Sain Clare Academy (gxg, 18+)

Chapter Forty-seven

When Knight Ron first met High Mage Eclaire, he wondered how such a badly rumored woman-- things like coward and traitor-- could be so ferocious.

His arms still burned at the memory of her punishments.

He also wondered, after the first week of drills she'd forced them through under the objective of 'learning to serve the lady completely,' how she could be a traitor. If she was a traitor, who was he, who only learned the lady's name upon having it drilled into his brain by the High Mage?

The other knights fared just the same. More often than not they held begrudging respect for her, and many had given up on the idea that she was a traitor. She was an ice-cold beauty, speech and posture almost royal, deadly, and Ron could imagine how someone like her had formerly been an infamous professor at Sain Clare Academy. They were monsters, he'd heard, picked for their excellence and overwhelming power.

Still, even to those who held a strong dislike for the High Mage, it was obvious how favored she was by the lady.

Grace Belloway was Ron's definition of a perfect ruler: fair, just, and prepared. She listened perfectly, responded perfectly, and plotted perfectly. The knights had begun calling her Duke among themselves, preparation for her title shift in a few months' time.

No one doubted she would be the one to inherit, after all. The choice was obvious, when compared to her conniving little brother and his inadequate twin. According to the rumors, at least; he'd never met them before. He'd once brought it up to the High Mage, a casual remark during one of the successorship trainings.

Her face, usually cold and impenetrable, shifted at the name Annakin.

"You do not need to concern yourself with anyone but the lady," she'd told him, voice hard. He didn't ask twice. She'd tightened her fists, and Ron could have sworn he'd seen something red wisp around them, burning hot and dangerous. He was a royal knight, a warrior, and his senses had been screaming in alarm.

It hadn't taken him long after to figure out the relationship between the lady and the High Mage. They were always together, which made sense for a lady and her escort, so at first he'd believed they were professionally close. Every knight knew of High Mage Elciare's dedication to the lady-- her secret trainings with them were evidence enough. But they never spoke to each other in more than a professional capacity, always at arms' length. Their words were curt to each other.

But the small orders Lady Belloway gave, such as to be sure High Mage Eclaire was equipped with the best room in the inn, or if she had eaten at all that day, or if she'd gotten adequate sleep-- even the densest of knights could see that High Mage Eclaire was someone important to the lady.

And then Ron was assigned to be her watch after they'd discovered her sickness. He'd stood many knights outside the High Mage's door, and never once did the lady come out of it. It was like that for almost a week, until the High Mage was well enough to leave her bed. He'd gotten good at pretending not to hear their conversations.

The lady and the High Mage were obviously in love.

Well, that's what it looked like to Ron, at least. He didn't know much about romance-- his parents split when he was young and he'd never dated before-- but from what he'd heard and read their hushed words and secret glances certainly seemed like love.

Grace, High Mage Ecliare had murmured once, and it took Ron a second to realize she was talking to the lady. Their voices were soft through the door.

How are you feeling?

I'm fine.

A pause.

You've got a fever, again, Morgan.

I- a hitched breath at the name, this is normal-- my body is just trying to fight off the magic.

Shuffling.

G-Grace, what are you-?

I'd be quiet, if I were you. I'm sure Knight Ron is just outside the door.

Grace, ah--

He'd turned beet red and taken a few more steps away from the door at that.

"Ron?" A voice from the side pushed him out of his thoughts. Ron turned to it. "What are you doing out here?"

"Punishment," he'd replied, lugging the heavy box over his shoulder.

"For what?"

"I... The High Mage left," Ron said. The lady had found him sprawled on the ground, knocked out, and her face had flickered from horror at the emptiness of the room to recognition to fury, worry, finally settling on an indifferent mask. He'd shuffled out after she helped him up, and at his apologies she waved him off and said If Morgan wanted to escape, not even an army would be able to stop her. He noticed that her smile was tense.

The other knight hummed in response.

"Right, I forgot you were stuck guarding the Ice Woman. Say, why does the Duke think she needs protection, anyway?" Ice Woman had become a nickname of sorts for High Mage Eclaire, popularized because of her glacier-like beauty and personality. Her steel eyes were enough to make the most practiced of men turn on their heels.

Ron turned, squinting at him.

"What?" The knight replied, defensively. "I'm just saying, they work together well as a team, but they don't seem like they like each other all that much."

"Pray tell why you think that?" Ron asked, genuinely curious. The knight shrugged.

"They're... cold around each other, like they're in some sort of poker face competition. I can count on one hand the number of times they've looked at each other this entire trip." Obviously he wasn't looking hard enough. Even before Ron had discovered their relationship, he'd seen the glances they snuck when the other wasn't looking.

"Where is the lady?" Ron asked, attempting to change the subject. The knight raised an eyebrow.

"'The lady'," he mocked, voice a pitch lower, "the Duke went out. Looked like she was in a hurry, if her face was any indication. I'll tell you, I've never seen anything more than a smile on her face, but she looked furious. Someone's gonna meet the Goddess today."

Ron sighed.

"Tell everyone to stay away from High Mage Eclaire's room, tonight."

"Eh?"

"Just... do it."

A/N:

This chapter was very self-indulgent.

Also, a quick note that many women are called Duke rather than Duchess if they are the owner of the duchy and not married in. For example, the Queen of England is actually a Duke.