Louise blinks several times and slowly comes around with a small groan.
The last thing she remembers is that strange talking book.
She lets out a gentle exhale and sits upright. She now sits on her bed instead of the windowsill.
"Michael," she utters in a low voice, recalling him catching her earlier when she felt faint.
The blonde idiot lays against the foot of her bed with his head propped against his arms and snores gently.
"The young fellow stayed awake until he could no longer keep his eyes open," a well-spoken and gentlemanly voice explains.
Louise jolts and spins around.
Sitting next to her window is the sentient tome. It's perched upright.
"Who are you?" Louise asks, her eyes narrow.
"A humble servant, I suppose," the book replies. "As I said beforehand, Miss, I go by the name of Toby. Grim will also suffice if it so pleases you."
Louise breathes in and out to steady her nerves.
"B-But you're a talking book."
"I am not just a book," Toby corrects. "I am a grimoire. And a very special one, I should say."
"I have so many questions," Louise says with utmost confusion, blinking.
"All in good time, young lady. For now, would it not be prudent to awaken your familiar from his slumber? He may well remain perched there at the foot of your bed, if not."
"Oh. Right." Louise shuffles to the end of her bed. She prods a dainty toe against Michael's cheek. "C'mon, idiot," she says softly, almost affectionately.
"Mmmm?" The blonde stirs.
"It's me. Wake up."
Michael's eyes slowly open.
"What's happening?" he asks with a yawn.
"You've been asleep there for a while," Louise explains.
Michael's eyes widen the slightest bit at the sight of the pink-haired girl. "Oh, you're awake again, that's good." He makes a droopy half-smile. "Had me worried there, Princess."
"Princess again... is it?" Louise frowns gently, her cheeks pinkening.
"It's a term of endearment, I'm sure," Toby interjects.
"See? Even the book gets it," Michael comments, his smile widening.
Louise's lips twitch.
"You're an idiot."
"So you keep telling me. Try not fainting for me next time, though. Okay, Louise?" the familiar requests sincerely.
Louise's blush darkens.
"D-Don't make fun of me, you imbecile!"
Michael simply shrugs. Getting up, he stretches his arms and then twists from side to side to ease the tension in his back.
"Not making fun in the slightest," the scruffy-haired commoner insists, his tone losing its light-hearted tinge. "You had me worried."
"W-Worried?" Louise asks with a raised brow.
"When I was a kid," Michael explains, "my mother suffered from fainting fits. It wasn't anything serious back then, but the first few times I saw it happen it was pretty scary."
So that's why he waited beside her until she awoke!
"...Your mother? Really?"
"Mhm. She did, yeah." Michael waves his hand dismissively. "Anyhow, that was a long time ago." He walks around the foot of Louise's bed. Kneeling, he picks up her laundry basket. "Guess I'll wash these for you before I get some proper shut-eye."
"You can leave them until tomorrow if you'd like?" Louise offers.
"Nah, I'm good." Michael shakes his head. "Napped for God knows how long while you were out. So, I'm awake now. That, and I always slept late back home anyway."
Louise nods, quietly grateful for the familiar's willingness to do her laundry. "O-Okay."
"If you do need me, though, I'll be just out in the courtyard," Michael reminds her with a wink.
Louise smiles kindly. "Thank you."
"Mhm. G'night."
Michael heads for the door. He puts down the laundry, opens it up, steps out, then pulls the basket through before shutting it again.
"It seems the Young Sir cares for your wellbeing, Miss Louise," Toby observes from his windowsill perch.
"I think he's just being nice because he has to be," Louise assumes with a sigh. "I am his master, after all."
A white lie. To protect Louise from her deeper, more personal feelings.
"I am not so certain, young lady," the talking book counters.
"It doesn't matter either way. I-I'm his master and he's my familiar... that's it."
Toby's pages flicker and the grimoire turns towards the window.
"Your cheeks are most certainly flushed, Miss Louise," Toby notes. "He must be quite the familiar."
"T-Toby!"
"A mere observation and nothing more. I shall leave you be now, Miss."
"Right..."
With a flick of his pages, the sentient grimoire flops against one of the windowsill cushions.
