Chapter Nine
Imperial Military Academy, Caerleon, Holy Empire of Britannia, April 2006 ATB
The cake was enormous, its white icing gleaming in the light of eight candles.
"Blow them out! Blow them out!"
Bright faces smiled at him around the table, waiting for him to do the honours. Alexander took a breath, and blew gently at the candles. The flames flickered gently, and went on.
Applause filled the room. Alexander looked around the table, feeling himself blush even as he smiled. Lelouch was there, and Nunnally, and Euphemia, and Marrybell and Oldrin, and Monica too. All of them smiling, all of them clapping, all of them seemingly happy just to be there.
Alexander looked up, and saw Empress Marianne standing nearby, smiling gently.
Alexander's eyes fluttered open.
This was not the dining room in Aries Villa. The ceiling above him was a plain, rather sterile white. There was a strange, insisting squawking in his ears.
Then he remembered. This was his room at the Imperial Military Academy. Over there, to his right, was the desk; where he had carefully laid out his uniform the night before. Directly opposite him was the door, leading into the corridor. The walls around him were bare, austere, military.
A moment of bleary curiosity drew his eyes to his bedside table. His phone stood on its recharging dock, the clock on its touchscreen showing 05:50.
Yes. He had set it the night before, to ensure that he would be up with ten minutes before Reveille.
Reveille...
Alexander pulled himself out of bed, squeezed his aching eyes shut, and reached to stop the alarm. He shuffled across the room to the sink, and opened the hot water tap. A handful of hot water on his face forced his unwilling body into wakefulness.
When was the last time he had gotten up this early? Back in La Casa Pacifica, when he was living with his father?
He pushed the thoughts aside. He had no time for the gripings of his unhappy brain, forced against its wishes to operate out of its accustomed rhythm. If he had gotten soft living at Aries Villa, he would just have to toughen up again.
He glanced at the phone again. 05:52. He was running out of time.
Alexander strode over to the desk and grabbed his trousers. Once they were safely on, the white, button-up shirt followed, and then the high-collared jacket. Conscious of the minutes ticking away, he followed with the belt, and began pulling on his boots. But they were tighter and stiffer than he remembered, and they would not go on easily.
A cacophony of noise thundered across the campus, almost making Alexander fall over. The bells were ringing, accompanied by buglers playing the reveille; the same tune selected by Emperor Lothar himself when he founded the modern Imperial army. So loud was it, that none but the hardiest could have slept through it.
Finally the boots were on. Alexander leapt to his feet, and yanked the bedclothes back into place. He snapped his head back and forth, making sure everything was where it was supposed to be, then dashed for the door connecting his room to that of Princess Cornelia.
He knocked, waited a few seconds, then opened the door and stepped inside; the formula Empress Marianne had taught him.
"Ah, Alexander, excellent!" Cornelia was seated on her bed, her boots half on. "Help me on with these damn boots, will you?"
Alexander was quick to comply, dropping down in front of her and forcing her boots into place. This done, he waited for Cornelia to stand up before arranging the bed. He had minutes at the most, but his Princess' room had to be immaculate.
A barked command echoed along the corridor outside. Cornelia looked around the room, and shot him a curt nod. Remembering his duty, Alexander rushed to the door and opened it, waited for Cornelia to stride through, then followed her into the corridor.
Out in the corridor, Alexander took his place at Cornelia's side, standing at attention as his father and Andreas Darlton had shown him. Along the corridor, cadets and their servants were straggling into position, even as a pair of blue-uniformed figures rounded the corner and snapped into position.
Another barked command. Those cadets in position snapped to attention, their servants doing likewise. Alexander snapped his legs together, fixing his eyes on the wall in front of him, forcing himself not to move as Master-Sergeant Barbara Young began her inspection.
The minutes dragged on. There was only silence, punctuated by the thump of booted footfalls. Only three rooms stood between the landing and Cornelia's room, but still it felt like an eternity.
A crash rang along the corridor, so loud that Alexander almost jumped. Voices bellowed from the room next to Cornelia's, too muffled for him to make out the words, but harsh and unpleasant nonetheless.
Alexander glanced up at his princess. Even as she was, clad in the academy's pale blue uniform, her purple hair pulled tight and fastened in the small bun permitted to female junior cadets, she looked so very fine.
But even then, he could see fear in her eyes.
