Taní drew the soggy, wrinkled wrapper to his face. It was still warm. The subtle scent of tantalizing vanilla, the glob of chocolate oozing from the cavity on its side. That flakey, buttery surface baked to golden perfection, and the melted cream! One whose knobbly ridges resembled a glowing drake. This was it: A dragonpuff.


    The hottest treat on the island, all thanks to Dragonfang.


    How the auspicious House came to possess it was a mystery. Some attributed its creation to a merchant from Tyrem, D’Arcy’s old homeland. Others believed it a Harusten delicacy.


    He wasn''t sure how a bunch of blood-thirsty reedlanders concocted one of the tastiest treats known to man. Then again, they were a secretive bunch.


    Secrets…


    Someway, somehow, word of their incident had reached the mainland. Lavisa’s involvement served as the crowning jewel of the story, of course. People paid a pretty vine just to learn of the princess’s fate. Or averted fate, that is.


    Despite knowing the suppression of mouth of word beyond his ability, the guilt gnawed at Taní all the same. Lavisa didn’t blame him, though. No, she came to him with an apology. What for? Her future absence. Suffice it to say the king wasn’t a fan of Taní. Somehow, that hurt a whole lot worse than he expected it to. Like suffering a light cold only for it to develop into a fever.


    The worst part following that exchange was when he’d gone to their usual lunch spot. Her chair, that fitting seat she always sat so primly on, was empty. He spent the entire period searching for her, but to no avail. She sure had the marks of an unparalleled hide-and-seek champion.


    He bumped into her during Art, but they promptly switched partners. Well, it was more like Eleanor had taken to training Taní. Her boundless enthusiasm as a mentor was…jarring, to say the least.


    Whenever she got too rough during training, he’d utter the magic word. As a result, she’d either recoil, gasp, or allow a goofy smile to worm its way across her face. He had to admit, her googly eyes were awfully cute. It was no substitute for Lavisa''s, though.


    Returned to his dreary, mid-afternoon garden sweep, Taní heaved a heavy sigh. Alone again.


    “Hey look, it’s that diver wannabe,” came a snarky voice.


    “You really think he’s gonna eat that dragonpuff?”


    “Wouldn’t surprise me. I heard he hasn’t washed in weeks. Probably rolls in garbage for all we know.”


    Their posh laughter made heat rush to Taní’s cheeks. He quickly dispensed the treat into his thick leather sack, then continued his trek through the school garden. Trash picker in hand.


    The brand on his head was too valuable to wash off. They’d understand, too, if they were in his position. And she’d never do it again! Not unless he did something suicidally brave.


    His heart twinged at the thought. He didn’t like it. She was so fun and sweet to hang around, but she called him a friend. And friends they were! Taní loved that idea.


    He just wanted something more.


    Taní skewered another scattered dragonpuff wrapper. There was still a bite inside…


    A low, monstrous growl tore through his stomach. Several hours till moonfall. He’d never survive…


    Ignoring the gut-rending claw of hunger, he tossed a glance at a patch of daisies. Their pale, wilted tops starved for the sun’s light. The sunflowers fared no better, but seeing the way they drooped like his mother—


    He pushed the memory out of his mind.


    Sunflowers were tall and strong. Just like Eleanor. You’d never see them fall. Wilt day by day, yes, but never fall. Then, come Sun’s Peak, they''d perk up again. Good as new.


    She was nowhere near as jubilant, but good-natured? Definitely. She didn’t show it, though one never needed to prove they were wholly good.


    Taní plucked another piece of trash from the floor. If only the faculty hadn''t abasconded with his introverted-freak-of-a-Juneac?o for a meeting while he was stuck with garbage duty.


    Her swordsmanship certainly made up for her abysmal teaching schools. Not that he was the least bit surprised, considering her credentials. Inducted into the Jury of Ila?el following her graduation at Hierrsé, she not only served on the king’s personal guard, but became something of a confidant to the man, all at the age of nineteen. Given the average (though accomplished) thirty-some years of the standard Ila?el initiate, her being there must’ve turned heads.


