RAPS was unlike anything Q had ever imagined.
The halls gleamed with an otherworldly brilliance, every inch of the space a symphony of opulence and artistry. Polished marble floors stretched endlessly, their smooth surfaces reflecting the sunlight that poured in through towering arched windows. Intricate carvings adorned the walls, transforming cold stone into lace-like patterns that danced in the golden light. Chandeliers hung high above, their crystals catching every ray of sun and splintering it into a cascade of rainbows that played across the ceilings.
Q craned her neck as she walked, her footsteps hesitant on the pristine floor.
The grandeur of the place made her feel like an unwelcome intruder, a smudge on a flawless painting. Her gaze lingered on the enormous oil portraits lining the walls, each one depicting a regal woman with eyes that seemed to follow her.
Their expressions were serene, their gowns impossibly detailed, the fabric practically spilling off the canvas. Princesses, she realized. Generations of them.
Professor Ligarius strode ahead, his long coat trailing behind him like a shadow. His voice echoed through the grand corridor, loud and theatrical, as though the sheer magnificence of RAPS demanded an equally grandiose tone.
"The Royal Ascension Princess School," he declared, his voice swelling with pride, "Is the jewel of the nation, a bastion of refinement, discipline, and excellence! For centuries, we have sculpted young women into paragons of virtue, wisdom, and grace. Queens, duchesses, empresses—if there is a crown to be worn, you can be assured it rests on the head of a RAPS graduate!"
Q trailed behind, her attention stolen by the view through one of the towering windows.
Beyond the glass lay a sprawling garden, so vibrant and alive it seemed to pulse with color. Neatly trimmed hedges wove intricate patterns into the landscape, their designs spiraling outward toward a fountain at the center. Flowers of every imaginable hue dotted the green, their blooms swaying gently in a breeze she couldn't feel. The fountain sparkled in the sun, its water leaping and falling in perfect arcs, the sound a faint, melodic murmur even from this distance.
She drifted toward the nearest door, the professor's voice becoming background noise as she pushed it open. The scent of flowers and freshly cut grass washed over her, soft and sweet, a stark contrast to the stale air of the barn she had left behind. For a moment, she simply stood there, drinking it in.
"Each candidate," Ligarius was saying, "Is held to standards so high, they could elevate even the most stubborn mule into a refined creature! Here, they master diplomacy, the art of etiquette, and—perhaps most importantly—curtsying. A proper curtsy can disarm even the most hardened of warlords!"
Q stepped into the garden, her bare feet meeting the cool stone of the pathway. She let out a soft laugh under her breath, the absurdity of his words juxtaposed with the serene beauty around her. The sunlight here felt different, warmer, softer. She edged closer to the grass, her fingers brushing against the tops of the flowers that lined the path.
She was just about to step onto the lush green when a sharp tug at her collar yanked her backward.
"What do you think you're doing?" Professor Ligarius's voice sliced through her reverie, his tone sharp enough to make her wince.
She spun to face him, her hands flying to her neck. "What was that for?"
"You don't walk on the grass," he said, his expression severe. "It's delicate. Stepping on it will kill it."
Q blinked, her confusion turning to defiance. "Grass doesn't die from being walked on."
"It most certainly does." Ligarius replied, his voice clipped.
She crossed her arms. "That's not true. The part of the grass that grows—the base—is what matters. You could stomp on the blades all you want, and it would still grow back just fine."
For the first time, Ligarius faltered. His sharp gray eyes narrowed as he studied her, his lips twitching as though holding back a retort. "And how, pray tell, does a girl like you know so much about grass?"
"I've spent more time with grass than people." she said simply, brushing past him to step onto the forbidden green.
Her feet sank slightly into the soft ground, and she let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The cool blades tickled her toes, the sensation grounding her in a way nothing else had in days. The garden seemed brighter now, more vivid, as if welcoming her intrusion.
Behind her, Ligarius let out a sound that was half-sigh, half-laugh.
"You are a curious one, aren't you?"
Q ignored him, spinning slowly in the middle of the lawn, her arms outstretched. The air felt lighter here, the weight she'd carried since leaving the farm lifting, if only for a moment. She tilted her head back to the sky, the sunlight warm against her cheeks.
"Enjoying yourself?" Ligarius's voice cut through her bliss, calm and measured, but carrying an undercurrent of amusement.
She stopped, brushing her hands against her skirt as a flush crept up her neck.
"It's… nice." she admitted, the word feeling insufficient.
"Nice," Ligarius repeated, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. "Well, now that your frolic is complete, I believe it's time for proper introductions."
Q hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her apron. "I told you already. I'm Q."
"And just Q?" he pressed, his tone curious but not unkind.
"Just Q." she said firmly.
He tilted his head, as if considering her answer, before gesturing for her to follow him.
"And the friend you're looking for—Madeline Carlton, was it?"
At the name, Q's breath caught. She nodded quickly, her voice rushing out in a desperate tumble.
"Yes, Maddy. She came here last week. Do you know her? Is she here?"
Ligarius's expression shifted, the faintest flicker of something unreadable passing through his features.
"Perhaps." he said at last, his voice deliberately vague.
"Please," Q pressed, stepping closer. "I need to see her."
Without another word, Ligarius turned on his heel and began walking down the garden path, his coat swaying with each step.
"Hey!" Q called after him, hurrying to keep up. "Where are you going?"
He glanced back, his tone brisk but calm.
"If you wish to find your friend, you'd best follow me."