Anna grinned impishly. “Minds change, and right now, what I really want is to match with you.”

“Oh, okay. If you insist. And you’ll have this silver-haired cutie here.”

“Perfect. Thank you, Melody!”

“And thank you, Anna.”

The girls smiled at one another, and the good cheer spread to the shopkeeper. “Thank you for your patronage.”

Now this was business acumen.

Clutching their dolls, Anna and Melody left the store. The latter gazed softly at her new gift. Such a lovely shade of blue. Just like my mother’s eyes. To her, a doll in her mother’s likeness was far more striking than some mere ring. She knew she had to have it from the second she laid eyes on it. She looked at the one she’d gotten Anna. And that one’s just like me.

That she’d seen a mother and daughter in them was not a flight of fancy. It was a strange feeling, seeing her new maid friend carry her. Not a bad feeling. Just strange.

“I’m going to take good care of her, Anna.”

“As will I.”

For a moment, they lit up the market with their smiles. It was quite a sight.

Silver hair and blue eyes, Anna thought. Just like the heroine. Crazy, finding this at the same store where she buys the ring. An Easter egg, maybe?

Knowing nothing of Selena herself, Anna was, as ever, totally oblivious to the truth.

“I think I’ve had my fill of the market,” she said. “Ready to move on?”

“Sure. Where to next?”

It was time for the next scene transition. Onward to the final date spot.

“It’s… Oh, before we go, would you mind if we circled back to the food vendors? I’d like to do a little shopping.”

“I don’t mind, but what are you looking for exactly?”

“Hmm, good question. What would be best for a bunch of little mouths?”

“A bunch? Are these acquaintances of yours?”

“Something like that. You’ll understand when we get to where we’re going.”

“I see, and where is that?”

Grocery shopping was certainly an unorthodox choice for a date. Anna quickly elucidated, “The outer quarter. An orphanage.”

They hurried on their way toward the Debonair Day of Roguish Romance’s climax.

 

“I thought we weren’t buying the rattan bag,” Melody said.

“It’s a donation. I’m sure the orphanage can use it.”

It wasn’t just a rattan bag. It was two. Melody’s held the two dolls, while Anna’s held a variety of fruits she planned to donate.

“Are you sure you don’t want to share some of those with me?” Melody said. “That bag looks awfully heavy.”

There were many little mouths at the orphanage, and consequently many fruits.

Anna shook her head. “It was my idea, so it’s my responsibility. I don’t want our dolls getting smelly. Also, my work keeps me plenty fit, I’ll have you know.” She hefted up the bag like a dumbbell, and her arm visibly trembled.

Melody didn’t bother pointing that out. “If you insist. Tell me if you need a break, though. We can trade.”

“Will do. You’re such a softy, Melody.”

Prince Christopher did, indeed, choose an orphanage in the city’s outer quarter as his final stop on the date. Not a very debonair location, nor was it romantic, but the prince wanted to familiarize himself with his subjects. Ultimately, the “date” was but a pretense, as he explained to the heroine. He had to see with his own eyes the truth of his city in all its ugliness.

Anna was not the prince and had no such objective, but she did have another aim. “I’m sorry for springing this on you so suddenly, by the way.”

“I don’t mind at all. You say you have acquaintances here?”

“The sister and I have a bit of history. It’s been too long since I paid her a visit.”

Lies, of course. Anna spoke as if this were a spur-of-the-moment decision on her part, but in truth, she’d been searching for an excuse to steer them in this direction the entire day. It helped that her excuse was not entirely a lie. She had visited the orphanage as Anna in the past. It was an important location for other plot reasons, so she’d staked it out long ago. That was when she’d met the caretaker.

So Anna had nothing to see or check on, really. She’d done all that already. Rather, she hoped to ensure she and Melody stayed in line with the event. Plus, she really hadn’t visited in a long time, what with the upcoming term at the academy and the Spring Ball’s aftermath eating up months of her life. It would be nice to see everyone again.

Exiting the inner quarter, they entered the eastern side of the outer quarter. Every building they passed was more architecturally avant-garde than the last, like something out of an abstract painting. Everything had a very cobbled-together feel about it, similar to the lower city of old Tokyo.

“I heard the outer quarter was home to a slum, but that isn’t quite how this feels,” Melody said, her head on a swivel.

“Because we aren’t in the slum. Most of the quarter is fairly quiet, especially the east side.”

“Why specifically the east?”

“That’s the side the Great Vanargand Wood is on. Patrols are heavier here so they can keep a closer eye on it. That’s why most orphanages are on this side. It’s safer. And why the worst slums are to the west.”

“That makes sense.” Melody nodded.

But something stuck out to her. The east… A wood to the east?

“Here we are!”

Anna cheered before Melody could arrive at the ­obvious conclusion.

The thought Melody had so nearly grasped vanished, and she made no attempt to call it back. “So this is it?” she said.

It looked like an old school building—a very old one, made entirely of wood. An antiquated metal fence defined the lot’s perimeter, which included a modest courtyard. Behind the orphanage itself stood what looked to be a church.

“It’s a subsidiary of the church, I take it,” Melody said.

“That’s right, though the Crown does subsidize them as well.”

“I wasn’t aware of that actually. Do you know much about orphanages?”

“J-just what the caretaker’s told me!” Anna laughed awkwardly. Thankfully, Melody was too busy being impressed to notice the bullets of sweat dripping down her face.

The orphanage’s front door opened, and a gorgeous woman carrying a broom emerged. She wore the robes of a nun, very indulgent robes, very form-fitting, flattering robes of the sort found only in anime and fiction. A nun on Earth would risk excommunication for wearing such robes. Melody had thoughts about that, but who was she to judge? It was a different world.

“Sister!” Anna called.

“Oh, my, is that you, Anna? It’s been so long. It’s a blessing to see you again. Who’s this? A friend of yours?” A luscious lock of flaxen hair slipped off the nun’s ­shoulder as she cocked her head.

“Let me introduce you. This is Melody.”

“Melody Wave, Sister,” she said. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Goodness, you’re a polite one. The pleasure is mine,” the nun replied. “I am the caretaker of this ­orphanage, Annabelle.” Sister Annabelle graced them with an ­ecclesiastical grin, then put her hand to her cheek. “And you are…her wife?”

The girls nearly collapsed on the spot.

“How in the world did you leap to that conclusion?!” Anna sputtered.

“You seem very close. Frankly, I thought you’d come to tell me the good news.”

“She’s a woman!” Anna jabbed her finger at Melody. Then herself. “I’m a woman!”

Sister Annabelle shook her head somberly. She clasped her hands in front of her chest as if in prayer, the broom nowhere to be seen. Then she donned a holy, godly smile. “Love is love, my child. We mustn’t let societal preconceptions preclude us from that most sacred of gifts. I, for one, believe that the lies we tell ourselves will one day be made plain regardless before the only one who matters. So please, do away with them.”

She had an excellent view of Anna’s fuming from all the way up on the moral high ground.