Louise, too, lays down. Clutching a hand to her chest, she ponders what Toby said just now.
"He... cares about me?" Her face burns red-hot as she imagines Michael smiling at her. "...Idiot. I'm going to sleep."
Louise's eyes flutter closed.
She has a long day ahead of her tomorrow.
Osmond sits behind the desk and reads over the paper set out before him. Sighing, he takes a deep drag from his pipe and exhales a thick smoke ring. Miss Longueville stands beside him with folded arms and a stern expression.
"I suppose we have little choice but to cooperate," the headmaster comments with quiet displeasure. "This is a direct request from the palace, after all."
Osmond raises his eyes from the paper.
A tall man with fair skin, grey eyes, and black gelled hair parted on his left, stands over him. The gent sports a swirly mustache and curved sideburns on both of his sides.
"Unless you believe we at the Academy have any sway in the matter, Count Mott?" the elderly mage asks.
The tall man grins widely.
"I'm afraid not, Headmaster."
"Very well," Osmond relents.
The headmaster's familiar, a tiny mouse named Motsognir, scuttles onto the desk. Osmond pets it, then takes his quill from the inkpot and signs his signature.
"The royal family will have our full cooperation on this matter, as was requested."
"Very good," says Mott with a satisfied smile. He takes the signed paper, gives it a soft blow to dry the ink, and then folds it into a tube. "That simply leaves the personal matter I spoke with you about."
"I thought that would come next," Osmond follows with a tired sigh. "The young maid in our employ named Siesta, yes?"
"Correct," Mott affirms. "My niece was fond of the girl on her last visit here. We would very much like to offer her a place in our household. As a servant."
An obvious lie. Osmond feels it in his old bones. Mott intends to use the girl for personal reasons. Reasons likely of an... intimate nature.
Regardless, the headmaster concedes with a short nod.
"Of course, Count."
"Excellent. I'll have my men collect the girl and her possessions come morning."
"Very well."
Mott gives a haughty laugh and bows his head in a gentlemanly manner.
"Then it seems our business is concluded, Headmaster. I wish you and your assistant here well."
Osmond nods his head.
"I'm sure you'll excuse me for not seeing you off, Count. Age makes getting around harder than it once was."
"No need, no need," Mott assures him. "I know the way."
With another bow, the tall man heads out of the headmaster's office.
Miss Longueville clears her throat.
"Are you sure this is wise, sir?" she asks with a displeased glance toward the door. "Regarding the girl, I mean?"
"I'm afraid it was never our decision to make," Osmond points out. "Mott's high-ranking position within the royal court makes him rather influential."
The headmaster picks up his pipe and takes a second, longer drag. He then exhales.
"We must obey unless we want the academy to face repercussions."
Longueville nods, understanding.
"Is there anything else, sir?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact. With relation to the Count's visit, I would have you join our instructors in watching the vault where the Staff of Destruction is kept, when you have the time, of course. If a thief truly has her sights set on such a powerful artifact, then we must remain extra vigilant."
"I will see to it, sir. Still, do you honestly think what the Count said is true, about the thief Fouquet setting her sights on this place?"
Osmond leans back in his chair. He exhales a cloud of smoke and watches it dissipate in the air.
"Let us pray we are wrong. We can only hope Count Mott's warning proves false."
The headmaster closes his eyes.
"If the rumors are true, and Fouquet is on the move... it could spell serious trouble."
I stand beside a fountain in the middle of the school's rear courtyard. It is a large, circular area, with a tall, domed, glass ceiling overhead and a row of trees running down its center.
"Spot like this isn't half decent on the eyes," I say, scrubbing one of Louise's shirts. "Just a shame I'm doing this instead of sitting back and enjoying a nice smooth rum."
"Rum sounds lovely. I'd like to share a glass or two with you one day," a familiar girl decides.
I glance towards my left.
Siesta stands by the fountain with her gentle, welcoming smile. I didn't even hear her approach.
"Maybe I can get some for us," I say with a soft chuckle. "If they sell it here in Tristain, I mean."
Siesta's smile brightens.
"Oh, they do, Michael. The cafe my cousin works at in Lenore serves it every night."