    That, and she claimed the distinct honor of being Sierez’s squire. A Grazer that had served the previous king in an age long past.


    Taní tossed the trash into his bag and spotted a pile of cans lying hidden beneath a bed of flowers.


    Great. They litter here, too.


    He begrudgingly swept them into the bag, his mind racing to brighter, or at least cleaner, pastures.


    Taní scooted around a Dragonfang tending to a bed of flowers. He found it odd that, out of all the Houses, the one famed for their craftiness possessed a weapon. Then again, bladework took skill. The wyrms were just a lazy bunch.


    He fought back a grin. Wyrms. What a silly term. Eleanor used it to describe the untested dragon’s of the House. As for what a “wyrm” was, she never explained. It was probably something similar to a drake.


    “…Hey, come on!”


    Taní perked up. That raspy playfulness… Canela.


    He crept beside an assembly of short conifers, each no less symmetrical than the last. Careful not to reveal himself, he peeked around the corner. There she was: The treasure of Fadénix pulling on her brother’s sleeve.


    “Canela, I already said no,” ?zar grumbled, tired eyes to the sky.


    Canela tugged on his arm again. “But what if they run out!”


    “They won’t run out; they literally do this every year.”


    “Yeah, but they’re good!”


    ?zar sucked in a long breath. He didn''t stop, either. He just kept going and going until Taní was afraid he''d blow up. Finally, the exasperated breath ended. “Shouldn’t you be saving up for Fadénix? The tourney’s right around the corner.”


    Canela scoffed. “So? Nothing’ll happen. I say we go cheap and not fund the game. If someone wants to participate, then they can get a loan from their parents.”


    “Canela, you can’t be serious.”


    “Look. If I finance this round, then we’ll be at a net loss. That means fewer cans, angrier Housemates, and the Shadow? They’ll nag me till I’m dead. I’ll pour our funds into another project, but the tourney? That’s a lost cause.”


    “So, you don’t care about the others? Is that it? Is that why you just want to keep everything to yourself?”


    Taní had a sinking feeling their discussion was a serious one. To which she immediately responded to his question with a pout. “Can we just get a dragonpuff or not?”


    ?zar’s festive eyes narrowed with cold contempt. Almost as if she had suggested they toss their housemates into a howling blizzard. He forced a slow, long blink, and upon its fall, released a sharp sigh. “Fine. You’re only getting one though, got it? And you better burn that trash off. It’ll make you as fat as a dragon. And no, I won’t love you even then.”


    Canela erupted with glee; her eyes flickering like burning grass. Before her brother could react, she hooked an arm around his and dragged him off to the academy’s entrance. Neither noticed him as they passed.


    Taní’s gaze lingered on ?zar. Try as he might, the third-year couldn’t mask the slight discomfort his wounds inflicted. Canela flashed her brother a tender smile, and when he failed to draw away from her, received the nuzzling end of her head. Her thick, dark strands tickling his shoulders. Clingy.


    As they disappeared, a stray thought crossed Taní’s mind: Were ?zar’s injuries to blame for his notion? He’d not once mentioned the relic since their release. That, and their fabulous sentence spent in the nurse’s office had produced little more than small talk. Not that he was any good at it. Most exchanges left Taní feeling like he was throttling a stray for a yes or no.


    After he had picked up the trash, he dumped his bag inside the school and picked up a new one. Shortly after a minor break (where he probably spent a bit too much time spearing an invisible cavalry charge with his poker), he made his way past the school’s back doors.


    There, sprawling across the north side of the island, lay the near-mythical athletic fields.


    Composed of a well-tended, almost too clean-looking arena that hosted a track, a field for jousting and horseback riding, a sizable dueling ring, and several towering bleachers, the academy’s backyard did not hurt for space. And the island beyond? That expansive chunk of land just faded into the fog. Just how many villages lay beyond their tiny haven?


    Despite the athletic field’s size, only one section bustled with activity: The dueling ring. Countless first- and fourth-years sparred with one another, mimicking the motions of their lead instructor. An above-average tall student with some stubble on their chin.