“I can’t be any more plain than this: You are misunderstanding the situation!” Just when Anna was beginning to question if the front of an orphanage was the right place to have this argument, someone giggled. “Melody?”

“You look like more than acquaintances to me,” Melody laughed.

Sister Annabelle blushed and cupped her cheeks. “Do we? Yes, well, I do think we have a special sort of relationship.”

“Oh, really?” Melody exaggerated her shock. “The married variety, perhaps?”

“Melody!” Anna snapped. There were no allies here. None for her at least.

Sister Annabelle gasped, playing her part well before succumbing to giggles herself. “I’m flattered, but if I were to marry, I’d rather my husband be a tad closer to me in age.”

“Why are we doing this all over again?! Can nuns even marry?! Why am I the husband?! And did you just turn me down?! Agh! Give me a break! I can’t be mad at everything all at once!”

In front of an orphanage was indeed an awkward place for this skit to play out. Anna panted, her shoulders heaving up and down. She didn’t even have the energy to care anymore. Then someone snorted, followed by an explosion of laughter.

Anna gaped as Melody and the nun busted their guts at her expense. Her confusion quickly turned to annoyance. “Melody.”

“I’m sorry,” she snickered. “You took it so seriously.”

“Wh-what was I supposed to do?”

“It was obviously never anything more than a joke, but goodness, the way you reacted.”

Anna’s cheeks burned, the egg on her face nearly scrambled. “Th-this is all your fault, Sister!”

“Forgive me,” Annabelle said, tittering. “I suppose it did get a little out of hand, but I meant it when I said you looked very close. You’ve never visited us accompanied by anyone but your lonesome self, and when you finally do bring someone, you have matching bags! Heaven save me, you’re adorable.”

Anna wailed in frustration. “Stop reading into things! Here! These are for you!”

“Anna, I don’t believe she was teasing you that time,” Melody said calmly.

This, of course, only embarrassed her further and made her face burn hotter.

Satisfied, Sister Annabelle clapped. “Now, now, we could stand here bickering the day away, or we could go inside, ladies.”

“True,” Anna sighed. “Wait, this is still your fault!”

“It is my pleasure to welcome you to our humble home!” The nun beamed and waved them inside.

 

“Anna’s back!” someone squealed.

“Anna!” shouted another. “Hi, Anna!”

“Anna, come play with me!”

“I-inside voices, everyone!” the star of the show pleaded. “One at a time! Quiet! My skirt is not for pulling!”

Annabelle had escorted Melody and Anna to the dining hall, where they delivered the fruit and hoped for a bit of peace after the hubbub outside, but when the kids noticed the arrival of their favorite person, they shattered that hope. There would be no peace for Anna. The kids ate her alive. With love, of course.

“This tea is delicious,” Melody said. “I’ve never tasted anything like it.”

“Why, thank you. It happens to be a special brew I made out of herbs I grew myself,” Annabelle said. “Would you like the recipe?”

“I’d love it.”

A safe distance away from the chaos engulfing Anna, Melody and the sister enjoyed a quiet moment. The children showed little interest in the sister, and Melody was a stranger to them, so all of their pent-up energy went to Anna.

“They’re a lively bunch,” said Melody.

“Don’t I know it. Especially because it’s been so long since they last saw her.”

Anna shrieked. “What did I say about pulling hair?!”

Annabelle and Melody watched Anna get poked, prodded, tugged, and made generally uncomfortable in every possible way, and yet they felt no urgent need to rescue her. The kids clearly loved her. That alone made the trip worth it to Melody.

“All right, all right!” Anna said. “To the courtyard! Everyone behind me!”

The kids cheered in agreement.

“You’re with me, Melody!”

“I’m going to chat more with Sister Annabelle.”

“Why?!”

“It’s you they want to play with, not me. Isn’t that right?”

“Yeah!” the little ones shouted, nodding enthusiastically.

Anna had no words.

“I’ll be there shortly, rest assured, if none of you mind me joining, that is.”

“Yeah!” they shouted again.

Anna groaned. “Fine. All right, outside, everyone. Go, go, go!”

One final shout.

“Go!”

“Careful! Nobody trip!” Annabelle called after the miniature stampede, doubtless to no avail. It didn’t seem to bother her. This was the status quo, and her serene expression said she treasured it.

“Anna seems used to this,” Melody said. When she mentioned visiting this place, Melody hadn’t expected her to be this popular. It was quite the shock when that swarm rushed to consume her.

“She means a lot to this orphanage. She’s our own goddess of fortune.”

“Goddess? Of fortune?”

Sister Annabelle explained how their funding had been gradually whittled away for years. She described the squalid state they’d once endured.

“Those were trying times, but we made do. If you aren’t aware, the price of goods in the city has been rising for some time, and eventually we reached a tipping point. We simply couldn’t afford anything.”

Melody pieced things together at once. Generally, higher prices meant a surging economy. She knew of the staging service and of the prince’s contributions to the Commerce Guild, so it was easy enough to trace the ­connection between that and the orphanage’s plight. Better roads led to increased travel, which meant more goods and services flowing through the city, and increased support for the unemployed meant more jobs, meant fewer bankruptcies, meant a better economy. Usually a good thing, but not for the orphanage.

Simply put, inflation meant business boomed, people wanted more of a thing, more people wanting more of a thing meant more people willing to pay more for that thing, demand surpassed supply, and prices rose to offset that demand. But an orphanage was not a business. It had no profits, and this particular institution’s funding had been dwindling. As a result, the rapidly expanding economy had ironically accelerated its demise.

“I don’t like to think about how bad things could have been,” the sister went on. “It’s a sad truth that we often see the highest number of new arrivals during times like these, and without the means to accommodate them, well, they’ll always have a place to go as long as I live and breathe, but…”

Class disparity, Melody surmised.

For every light there was a shadow. Economic success did not affect all people equally. Orphanages wouldn’t be the only ones to struggle against the ­financial whiplash, and anyone who missed out on a piece of the pie would be left behind by the soaring price of living, families not least of all. Orphans were a matter of course.

“All those nights with grumbling tummies,” Annabelle mused. “Even one meal a day was a luxury, and no one from the palace would hear our appeals. The church was stretched thin as it was. It was trying. Truly harsh times.”

The nun clasped her hands tightly atop the table. Melody wrapped hers around them. Stories like this were the ­hardest to hear. There was always someone suffering in the dark in ways you could never know or do anything about.

Annabelle sensed her compassion and smiled. “That’s when Anna came. It was, oh, three years ago now I think?”

“She came here? That long ago?”

“Like a storm, just like today. With food, just like today. Same words too. ‘These are for you.’”

“She is rather terse at times, isn’t she?”

“That she is.” The sister chuckled as she reflected.

Melody joined her, vividly recreating the scene in her mind.

Then Annabelle lowered her gaze. “Some people scoff at such acts of kindness. They question what good it really does while the root cause of the suffering goes unaddressed. But I can tell you, the relief those rations brought us—it meant the world. A day’s worth of meals was a feast at the time.”

