Professor Wilda arrived a few minutes late.
It was the kind of delay only someone with enough power could afford in an academy like Mayorka. While the thirty-two students waited in absolute silence, the minutes stretched until the classroom door opened with a thud.
Wilda was tall. Too tall. Her body was a cluster of straight lines: arms straight, back erect, legs firm.
She wore a pearl-gray suit and her black hair had white streaks on the sides; she wore it pulled back in a bun so tight it seemed to stretch the skin over her cheekbones. Her eyes were a pale blue, almost white; so much so that you could confuse the iris with the sclera.
Her Empero remained hidden. But something about her added weight to the air in the classroom.
After placing her things on the desk, she picked up a piece of chalk. I noticed she had brought a glass jar full of small paper slips, two books, and a metal ruler so long it could have been a sword.
The only sound in the classroom was the tapping of the professor's chalk against the blackboard, writing her name.
"I am Professor Wilda," she said. Her voice was firm, without inflection. "As of today, the class on Etiquette and Protocol of the various courts of Earolden falls under my responsibility. Professor Lauda has been reassigned."
Reassigned? In an academy as demanding as Mayorka, that only meant fired. Or something even worse: demoted. Lauda was the professor who, according to the novel, lowered the grades of students from minor houses to favor the major ones.
Wilda surveyed the classroom with her gaze. She passed over everyone equally. The prince, Lianza, Layda. Identical shadows beneath her gray eyes.
"Open your manuals to page forty-three," she said, sitting on the edge of the desk with her legs crossed. "Formal six-step court etiquette. We will practice it today."
Everyone pulled out their notebooks.
"Oh, and one more thing," Professor Wilda smiled, taking the jar full of paper slips from her desk. "In this class, seating will be random. Every day you will have a different seat. As you come up, state your name and then the seat you drew. The next person to come up will be whoever is left without a seat."
She pointed her long ruler at Layda.
"Miss Alaranne, isn't it? Stand up and draw a slip."
"I-I'm Layda Alaranne," she said after standing up, bending her knees and inclining her body in a curtsy.
"Wrong!" Professor Wilda exclaimed, giving Layda a smack on the back with her ruler, making her flinch and straighten up. "Repeat it, this time with proper etiquette."
"I'm Layda Alaranne," this time she bent her knees with more deliberation, simultaneously pinching the ends of her skirt and inclining her head. "I come from a village located far from Jahke territory. As you all know, I'm the new girl. It's a pleasure to meet you. I hope we get along."
"Much better, Miss Alaranne."
Layda reached into the jar and pulled out a slip.
"Seat number six," she read.
And so we went, presenting ourselves one by one. Whenever Professor Wilda saw an incorrect posture, she wasted no time poking whatever she believed the problem was with her ruler.
Everything was going well, until my turn came.
You see, I had never studied Etiquette in my life. I was just a literature student barely surviving on two part-time jobs to pay for college, eat, and sleep under the roof of a tiny room. Every month I was in the red. It was impossible for someone like me to afford private lessons of any kind.
The seats kept changing owners until my turn arrived.
"Seat number three," said a student named Dayne Ascalar.
That was my seat.
"I'm Dariel Elcronne," I said after yielding my spot.
Placing my fist over my heart, I bowed in a reverent curtsy.
I could hear giggles from my classmates.
The professor looked at me with her eyebrows so close together they seemed like one.
"Don't move!" she said, and I froze mid-bow. "Ladies and gentlemen, here is a perfect example of how not to do a curtsy."
I could hear Ardwyn's pedantic little laugh, and a disguised sneeze from Lianza, perhaps to correct him.
"This academy creates the future rulers of all of Earolden. Not servants."
The hint hit me immediately. I tried to correct my posture, but received a poke in the back and two in my shoulders.
"I told you not to move, Elcronne. Alright, everyone, as you can see, this is a clear example of the posture you must never do. Belonging to a house of such low birth doesn't mean you should act accordingly. You must always demand more of yourself."
Layda watched me with a contained smile. How was it conceivable that someone would do a servant's curtsy in an academy that forged the most influential nobles in all of Earolden?, her expression seemed to say.
And to be honest, I hadn't realized my curtsy was frowned upon at the academy.
"To perform a curtsy worthy of a noble," the professor continued, "you must use your hands: one on your chest and the other swept outward as you bow."
She pointed at me with her ruler.
"Understood?"
Nodding, I tried to do what she ordered.
Standing at attention, I placed one hand on my chest, began to bow, and... another poke.
"Much better, but still wrong. Your hands must be open." She poked my hands and I opened them. "Your head must look directly downward, not to the side." She poked the back of my neck and I centered my head.
The students started to murmur. To them, it was inconceivable that someone wouldn't know how to do something as basic as a noble curtsy. I'd like to see all those trust fund babies surviving the city and college with two part-time jobs.
The situation was becoming unbearable for me. The murmurs were turning cruel. I could hear things like: 'It's natural to think like a servant for someone from such a low house. I don't understand how they allowed someone like him to study with us...'
Lianza raised her hand.
"Yes, Princess D'Tariel?"
"I apologize for my bodyguard's behavior. But, Miss Wilda, everyone has the right to show respect to another with whatever curtsy they choose."
"Oh, really? Well, since our Princess D'Tariel is so moralistic, why don't you come up and show me how a lady should perform the curtsy to the three gods on her wedding day? Go on, take Lianza's seat, Elcronne."
Everyone gasped. It was the most difficult curtsy of all. Every lady of the court practiced it from childhood to perform it correctly on her wedding day, because anything less meant dishonor for her husband.
Lianza stood up. Firm steps, straight back. Everything she did emanated the kind of elegance that only someone born to be a queen could possess.
Taking the opportunity to step aside, I took her seat.
I could smell her perfume as she passed by me, her hair swaying in the wind.
Lianza stood in front of everyone. Rising onto her toes, she released her Empero in a controlled manner.
The floor at her feet froze into a layer of frost. Balancing only on the tips of her shoes, she pinched the ends of her dress and, with a precise movement, spun on the ice while bowing in a perfect curtsy.
Ardwyn, who had been letting out that annoying little laugh a few minutes ago, now watched Lianza with his mouth slightly open.
Everyone was dazzled. It was like watching a ballet dancer spinning on ice.
Everyone except Professor Wilda, who simply stood still, waiting for the slightest mistake that would make her slip and fall so she could poke her and humiliate the princess in public.
But she could do nothing but swallow her words. For Lianza D'Tariel, the future Garnet Ice Queen, that curtsy was as easy as breathing.
"Seat number five," she said with indifference once she finished her curtsy.
The professor pursed her lips, defeated.
"The next time you mock any vassal of my house, Professor Wilda," Lianza said, her Empero aggressively freezing everything around her, "I will take my complaint directly to the Empero Council."
Professor Wilda gripped her metal ruler. She said nothing. Lianza returned to her seat as if nothing had happened.
Was this really happening?
Lianza had defended me in front of everyone. My Lianza.
And yet, she still wouldn't look at me. She hadn't even let me carry her books in the morning. To her, I was just... her bodyguard.
Starting to gather my things, my fingers brushed against a piece of paper still in the drawer.
'What right does that old hag have to insult you? Shameful. All of it, shameful, Dariel Elcronne. From now on, you will take private Etiquette lessons with me once a week. Nobody messes with my personal bodyguard.'
All I could do was smile like a fool while my heart wouldn't stop racing.
I knew she still loved me.