At least something I enjoyed back home is here! Not sure how good it'll be or anything. But hey, I won't knock it until I've tried it.
"Lenore, huh?" I smirk. "Looks like another trip's on the cards sometime soon."
"Another...?" Siesta asks, pondering what I just said. "You've visited Lenore already?"
"Yep, sure have," I answer with a nod. "Louise and Montmorency went there earlier today. They took me along with them for the trip."
"Ah, I see. Did you enjoy it, Michael?"
"I did, yeah. The pastries were good, and I got a tome, too. So, no complaints. I mean, it was really different from home, but I guess I shouldn't be too surprised by that."
"Different from home? In what ways?" the maid wonders.
"Well, for one thing, they don't have cars," I point out. "The streets are cobblestoned. No modern shops, or electricity."
Siesta looks muddled by what I just said. "...Electricity, what's that?"
Okay, saying all of that aloud was silly of me. Different time and place, Michael. Different time and place.
"Never mind." I laugh and shake my head. "I'm being stupid."
"No, it's fine. I'm just curious. It sounds like you hail from somewhere very different to Tristain, Michael."
Siesta's saying so causes my chest to pull tight. Putting down Louise's shirt, I glance skyward at the world's two large white moons. Doing so makes my chest ache even more.
"Yeah... yeah, you're right. I really do."
Siesta's gaze follows mine.
"...Is it somewhere really far away?" she asks. "Somewhere beyond the sky, perhaps?"
Her question makes my chest ache.
"Y-Yeah." I look down at the ground. "Further away than you could even begin to imagine."
"I see," Siesta says. "In that case, I'm sure it was very difficult to part with everyone you cared about."
Hearing her words causes my eyes to dampen a little.
"Yeah," I murmur, voice low. "I miss my dad the most."
Siesta places a hand against her chest.
"Oh. I'm so sorry, Michael. I shouldn't have said that."
"N-No, it's fine," I assure her. "Guess I still dwell on it a little too much when it comes up."
Siesta touches a hand on my shoulder. "Would it help if I hugged you...?" she wonders shyly, her cheeks pinkening.
I can't help but smile.
"If it's not a bother."
Siesta bods and steps close to me.
"It would be my pleasure," she says tenderly, wrapping her arms around me.
I embrace her tightly, holding her close.
Our shared moment eases the pain inside. A small and lonely part of me doesn't want to let Siesta go.
After a few moments, Siesta parts from me and gently strokes my cheek.
"It's okay to feel sad sometimes, Michael. You'll feel better with time, though. I just know it."
Her words have me grinning like an idiot. "Thanks, Siesta. Really. I mean that."
She nods her head.
"You're welcome. Do you need a hand with the washing?"
"I'll be alright. Louise's laundry doesn't take all that long."
Siesta smiles.
"Then, would you like some company? Just while you finish, I mean."
I could get behind that idea.
"Sure. You can stay, if you'd like. I don't mind."
"Alright. Then, I'll sit beside you."
Her offer accepted, Siesta walks around the laundry pile and kneels beside me.
"Say, how would you like to join Marteau and me for dinner?" she adds, her expression falling the slightest bit. "...It's going to be my final night here, after all."
I raise a brow, honestly surprised by the revelation.
"Your last night? You going somewhere?"
Siesta nods her head.
"I am, yes. Lord Mott has requested I join his household. Therefore, I won't be working here any longer."
I blink.
"Mott, huh? What for?"
Siesta's face burns bright red. "I-It doesn't matter, Michael."
I sense I've touched a nerve. Best I back off.
"Alright then, Siesta, I'll have dinner with you," I agree. "It'd be my pleasure."
Siesta smiles gratefully.
"Thank you."
We talk about the academy a little more until I've finished Louise's washing. Afterward, I carry it to the drying room and leave it there to hang. The two of us then make our way toward the servant's kitchens once it's all hung up nicely.
"What was your father like, Michael?" Siesta asks, her eyes alight with curiosity.
I ponder the question for a few seconds.
"He was a good man," I eventually say. "An Engineering Officer on a cruise-" I pause.