“That’s why the children love her so much, isn’t it?”

“Partly, yes. Though let’s not forget she’s our goddess for a reason.”

“Why is that?”

“The very next day after her visit, we received another visitor. A noblewoman.”

“Oh? Who exactly?” Melody gasped, answering her own question.

“Lady Anna-Marie, of the esteemed House Victillium.”

Nobles did not make a habit of popping in on orphanages at random. A visit from aristocracy necessitated an appropriate welcome, the sort that a poor institution like this simply couldn’t accommodate. Yet Anna-Marie Victillium had come anyway, boldly and unabashedly.

“The shock that must have given you,” Melody said.

“Oh, it did. We’d never once been graced by the ­marquess’s presence, and yet we were suddenly playing host to His Lordship’s daughter. Frankly, I couldn’t believe my eyes. So perhaps I wasn’t shocked so much as utterly incredulous.” Sister Annabelle laughed. “But what did shock me, without a doubt, was the generous donation she left for us.”

She’d called it “relief,” and it included food, clothing, and a number of daily necessities.

“It was as if she knew exactly what we needed and in what amounts,” Annabelle said. She described the desperately needed renovations Anna-Marie had ­overseen, and she described her incredulity at the whole affair. What Anna-Marie did wasn’t mere “relief.” It was salvation.

After giving the orphanage one final, thorough ­look-through, Anna-Marie left. Just like that. Off to her next project.

“She did the same for other orphanages?” Melody asked.

“That she did. And that’s not the only windfall that came to us.”

Days after Anna-Marie’s visit, they received word from a messenger from the palace concerning the orphanage’s funding. It turned out the very individual who was supposed to be distributing the kingdom’s subsidies was instead embezzling them, siphoning them away for years. Following the criminal’s arrest, the kingdom planned to reappropriate the funds and redistribute them to the ­institutions waiting for them. Furthermore, the orphanage could expect increased funding in the future, to match the rate of inflation.

Sister Annabelle told of the whiplash the news had caused. For days, she suspected it had to be a dream.

Melody examined the kitchen from where she sat. Although by no means overflowing with luxurious ­victuals, it was certainly far from the harrowing poverty the sister had described. They had appliances and ­utensils, if aged ones. They wanted for nothing.

Anna must have reported everything to her lady, she surmised. I’m sure of it.

Noblewomen, regardless of their standing, did not suddenly appear out of the blue and conduct such sweeping change on a whim. Anna must have treated the matter as an emergency. Even so, her lady had acted with unbelievable swiftness to arrive with rations and supplies and carpenters the very next day. Anna-Marie was uncommonly decisive for a woman of her station.

Now I wonder if it wasn’t Lady Anna-Marie herself who’d ordered Anna to survey the orphanage.

Anna-Marie, already vaguely aware of the orphanage’s situation, could have justifiably sent her maid to verify the conditions. She’d had everything ready and waiting. That would explain the speed at which it all happened. It wasn’t a big leap of logic to assume she’d had something to do with uncovering the funds’ ­embezzlement too. She was one of Prince Christopher’s closest suitresses, after all, and thus had direct access to practically any matter concerning the kingdom. Orphanage funding would not have been a hard thing to investigate at all.

But I mustn’t confirm these things with Anna herself. It would be improper.

A good maid did not discuss her house’s internal ­affairs. Melody had learned her lesson and would not repeat her mistake.

Still, she did have one question. “Excuse me, but why is Anna your ‘goddess of fortune’? Would the title not better fit Lady Anna-Marie? If I’m understanding correctly, she’s the one who brought all this change about.”

Anna had arrived bearing aid first, true, but what Anna-Marie delivered was life-changing and sweeping in scale. To Melody, if anyone should be the orphanage’s messiah, it was the latter.

Sister Annabelle simply smiled. “Yes. You understand perfectly well.”

“I, um, don’t follow.”

The nun chuckled, amused at Melody’s confusion, then gazed out the dining hall window. A vast blue sky stretched to the horizon. “Anna left us with a short soliloquy that first day she visited. ‘I’m a woman who loves a happy ending. I like the aftertaste to be sweet, not bitter. So when I read the story of this orphanage, I planned on coming out with a smile on my face.’ Those were the words she left in her wake, and they stuck with the children. Then Lady Anna-Marie came the next day, bearing gifts and change, just as Anna had prophesied. Anna’s the one the children remember.”

“Because she divined fortune. Like a goddess.”

It all started because of Anna. To the young residents of the orphanage, she was the bringer of all their good luck. Melody nodded. It made sense now.

So why the wry smile on Sister Annabelle’s face?

 

“Get away!”

“Save me!”

Shrill voices filled the orphanage courtyard, children shouting and shrieking and doing what kids do best: making noise.

“Hold it, you!” Anna yelled. All in good fun, of course. They were in the middle of an intense game of tag. “You’re mine!”

“Nooo!”

“I might have gone easy on you if you’d only given up when you could!”

“G-go on without me, guys!”

It sounded very real out of context, but rest assured, it was all in service to the game. After walking her captive to the shady side of the courtyard, Anna set her sights on the other scrambling boys.

“Which one of you wants to be next?”

The screaming resumed. “Run for it!”

Anna loved seeing them laugh and smile, but deep down, she was conflicted. I don’t regret anything I did, but this sure goes against the plot.

In the original event, there were no kids scampering with glee because Anna-Marie never saved the orphanage. That was the heroine’s mission. She was supposed to ­witness the sorry state of it with Christopher and kick off a story arc about the embezzled funds. But Anna-Marie, and her trusty alter ego Anna, had resolved that already.

How was I supposed to go on with my life, knowing they were out here suffering?

Anna-Marie knew about the orphanage from the ­beginning, obviously, and what the narrative had in store for it. Then she saw it for herself, and there was something far more poignant, far more vivid to witnessing poverty as opposed to reading about it in a video game. She couldn’t wait for the plot after that. It would take three more years for the heroine to come along, and by then who could say how many of these kids would remain?

She did not regret her actions. She would not. Still. Look at me in my glass friggin’ house!

All that agonizing over the plot and doing things right and not triggering any sort of butterfly effect, and she’d been her own worst enemy all along. It was hard not to feel stupid.

“Gotcha!” Anna threw her arms around the last of her victims.

The child let out a dramatic death rattle. “I thought I would last a little longer.”

“Ten-year-olds aren’t as strong as grown-ups, and don’t you forget it.”

The boy grumbled, unwilling to admit defeat. When they arrived at his would-be prison, they found a most unexpected sight.

“Green light…” A different boy faced a tree, then whipped around. “Red light!”

The other boys froze on the spot. Anna’s previous victims, the impatient little critters, had already moved on to the next game. Needless to say, Red Light, Green Light originated from Anna.

“Well,” she said, “looks like all your running around got you left out.”