The adjacent door clicked open. The Master-Sergeant appeared, followed by one of her junior instructors. Young was as lacking in conventional femininity as any woman Alexander had ever seen. Short and stout, with a hard, oblong face and cold, gimlet eyes, her hair - if any - hidden under her peaked service cap. But for all that, there was an air of power and authority about her, of a woman he would do well not to cross.
Remembering what he had been taught, Alexander held himself at attention, his legs aching with the effort. He could feel Young's eyes upon him, scanning him like high-intensity radars, alert for the smallest imperfection.
Nothing. Not a word, let alone a compliment. But Andreas Darlton had warned him it would be so. They only ever spoke when something was wrong. Silence indicated satisfaction.
Young stood herself in front of Cornelia, pace stick under her arm, her chin level. Alexander remembered himself, and as Cornelia stepped aside, he stepped into her place and opened the door, stepping aside to left the Master-sergeant and her flunky step into the room. Cornelia followed, taking her assigned place by the bed. Alexander did likewise, standing in front of the door to his own room.
More minutes, more agonizing minutes, as his princess' room was inspected. More than once his heart skipped a beat, especially when Young ran a white-gloved finger along the windowpane, or the desk, then inspected the end with those cold, exacting eyes. Fortunately, he had wiped the place down under Cornelia's direction the night before. If all had gone well, she would find nothing.
Young lowered her finger, then stepped, ever so slowly, to stand in front of his door. Taking the cue, Alexander opened the door and stepped aside, letting her stride past and continue the inspection.
That had to count for something. She hadn't even had to ask him. Surely that would earn his princess something.
Slowly, so lowly, the seconds counted down. Slowly, and so diligently, Young's eyes took in every detail. Then, at last, she turned to leave.
Then stopped suddenly.
"The cup, one centimetre out of place." Her voice was as cold and exact as her mien. "Cadet li Britannia, have you inspected this room?"
Alexander forced himself not to look at his princess, even as his stomach churned with cold, terrible sickness.
"No, Master-Sergeant."
"You are in error, Cadet li Britannia!" snapped Young, turning her cold fury on Cornelia. "This academy permits you a servant so that you may understand the importance of responsibility!" She thrust her pace stick straight at Alexander, almost making him jump.
"His appearance, his conduct, are your personal responsibility, Cadet!" she barked. "If you cannot keep your servant in order, you are not fit to be an officer in his Imperial Majesty's army! Do you understand me, Cadet!?"
"Yes, Master-sergeant!"
"Cadet li Britannia, two demerits!"
It was all Alexander could do not slump to his knees as Young and her subordinate left the room. Two demerits! He had netted his princess two demerits, on her first day!
"Your highness..." he blurted out, unable to stop himself.
"Not a word, Alexander," ordered Cornelia. She let out a long weary sigh. "It seems Andre was right. They'll dock points for anything here."
Alexander did not understand. Was she not angry with him? He had cost her two demerits!
"Cornelia my dear!" called a voice from the doorway, over the sound of knocking. "It's only me!"
Taken by surprise, Alexander stared up at his princess. He could have sworn that he saw a look of horror and dread flash across her face, before she sighed again and nodded at him. Forcing down the lump in his throat, Alexander strode over to Cornelia's door and opened it.
"Now what have we here?"
Two female cadets strode into the room. The one in front had bronze skin, short green hair in a severe pageboy, and a smirk of indulgent amusement on a narrow, rather sharp face. The one behind was darker-skinned, with long black hair and much softer features, but her eyes were narrow and suspicious. Both wore the insignia of third-year cadets at their collars.
"Little Nell has had her first inspection!" declared the bronze-skinned woman, turned to regard Cornelia, who had retaken her place beside her bed. "And only two demerits? A great day for the Western Division!"
"I will do better next time, senior cadet," replied Cornelia, in a dignified but less harsh manner than she had spoken to the Master-Sergeant.
"No need to get defensive!" laughed the senior Cadet. "Didn't they tell you? No one gets a clean record on their first day, especially not you, ma soeur."
Again that flash of horror. What was going on? Why was this strange woman calling his princess ma soeur? Who was she to treat his princess so familiarly?
"And what have we here?" The green-haired woman turned and stopped down in front of him. She was smiling, but her smile put Alexander in mind of the Cheshire Cat.
"It's not fair, Cornelia," the woman complained. "The rest of us have to put up with useless teenagers for our servants. But you get this adorable little page."
Alexander felt his cheeks heat up. It was all he could do not to look away, to avert his eyes in embarrassment.