Cruise ships don't exist in this world like they do mine. I'd better keep it simple.
"He worked on a ship," I decide. "A big one. And he was really kind. He took great care of me and Mum. He was the kinda guy with a big heart and plenty of charisma."
"Sounds like he was very special," Siesta observes warmly. "Did you work with him on the ship, too?"
"Not quite. Dad always encouraged me to go my own way." I chuckle, a faint smile forming on my lips. "That said, I became something of an entertainer between looking for other jobs."
There's no way in Hell I can explain a YouTuber to anybody in a world like this one. Settling on a simple entertainer will make things far, far easier.
"Entertainer?" Siesta repeats, looking perplexed.
"Yup. What about you, Siesta? Do you have any family around here?"
"I do. My cousin works at a cafe in Lenore. Jessica, the one I mentioned earlier. She's a year or so older than me."
"Oh, really?" I say, smiling. "That's good to know."
"Yes, it is. I visit her every chance I get," the maid explains with a fond look about her. "She's a bit flirtatious and outgoing, but very kind and protective of those she cares for."
"Sounds like a good person," I observe, grinning.
"She is. I love her a lot," Siesta agrees.
I nod, glad to hear it.
"Here's hoping I meet her sometime."
"I hope you can too, Michael."
Siesta and I arrive out front of the kitchens.
"After you, Michael," the maid offers with a smile, gesturing to the door.
I reach out, push the door open, and step inside.
The first thing that hits me is the delicious aroma. The scents of various foods cooking in several of the kitchen's ovens are magical through and through.
"Smells good," I say, glancing around.
There's a huge cast-iron stove and a big pot on top. Soup bubbles away inside of it.
"And there he is, our champion!" booms Marteau from across the room. He waves me over with a wide, cheery grin.
"Hey, Marteau," I greet the guy, smiling.
Siesta and I walk over to him.
"Good evening," she greets the chef politely.
"Ah, if it isn't our lovely Siesta! Good evening, lass," Marteau says with a wink. "I should've known you were the one bringing Michael here like this."
Marteau's already hearty broadens.
"I made the soup today," he brags. "And the bread, too. All from scratch. I'll just finish warming it through and then the three of us can enjoy a nice meal!"
"That sounds amazing, Marteau," I praise him.
"Why thank you, lad," the head chef replies proudly.
Siesta's gaze travels to the counter behind Marteau. There's a long, wooden cutting board covered with a whole selection of cheeses and crackers.
"You didn't forget about the crackers, did you?"
"Course not, lass," Marteau scoffs playfully. "Wouldn't want them going to waste. Especially since half of those noble brats didn't want them for supper this evening."
"They don't know what they're missing out on," Siesta sighs.
"That's a fact," Marteau says smugly. "Now, you two sit down. It's almost ready."
The head chef shoos us away from the stove. Siesta and I take our seats at a nearby table.
"He sure is passionate about his cooking," I chuckle.
"He is," Siesta agrees kindly. "I've seen him cook for hours on end."
Credit to the big fella. I usually only cook nice stuff on the rare occasion money isn't tight.
"I can imagine," I say, smiling back.
Marteau arrives with the steaming soup pot and sets it down on the table.
"Alright, here it is!" he declares with gusto.
The head chef places a bowl in front of each of us and presents us with a spoon and a chunk of bread.
"Bon appétit!"
...
The freshness of the vegetables in this soup is unlike anything I've ever tasted! Subtle hints of garlic and chicken mingle perfectly in the broth and tease my tastebuds into wanting more.
"This is delicious, Marteau," I say, spooning another helping into my mouth.
"Thank you," Marteau chuckles. "It's nice to see somebody who appreciates a good meal."
"Yes, it's exceptionally nice, Chef," Siesta adds with a wide smile.
Marteau beams at both of us.
"It's an old family recipe. Something of a specialty, if you will."
I raise a brow. "Family recipe, huh?"
"Aye," Marteau affirms with a firm nod. "My grandmother taught it to my mother, and my mother to me."
"So, it's a treasured dish," Siesta reasons.
"That it is," the head chef answers pridefully.