“No fair! Hey, I wanna play too! Let me join!” The boy weaseled out of her grasp and ran to join the others.

Seeing the kids move on from her so quickly and make their own fun left Anna with a weird ­feeling, something halfway between contentedness and loneliness.

“Anna!” A girl crouching on the other side of the tree, opposite the boys, waved to her. The rest of the girls joined her in beckoning Anna over.

Anna waved back and headed toward them.

“Look! I found this.” One of them proudly held out a four-leaf clover. This world being derived from Earth by a Japanese video game company, there was a lot of overlap between fauna, clovers being one such example.

“Oh, lucky you.” Anna grinned at her. “Bet you’ve got something nice coming your way.”

“Uh-huh!”

“Anna, I can’t do this,” another girl whined. She held a bunch of flowers in a clumsy bunch, the failed remnants of a crown.

“Why don’t I help you then?” Anna offered.

“I wanna do it!” a third girl said.

“Me too!” said another.

Thus, they set about crafting flower crowns. The luckier girls wove in their four-leaf clovers to make them extra special.

They cheered when they finished, immediately setting the crowns in their hair. Some wore them at an angle, just for fun, and a quirky few used them as armbands. All shared beaming smiles.

Anna smiled with relief. She’d made the right choice. But what if this is why the heroine’s missing? Because I’m doing the things she’s supposed to be doing? What if I’m the one keeping her away because I’m robbing her of her destiny?

Destiny certainly seemed at play in this world. They were following the narrative of the game bit by bit, but they were also heading steadily off course because they lacked a heroine for reasons unknown. Anna did have a clue, though, based on what Luciana had revealed to her in the palace.

Little changes here and there are one thing, she thought, but kingdom-spanning initiatives like the staging service? Those aren’t in the game. Those are bound to cause big deviations. Not to mention that I’m not even Anna-Marie Victillium, not as she’s meant to be, anyway. Christopher’s still Christopher for the most part, but me?

The villainess of The Silver Saint and the Five Oaths, Anna-Marie Victillium, was a self-absorbed, cowardly simpleton, the heroine’s rival, and an overall nuisance.

Anna-Marie, the living and breathing one, was not she. She was the Scarlet Seductress. The perfect lady. Not the villainess. Not a rival. Between the transportation service and the complete transformation of a major character, it went without saying which had likely caused the most theoretical narrative damage.

I never cared about the plot. I’m just running in the dark, doing whatever’s best for me in the moment. It took me nine whole years to realize that.

She let out a sigh.

“Are you upset, Anna?” one of the girls asked, noticing her shift.

She put on her best smile. “Nope. Not at all. Just thinking about something I messed up a little while ago.”

“Oh, okay, but it’ll be all right.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because you’re gonna have a happy ending! You’re gonna come out with a smile on your face!”

“A happy ending?”

“Yeah! Right, everyone?”

“We had a happy ending, so that means you will too,” a girl agreed.

“Uh-huh,” said another. “Otherwise the aftertaste’ll be yucky.”

“Happy ending!” the rest cheered.

Something warm and fuzzy filled Anna’s chest. “Yeah. You girls are right.”

She’d given hope to these girls. Hope for the future. Who said she couldn’t give it to herself as well?

So what if I’ve changed some things? That doesn’t mean we’re headed for ruin. In fact, the changes had brought new joy where before there was none. Luciana was alive, and these kids were happy. Anna had done more good than bad. We don’t need the plot’s permission to have our happy ending. I can still find it, even if I’m not playing the role I’m “supposed” to play.

A light turned on inside her, warm and bright.

“Kids, we cut up the fruit! Come back to the dining hall and have some!” called, without question, the top of said plot’s most-wanted list.

The kids ran screaming. Three square meals a day and basic living conditions didn’t make for a lavish lifestyle. The occasional treat, especially of the sweet variety, never failed to excite the little ones.

Anna found herself alone. After all their begging and pleading to play with her, suddenly she was old news to the kids. She shook her head, smiling at the fragility of a child’s attention span.

When she stood, Melody was grinning softly at her. “Ready to come inside?”

“I’ll be right there.”

Anna followed her inside, clinging to the smile adorning her face. She’d never let it go again.

 

The kids devoured their snacks with glee. “Yum!”

“My thoughts exactly,” Annabelle said. “Thank you for doing this, Melody.”

“It was my pleasure,” replied the maid. Far be it from her to settle for simply slicing fruit. Melody could do better than that.

“This syrup’s to die for. Sour yet sweet,” Anna said. “You made this from the piunes?”

“I did. In the absence of sugar, fruit is generally a ­suitable substitute.”

They’d donated piunes to the orphanage, a kind of ­citrus similar to oranges. Melody had turned some of them into a simple liquid topping, skinned and sliced the rest, and crafted a modest dessert.

“They go together well. I suppose they would,” Anna said.

“Had we more time, I would have liked to make ­something a little more involved.”

“This is more than enough, Melody,” said the caretaker. “You’ve given me a very versatile recipe to add to my repertoire. I imagine I can adapt it easily to other fruits we happen to have on hand too.”

“I’m glad it’s to your liking.” Melody returned Sister Annabelle’s smile.

Anna was watching the children demolish their ­desserts when she noticed an empty chair. “Sister, are we missing somebody?”

“Ah, that’s one of our newest,” she replied. “She’s out at the moment.”

“All alone? Is that safe?” Anna asked.

“She’s very smart for her age, and exceptionally willful. She’s gotten it into her head that she needs to find work. I suspect that’s what she’s run off to do.”

“I’ve set aside a portion for her,” Melody said. “She’s only nine, if you can believe it.”

“Nine?” Anna repeated in disbelief. “I sincerely doubt she’ll find somewhere willing to hire someone so young.”

Medieval Europe might not have minded, but this was an otome game made in the modern age. It was exceptionally rare for children her age to work in the capital, or even on the kingdom’s outskirts, for that ­matter. Not even Melody, hailing from a small village far off in a borderland, worked at age nine.

“Is she not acclimating well?” Anna asked.

“Hardly,” Sister Annabelle replied. “She gets along with the other kids just fine, but one day, she blurted out something about how the orphanage needs money, and she’s been stubborn as a wall ever since.”

Annabelle appreciated the thought, but goodness was she a handful.

 

“Come back soon, Anna, Melody!”

“Teach me to sew next time!”

“I’m gonna be way faster!”

“Don’t forget the snacks, please.”

The children bade their guests farewell, each in their own unique, potentially hunger-inspired way.

“Thank you for stopping by,” Sister Annabelle said. “We’ll miss your company.”

“It was very nice to meet you. We’ll be sure to visit again,” Melody replied.

“Things will be busy for some time, but you’ll be in our thoughts until we return,” said Anna.

The girls quickly went on their way, the sun now hanging precariously over the lip of the horizon.

“Busy?” Melody asked. “With what?”

“Have you forgotten the academy will be in session soon? We’ll have no end of responsibilities then.”