"It's not fair at all," the woman went on, brushing a lock of hair from Alexander's face. "Keeping this little prince all to yourself."
"Nonette," growled her companion.
"This one will be popular at Colchester," continued the woman, whose name was apparently Nonette. "Wouldn't you agree, ma soeur?"
"Senior cadet..." Cornelia forced out the words.
"He had better be careful," Nonette kept on caressing his hair. "Somebody might take a fancy to him."
"Big sister..."
Nonette sighed, patted Alexander on the head, and stood up.
"That's all it takes, ma soeur," she commented. "A little courtesy, from my dear little sister."
"Nonette," growled the other woman again. She did not look at all happy. "We'll be late."
"Coming, Dorothea." She headed for the door, and turned one last time to face Cornelia.
"I'll be seeing you later, ma soeur." And with that, she left. Alexander waited for the distinctly sour-faced Dorothea to follow her, then closed the door behind them.
"Just when I thought I was rid of her," hissed Cornelia. Alexander turned to gaze up at her. He meant to speak, to ask her what was going on, but the look on her face brought him up short.
"Your highness..." he forced out the words. "May I ask...?"
"No you may not!" snapped Cornelia. Alexander jumped, frightened and confused by her vehemence. Cornelia saw his reaction, and visibly forced herself to calm down.
"The less you know about myself and Nonette Enneagram, the better," she said, sounding very tired. "Suffice to say, she was my senior at Colchester, and now, it seems, she is my senior again. We...have a history."
Alexander's curiosity almost got the better of him. He wanted to know what had happened between them, why his princess seemed so ill-at-ease around this Nonette Enneagram?
And why did she keep calling his princess ma soeur? What could it mean?
"And pay her no mind when she fawns over you like that," Cornelia went on. "She's got a weakness for pretty boys. She's almost as bad as Tiberia."
Pretty? Alexander felt his heart sink, that burning heat in his cheeks burning even harder. He wasn't supposed to be pretty! Girls were pretty!
"Oh don't get upset!" Cornelia barely stifled a laugh at his reaction. "There are heavier crosses to bear, believe me."
A bugle sounded again, a different call this time.
"Morning parade," Cornelia said with a sigh. "Best not keep them waiting."
Alexander held the door for Cornelia until she stepped outside, and then followed; closing the door after him.
The dining hall was quite busy.
Alexander set his tray down at one of the long tables, and glanced at the scene around him. There were plenty of people present, young men and women collecting their meals and sitting at the tables, alone or in small, rather cautious-looking groups. All wore the academy's uniform, but like Alexander they wore no insignia, for they were all servants.
And they were all older than him by several years.
Alexander did not want to worry about that fact. He had not come to make friends, but to serve Princess Cornelia. It did not matter that there was no one his own age present. What was more, it did not appear that any of them were particularly interested in him either. So that worked out.
He looked down at his breakfast. A large bowl of very thick porridge, along with a roll of fresh bread and a pat of butter. There were worse ways to start the day, and the smell of the bread was making his stomach growl.
As he spooned the porridge into his mouth, he pictured Princess Cornelia's daily schedule in his mind. He had checked it several times the night before, so he could remember it clearly. Two hours square-bashing, followed by lectures until lunchtime. Then after lunch, firearms and athletics, then late afternoon seminars before dinner. After dinner, free time; though if Darlton's advice was to be believed, cadets were expected to use it for improving activities of one sort or another.
Alexander thought through what she would need. Her tablet, obviously, and notebooks and pens or pencils just in case. Maybe a...
A hand slammed down on the table in front of him, shocking him into awareness. He looked up, blinking in surprise, to see a brown-haired boy in his mid-teens, a servant like himself, staring down at him. His face was expressionless, but it looked as if he was trying to hold back a grin.
"Can I help you?" Alexander asked, not certain what else to do.
The boy responded with a sweep of his arm, sending Alexander's breakfast onto the floor with a crash of breaking crockery. A great shout, of what sounded like triumph or approbation, rang out across the hall.
For a moment Alexander stared, unable to believe what had happened.
"That was my breakfast!" he snapped, anger winning out over fear. The youth gazed down at him, a snide look on his face.
"Really?" he sneered. "Then you'd better clean it up, brat."
Alexander's blood began to boil. He knew how to clean a floor, but his father had only made him clean his own room, or his own things, or when he had made a mess somewhere else. Why should he have to clean it up.
