The Last Days of Scarlett Foster

Sophia Tiscardia imagined an egg at her back. A small fragile thing making space between her spine and the chair. She consciously kept her shoulders relaxed and her ankles together, affecting a long-practiced posture that she had almost forgotten. The pose wasn’t in and of itself uncomfortable, and if it hadn’t been for years of joyously relaxed standards, she probably wouldn’t have even thought of it as stiff. What was inescapable, however, was the suffocating feeling of childishness it evoked within her.

Which was ironic, she thought, as all these practiced gestures were carefully crafted to exude confidence and control, without ever appearing arrogant. But when she had walked into the archive, her chin so slightly raised, she could practically feel a book balancing on the top of her head. It was how they made her practice this posture when she was a little girl.

If Stanley Callis, Lord Chamberlain of the Royal Household, spotted any slip-up in Sophia’s bearing, he certainly didn’t express it. Which he of course shouldn’t, but that hardly reassured her. In fact, it made Sophia even more self-conscious. What would this stiff specter whisper to the rest of the palace if he deemed her to have forgotten her manners?

“The state of Aechyr appears to be in flux,” he was saying in measured, deliberate tones. He sat opposite from Sophia in the thick air of the secluded room at the back of the library. The faint scent of leather-bound tomes was in the air, somehow seeping out of the carefully sealed shelves and drawers that preserved these exquisite volumes for study by aspiring scholars. On its own, it was an intriguing part of the Academy she had never visited. But with Lord Callis’s gray stare on her, the atmosphere made her feel like an exhibit.

“Where once uncertainties posed no issue, they now are intolerable,” he concluded gravely. His thin voice had the strange effect of being politely ambiguous in tone. You could never say definitively that he was inflecting distaste, but in Sophia’s memories, she could always detect the disapproval.

Be fair to the man, she ordered herself. You don’t know that’s what he’s thinking.

“I can appreciate that you’re trying to be respectful,” Sophia replied carefully after a moment, “but honestly, I don’t know what you mean. I’ve already agreed to…” she tried to find a polite way to phrase the unhappy circumstance, “…resume my position months ago. So if I may, Lord Callis, what is this about?”

He didn’t move, and yet Sophia was convinced she could hear an internal “tut tut” from the gaunt man. If she was generous, she would chalk it up to his unfortunately stern appearance. High cheekbones, a long, thin nose, and a high forehead with combed back silvery whisps that were thinner than she remembered. The spectacles she knew he needed were nowhere in sight, and she had the uneasy feeling that they weren’t necessary for him to read her.

The effect certainly was not mutual. Despite how firmly the Lord Chamberlain was etched in her childhood memories, the only impression she had ever gotten of the man was of faint dissatisfaction. How, precisely, she had incurred such a reaction was always a mystery. And whatever he was alluding to now escaped her completely.

Of course, it was obvious that Aechyr had some issues. All countries did, of course, but even so, the points of contention in Aechyr were becoming more pronounced. Most relevant to the Crown being Senator Charles Becker and his entourage, or worse, the People’s Front Nine.

Was that what this was about? A security concern?

Sophia had to admit that the Front was frightening. They hadn’t been bold enough to take action against any major figures, but armed revolutionaries with an anti-monarchist agenda… she had never imagined it could happen in Aechyr. She personally suspected that it had to be an imported ideology. The fact that her own family’s foundation was unusual when it came to monarchies didn’t help. But on the other hand, she was also positive that it was her mother’s steady hand and the lack of scandals which kept the Front and even Becker’s less strident faction from gaining ground. Then again, her brother had skirted the line of dangerous comments a few too many times to be reasonable. And she hated that she had to ruminate on her family’s image. Soon enough, her own words and actions would be scrutinized as thoroughly. It would be far too soon.

Simon’s perceived improprieties had been the excuse for the on-campus Becker supporters to rally now and again. The Charmies were a constant thorn in Sophia’s side. These last precious months where she could just be a normal citizen were constantly interrupted by these obnoxious students who made their presence unavoidable. And it wasn’t just their outspoken attitudes, they had some silly code that insisted they dress in recognizable variants of the unofficial school uniform. So even when Sophia avoided political discussions (as she made a point of doing), a simple glance across a courtyard or down a hall could give her an instant visual reminder that Becker’s burnished bile was alive and well in the country.

But the Charmies weren’t a physical threat to her, and she couldn’t imagine members of the Front at the Academy. For one, knowledge of her presence here was extremely well-protected. She’d been out of the public eye for over eight years now, and had the best fake identity money and power could afford (at least as far as the paper trail went). For another, she was painfully aware that she had twenty-four hour security lurking around her at all times.