“Will you be joining Lady Anna-Marie as her attendant? That’s my plan at least.”

“Oh, um, n-no. Well, not immediately. Servants come and go, you know. Who’s to say?”

“I see. I hoped we might get to see each other more often.” Melody wore an expression of reluctant understanding.

Anna’s was more one of relief. “You’re joining Lady Luciana, then?”

“I’m the only servant in her employ, after all.”

“But then who’s going to look after the estate?”

“I’ve an idea to address that, as a matter of fact.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“A secret.” Melody put her finger in front of her lips and smirked oh-so charmingly. The sheer adorableness was enough to turn Anna off the subject entirely.

Then she saw something that gave her pause. As she stared at the building next to the orphanage—the church—she recalled a certain scene that had yet to come to pass.

“Say, Melody, why don’t we stop at the church before going home?”

“The church? I suppose we could.”

Giving her no time to process the request, Anna took Melody by the hand and guided them inside. Then kept going.

“Anna, should we be here?”

“Quiet. If we weren’t supposed to be here, we wouldn’t be.”

The logic of a wrongdoer in a place they shouldn’t be. Regardless, they continued until they arrived at their destination.

“Up this way,” Anna said.

“Up here?”

After climbing a spiral staircase, they emerged on the top of the belfry. The twilight-tinged capital and its ­innumerable, snaking roads unspooled before them like a tapestry.

“Well?” Anna said. “Worth it?”

“Yes, I do think so.” Melody sighed in awe at the city bathed in red. Were they trespassing? It didn’t matter anymore.

Anna watched her watch. Technically this isn’t supposed to happen today, but neither was a whole bunch of other stuff, so…meh.

The date itself only lasted a day, but the arc it triggered would continue for some time. They had to bring the embezzler to justice and renovate and resupply the ­orphanage, and that only scratched the surface of the tasks that lay ahead. Typically, the event completed itself in the background while the player focused on other endeavors. At the end, the player received this scene as a reward: Paltescia at sunset.

It all started from a lie. The heroine and the prince came to the orphanage under false pretenses, but the good they’d done was very real. Yet, as they walked, the girl did not seem pleased with their success.

She had much on her mind. She’d come to understand her guard, and even enjoy his company, and she’d made friends at Royal Academy. Her life had gotten easier, but still she failed to connect with her father. Every day she spent in the count’s estate formed another awkward memory, ­unlike the nun with her kids. Though bound not by blood, they were a family in the truest sense, and it reminded the heroine of what she lacked. What she had lost.

The prince noticed, and just like Anna, he took the heroine to the belfry. There, just like Melody, the heroine witnessed the city in all its golden glory.

And just like Melody, she said, “Look, there’s the orphanage.”

“There it is,” Anna replied. Just like Christopher.

Those humble wooden walls stood proud, battered not by age but by all they had endured. The orphanage was beautiful in its imperfection. In its courtyard, a few of the more rambunctious children continued to run and play. Melody watched in silence, just as the ­heroine did.

Anna observed her silhouette, limned by the sun’s rays, and recognition dawned. “The…heroine?”

She’d seen this before in a CG in the game. What a coincidence that Melody happened to be wearing clothes different in design but perfectly identical in form to the heroine’s. What a coincidence that her hair happened to flutter in the wind in the exact same way as the heroine’s. Maybe, just maybe, she was the heroine.

Anna stepped forward, and by coincidence, she felt the same unease Christopher did. He would have said, “C-Cecilia?”

She said, “M-Melody?”

She peered at Melody. In a fake world, this would have been the moment when the heroine said, “Thank you for bringing me here, Your Highness.” Smiling sadly. Feebly.

And His Highness’s heart would leap. Assuming the player met the right conditions, the heroine would speak of her late mother, and they would grow closer.

Melody turned to Anna, and she said, “Thank you for bringing me here, Anna.”

And she smiled. Not sadly. Brightly.

“Not her.”

“Pardon?”

Anna startled. “T-talking to myself! I’m glad you like it. We should come back someday.”

“With permission, I hope,” Melody giggled.

Anna nodded. Perhaps a bit hysterically. Don’t be silly, she scolded herself. Confusing Melody with the heroine. What am I, a fake fan? But she really looked like her for a second.

That silhouette had been her, without a doubt. At least Anna thought it had been. Regardless, they descended the belfry.

The power of preconceptions was truly frightening. A mere change of color could fool one into thinking the quacking, waddling, duck-like creature before them was not, in fact, a duck. Especially when Anna herself was using the exact same strategies to hide her own identity. Then again, these silly, baffling mistakes were what made us human.

And so, once again, against all odds, yet another golden opportunity passed the hapless Anna by.

 

“I’ve returned.”

“Welcome home, Melody!”

“My lady! Nobles do not throw themselves at their maids! For goodness’s sake, it’s unbecoming!”

Luciana was ready and waiting to charge as soon as her maid entered through the door. “Sorry, I know. So how did it go? Did you have a fun day off?”

“Very much so. Thank you for insisting I take one, my lady.”

“Heh, that’s good!” Luciana saw the sincerity in Melody’s smile.

“As it happens, I’ve brought you something to show my appreciation.”

“Oh, Melody, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I’ll have none of that. Kindly shut your eyes, my lady.”

“Is it a surprise?”

The lady did as she was told and held out her right hand. Melody slid something onto her middle finger.

“Okay, open!”

“Oh! A ring!”

“It’s a tad too cheap to wear in public, I’m afraid.”

“Then I’ll wear it in private. Thank you so much, Melody! It’s such a pretty shade of blue.”

It was, in fact, the ring sitting in front of the dolls at the antique store, the one meant for the heroine. Melody had purchased it in secret.

“It’s the same as my mother’s eyes, actually,” she said. “She passed not long ago.”

“Oh.”

“She was a loving, generous, kind person. Even as the plague took her, she spared not a thought for herself. She wanted what was best for me. She supported my dream. That deep, azure blue will always remind me of her and how she cared for me.” Melody smiled tenderly as the memories washed through her. “I was taken aback when I saw it. It was like staring into her eyes again, as if she’d come back to see me, if only for a moment.”

“Melody, it sounds to me like you should have this, not me.”

“No. You should have it, my lady. I have known her love and protection, and I want you to know it too. Though you have Her Ladyship, so perhaps it’s a touch impertinent of me to feel that way.”

“Oh, Melody!” Luciana’s heart ached. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I do feel loved. And you know what? I bet your mother’s looking down on me from heaven right now. On both of us!”

“You and your theatrics, my lady.” Melody giggled. It had been a long time since she indulged so much in memories of her mother, and it dampened her spirits. Doubtless Luciana saw the rain clouds forming and sought to intercept them quickly and dramatically. “Now, I do believe it’s nearly dinnertime. How is that coming?”

“I-it’s, um, coming. You did most of the work ahead of time, so it should be ready, er…soonish.” Luciana’s eye twitched. Her gaze drifted further and further away with every word.