"You knocked it on the floor," he barked, clenching his fists. "You clean it up!"
There was a long ohhhhh from a group of servants at one of the nearby tables. All of them were boys of about the youth's age, all of them watching with eager anticipation. The youth's smirk faded, his eyes flashing with an anger that made Alexander nervous.
"I said...clean it up, brat," the youth snarled. Alexander was more than a little frightened, but he was too angry to back down.
"What right do you have to order me around?" he asked, as coldly as he could manage.
"You talking back to me, kid?" snapped the youth. He was obviously on the verge of losing his temper.
Alexander didn't answer. He didn't know how to respond to such a question. Why was this boy picking on him? What possible insult could he have offered?
The blow caught him in the face, knocking him to the ground. He landed on the mess, splattering porridge everywhere, the youth's cronies hooting with laughter. Alexander rolled and leapt to his feet, blood pounding in his veins. He didn't care that the youth was bigger and probably stronger than him. His blood was up, his face hot with anger.
"You gonna keep talking back to me, brat?" snarled the youth. "You gonna...?"
"Usher!"
Another youth approached. This one looked to be about the same age as Alexander's tormentor, who was apparently named Usher. His hair was a light brown, almost auburn, and his blue eyes were narrow and cold.
"Back off, Soresi," snarled Usher, rounding on the newcomer. "It's none of your business."
"I think you bringing the honour of the Eastern Division into disrepute is my business," retorted Soresi. His tone was cold and dignified, giving Alexander the distinct impression that he was a noble. "I think you assaulting one of your betters, and a child at that, is my business."
Usher's snarl widened, baring his teeth. Something in his stance, his eyes, told Alexander that he was about to lose control, to attack.
Meanwhile, a small cleaning robot had trundled up and started cleaning up the mess, oblivious to the drama around it.
"Enough of this!" Another cadet came striding up, this one a girl with bronze skin and teal hair. Her face was narrow like Soresi's, though her big golden eyes gave her a gentler air, even as she fixed Usher with a hard stare.
"You don't want to start a fight, Usher," she said coldly. "Not here, and not on your first day. Just back off right now, and we won't tell Cadet li Britannia that you assaulted her servant."
"Whore..." Usher snarled. Alexander almost gasped at the insult, but if Soresi or the girl were affected, they made no show of it.
"I suppose we should expect no better from a commoner," retorted Soresi, with feigned sadness.
Usher's eyes flashed with anger. His buddies leapt up from their table, angry eyes fixed on Soresi and the girl. Several other servants did likewise, moving to stand beside them. Others held back, picking up their trays and hurrying away from the growing confrontation.
Alexander looked from one side to the other. Neither seemed inclined to back down. His anger was fading, replaced by fear and embarrassment. Was this his fault? Would it have been better if he'd backed down and done as Usher wanted? Would the Princess get into trouble because of this?
"Am I interrupting something, ladies?"
The words cut through the hall like a thunderclap. All eyes turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered man standing in the doorway, wearing the unmistakable uniform of a drill sergeant. A shiver of fear ran through the servants as he strode closer, his polished boots clumping on the wooden floor. He had a pace stick under his arm, and Alexander found himself wondering what a blow from that stick would feel like.
"Usher," he said, fixing his gaze on the youth, who had snapped to attention in reflex. "Soresi. Nu. Waldstein."
He glanced briefly at Alexander, but then started pacing around the three of them, as if sizing them up as prey. The air was so heavy with tension that Alexander could barely breathe.
"The rest of you...out!" The last word came out as a bark. "Now!"
The other servants fled, leaving their meals unfinished. Within seconds, the hall was silent.
"Waldstein." The sergeant turned his attention to Alexander. "Do you intend to attend your Cadet while dressed like that?"
Alexander was momentarily confused, then looked down and saw what the sergeant meant. His tunic was splattered with porridge and honey.
"No, Master Sergeant."
"Then you should go, and change." His tone was clipped and deliberate, as if speaking to someone hard of hearing or not particularly intelligent. "Nu. Go with him, in case the young sir has trouble dressing himself."
"Yes, Master Sergeant." The girl, whose name was apparently Nu, put a hand on Alexander's back and hustled him out of the hall. Alexander was not inclined to resist.
For several minutes they did not speak, even as they heard the sergeant's roars and barks echoing down the corridor behind them.
"Don't worry," Nu said eventually. "You're not in trouble."
