Asher ducks his head with a bashful smile. "You'll have the Honorable Dominique around, and you know him," he says. "And the teachers will be there to keep you safe."
From somewhere downstairs, a gong rings, and then again. It's breakfast time. You head down, and bump into Beaumont and Dominique leaving the building. In daylight, Beaumont's eyes are shadowed with tiredness, but he moves quickly. He nods to you briskly, then leads you outside.
Dominique trails behind him, yawning. Unlike Beaumont, who looks the picture of neatness in his carefully put-together shirt and pants, Dominique's shirt is only partially tucked into his gray culottes.
You step into the cool open air and follow the chattering crowd of students to a vast hall. Some students are as young as your brother Oliver; they're uncertain and wide-eyed, looking like they wouldn't say boo to a goose. The eighteen-year-old final-years like you stride around with an air of familiar certainty. While Beaumont and Dominique argue over who woke up whom in the morning, you file in.
Next
We welcome you all to a new year at Archambault!" booms Pascal from the lectern. "And may I take the opportunity to welcome again our newest student, His Highness Prince Ogram! How marvelous to bring yet another royal connection to our Academy walls, after Heir Rosario's successful study here!"
Wild applause thunders through the hall.
As you wave, you catch the eye of one of the first-years. He squeaks with excitement and turns delightedly to whisper to his companions. Everyone turns to stare at you, and as the chatter rises once more, there's a buzz of urgency in the air. A cluster of students contrive to pass your table to gawk, while even the older ones turn to stare at you and whisper amongst themselves while they watch.
Beaumont looks as unimpressed with the whole thing as he did last night. He flicks through a sheaf of papers while drinking a prodigious amount of coffee with his croissants, looking the picture of a businessperson in his office. Dominique leans on his elbow while he eats his cereal.
"I can't believe you're here," he says. "You look like you should be in the palace! Not like the rest of us at all!"
Dominique looks chastened, and as he finishes his cereal, he turns to Beaumont. "What's the first lesson?" he says in an evident effort to change the subject.
"You need to figure out your timetable," Beaumont says without looking up. "It's Natural Science, with Vere Serafin."
"Oh, no," Dominique says dolefully.
You look up to follow Dominique's gaze to the teachers' table, and see a hawk-faced woman in her middle age dressed in a smart, if dour, charcoal-gray suit. She's frowning at a couple of the other teachers, and gestures with her fork for emphasis as she speaks. As you watch, she signals to a servant, who rings a bell to mark five minutes left of breakfast.
Soon, it's time to go. Your first lesson awaits