Melody understood at once. “Will you allow me to assist, my lady?”

Luciana whimpered and hung her head. “Please and thank you.”

This maid-for-a-day needed a bit more experience under her belt before she was ready for a full twenty-four-hour shift.

“I’ll change and then return promptly.”

“Sorry.” Luciana sighed. “This wouldn’t be a problem if we had even a single extra hand to help out.”

“I wouldn’t worry so much about that, my lady.”

“Oh? Do you have something in mind?”

Melody gave her the same performance she gave Anna. A finger to her lips. A smirk. “It’s a secret.”

Promptly indeed, Melody was changed and back in her element. Finding her doll and placing it carefully on her bedside chest, she made to head to the kitchen.

Just before she left, however, she glanced once more over her shoulder at the doll. “I’m off to work, Mom.”

She smiled, and she could have sworn the doll smiled back.

A shriek cut her reverie short. “No, Grail! Bad Grail! That’s the main dish!”

Melody scurried off in a panic. It wasn’t the most graceful end to the day, but that was business as usual for House Rudleberg.

 

“Feeling refreshed, my lady?”

A decidedly irate lady-in-waiting greeted Anna-Marie upon her return. Anna-Marie’s strategy?

“Well,” she retorted, “there you are, Claris. I looked everywhere for you. Where in the world have you been?”

Playing dumb. That was the perfect lady’s strategy. She plopped herself down on her bedroom sofa with dramatic exhaustion, her cheek perched on her hand for quizzical effect.

“Excuse me, my lady, but excuse me?! You’re the one who’s been missing!”

“Goodness me, we must have spent the entire day just missing each other. That’s rather impressive. It is a large estate, isn’t it?” Anna-Marie loosed a dainty sigh.

It broke something in Claris. “Do you have any idea how you sound right now, you rotten little hooligan?!”

Justified as she was in her rage, Anna-Marie didn’t balk. “Claris, I think it unbecoming of a noblewoman like yourself to use such vulgar language, and at such an obscene volume. Those of House Victillium must hold themselves to certain standards. You would do well to remember that and conduct yourself accordingly.”

The grin on her face shone with self-righteous ­hypocrisy. Claris’s anger flared, and yet Anna-Marie was right. It was unbecoming of her to react so violently. Remembering her dignity as a Victillium servant, Claris smothered her wrath and growled, “Are you feeling refreshed, my lady?”

Anna-Marie laughed. “I’m sorry, Claris. I only meant to tease. Thank you for your concern.”

That finally cooled the blood boiling in Claris’s ­throbbing veins. She exhaled and righted her posture, reclaiming the aspect of a proper lady-in-waiting. Then she regarded her lady with a closer, more composed look. Perfect as she was, her smiles never fell short of charming, but of late melancholy shadowed them. This time, however, it was different.

“I take it you had a productive day,” she said.

“Productive indeed. Productive and fulfilling.” Anna-Marie smiled her old smile. It was back. Claris could not begin to guess what caused it. Evidently, she’d needed this secret outing more than anyone knew.

I simply can’t raise my voice when I see that face, the lady-in-waiting lamented. She did love her lady oh so very much, despite her claims to the contrary.

“My lady, a word of advice, if I may,” she said. “The academy will soon begin its first semester of the year, and I think it best that you refrain from these disappearing acts for the time being.”

“I know. Speaking of responsibilities, I’m to meet with His Highness tomorrow. Are those plans unchanged?”

Claris answered in the affirmative. Anna-Marie had much to discuss with her partner in crime following the day’s events. And all of it important, she thought. The world wants to go off script and do things in weird ways, but I’m not about to let it take us toward a bad end. Consider this my promise to you, world! This is my oath, and I don’t need a boy to give it to! I will have a happy ending! She snickered to herself. Now I sound like the heroine. Wait. Promise…

Anna-Marie leaped up from the couch. Her eyes flew wide, and she shook like a leaf caught in a storm.

“M-my lady?” Claris asked, frightened.

“What have I done?”

“I’m sorry?”

“What have I done?!”

“My lady, what in the world is the matter?!”

“Claris! Pen and paper! Now!”

“R-right away!”

Anna-Marie threw herself down at her desk. Claris fretted at her lady’s state of mind but did as commanded regardless.

She timidly handed Anna-Marie the pen and paper. “M-my lady.”

“Thank you.” Anna-Marie twirled the pen dexterously in her fingers, a deathly serious glint in her eyes. “I can’t believe myself. Of all the things to forget.”

Claris gulped. What had she forgotten?

The perfect lady continued to gripe and grumble under her breath as though holding a debate over the most important matter in all the world.

“I can’t believe I forgot all about the short-skirt maid uniform I was going to design!”

Claris blinked as those words hung in the air. “Excuse me?”

“Happy ending my left foot. There’ll be no happiness in the world without miniskirts! Who doesn’t appreciate a bit of thigh? Nobody! Let’s go! Thigh-highs! Let’s go thigh-highs!” Anna-Marie’s pen spun faster and faster, her fervor growing with each revolution. “The only question is, what sort of design is best for the pure, conservative type? Black socks? White? D-dare I suggest, a garter belt?! The possibilities are endless!”

At last, pen went to paper, and the innocent, empty sheet filled with the raunchy scrawlings of a madwoman. Here was not the Scarlet Seductress, nor the perfect lady. Nor even Anna-Marie Victillium. Something else had taken over. Something feral.

“What if we did the sleeves like this? Show a little shoulder. Skin uptown, skin downtown. Double whammy. Oh, yeah. I’m cooking. I’m on fire! Claris, thoughts?”

“You…you rotten little hoyden!”

Claris’s expletive echoed through the estate, striking every single ear—save for the neighbors’, thankfully. It was a very large estate.

“Hoyden is a new one.” A sigh filled the office.

“I will simply pretend I did not hear it.” A second sigh filled the office.

“No, Claris!” came more shouts. “No! How could you?! Give it back! That’s my masterpiece! My masterpiece, I tell you!”

“The ashes in the furnace will absolutely adore it, I ­assure you!”

“Nooo!”

Business as usual for House Victillium. Sad, sad business.

 

Earlier in the day, some time after Anna and Melody left the orphanage…

“I’m back!”

“Welcome home.”

A small girl approached Sister Annabelle, who was busy making dinner in the kitchen. She had short pink hair tied in two little tufts. A cute hairstyle for a cute girl. She fell heavily into a seat and hunched over, lazily resting her chin on the table.

“Mind your manners, young lady,” the nun scolded. “No luck, I take it?”

The girl tilted her head forward in a vague nod, not bothering to lift her chin. “Still no jobs for me at the Guild.”

“I’d be surprised if there were.”

Maybe if this were a countryside farm in need of all the hands it could get, she might have had more luck, but in the capital, very few required the sort of limited help a child could offer. The prince’s economic revolution had brought an unprecedented number of laborers to the workforce as well. There was no shortage of able bodies.

“Every second counts,” the girl grumbled. “I have to find work so I can start helping out. And soon.”