"I...it's all right, Miss Nu," Alexander forced himself to say. He was forcing himself not to shake, not to cry. A part of him just wanted to get out of that place, even if it meant disappointing his father. Anything to be away from all that terror, all that rage.
"People like Usher are a fact of life," Nu went on. "Just stay away from him and his buddies. That's all you can do."
"I...I don't understand, Miss Nu," Alexander admitted. He wasn't sure he could trust this girl, but he had to say something. "Why did he attack me like that?"
"Because you're the youngest," she replied sourly. "The runt of the litter. He wanted to put you in your place, so he could look more like an alpha, and maybe make the Western Division look stupid while he's at it."
Alexander's heart sank. He had not thought such things would happen at the academy. Worse, when he thought about it, he understood exactly what she meant.
It had been like that before, when he was Soran. He had never understood it, never understood why they chased him, why they always tried to rob him, to subdue him, maybe even to kill him. But now...
"I...I fear I let Princess Cornelia down," he said sadly.
"You did fine," insisted Nu. "Usher ended up looking stupid instead, and now he's getting chewed out, by Dawson of all people. Just be careful though. He'll want revenge."
Alexander shivered at the thought. That too made sense, worryingly so.
They reached the Western Division barracks. Alexander paused as they reached the door.
"Miss Nu, I can manage from here."
"Dawson told me to keep an eye on you, so that's what I'll do," replied Nu. Alexander paused, wondering if he ought to let her inside, then decided it could do no harm.
It took him only a few moments to change into a clean uniform, and check his appearance. As he stepped out into the corridor, Nu was still waiting there.
"Much better!" She smiled, for the first time. "Now, you should..."
"Ah, Alexander, good! Let's..."
Cornelia appeared in the corridor, making Alexander jump with surprise. She froze, as she took in the scene.
"Alexander, what's going on?" She was visibly shocked. "What happened to your face?"
Alexander felt sick inside as he remembered Usher's blow on his face. Had it left a bruise?
"And who are you?" demanded Cornelia, rounding on Nu, who had snapped to attention. "I've never seen you here!"
"Villetta Nu, assigned to the Eastern Division!" Nu identified herself.
"Then you've no business being here!" snapped Cornelia. "Why did you come here? More stupid pranks?"
"Your highness," Alexander forced himself to speak up. "Miss Nu was ordered to accompany me here!"
"Oh really?" Cornelia sounded dubious. "Did this have something to do with an assault on my servant? Speak, girl!"
Villetta told Cornelia what had happened, all the while never looking her straight in the eyes. Cornelia listened, her aura growing colder and angrier with every detail.
"Out of respect for Master-Sergeant Dawson, I will not pursue this matter further," she said. "But since you are here, you may do me the service of delivering a message to your fellows in the Eastern Division."
She paused for effect.
"Tell that pack of genetic defectives that if my servant is assaulted or mistreated in any way, then there will be severe consequences, regulations be damned. Am I understood, Miss Nu?"
"Yes, Cadet."
"Very well. You may go."
Cornelia began to turn away, but Villetta did not move.
"May I speak freely, Cadet?"
Cornelia paused, and for a moment Alexander thought she would snap at Villetta.
"Speak freely, Cadet."
"I think that bringing him here as your servant was highly inappropriate."
Alexander's heart skipped a beat. Cornelia turned to face Villetta, fixing her with those purple eyes.
"Oh really?" she drawled. "You think my judgement impaired, Miss Nu? You think I am a frivolous princess who does not understand the expectations of this institution, Miss Nu?"
"No, Cadet. I have the highest respect for the Imperial Family, and for your person."
"Then, why?"
"He's a child, Cadet! He's too young for this! He's an easy target for Usher and his kind!"
"An easy target." Cornelia paused, like a snake preparing to strike. "Do excuse me if I misunderstand you, Miss Nu, but that sounds suspiciously like you are making excuses."
"Cadet..."
"I will not tolerate excuses!" Cornelia snapped, making Alexander jump. She paused again.
"I accepted Alexander as my servant because a dear friend offered him," she went on, "but that was not the only reason. Most children his age, when faced with their mistakes, make endless excuses, blaming anyone but themselves. But Alexander blames no one but himself. It is a character flaw that will have to be corrected one day, but it makes him a good companion to me."
Alexander could hardly believe what he was hearing. He had failed her twice on his first day, yet she was praising him! Why?
"I make no excuses for anyone, Cadet," replied Villetta. "They are as they are. They do not know how to be anything else."
