The bleached guimpe was suffocating, and while Urda fished out the last of the blouses she needed to wear from the tailor’s chest, beads of sweat were at the present watering down Alve’s face. The lengthy prickle of pain washed away all of Alve’s excitement. Her curly dark hair, now tightened and dressed into three swirling buns displayed the princess’ flat forehead, her entire skull still raw from all the brushing and pulling. Her brother, who had gathered all the papers and books Alve needed for her lessons, was now waiting in the sitting room for the last immediate beginnings of the new Pillar-State student. When the returning maid finally drew the blue coat of the Chonerin house over Alve’s shoulders, Urda’s tethered thin simper was mirrored by the cheval glass. The princess, still fanning on her drenched face was also mesmerized by her new school uniform.

“You’re happy,” Alve declared when the amount of staring upon the chilled face of her maid captured the small glow of her emotions.

“And why would you say that, little mouse?” Urda asked, bending down to eye-level with the little girl.

“Because, I can feel it,” Alve replied.

“As you say, your grace.”

Joining her brother, the prince had been talking to the Tron stubbed guards, shortening their laughter to whispers as Alve entered. The familiar tingle, now a small tickle marred Alve’s senses. She was about to laugh, she thought quickly before the tickle began to turn into a weird bent of muscle. When Alve shifted to the anonymous helmed escorts, Arlou was already introducing them.

“Little mouse, you look elegant. Now, since we are after all heirs to the kingdom of Cheron, father has already prepared Anguster Stein,” Arlou’s hand gestured to the nearest guard on his left. The shortest of the gathering bunch nodded gaily. “Svyan,” Arlou continued and the tallest softly bowed. “Redowaniel,” the muscled giant grunted. “Aaphon,” the thinner one held a hand up. “And Sergeant Haisumen Akiranen.”

Although she had grown under the quiet watchful eyes of regular militiamen, Alve would still understand that the name sergeant had meant something as the only one with the side cape bowed respectfully. “Sergeant Haisumen has been managing my personal guards and was recently considered to be yours as well,” Arlou added.

They had all curious names. One to have many syllables mashed together, the other repeated dubiously. But the new growing curiosity on both sides, the bending muscle between Alve and the guards left only the encounter wordless. Alve did not know how to address such faint watchmen. The sergeant, however, surprisingly agile in maneuvers knew exactly what to say.

In an eccentric Thravbon accent and a winded berth, he said, “of fine deep waters by the pond your eyes are your grace. Of furious typhoons mark the lightning beauty you have forsaken many. Of such courage hidden under your soft hands, we must then not hide all of these.” When the sergeant again bowed followed by his fast flick of hand signals to the squad, immediately the new guards flanked and prompted the noble prince and confused princess out the doors and proceeded to the local Pillar-State School. Leaving Urda again to watch over their disappearing backs.

His sister’s tea saucer eyes were turning into full plates as they passed the unventured halls. More like Alve’s forbidden walls, Arlou thought. The lengthy private passage crossed over many court buildings, connecting to one spire of Skahstrah palace over to one of the school’s receiving steeples. Slanted windows echoed the mountain elevation while also encapsulating the vast stretch of the Cheron city. Miles and miles of blue buildings were broadly being illuminated by Torion’s rising radiance, his heat melting away the disappearing winter bite.

When they were reaching the end of their clause, Arlou had expected the Sergeant, Svyan, and Aaphon’s separation to one of the corners of the still empty halls of the Pillar-State School. His sister, who was now peering at the ceiling’s arc crest, somehow higher than any of the palace’s, did not notice the important leave they must take.

“Alve,” Arlou called out. When she continued to stare at the murals of many of the great goddess’ regional faces, the prince called again, “Alvedaima. Sister.”

Many had relented under the cryptic green eyes of the princess, many of which hiding from its ingenuine tearing of nakedness. But the prince was used to the altering force, one of both pride and care managed its glow. So, when she took all her curious desires over to him, he had anticipated the amount of history his mouth wanted to share but instead held the capsule tight. “We must part ways here as we have discussed,” Arlou abled.

The lengthened sadness returned and his sister begged, “must we, big brother?”

“Yes. The sergeant shall have Svyan and Aaphon cover your back without many noticing the slightest. They will protect you but you must promise me you will not give them trouble.”

The princess’ face contorted but she did not fail to give the silent nod. Assured, Arlou went on, “and you must not forget to visit the Lord Visor’s office once you are done with your classes. He would be evaluating thereafter in your experience here. Now, see you later.” He hugged her not so tightly. Afraid to break her minuscule stature, Arlou however had little curb to bring his sister back to the palace when he left her to the break of paths. Moving away to the Hall of the Blesseds, the prince felt his sister’s sadness on his shoulders but with the surprising courage warding it.

“Your grace,” the sergeant beckoned as the next turn of her brother’s path blinded the prince’s Chonerin cape, Anguster and Redowaniel at his tail. Prompted, Alve conceded the sergeant and followed him to the Hall of Scholars.

It was an exotic sight to behold. Unlike the square corridors of the palace, Alve digested the sharp arcs of the ceilings, held high by adorned pillars and the accounted eth lights on every edifice. Banners stood aside each of the doors they passed, all consisting of symbols Alve briefly learned of. One had knitted a quill resting over a red velvet field. Another, the same field but with an open book as its centerpiece. A banner with a side posing lady caught her attention but she continued to follow the sergeant’s lead. When the head guard stood over a doubled door with a crown over an open scroll for its banner, Alve knew she was in front of her homeroom. After the second preamble of the royal dipping her head to the sergeant in affirmative, he knocked.

“Enter.” A female voice responded inside and immediately the sergeant called out Alve’s entrance, “rise for her royal highness, Princess Alvedaima Novredin of the house of Chonerin.”

The seated children revealed only shocked unfamiliar faces. The teacher however was a delight to see. As Svyan and Aaphon held the doors to the acute number of individuals, Scholar Clanadrin stood as the only one smiling to accept the new student. Torion’s morning light lay across the long windows, brightening to welcome Alve’s new found freedom.