    Was that a fifth-year? He thought them sectioned off into their own corner of the school.


    The ones mimicking the fifth-year sounded off after every swing, fueling their next blow even as their arms trembled. What was the difference between this and Art class?


    They went through a rigorous series of deft swipes and flourishes, warding off a surge of invisible marauders. Just how effective would these motions be when put to the test? People didn’t just waddle at their opponent one at a time, especially a Juneac?o. No, they rushed them from all sides. Besides, their technique lacked Eleanor’s ferocity and finesse. And, for once, he saw the irony of what his history teacher had said. Like most in the Westerlans save Tyrians, people traced their lineage to the Sea Peoples. Those that had raided and displaced the original populace. The techniques once used to stave them off used by their descendants.


    “Oi, Tan-Tan, how—” The voice stopped and sniffed audibly. “Ah, gross! C’mon, man! That’s gross! You still haven’t washed?”


    Taní turned to his side, shooting Jaster a sharp glare. “Since when were you my mother?”


    Jaster pinched his nose. “Taní, you smell like a dead fish that’s been marinating in manure.”


    “I think that smells great.”


    “Did you bash your skull against something again?”


    Taní stabbed another discarded wrapper, struggled to slide it off with a dismissive gesture, and when it wouldn’t budge, kicked it off with his foot. “You mind being noisy elsewhere? People are tryna work.”


    “Well, I want you to take a bath, but that’s probably never gonna happen. So why don’t we settle for a nice rinse?” Jaster suggested with a winning smile.


    “No thanks, I’m good.”


    “Taní, you smell worse than the trash.”


    “So?”


    “You’re supposed to clean it, not become it.”


    Taní gave a sagely wag of his poker. "Can’t clean something you don’t understand."


    Jaster made a face. “Seriously, man. You need a bath. Thick as we are, you need to clean up your act. The Joint isn’t a substitute privy.”


    “You wouldn’t...”


    “And I know how much you love sitting next to Innes, so don’t fret. I’ll give you two some extra privacy. My old spot was getting boring, anyways.”


    Tempted as Taní was to whack the Nimmian with his pole, he restrained himself. “I can’t just shower.”


    “It’s all in the wrist! You just turn the nozzle and let the water hit you,” Jaster said, stirring a finger through the air as if to guide him through an instruction manual.


    “No, I mean…it’s there.”


    The Nimmian cocked a brow. “What is?”


    Taní glanced over his shoulder. Nothing and no one to overhear him. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt. “You know…she did it there.”


    “Are you talking about that Tuna? Cuz I’ve been hearing a lot of weird stuff about you two. Is it something you need to talk about?”


    “I’m talking about Lavisa, you thin-blooded dolt!”


    Jaster lit up. “Oooh! You mean the kiss thing? Is that what’s got you so worked?”


    Taní swatted him on the head with the pole, earning a yelp. “Can you be any louder?”


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    “Moonrays, calm down,” the Nimmian hissed. Once he rubbed away the last of his ache, he flashed Taní a sly grin. “Wait a minute…you have a thing for her?”


    “…No.”


    “You do! You do! Wow, I never knew that. I mean, you always stared at her a lot when she wasn’t looking, but even then…you were always a little vacant up in there.”


    “Please shut up.”


    “No, no.” He spread his hands. “I get it. She’s pretty. Probably one of the prettiest girls in Hierrsé. It’s too bad she’s a princess. Your chances are fried."


    Taní’s heart sank. “Yeah… I guess you’re right.”


    “But you know who you have a shot with?”


    “Don’t say it.”


    “It’s someone you know pretty well…”


    The trash picker rose like the inexorable sun as he aimed its sharp end at the Nimmian. “How badly to you want to keep your legs?”


    Jaster snickered. “Don’t need to take it so seriously. But yeah. Is that why you haven’t washed up?”


    “Yeah,” Taní murmured, “it just feels special, I guess. Getting rid of it would be like insulting her.”


    “I think you stinking is doing most of that.”


    “Ha ha.”