"Then the Eastern Division should dismiss them!" barked Cornelia, unimpressed. "His Imperial Majesty, my father, has no use for officers so lacking in decorum and chivalry that they will bully small children for their own amusement! You may tell them that yourself, Miss Nu. Tell your disgusting friends what I think of them."
"They are not my friends, Cadet."
There was a long pause. Cornelia continued to stare at Villetta. Villetta stared past her, never meeting her eyes.
"Then perhaps there is hope for you, Miss Nu." She turned to look at Alexander. "And what do we say, Alexander?"
"Thank you for helping me, Miss Nu." Alexander bowed to Villetta, making her blush.
"It was my pleasure, my lord."
She snapped her heels, and strode away without looking back.
"She's got some nerve, that one," mused Cornelia. "I like that."
"Your highness." Alexander gulped down a lump in his throat. "I...I'm sorry, your highness. I've let you down."
"Do you want to go home, Alexander?"
Alexander's blood ran cold.
"Her complaint was insolent, but fair," Cornelia went on. "You are young to be here. If you want to leave, I will never hold it against you, and neither will your father or Empress Marianne."
Alexander's heart clenched. He couldn't find the words to reply, to plead with her not to send him away. Tears welled in his eyes.
"Your highness," he forced the words out, gulping down another lump. "If you want me to leave, then I will obey. But...but..."
"Alexander?" Something in Cornelia's eyes told him that she wanted to hear the words.
"I...I don't want to leave you!" The words came out in a rush. "I don't want to fail you! I want to help you, your highness! I want to be worthy of you!"
The words ran out. Alexander's shoulders slumped, his heart still clenched tight. It was all he could do not to cry.
And then Cornelia knelt down in front of him, a gentle smile on her face.
"Then I accept you gladly, Alexander." She leant forward, and pulled him into her arms, pressing his face against her shoulder.
"I won't let them harm you," she whispered. "Not now, not ever."
Alexander allowed himself to relax, to let himself feel warm and safe.
To forget how, only a few moments ago, he had felt utterly, utterly alone.
"Finally! I thought this morning would never end!"
Howard Mason, a brown haired man with glasses, from Green Bay, leaned back in his seat, collapsing as he set down his food on the table.
"First Morning with Master Sergeant Cowher" said Daryl Dodge, with a wry grin. "I think he has it out for you and Graham here."
"Ah let it go, Daryl," Graham Aker regarded his friends with a playful smirk.
The first day of their first year, and they had gotten stuck with Ryan Cowher for their Master Chief. A balding firebrand of a man, who had a knack for making everyone around him detest him unto death and damnation, the terror of the first year cadets.
Graham did not fear him. He found him annoying at times, but he liked to think he understood the man. He would never dare say so, of course. To be allowed to understand the Master Chief, to be on anything like his level, was a privilege to be earned over many years of training, study, and cruel suffering.
The years he had spent in Saint Michael's Military School had more than prepared him for that. He would not soon forget the tears in his mother's eyes when the acceptance letter had arrived, or the pride with which she had watched his graduation parade. For so long she had pushed books and studying on him, hoping to keep him out of the gangs, or the prisons.
Little wonder then, that he had bonded with those two men. Men he had first known as boys at St Michael's; boys who, like him, had yearned to go from low-born boys to officers in his Imperial Majesty's army. Howard Mason, born of a humble family out in some fly-over archduchy he had never visited, and Daryl Dodge, second oldest from a family of nine children. St Michael's had brought them together, and the academy would make them officers.
"So" Howard blinked and Graham could tell he was thinking on something before he leaned in. " have you heard the rumors?"
"Of?" Graham asked as he ate his meal. If nothing else, the food was a hell of a lot better than at St Michael's.
"About you-know-who." Howard gestured with his chin. Graham followed, and saw Cadet Li Britannia sitting by herself; but for the company of her servant, who sat opposite her.
Graham blinked, then realized he was not seeing things. Her servant was a boy, of about eight or nine maybe, yet he sat there clad in the uniform of the academy, his lack of insignia marking him as a cadet's servant. He had curly black hair, and a lean yet healthy frame.
"She's got a kid for a servant?"
"She sure has," cut in Daryl, with a smirk. "Word is, he was a page to the Empress herself, out on loan."
"What's with that?"
Graham didn't know what to think. It was tradition for cadets to have servants, usually aspiring cadets too young to enroll, but a child of his age? It made no sense!