At the private secondary school she had attended, it used to be a game of hers to try and spot her undercover protectors. It had been easier then, since it was a more controlled environment. Unfortunately, it hadn’t been a very fun game. Every time she spotted someone that didn’t really belong, it just reminded her that she wasn’t entirely out of the cage. Which of course triggered the usual downpour of thoughts – she shouldn’t feel like she’s in a cage, so many people had it worse than her, how awful could she be to feel bad about having such a privileged life, and so on.

So by the time she had arrived at Aechyr Academy, she had stopped trying to spot the Royal Guard that no doubt surrounded her. Still, every once in a while, she thought she caught a naval instructor or other student acting oddly, and the thought flashed into her mind: are they here because of me? She was sure there were many around her that she still hadn’t identified, and she tried to ignore that thought.

But now, considering the matter, their omnipresence was oddly to her benefit. It seemed ludicrous that she could be in any danger while constantly surrounded by protection, undercover, and with the Front never having attempted anything nearly as bold as an attack on a member of the royal family. Was Stanley Callis being overprotective? Paranoid? That didn’t seem quite right, but his enigmatic features kept Sophia from coming to a conclusion.

“There remains still some ambiguity as to the details of that arrangement,” the Lord Chamberlain explained in an almost airy tone. Too late, Sophia recognized a long soliloquy was being prepared. Callis was an expert in delivering carefully worded and intricately long nothings. “It is a most unusual circumstance, unprecedented, really. There are those whose apprehensions—”

“Please, I have classes,” she interrupted. Her polite tone did little to smooth over the breach in decorum. Stanley’s lips twitched downwards, almost imperceptibly. She forced her own irritation not to show. It was his insistence that they meet with little warning. And to meet on campus of all places? A little notice and she’d be happy (well, she’d be willing) to meet at any of a dozen secure and secret locations where they could talk for hours. Instead, she had to duck her friends and make lame excuses for a few minutes to talk with him, and he couldn’t do her the courtesy of getting to the point.

But she kept it all inside. It wouldn’t do any good to boil over now. Grace is a most potent, and unrecognized strength, she reminded herself.

“That, in essence, is the concern,” Lord Callis replied. “There is a growing opinion that Aechyr would be best served by your return to the palace, so that you might be prepared for your eventual duties.”

Sophia blinked twice. She concentrated on her posture and did not narrow her eyes. She had expressed before that she would like to at least complete the semester, and the Queen was well aware of this. The thought fueled a sudden suspicion.

“Tell me something, is this opinion shared among the rest of the court, Lord Callis?” she asked abruptly.

You shouldn’t have said that, a voice in her head told her. But she ignored it. If she couldn’t consult with the Lord Chamberlain, then what good was his position?

“There are many who have expressed this sentiment,” Callis answered.

She cracked.

“Stanley. Why did you come all the way out here?”

His face hardened. It wasn’t her imagination this time.

“Your Highness, I would ask that you observe the proper address,” he said tersely.

Sophia stiffened. She kept her mouth closed firmly, so that none of the retorts that sprang to mind would escape and make the situation worse.

Callis seemed to understand the point wasn’t worth pursuing, and so he added, “It’s time to come home, your Highness. If that is your ultimate intention.”

If.

“For heaven’s sake, I already agreed,” Sophia nearly snapped. She tried to restrain her frustration, but she couldn’t believe this. “How many times do I have to say, ‘yes’? This hasn’t been easy for me, but can’t you take my answer for what it is? This isn’t a… a whim!”

“Forgive me, your Highness, but it remains unclear as to the benefit of postponing your preparation for the Crown,” the old man said in his usual evasive yet pointed manner. She felt the stab.

“But this is preparation!” Sophia protested. “I’m learning at one of the best schools in the country, meeting new people – our people – the people I’ll be dealing with, and seeing what Aechyr is really like. I’m going to get as much of that as I can before burying myself in the palace.”

And it was true. She had never felt like she had really understood the country, or just people, as much as in her brief time on campus. It had been a whirlwind of excitement, and not just because of the beginning of year jitters. Everyone she met seemed strangely open and earnest. These people wanted to be here, to change the world. It was honestly kind of adorable.

It was a sharp contrast to the stiff etiquette and careful words of the palace. Every day, Sophia was astounded at how casually everyone offered their opinions. Honestly, crudely, sardonically, each in their own way, and very few of them were shy about it. It was kind of true in her secondary school, but even that was somehow different. That had been a secluded retreat for the upper classes, and she had always attributed their demeanor to a different kind of privilege than what she had experienced. Somehow, she assumed that money bought that attitude.