I dip a second hunk of bread into my soup bowl and gleefully bite a chunk out of it afterward. "Can't wait to try some of your other dishes, Marteau. Especially after the ones I had the other day."
"I'm glad you enjoyed them, lad," the head chef chuckles.
Siesta sighs gently, a hint of sadness behind her eyes. "I can hardly believe this will be my last meal here."
Marteau looks up from his soup.
"Ah, so you told him about the Count's invitation, then, lass?"
"I did," Siesta confirms.
Marteau nods.
The painful twinge in my chest from earlier returns - this time at the mention of Siesta's nearing departure.
"Is there seriously nothing we can do...?" I ask, silently hoping for a positive answer.
"I'm afraid not," the head chef sighs. "Siesta will be leaving tomorrow morning, with the Count's men. Us commoners have no means to protect ourselves against his kind."
Siesta smiles weakly at me. "It's okay, Michael. I'm happy Lord Mott gave me such an opportunity. He must see something special in me."
Something about the maid's persona seems plastic. I wouldn't be surprised if she's putting it on for the sake of easing my worries. God knows I saw enough plastic smiles while living with Anna.
"Yeah. I guess." My reply comes out as a half-hearted mutter.
Siesta reaches across the table and touches a hand against my forearm.
"Please, Michael, don't worry about me. You have Miss Louise to look after."
I sigh and nod.
"Alright, Siesta."
The head chef nods too, his expression hard.
"Aye, lad. I'm sure the two of you will be able to see one another again one day."
None of this sits right with me. Not for a damned second.
"Maybe."
"We will," Siesta guarantees, her tone firm but her eyes glassy. "I'm sure we will. So, let's enjoy tonight, together."
"Yes, lass, we should. Michael and I will be seeing you off tomorrow morning. Isn't that right, lad?"
I blink, surprised by the head chef's declaration.
"I... yeah, I'll be there," I agree, smiling thinly. "What time?"
"Just as dawn breaks," Siesta tells me. "I'm to wait for the Count's men by the front gates."
I nod firmly. "Sure thing, count me in."
"Then it's settled," Marteau decrees.
Siesta's cheeks burn. "Oh. O-Okay."
"Don't act so surprised, lass. You're one of our own, after all. Now, hurry up and finish that soup. You want to spend more time with Michael before tomorrow, don't you?
"Y-Yes. I-I'll hurry up, Chef."
We finish the remainder of our soup and wash the bowls and spoons in a nearby basin. Marteau bids us farewell shortly after and retires for the evening. Siesta and I then leave the kitchens and walk together toward the student dormitories.
...
"T-Thank you for spending the evening with me, Michael," Siesta utters softly, sweetly. "It means a lot to me."
"I should be thanking you," I counter, smiling gently. "You're a lovely woman, Siesta. Wouldn't trade the world for a friend like you."
Siesta's eyes shine with emotion.
"That's very kind of you to say, Michael."
I shrug. "It's only the truth. If anything, you've been seriously good to me since I arrived here."
A soft blush blossoms across the maid's cheeks.
"Oh. That's nice to hear. I'm glad I've made you feel at home."
"You have," I assure her.
Ny heart kicks hard at the sight of Siesta's big blue eyes glinting against the moonlight. God, I'd love to throw an arm around her and enjoy another hug. If she'll let me, that is.
No. Best I don't try to bridge this kinda gap. I'm not some love-struck idiot fresh out of high school.
That, and I'm-
"M-Michael..." Siesta whispers, inching nearer.
"W-What is it, Siesta?" I ask, a lump forming in my throat.
Siesta's eyes fall closed. She leans close and presses a warm, loving kiss against my cheek.
My heart thumps like a drum and my face burns. I don't have a damn clue what I should-
Dammit! So much for avoiding being a love-struck idiot.
"Sorry, Michael," the maid murmurs. "I know this is sudden. I'm just... not good at saying how I feel sometimes. A-And since I won't be seeing you again for a long time... if ever..."
I press a gentle finger to Siesta's lips and shake my head.
"Please, don't," I plead in a whisper. "Make me feel any more attached and I'll wanna fight for you, Siesta," I add, shifting my finger.
