The Royal Command

Ch 9

"One, two, three — one, two, three — one, two, three." The phonetic numbers rang across your tidied study room as each word assisted claps.

"Reader, fasten the pace, please." Your governess spoke with more frustration than solace as she could no longer stomach your rookie inaccuracies. "Alright, that's enough. You may take a rest." Disappointed was too subtlety to embody her impressions in an adjective at your sudden horrendous performance; she couldn't quite grasp the drastic change of your posture and balance as you walk with stacks of books inhabiting your crown.

You felt embarrassed, but knowing this was her way of educating her fellow students, you try to suppress the shame, snatching the group of books off your head to place onto the nearest mahogany desk; you walk your way to a wooden chair. "I apologize, Lady Hitch." You say, eyes glued onto her baffled ones while she marched to a rack of books to find the lightest ones there were.

"You're quite different today, Miss Reader." She was tiptoeing, hand reaching to a tall row. "Concentration was your finest."

You couldn't deny that her honest ways were a bit bold for a teacher to say to a student, and so, you awkwardly giggle, a hand scratching your occipital as though it could do good in finding an answer. Yet it didn't. Especially you, too, were surprised by your novice mistakes, and the word "sorry" was already at the tip of your tongue, despite you apologizing before.

"Care to explain, perhaps?" She yanked three new pairs of books: some seemed old and dusty, and some seemed fresh and polished. "I'm lightly curious." She walked her way to you, organizing her chosen books in short, tall rows of three upon the same wooden desk.

Governess Dreyse didn't scare you. Instead, her current brute demeanor was merely professional to your eyes. However, she did stiffen you, and those eyes were the sole reason. "Uh..." You didn't know what to say, and even if you do, storytelling the problems you've sheltered in your mind wouldn't be an intelligent move. "Um—"

Regardless of your filler words, she could already detect a possible answer; just before your comments stumble over another under the consequences of fallacy, she had miraculously answered herself. "Or maybe you've yet to leave your holiday state of mind? Gossips are everywhere these days." She was correct: today was a Monday, meaning you'd just left the manor a day ago.

Unnoticeably, you sigh in relief under gratitude that she wasn't too pushy to hear the answer from your mouth; you were in dire need of ceasing the topic. So, you had only responded with your briefest giggle. "Seems like so."

She cocked her eyebrow before facing your eyes for the very first time during this etiquette lecture while her fingers set foot onto the scattered letters on the table to rustle through. "Well, quickly get rid of it." She reclaimed her glance to the rectangular sheets of paper, analyzing what is necessary from the unnecessary ones.

And soon, her world paused for a moment. She'd just seen a familiar intricate letter whose wax seal was so noble that it somehow possessed a devious smile on her lips. "As the season of suitors begins."

An eyebrow went above your other; your eyes became glued to such a simple sheet of paper that had summoned a foreign side of your strict governess. "Who's that?"

It took neither less or more than a second for her head to orient back to your quizzical gaze — in fact, it was a relatively swift move for someone such as she. "Shall you take a guess, Miss Reader?" She allowed her tips to fiddle the blunt edges of the rectangular sheet.

Your eyes crossed diagonally to the corner right of the bright room; the act was purely to follow under the command of your curiosity, but it would be a fatal lie not to acknowledge the frenzy.