    “Seriously. Preserving it is noble, but you still got the memory, yeah? Doesn’t mean it’s gone forever. Besides, you don’t want Lavisa catching a whiff once the storm blows over.”


    “Blows over?” Taní drew the poker to a rest. “What’re you talkin’ about?”


    “Oh, right. Word is her father got royally pissed. Nearly withdrew Lavisa from the academy. She convinced him to stay, though only on the grounds she not collude with people like us,” Jaster explained.


    “Like us? We aren’t that bad, are we?”


    “Nah, we’re good people. A few bumps on the head don’t really count for much.”


    “We are so totally good people.”


    Jaster flipped a hand at the sky. “That’s probably why you haven’t seen her around. She’s sticking to her word, which is weird. She doesn’t like being obedient.”


    “Lavisa? Not obedient? Why?” Taní asked.


    The Nimmian shrugged. “Bloody mystery as bright as the moon. Her father''s irritable? She’s rebellious… Couldn’t give you an answer even if I tried. Don''t care to; not my life. Just take it easy and clean up what you can. Because you missed a spot there”—he pointed to a pile of cans hidden in a clump of grass—“and over there.”


    Taní grumbled and shoveled them into his bag before returning to Jaster. The cool wind caressed the streaks of sweat marring Taní''s forehead. That was the worst part about middle Redtide: going in and out of a well-insulated building left him more warm than cold, like it was his mother loading him up with coats in Greentide. “What brings you here, anyways? Thought you weren’t in a club.”


    “I’m not. Did get in a bit of trouble, though,” Jaster said.


    “Wait...you’re the guy who’s been dodging me all week?”


    “Sorry about that. Got caught up napping, but hey. I’m here now.” Jaster threw him a supportive thumbs up, and as Taní grappled with the tempting choice to cave his head in, the Nimmian gave a rhythmic, grooving shake of his thumbs.


    Taní sighed. “Guess that’s better than nothing… How’d you get stuck doing this?”


    “Ah. Sierez and the Tuna got angry at me after I said something. Nothing big.”


    Taní didn’t bother pressing. If anything, they probably got fed up with him constantly sleeping during class. Then again, they were probably the only people who can realistically get their claws on him. He was bloody good at evading his own House. None of them had ever seen him outside of class. Most didn''t even know where he bunked. No one knew what his family''s heraldry was, either, though if Taní had to guess, he purposefully kept it hidden. Mostly to avoid detection.


    They swept through the fields until they came upon the dueling ring. A blonde head stood out in the crowd: Innes. He spoke to a small group of other first-years. Several of them were his lackeys, though others were children Taní shared a class with.


    As much as Taní didn’t want to clean up around them, he had a duty to keep, and he’d rather not waste any more of his precious time standing around.


    He slinked around the group, keeping his back to them as he went to work. Thankfully, there was a startling lack of garbage around the pit.


    As the conversation crescendoed, so did the quickening of his pulse. He clung to calm, endeavoring to return to Jaster''s side. That or visit Eleanor before he called it a day. The instructor always seemed to glow whenever he greeted her.


    When the trash no longer made itself apparent, Taní scanned the field. The arena was clear except for the wrapper near Innes’s feet. Great.


    He could always leave it to Jaster, but considering the Nimmian hadn’t moved a muscle since they’d spoken, Taní had a sneaking suspicion it''d remain there. Lying to Sierez was another option, but he didn’t like that. The man was Eleanor’s master. That would be like him lying to his grandfather.


    Setting his jaw, Taní inched towards the clueless prince, sweaty palms wringing the pole. Innes gesticulated, describing how he’d disarmed this opponent or came close to besting that. When defeated, he stressed his opponents’ age and House. Because, of course, only a Vlasalisk could best a Vlasalisk in a matched fight.


    Taní mitigated the rustle of his footfalls by placing his weight on his toes. Arriving at his destination, he reached for the wrapper with his pole.


    Success.


    He tossed the paper into the bag, the tight hammering in his chest ebbing to a steady drum. With a mental sigh, he whipped around and started towards Jaster.