"Oh, Michael..." the maid utters, her eyes dampening.
"Don't cry. Please," I urge her. "Seeing you so sad stings..."
I sigh and run a hand through my hair.
Fuck it. I won't be seeing Siesta again, and she's been a real sweetheart. I'll take a chance and let my beat-up heart out of its box. Just this once.
I gently cup Siesta's cheeks and lean in close.
"I care about you a lot, Siesta. If anything, I'm gonna miss spending time with you like this. And the way I see it, you don't deserve to go off to some old man's house. You're better than that."
"B-But the Count-"
I shake my head.
"Doesn't matter. What matters is you, Siesta."
Having spoken my heart, I press my lips to the maid's cheek as she did me moments before.
Siesta tenses then wraps her arms around me and pulls me into a tight embrace.
All the pain and loneliness I've felt for so long lifts away for the moment.
Siesta holds me close to her chest as though I'm the most precious person in her world. Her compassion fills me fuller and fuller the longer she keeps me in her arms.
After a minute or two, we part and gaze at one another. I don't have a damn clue what I should say to her, either.
"Thank you, Michael. Thank you so much," Siesta utters, her voice barely above a whisper. "I needed that."
"I'm glad I could help," I tell her.
She smiles a genuine smile and nods.
"I-I Should go," she says. "It's getting late."
"Yeah, it is," I say, sighing.
"Good night, Michael. Have a safe trip to bed."
"Thanks. Goodnight, Siesta."
With one final loving gaze, Siesta walks off.
Siesta turns, rushes back over, and steals one last kiss on the cheek. She twirls around and dashes headlong toward the servant's quarters.
I touch a hand to where the girl's lips were moments before. Then, sighing deeply, I swing around and continue up the path toward the student dorms.
"...You take care, girl," I whisper whilst walking.
...
I enter the dormitory building and head up the stone spiral staircase toward the second floor.
"Wish some bright spark here would hurry up and invent the elevator," I mutter.
I reach the hall leading to Louise's room. Slipping my hands into my trouser pockets, I set off with my head hung low. A miserable feeling dwells in my stomach as I go.
"This sucks," I murmur, unable to stop thinking about poor Siesta. "England has laws again this kinda shit."
Guess I'll pen the whole situation as another stark reminder of how far from home I am.
"She's been a real comfort. It'll feel weird not seeing her around anymore."
Well, at least I'll get to see her one last time tomorrow.
I lift my eyes from the floor and force a thin smile.
Kirche stands by her bedroom door with folded arms. She wears yet another skimpy nightgown, this one a frilly purple number, and carries an expression of concern.
"And what is bothering my favorite dashing gentleman on this lovely evening, hmm?" she wonders, sparing me a smirk. "Has a certain young maid ensnared your heart?"
"You heard all that?" I ask, surprised.
"In a sense, darling, yes," Kirche affirms with a slow, deep nod. "I saw you both from my window."
I raise a brow and fold my arms. "And then you just happened to open said window and listen to our entire conversation, right?"
Kirche flashes a cheeky smirk.
"Oh, but of course, darling. What else did you expect?"
I shake my head, sighing. "I really can't catch a break around here, can I?"
Kirche steps closer and places a hand against my shoulder.
"It is alright, Michael. We are friends, are we not? And, as your friend, it is only natural I should listen in on you when you speak to a lady so fondly."
'Friends' is something of a stretch, considering Louise's feelings toward Kirche. Still, I won't be a dick and push her away for the sake of it. I'm not that sort of guy.
"You're not letting me off the hook, are you, Kirche?"
"Of course not," the redhead chuckles. "You're one of the first in Tristain to reject my advances, after all."
I laugh limply. Girl's persistent. I'll give her that.
"It'll take a lot more than you're offering to win me over, Miss von Zerbst," I tell her, smirking.
Kirche smiles widely.
"Ooh, now that is a challenge. For now, though, do regale me further. I wish to know which household this little maid of yours is leaving for."
Kirche hums alluringly and grabs my hand. "Come inside and we'll talk at length. It will make be far better for you than standing out in this drafty hall, I promise," she continues.
