You pay attention to the minutiae, and ask questions in the right places; Pascal smiles amiably at you as you walk. You circle past the thick conifer forest, and then he stops abruptly, raising his lantern to widen the circle of light. "Laurie Beaumont, is that you?" he calls out.
"I was finishing my Natural Science prep," says a cross voice from amongst the trees.
A stocky figure in the dove-gray Archambault uniform with long, inky-black hair and a similar complexion to yours emerges from the shadows, bearing a small satchel in one hand and a thick textbook in the other. The figure—Laurie Beaumont, you presume—looks you up and down and cradles the satchel protectively.
Next
Beaumont's expression is flat and unsmiling, though not hostile. He's a little shorter than you, and he says nothing as he watches you curiously.
"There was no prep work!" Pascal exclaims. "Well, never mind. You need to be in Vercher House. And, luckily, we're all going the same way—"
"I thought our school was all about going above and beyond," says the boy. "Isn't it?"
Pascal looks flustered. "Yes, yes, that's very much what Archambault's about. But let me introduce—"
"Yes," says the boy, cutting him off. "I'm Lord Laurie Beaumont, of the Beaumont Financiers. You can call me Beaumont, everyone does."
His name tickles at the back of your mind, but you cannot recall where you heard it. Beyond, of course, the Beaumont Financiers being one of the wealthiest banking companies in the world.
Beaumont shifts the satchel under his arm and holds out a hand.
As you shake his hand, Beaumont shrugs. "Is it?"
Close by, rooks caw on their way to roost. Pascal's expression is scandalized; he starts to say something, but Asher cuts him off.
"This is His Highness Prince Hugoz," they snap.
Beaumont shakes back his long hair and fixes you with a hard stare. "Yes, I know," he says eventually.
Pascal turns to you, blocking Beaumont with his shoulder. "I am so sorry," he says quietly
Beaumont nods, unsmiling. "Then I'd love to hear, Prince Hugoz," he says, "what exactly are you doing here?"
You meet Beaumont's challenging gaze as you speak, and Beaumont looks amused.
"That sounds fascinating," he says, "and I look forward to seeing how that goes."
There's an intense glint in his dark eyes that you can't decipher.
Pascal coughs uncomfortably. "I'm sure," he says, "you'll be kind enough to show the prince and his servant to Vercher House. I have some business to attend to."
He bows low and strides away.
Next
Beaumont watches Pascal go, lip curled. "He's harmless enough," he says. "And he'll be desperate to impress you, given who you are. You've got nothing to worry about."
He gives a short laugh.
"Though," he says, "they probably said that about the old Head of Gallatin College, too. But I doubt Pascal could kidnap anyone out of a wet paper bag, not like that Lady Renaldt."
"Good attitude," Beaumont says. "You'd be surprised how many people think they're here on holiday."
He tuts. Perhaps he's thinking of a particular fellow student.
"And Pascal's fine," he continues. "Bring him a couple of boxes of pistachio brittle, and he'll eat out of your hand."
He extends an arm ahead.
"Shall we?" he says, and you make your way onward.
Next
Beaumont could not be a more different guide than Pascal. Where Pascal was eager to show off every detail and historical delight of the Archambault architecture, Beaumont is quiet for the whole way. That is, until he halts abruptly at a dark, hulking building blanketed with ivy.
"This is Vercher House," he tells you. "I assume your servant will share rooms with you."
That is indeed the plan; Asher nods diffidently. The prospectus advertised a spacious suite in which you'd be afforded every comfort.
Beside you, Asher tenses. "Prince Hugoz," they murmur. "Look."
An intruder?
Next
A figure, dark against the ivy, is climbing steadily toward a softly-lit upper window. "A thief, maybe?" Asher whispers.
The figure yelps in surprise. Their foot slips on the foothold, and they slide unceremoniously to the ground. In the lantern light, you now have an impression of rumpled brown hair and, more importantly, an Archambault uniform.
He picks himself up and brushes down his jacket. Ineffectually, he tries to smooth his mop of hair. And then, as he gives you an apologetic grin, you recognize him. It's the Honorable Dominique de Saint Martel, the eldest son of one of your mother's family friends.
He recognizes you just as quickly, and his grin widens. "Oh! Hello, Prince Hugoz," he says. "And Asher, too! Everyone's here!"
For the first time, Beaumont looks surprised. "You know each other?"
Dominique meets your eye, clearly expecting you to elaborate on the subject. From your experience, being found climbing up an ivy-covered wall, and then falling off it, is not at all out of character for Dominique. He is well known for acting first and asking questions rarely. But he's as guileless as a golden retriever.
"We manage to have fun," you say. "Remember the Emerald Room?"
"Yes!" Dominique says. "One time a few years ago, we hid behind the tapestries while the ministers were talking, and Prince Hugoz managed to throw a flower into the Chancellor's wineglass!"
"But she wasn't looking," you say, "so she thought it was part of the cocktail and drank it."
Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Asher grimace before they can stop themself. You remember them getting into trouble over that when your mother found out you'd been missing.
"It's nice to see you again properly!" says Dominique. "It's normally always so busy at the palace events. We can spend quality time together here!"
Beaumont rolls his eyes.
Bumping into people you know is an occupational hazard, given your birth. Ever since you were young, your mother has made sure that you've been socially involved with a range of aristocrats, royals, and other members of high society. Despite Josiane being the crown princess, you're still a public figure. At social events, you've mostly been the center of attention.
Part of royal life is learning what makes your subjects tick, and your mother was very clear that you're expected to do so. Getting to know more people means you have a better idea of what you can provide them, and what they can provide you.
Beaumont lets out an irritated sigh in Dominique's direction. "Can't you use the door like everyone else?"
Dominique looks sheepish. "I lost my key!"
"Marvelous," Beaumont says. He flings out an arm. "Didn't think to wait for us to arrive, didn't think to check with Emile at the lodge…the heir to the de Saint Martel name, everyone!"
Dominique bows ostentatiously. Asher stifles a laugh.
"We'll let you in," Beaumont says. "But if it happens again, I'll leave you out here."
Dominique turns to you with an imploring expression, his dark eyes very large. "And then," he says, "I'll freeze. To. Death. But Prince Hugoz will take pity on me. Won't you?"