    Or that was his original plan until he miscalculated the distance.


    Taní came to a twisting stop as the pole cracked over something sturdy, jerking him to the side. Gravity came calling, but before it could draw him to the withering grass, he tugged on the burdensome trash. After his boots scraped the floor for purchase, he turned to see what the pole had caught on. There was one issue, though: Innes was missing.


    None of the prince’s lackeys spared Taní a glance, their attention drawn to something on the sandy floor. Curious, Taní traced their gaze along the invisible arrow.


    The sight made his blood run cold.


    The prince groaned as he pushed himself onto his trembling hands and knees. For a chilling, Cycle-thinning moment, he knelt. His eyes dazed.


    Taní retreated, disturbing the glistening grass with a crunching rustle. Inness whipped up to face him, his eyes ablaze with fury. “You,” he barked.


    Taní dashed for the school’s entrance, the wind whipping in his ears. He didn''t make it more than six feet before a supreme pressure caught him by the scruff, silencing his momentum.


    “Do you think it wise to attack royalty?” Innes hissed, drawing Taní by his uniform.


    “Attack is a strong word—”


    “DO YOU?"


    Taní withered. “N-No! Of course not!”


    “Then why, pray tell, was I lying on the floor?”


    Taní glanced at Jaster for support but found him standing at the school''s back entrance. Waving no less. What a friend.


    When Taní didn’t respond, Innes shook him. His grip a steel lock. Taní thrashed, but all that did was stretch the fabric.


    “If you’ve no use for your tongue, what say I pluck it from your mouth? You can be the mute Juneac?o. The one that can’t even use Sedd,” Innes said, smirking.


    His lackeys snickered.


    “I kinda need it to eat, so if you wouldn’t mind…can I just keep it?” Taní asked nervously..


    “You’re right. The punishment doesn’t fit the crime. How about I lop your hands? They seem to service garbage, anyway. Your role shouldn’t be terribly difficult to replace.” The grating squeals of a pelican flock broke overhead, and their shrill tune brought a genuine smile to his face. "See? You''ve already your own kind here. Mindless pests who can eat what you can grab. I only wished you were more efficient with your work."


    Taní''s response slipped before he could parse it. “Look, I’m sorry if I hit you, but I don’t think you really have enough authority to issue that. We’re not really in Corat?o.”


    Innes scoffed. “I needn’t be on the mainland to warrant punishments. I am a prince. That alone grants me authority.”


    “But aren’t you fifth in line? You’d have to go through four people before you’re actually considered the heir, right? We''ve got a whole process to follow,” Taní said, his fear replaced by general curiosity.


    Innes shoved him backwards, and despite Taní’s stumbling, he remained upright. If barely. A sword clattered at his feet a moment later. A wooden waster the club so fondly abused their imaginary opponents with.


    “Pick it up,” Innes ordered, the words snapping with emphasis. Clear, loud, yet soft enough for the wind to ride over.


    “Why?”


    “Because I challenge you to a duel.”


    “No thanks, I don’t have any SG to spend.”


    “I’ll pay. One duel, Juneac?o regulations.”


    A series of murmurs erupted from the small crowd.


    Icy dread coiled in Taní’s gut. “Uh…what exactly does that mean?”


    “It permits us the use of Sedd, as well as vital blows,” Innes answered.


    “Vital blows? You mean the orange regions in Art?”


    “Oh, so the land-sowing farmer can learn. How charming.”


    Fury didn''t stoke Taní’s heart. He expected it to, but it never came. A great tide of annoyance was washing in its stead. The sleepless nights hadn’t served him well, and regardless of what “nightmares” were, he hadn’t suffered them. Only a desolate void deprived of thought. The lapse between the waking world and dreams. “Whatever. I don’t have time for this.”


    “Pardon?”


    Taní turned and started for the school, stick and sack in hand. “Yeah, I’m not doing this today. Go and play your mind games with someone who actually cares. I’m done.”


    Taní jerked forward as something held him in place. He didn’t even have to look to know that it was Innes’s hand.