"Alright," I agree with a shrug. There shouldn't be too much bother. If Louise were awake at this hour then she probably would've come looking for me already.
"Good," the redhead declares. She then leads me into her bedroom.
The smell of perfume fills the air.
"Have a seat, darling," Kirche urges, gesturing toward a comfy-looking leather armchair by the window.
"I will. Thanks."
I make myself comfortable. Kirche flops onto her bed.
"Now, where shall I begin?" the tanned girl muses. "Ah, I remember. Your maid is leaving to enter a Count's service. I'm familiar with several Tristainian counts as it so happens. Which one is it, Michael?"
I fold one leg over the other and lean my head back into the chair.
"His name is Mott," I tell her with a hint of disdain.
"Mott...?" Kirche murmurs.
Her brow furrows, her lips twisting into a frown.
"I believe I've heard of him," she says after a moment. "Yes, he is quite the wealthy man. A palace messenger, if I recall. He has a manor on the outskirts of Lenore."
"Lenore, huh?"
So, Siesta won't be going too far, at least.
"Yes, darling. What's more, he already has a large amount of household servants at his disposal."
I straighten my posture and lean nearer to Kirche.
"Then why does he want Siesta?" I ask, worried suddenly.
Kirche smiles grimly.
"I believe his reason is clear, Michael."
I narrow my eyes, my heart picking up speed. "Which is...?"
"He means to make your dear Siesta his mistress," the redhead explains softly. "It's not unheard of, you know."
My blood begins to boil.
"So, you're telling me that's the real reason he's taking her in?"
Kirche nods gravely.
"Yes, that's exactly what I am saying."
"Bullshit," I spit. "Siesta's too sweet and pure to do that kind of thing."
"Perhaps she is. But her wishes and desires hold little sway in this matter. A noble's word is absolute."
My skin crawls. "...Disgusting."
"I won't disagree with you, darling. But such is the way of things. The nobility has the power, and the common folk are subject to them. Mott is perverse, I'm told. However, he is also powerful."
My fists clench. "That doesn't mean a fucking thing. Another world or not, I can't let this slide."
"Oh, Michael. Don't be foolish, now," the Germanian advises me with a slightly stern look. "You know nothing of the Count. You are an outsider and an unknown at that."
"Don't care. I can't sit here knowing Siesta's going to be a plaything," I resolve angrily, standing from the chair.
Kirche gets up from her bed and saunters over to me.
"I won't stop you. But I do advise caution, Michael."
I give her a firm nod.
"Thanks for the warning. I'll bear it in mind."
The girl's expression softens. "See that you do." She laughs gently, raising a hand to her lips.
"Something funny?" I ask, my tone the slightest bit short because I'm frustrated.
Kirche gives me a knowing look.
"No, not really, dear. I simply feel I have a good reading of your character now. That's all."
Color me curious.
"And what sort of person is that?" I ask.
Kirche's brown eyes shine.
"The sort that's willing to give a great deal for those he cares for. And I'd wager a guess that, at the very least, you've grown to care deeply for our lovely Siesta. Am I wrong?"
I'm a little surprised, truth be told. Kirche's perceptive.
"You're right," I admit, looking the redhead in the eyes. "I do care about her. Not in the romantic sense or anything, but still... Kind and genuine friends are hard to come by. I'll always do right by someone if they do right by me. It's how I am."
"I can see that," Kirche notes with a fond smile. "You're a very caring man, Michael."
"I wasn't always like this," I reveal with a smirk. "Had a very comfy upbringing as a kid. It left me kinda spoiled and self-centered."
Kirche looks amused.
"Truly? So, you were a spoilt brat once, hmm?"
"Yeah, I was. Both my folks had very good jobs and I was very comfortable."
A deep-rooted pain grips my chest. Something I've kept buried for an exceptionally long time.
Sighing, I shake my head. "Another tale for another time, Kirche."
"Oh? That sounds like a very intriguing story, Michael."
I smile wryly.
"Sure is." I tap a finger over my heart. "It's staying in here for the time being, though. Back to Siesta. And I want you to be honest with me here, how are my chances of getting her back?"
"Very slim," Kirche tells me.
I grit my teeth.
"How so?"