"What's more, he's made some bad enemies," Daryl added, his smirk still in place. "Usher and his buddies."
"How?" Graham wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he couldn't stop himself from asking.
"Trying to give him crap over breakfast," Daryl went on. "Gave Soresi the excuse to throw his weight around."
Graham almost spat. He knew about Ian Usher and his ilk. Like war, life in a Britannian military school brought out the best in some, and the worst in others. He liked to think of himself as the former, but Usher was most definitely the latter. That he had given a blue-blood like Kewell Soresi the excuse to lord it over commoners made it all the worse.
But...
"What's it to Soresi?" Graham glanced across the mess hall towards a group of cadets in the back corner. Their flashy uniforms marked them as Purists, one of the academy's oldest cliques. Kewell Soresi was among them, listening with rapt attention as one of the clique's big names, a certain Jeremiah Gottwald, held forth.
"I don't like it," Howard complained. "He's too young. I'd like to see what kind of parents he has."
"You saw him at the commencement address," Daryl replied with a smirk. "Alexander Bismark Waldstein, son of none other than Lord Bismark Waldstein, our own dear beloved First Knight."
It was all Graham could do not to gape like a goldfish. The First Knight's son? Here as a Servant?
"Guess he's one of those old-style nobles," Howard mused. "They like to start them young."
Graham found it increasingly difficult to take his eyes off the boy. He had known all his life that Royalty could do as it pleased...but this took the biscuit. This was...unbelievable, insane!
"What?" Daryl asked. "You got your eye on the Princess?"
"What? No!" Graham felt his face heat up as the pair of them burst out laughing. "No! Like I'd stand a chance!"
"You never know," retorted Howard, trying not to choke on his food. "You catch her eye, you might get chosen, Sir Graham."
Graham could not deny he had thought about it. Doubtless they all had. As a Princess, Cornelia had the right to chose as many knights as she could support, and word was she had no shortage of money. Now was as good a time as any to excel, to catch her eye, and give his career a serious leg-up.
Except, she wasn't the one he had been watching. She wasn't the one who had caught his eye.
Graham scoffed and looked down, realizing he had finish eating and he stood up to deposit his tray.
"Be right back."
Passing by the tables and fellow cadets, he stopped to let a girl pass.
It was her.
She was quite a sight. Her body was slim and shapely, well-complimented by the dark blue cadet's uniform, marking her as a servant to some prominent cadet. Her teal hair was fastened in a severe, school-marm bun at the back of her neck. Her golden eyes seemed to see right through whoever or whatever they cast themselves upon. Her skin was a dark brown, almost bronze.
He had seen her before. He had seen her in the days leading up to commencement, as the cadets and servants meandered into the academy. He didn't know why, but he couldn't stop thinking about her. Whether it was that shapely body, or those thin, finely-carved features, or those golden eyes.
He followed her to the trolley, where the used trays were stacked. He watched her stack her tray on top of the others, then turn to head back to her table. She was all he could see, all he could think about, even as he stowed his own tray and began following her in reflex.
Then she stopped, and turned to fix one golden eye upon him.
"Yes, Cadet?"
By all rights, as a servant she should not have spoken to him so sharply. But he could not bring himself to reprimand her. There was just something...something he could not explain, something that made all his words fly away like birds on the wing.
"Uh...Servant..." he began. He knew he was stammering like a love-struck schoolboy; a schoolboy he had never really been. There had been no girls at Saint Michaels; except during dance class and at the graduation cotillion. He realised in that desperate, wondrous moment, that he really had no idea how to talk to a girl.
"Is there a problem, Cadet?"
There was a sour look on her face, a look that seemed to say why are you wasting my time? He got the distinct impression that she was all too used to being hassled by love-struck young men, and was in no mood to put up with it.
"Uh...no problem, Servant..." he babbled, feeling a complete fool.
The Servant humphed, turned on her heel, and strode towards the Purists. An instant later, the hall erupted in a storm of hysterical laughter.
Graham, much to his own surprise, found he didn't care.
And another chapter, at long last.
I took a bit of a risk with this one. One of my SV reviewers warned that Alexander risked falling into a pattern; that something bad will happen, and he gets comforted by Cornelia or Marianne. If that's how it comes across, then fear not; for this will be the last time.
Coming up next chapter! One year later, Cornelia attends Major Bruckner's Knightmare masterclass, and Alexander finally wins glory; but why does it have to involve underwear? Until next time...!