    “Who granted you permission to leave?”


    “Let go.”


    Innes pulled him back, but this time, Taní couldn’t come to a full stop. Air evacuated his lungs as the solid sand embraced him, his hair running thick with the coarse grains. Though they scraped his exposed skin, he was otherwise fine. Irritated, but fine. The sack and stick, scattered.


    Taní propped himself up on his elbows, glaring at the approaching prince. Innes hurled the sword with a blinding flick, reducing the practice blade to a brown blur. It whipped past Taní’s head with a sharp hiss and landed with a thunk, sand spitting.


    “So you’re a fry then? Fleeing at the slightest sign of danger,” Innes mocked.


    “A Juneac?o’s duty isn’t to fight. It’s to preserve,” Taní spat.


    “Did you already forget our peace was forged through battle, or are you so idealistic that you truly believe we can get by without raising our blades?”


    “If the founders couldn’t avoid it, then what makes you think I can? I’m not stupid, Innes. Maybe I am to you, but I can promise I know I’ll have to fight. Maybe in a year, maybe next month, but not today. I get to choose if I fight, and I get to decide if something is beyond me. I’m not gonna agree with you just because you’re a prince or Lavisa’s cousin or anything else. You’re a Juneac?o, just like me. That means we’re comrades,” Taní said, clinging to every word. It was true—he knew it was true. Danza had assured him of that with every leg of their journey. Even when they were barely tolerated in monasteries, even when the local lord or lady dismissed them partway through their work to replace them with a novice Juror. One who''d steal all the glory for themselves while never even doing half the work they did; one who''d bring honor to the lands and its people. Not like them.


    Not like the people who didn''t have a warm bed to return to every night.


    A harsh laugh sputtered from the prince’s lips. “Comrades? Us? I’d rather smell worse than you look before I ever admit such nonsense. You’re just a little fish who jumped into a pond that was too big for him. Why would I ever ally myself with someone who can’t even fight? You’re useless. Just like the rest of your House. I hope they were kind enough to tell you that.”


    The coarse grains bit Taní’s fingers as they sank into the sand, a breath-thinning heat filling his chest. It burned, and the longer it stewed, the more he wanted to vent it out. To unleash it on everything that had fueled it, just so that it knew his wrath, too. That he could also be cruel.


    Yet he still managed a shaky response. “Fry or not, we’re still a part of the same school. So live with that."


    Innes tsked. “Live with that? My reality is anything I wish it to be, but you?" A look of pity flashed across his face. "I can’t say the same. What’s a fatherless peasant supposed to do other than pray to be more? Oh! Did you think your master anointing you his squire would change your life? It didn’t, did it? Do you know why?” He leaned forward. “Because he’s just like you: A failure. A Seddless, dead-end, hopeless runt that will rot in obscurity.”


    The next few moments became a blur as thought evacuated him. Sand pelted the prince’s face, the coarse grains slipping into the cracks of his eyes, and as he wiped away—blind to the world—Taní scrambled to his feet and smashed his shoulder into his chest, instantly winding him.


    The background became a nauseating blur of gray as they rolled in the sand. Taní raked and pulled on something—a vest, maybe? He didn’t care to check, he already hated it. And every thought screamed at him to tear it. So he did. Smashing and pulling until his arms were throbbing and tired but too stubborn to stop.


    A collection of disembodied voices chanted with each tug. Pain blossomed at his hips as a stinging vector of hate stabbed into him. Those voices never cheered for him. He cursed and spat, his face hot and ears hammering, but they never charged for him. They just wanted their future lord to claim victory. To put this undeserving, unfit, time-waster-of-a-peasant in his place just so that he could prove to everyone that he didn''t belong. That he never did.


    Taní didn’t care, though. He just slammed his throbbing fists against Innes’s unyielding form. Ignoring the pain as much as he delivered it. Sometimes, he struck the trunk, other times, he missed and scattered small sprays of sand. Innes’s relentless blows numbed his arms, but Taní continued to strike.


    Using the blistering pain to bolster his efforts. The fuel for his fire.