“Listen to me. I appreciate the thought, but you’re only nine. You ought to be doing what nine-year-olds do. Eat well, sleep well, play well, and study well. Work can come later. What do you say?”

“It’ll be too late by then.” The girl sulked.

What would be too late? Why would it be too late? The girl never said. She’d come to the orphanage from the slums, so Sister Annabelle supposed it had something to do with her life there, but she could only guess as to where this urgency came from.

Then a growl rumbled from a certain someone’s ­stomach. Questions could wait.

The girl groaned. She blushed as she hugged her middle, too late to quiet it.

Sister Annabelle retrieved a plate from the cupboard, shaking her head. “We had fruit as a little afternoon snack. Might I interest you in some?”

“Yes!” The girl jumped to her feet and beamed at the treat the nun offered.

The sister chuckled. “It’s almost dinnertime, though. I worry you’ll ruin your appetite.”

“Sister, please! You underestimate what my stomach is capable of. I’ll have room to spare! Promise!” She thrust out her belly and patted it.

The sister chuckled again. Silly girl. “If you insist. Off you go, then. Wash your hands while I put this together for you, Micah.”

“Yes, Sister!”

The girl scurried off to the well.

Bonus Story:
After the Ball—Ciestine and the Smile

 

ON THE NIGHT OF AUGUST 31ST, AND LATE into it, so late it was nearly the first of September, the second of the imperial princesses, Ciestine van Rordpier, retired to a room set aside for her in Theolas’s royal palace.

The Summer Ball dragged on, but only for those who did not have school the next morning. Ciestine had just turned fifteen, and thus her first day at Royal Academy awaited her. Wisdom told her to go to bed early.

Ciestine unbuttoned her shirt collar languidly as she sank onto the sofa, gracefully crossing her legs and sighing.

“You forget yourself, Your Highness.”

Kalena regarded her mistress’s behavior coldly. Emotionlessly. She was part of the team Ciestine had brought with her from the empire, her lady-in-waiting and chief spy both.

Ciestine replied with a smirk. Kalena shook her head, resigned yet unsurprised. She knew not to argue. “Was the ball worthwhile?” she asked instead.

“By and large. It went as well as one could expect for a rushed entrance. How goes your end of things? Well?”

“By and large.”

Ciestine had come to Theolas with one objective and one objective only: succeed where Schroden had failed. Infiltrate the kingdom, gather information, and prepare the realm to welcome the Rordpier tide. The princess would serve as bait, centralizing all the suspicion on herself, the exchange student from a hostile nation, while Kalena and her agents of intrigue did the real work of probing for weaknesses to exploit. Tonight was the very first act in their grand play.

“Any foreseeable complications?” Ciestine asked.

“The Theolans have tightened security substantially. They’ve indeed gotten smarter in recent years.”

“They’re in an economic golden age. A thriving nation is a secure nation.”

“Their beloved prince is to blame, it would seem, and has been enacting changes since the tender age of ten. Younger, even.”

They’d had no trouble uncovering that much. Prince Christopher was evidently an innovator.

“Another perfect princeling. Lovely. I discerned as much myself in my dealings with him. He’s quick-witted. Stoic.” Ciestine chuckled once, reluctantly ­acknowledging the man’s sagacity.

“He is well-liked in the palace. His character and competence allow for little in the way of dissent. We might perhaps explore his reluctance to settle on a fiancée. I encountered some rumblings regarding the line of succession.”

“Which takes us to the Victillium girl. He did not seem pleased when I entered the ballroom with her. In fact, that was the only time I managed to glimpse his true self. Offended that I stole away his darling, I suppose. Ought I apologize?” Ciestine snickered at her own joke, assured in the veracity of the rumors. He and Anna-Marie were an item.

Little did she know the ire directed toward her was actually meant for her partner. Christopher still held a grudge over his exclusion from the alleged Comely Maiden Club.

“Regardless, this was but the prologue,” Ciestine continued. “My real work will begin with the coming semester. As I recall, the academy resumes tomorrow, but classes don’t begin quite yet. Is that right?”

“Yes, Your Highness. There’s to be an orientation, but no actual lessons. For your class specifically, I imagine they’ll also take the time to introduce the new students.”

“That explains why we won’t go to our classrooms until the afternoon, I suppose.”

“Only partially. As most students are nobility, the vast majority have attended tonight’s function. Royal Academy is therefore offering them a late start as a kindness. As I understand, it’s something of a tradition.”

“How considerate. True, a late-night ball doesn’t pair well with an early morning.”

“It’s also why some houses move back to the dorms that same day, though most complete those procedures well ahead of time.”

“Cutting it awfully close. Some do love to tread that line. The rest call them brave. Or stupid.” Ciestine smirked.

One guess into which of those two categories the Rudlebergs fell.

“In any case, I know what we must do tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll greet my classmates with aplomb. All eyes will be on me.”

“And in the meanwhile, I will see to it that I learn something worth learning.” Kalena bowed deeply.

“I will say I’m surprised to discover another new student besides myself.” Ciestine frowned. She’d meant to take full advantage of the irregularity of enrolling midyear as part of her ploy to hoard attention. Another arrival would lessen her impact, all the more so given this girl was the supposed daughter of the vice-chancellor, Count Leginbarth. Doubtless she would attract the curiosity of a good chunk of the peerage.

“Lady Leginbarth,” Kalena mumbled. “She is indeed an anomaly. I’ve nothing on her as of yet.”

“Which is to be expected. I spoke with her briefly, and it was only very recently that the count took her in. She was just a commoner before.”

“Shall I include her in our inquiries?”

“If you can spare it. Lord Leginbarth is a person of great interest to us, given his standing in the kingdom, and Lady Celedia makes him vulnerable.”

“It will be done, Your Highness.”

“Anything else to report?”

“Not at present. However…”

“Speak.”

Kalena clicked her tongue. “It’s nothing, really. I ­simply happened to hear a group of servants ­gossiping about goings-on at the ball. It concerned you, Your Highness.”

“Me?”

“They spoke of ‘an angel in the ballroom.’” Kalena’s mistress said nothing. “They seemed near to swooning, the way they blushed. I’m unfamiliar with who the lucky noblewoman was, but I’m well aware of the effect your dancing has on people. I’d say you played your role quite well. You’ll linger in the minds of many for some time. Oh?”

“What is it?”

Kalena glanced at the door leading to the corridor. “The palace is in a panic.”

“That so?” Ciestine copied the lady-in-waiting but failed to perceive what she did. She trusted her chief spy’s senses, though.

“Might you permit me to investigate before we change your clothes, Your Highness?”

“This takes priority. Go and see what the commotion is about. I’d like to know myself.”

“Yes, Your Highness. You conducted yourself masterfully at the ball, and now I must see your efforts returned in kind.” Kalena departed with a bow.