"Your best chance would be to appeal to the Count and convince him otherwise."
"And if I can't do that...?"
"Then your next best hope is to petition the Queen or Princess Henrietta," the redhead reveals.
"That's it?" I ask, shocked by the limited options open to me.
Kirche nods, her face grave. "I'm afraid so. You cannot simply resort to brute force, Michael. Mott is a nobleman who wields great influence in Tristain. Raising a hand against him would not only endanger your wellbeing; it would also hold consequences for Louise, as well."
"Right, because Louise is my official owner, or whatever." I roll my eyes.
Kirche chuckles, amused.
"Yes, darling. And, any grave actions committed by yourself would reflect badly on her noble house."
I let out a deeply irritated groan. "God, all of this nobility shit's so frustrating. And here I thought my country used to be bad in the olden days with its social class crap."
It doesn't sound like I have many options here.
No, actually, wait a second. I might have something. It's a very long shot. It's worth a try, though.
"How about I duel him, Kirche?" I ask, snapping my fingers and igniting a tiny, flickering ember at my fingertip. "I win, he has to let Siesta go. He wins, he can have her."
"You're a bold man, Michael. Foolish, perhaps, but bold," the redhead asserts, grinning. "You should know that, in all likelihood, Mott will use his magic against you. What's more, he is a square-class mage. Facing him in combat will likely mean the end of your life."
I can't believe she just said that. Closing my palm, I put out my fledgling flame.
"Wait a minute. Mages have different classes, now? Like, how?"
Kirche smirks.
"Why, of course, darling. A dot-class mage wields a single element. Line mages can call upon two. Triangle class may use three. And, lastly are the square class mages."
"Four, right?" I ask, following where Kirche's going with this.
"Yes, darling," the redhead answers with a grin. "The four elements."
"What about the pentagon, Kirche? What class would that be?"
The redhead's grin widens.
"There is a fifth element, dear. That would be the void. However, there have only been a handful of recorded void mages in our world's history. No more than four or five, I believe."
"Really?" I ask, surprised.
"Yes. One can say it is a very rare talent," Kirche confirms with a chuckle. "Now, what will you do, Michael? Do you still intend to intervene given all we have discussed?"
"I'm not sure," I sigh. "But I do know one thing."
"Oh, and what's that, darling?"
I turn for the door and place a hand on the knob.
"I'll be seeing Siesta off tomorrow morning, whatever happens. Then, I'll make my decision."
"A sound course of action. See you on the morrow, then," the redhead says.
"Yeah, Kirche. I'll be seeing you."
"Oh, Michael, before you leave," the Germanian calls out.
I stall for a second and glance back "What's up?"
"You truly are a handsome man, you know," Kirche sighs sweetly. "To that end, you may count on my support in all of this, whatever you decide to do."
I offer a small smile as thanks. "Appreciate it. Take care, now."
"Likewise, darling," Kirche bids me, a little but hopeful smile curving her lips. "I wouldn't want you doing something rash and putting your dashing self in harm's way."
I shake my head, chuckling.
"Alright, Miss von Zerbst. Have a good night, yeah?"
"And the same to you, Michael. Sweet dreams."
"Thanks."
I close Kirche's door and make for Louise's room.
Looks like I have a choice ahead of me. It's a big one, too.
...
I open Louise's bedroom door as quietly as I can and tiptoe inside. The moon shines through the window and lights up the room in an ethereal white glow.
Louise lays atop her bed in her nightgown, asleep. Her arms and legs are spread apart like a starfish with the covers kicked off, leaving her body exposed to the elements.
"You'll get cold, Princess," I whisper, shaking my head.
I fetch the covers and drape them over Louise. I tuck her in so that her limbs are covered and she won't throw them off in the night.
Satisfied, I move around the other side of the bed, take off my cloak and trousers, and flop down onto my mattress bed.
I roll over and look across to the bedroom door with a small frown. "I'll figure something out for you, Siesta," I pledge diligently.
Snapping my fingers, I ignite a tiny flame at my fingertips and gaze thoughtfully at the flickering orange orb. "You can count on it."
Blowing out the flame, I close my eyes.