    Exhaustion loomed, but he never stopped. He just twisted, jerked, and tried to pin him down, his lungs burning for air. But he couldn’t stop to breathe. He had to end this—teach the prince that he was wrong. That he didn’t need their saving, nor fortune, nor comradery. He was fine enough on his own. Just like he''d always been with Danza.


    Taní grunted, arms trembling as the prince thrashed. He tried to get a bash in but missed, and the imbalance was enough to do him in. Innes tossed him off, the familiar grind of sand scraping Taní’s cheeks. He fought back a hiss, hand flying to his raw cheek as he watched the prince reach for something out of sight. Taní staggered to his feet, his stiff limbs screaming for rest. But before he could launch himself at the noble, the wooden blur of a waster whistled towards his face.


    And it filled his vision.


    For a split second, he sensed the heat. Sedd. He wouldn''t dodge this—couldn''t dodge this. It was the obvious gap between them, and yet, for a single moment, he almost thought he could close it.


    He awaited its slumber-rendering sting. His heart caught in his throat, but the dark never flared. Something flashed, and the coppery scent of burning blood filled his nostrils. When his eyes adjusted, he glimpsed a gloved hand seizing the once arcing waster, its blistering touch trivial to the silken digits. Heart racing, Taní’s eyes traveled up his savior’s black sleeve.


    It was regal, adorned with all the finery one expected when in the service of royalty. Tight, but not so much as to cause discomfort. Although their broad shoulder threatened to eliminate his view of them, he could still make out her noble mien.


    Eleanor. His hopeless tutor.


    Before Innes could profess his innocence, she closed her fist, snapping the blade in two. The prince’s confidence evaporated as she towered over him with a single step, her eyes narrowed into furious slits that left the prince quailing.


    “Unproductive violence is strictly prohibited on academy grounds, Corat?o.”


    “But he—”


    “Do not waste your breath with lies. I’ve witnessed what’s transpired. Nothing you can tell me shall absolve you of your guilt nor my judgment.” She stepped closer to him. “Do I make myself clear?”


    Innes laughed, glancing at his group for support, but when they slinked away, he shrank. “Y-Yes. Of course, master Sanrevelle.”


    “Good. Then you’re not to participate in club activities for the remainder of the month,” Eleanor declared firmly.


    “What! You can’t—”


    “If you are to break this sentence, then not only will I extend your punishment, but I will also cease funding all fencing activities.”


    Innes straightened. “I understand! Truly.”


    “No, you do not. A Juneac?o’s blade is not an answer, it is their last resort in an avenue of failures. You chose the path of ignorance, and as such, you’ve learned nothing. You not only tarnish the legacy of our forerunners—those who fought and bled for hearts greater than ours—but have proven a poor example of what it means to be a Juneac?o. Your master, your father, and the kingdom of Corat?o would be ashamed of you. And I will not stomach living shame.” Eleanor about-faced. “Now leave, and if you remain when I turn, I will not only report your behavior to the Headmaster, but your father.”


    Innes bolted for the academy’s entrance, tripping thrice in the process and landing flat on his face each time. Taní wasn’t certain if what he had watched was real, but he would always treasure this moment.


    The prince’s entourage quickly dispersed, convinced they would receive a similar punishment. Taní enjoyed watching them run like chickens, too. Even if they acted like they ruled the world, they were still children before the instructor.


    A shadow crossed his sight, drawing him to its side. Eleanor dusted him off, inspected his uniform for tears, then did something he hadn’t expected: She tousled his hair with a small, awkward smile, the grains scattering free.


    “My Master oft did this when I was younger. He claimed it soothed all worries.”


    Taní returned her smile. “I guess it helps a bit. Thanks, Master.”


    Eleanor teetered, but she held fast. Ceasing her ministrations, she gestured for him to follow her back inside. Waiting at the door was Jaster. Had he called for her?


    “D’Histell,” Eleanor called.


    “Yeah?”


    “I’ve extended your assignment by two weeks as punishment for fighting on academy grounds.”