Alone, Ciestine let out a long breath and sank into the couch, leaning her head back. She stared up at the ceiling. I didn’t have that effect on the ball, she thought. It was Cecilia. She remembered their waltz, the way she bent to the girl’s will. Only one dance partner had ever usurped her like that before. Only Schroden’s gotten one over on me in the ballroom. Never imagined there’d be another. The world’s full of surprises.

She never did manage to steal the initiative back from Cecilia. Ciestine had been challenged, and she lost. And yet, unlike in her bouts with Schroden, she did not seem to mind.

Then there was their exchange immediately after the song ended.

“Thank you for indulging me, but enjoy your victory while it lasts. Next time, things will be different.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Ciestine could not dislodge Cecilia’s beaming smile from her mind. Much like her animosity for her brother, it clung to her thoughts. Though very much unlike her thoughts on her brother, she did not detest this reverie. She did not detest the way her heart fluttered every time she remembered the girl’s innocent expression.

Ciestine took a deep breath, waiting for her racing heartbeat to calm. Had she chanced a peek in the mirror, she would have found her cheeks rosy. Why? That, she could not say. And it would have driven her mad.

Several breaths later, she regained composure. “What is this?”

Love? she thought. Impossible.

Though she’d lived as a man, Ciestine was still a woman, and she loved as a woman. She knew very well what her preferred sex was. Not that she had any ­evidence to ­support that claim, but that was neither here nor there.

Still, Cecilia set the princess’s heart racing. Why? In a broad sense, Ciestine already knew the answer. She always knew.

She’s the first person to ever smile at me in that way.

A gentle way. A guileless way. Being royalty, Ciestine had encountered all manner of faces and expressions. She was a smart girl. From a young age, she picked out the falseness in the smiles people directed toward her. Of course, people carefully constructed their ­interactions with her, an imperial princess. One slipup could have resulted in cruel and unusual ear-lashings. Even her nursemaid subjected Ciestine to stiff lips and twitchy cheeks, but could she blame her after her mother had demanded she be treated as a boy?

The imperial family did not enjoy many smiles, to say the least. Ciestine’s one and only hope had been her close family, but needless to say, her mother wore a permanent scowl, forever spiteful at not birthing a son. Then there was her apathetic father. No, Ciestine did not enjoy many smiles.

A smile. It was only a smile. One measly smile. Ciestine had seen dozens upon arriving in Theolas, and yet hers was the one that stuck in her mind. It outshone even Anna-Marie’s, despite her natural charm.

Ciestine would not let it cloud her judgment. She knew better than that. Yet it would never leave her. She knew that just as surely.

She remembered their parting words.

“Would you do me the honor of another dance when next we meet?”

“If we do meet, certainly.”

Cecilia had given her a noncommittal answer. Likely she did not plan on attending the next ball. She was a commoner, not even a student at Royal Academy. Indeed, there was no guarantee they’d ever meet again.

Ciestine smiled sadly, just as Cecilia had. “Will I see it again, I wonder?”

That smile hung in her mind. Then she realized something she ought to have seen sooner. Right. I came to this country to do something…

A knock interrupted her musing. “It’s Kalena, Your Highness.”

“Right, yes. Come in.” Ciestine banished Cecilia from her thoughts and resumed her role as the princely princess.

When Kalena entered, she wore a stern expression.

“What happened?” Ciestine said.

“Events are still developing, Your Highness, but they’re saying monsters have infiltrated the capital.”

“Monsters?!” Ciestine sprang to her feet.

Theolas’s capital bordered the world’s largest ­blightland, the Great Vanargand Wood, but there were very few records of indigenous beasts wandering outside of the forest. According to their preliminary ­investigations, constant patrols and ceaseless surveillance secured the blightland. Supposing there was a breach, the kingdom would know instantly and mobilize before it could threaten civilians. Somehow, none of that had happened this time.

“I haven’t been able to ascertain many details,” Kalena said, “but they appeared suddenly and seemingly from nowhere, directly in the Upper District. A number of them attacked a carriage leaving the ball.”

“A carriage leaving the ball?” Ciestine thought of the smile and gulped. “Wh-what was the damage?”

“Unclear as of now, but the monsters have been slain and there were no casualties.”

“I-I see.” Sweat beaded on the princess’s brow. She didn’t realize how she’d tensed her shoulders until they relaxed. She breathed, calming herself. “Continue your investigation. Make this your top priority. Before our plan can proceed, we must understand what happened.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.” Kalena bowed.

Quite the incident to occur right on the coattails of the Summer Ball, Ciestine thought. What will this mean for the academy?

She would find out the next day. Until they could confirm the capital’s security, Royal Academy would delay the start of the semester.

Afterword

 

THANK YOU FOR READING HEROINE? SAINT? No, I’m an All-Works Maid (And Proud of It)! I’m Atekichi, back for another volume after a ­surprisingly (yet relievingly) short time since the last one. I couldn’t have done it on my own, though. It just so happens that I had an entire publishing company help out with a few things here and there, giving me a push when I needed it. In all seriousness, we wouldn’t even have made it to Volume 3 without them. My deepest thanks to everyone who didn’t give up on me, including my readers.

Now, let’s talk content. This volume’s topic: the short story at the very end. Incidentally, the release of this volume here in Japan coincides with Volume 4 of the manga, which includes an adaptation of the very same Debonair Day of Roguish Romance. So we’ve included it here to match.

Our villainess, Anna-Marie, gets the spotlight this time around, and we finally see the date she and Melody went on between the events of the first and second volumes. We wanted to fit it into Volume 2, truth be told, but it ended up running a lot longer than I initially planned, so unfortunately, we had to scrap that idea. It was originally supposed to be a much shorter, simpler story, and then things got away from me, and then it just became so unwieldy that it simply wouldn’t fit. Oops.

The idea stayed shelved until around the time the manga finished covering Volume 1’s story, when I ­approached the people in charge with the idea to ­include the short story in the adaptation. I’d given up on it ever fitting into the novel, but it was still canon, so I wrote around it with little explanations interspersed. But that isn’t exactly easy in a comic medium.

Long story short, they accepted! So the story novel readers never got to see would be adapted into manga form! As an added bonus, the fourth volume of both publications would be releasing at the same time, and to coincide with the manga version of the story, we barely managed to squeeze it into the novel you’re reading now. On a personal note, I’m really quite fond of it, so I’m super excited that we finally managed to get it published. The only thing that’d make me happier is if you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it.

Once again, thank you so much for sticking around to the end. May we meet again in the fifth volume.

Yikes, too dramatic. Let’s end it with a little more levity. Catch ya later!

From the Creators

 

ATEKICHI

More trials await our oblivious, oops-did-I-do-that heroine! Perhaps even the end of her marvelous maid life?! Decisions loom!

Ahem. So advertises the author who made said heroine the way she is despite her supposedly being Japanese with Japanese sensibilities. Don’t ask me for answers. I don’t have them.

 

YUKIKO

TWITTER: aoiyukiko

WEBSITE: https://www.yukicocco.com

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