And it was a little distinct from what she found at the Academy. She still hadn’t decided what words to stick to the distinction, but the way Isiah’s magnetism held a group together here wasn’t the same as how Daphne’s glamor had accumulated a clique back there. Both student bodies had a confidence that was alien to Sophia, but they weren’t interchangeable.

Well, not everyone here had confidence, that was one difference. But that, too, was refreshing in a way. It proved how genuine the people around here were. Even those that were uncertain weren’t wearing a mask or putting on airs. It was delightful in that sense. Sophia finally felt like she could stretch her legs and soon found a natural place on campus among genuine friends.

Isiah was a great natural leader, who she wished she could emulate in so many ways. But the self-assuredness that he possessed, well, she knew somewhere deep down she could never channel. Especially because he made it look so easy. Michael was hilarious and was still endearing even when he acted like a buffoon. What she liked most about his company would be the off-the-wall comments he would interject with, often at the most inappropriate times. They were usually stupid in and of themselves, and if uttered in the palace would no doubt earn some degree of contempt. But here, they were wild conversation starters that at least made her mind go down rabbit holes she never would have considered before. And Denisha was always full of energy in a way that pumped up whoever was around her. There was always something to do or someone to talk to when she was around, which made even the mundane seem exciting.

They had opened her eyes to everyone around her. Sophia was fascinated by everyone she passed in some way, imagining stories of who they really were. She kept all that to herself, of course, but it made everything feel so alive. And at the Academy, there were plenty of students from all over the country and beyond that she would glean tidbits about, each and every one of them fascinating.

For example, an intriguing exchange in her Civics class. That course was always interesting in that it gave her a view of how the average person saw the country. To her, a lot of what was covered was old hat, so it often took her by surprise what others didn’t know or found baffling. But even by that standard, she hadn’t expected the response Professor Martinez got when he called on an American student. He had asked about the benefits of a democracy over a monarchy, an uncomfortable subject for Sophia to see debated casually.

But the boy had replied, “You get the leader that you deserve. If the candidate wasn’t trustworthy, it was still your choice to elect them. If you’re lazy about it, then you can’t be surprised who you wind up with. If you give away your power, your vote, you have no one to blame but yourself.”

It was a fascinating, if cynical outlook. It had come from a guy with dark blonde hair who had always worn sunglasses, though he never looked happy about it. Given that the professors never made trouble for him over that point, she had to guess there was some reason he needed them. A medical condition? None that she could think of, but he wouldn’t have gotten away with it without remark if it weren’t something like that.

Whatever the case, this strange anomaly of an American had just thrown out something she had never considered before. Sometimes she felt as if everyone in Aechyr drooled over the prospect of democracy. Even though she knew that wasn’t true intellectually, she couldn’t help but feel uneasy when the debate would roll around. She had a secret conviction that her family’s perch was actually unjustified.

She had her own theories about the symbolic value of a family representing the nation – creating a sense of unity as if somehow everyone belonged to the same extended line. But listening to all the different responses and seeing the different people was an experience that the palace never had – could never have – given her. Even as she recoiled at the thought, she had to ask – if she was going to become the symbolic mother to everyone in Aechyr, then surely she had to know her symbolic children, right?

“Even so, perhaps it would be prudent to continue your education in an environment nearer to Her Majesty,” Lord Callis suggested sternly. “Time is short, after all.”

Sophia felt the blood drain from her face.

“She’s gotten worse?” she asked in a whisper. The last time she had visited her mother, there hadn’t been a change, but the condition had no cure…

Stanley shuffled slightly in his seat. “That’s not precisely what I meant—”

“You–!” Sophia gasped, her eyes going wide. “How dare you! You’d use my mother’s condition as… as a ploy? You’re that upset that I’m, what? Spending time in the real world? Not refining my table manners? I’m so sorry that I’ve been a disappointment to you, my Lord Chamberlain, but I’m not going to be some useless doll. I’m staying right here, and when I decide to return—when, not if—I’ll make sure you know.”

She stopped worrying about the egg, or the book, and shot straight to her feet. Without waiting to register his reaction, she turned her back on Stanley Callis and stormed to the heavy door sealing away the antique manuscripts.

***

A silent storm followed Sophia in the days that followed. Try as she might to slip back into being Scarlett, her mind buzzed with the intrigue of the palace waiting to swallow her whole. Naturally, Isaiah noticed and asked what was wrong. She placated him with a comment about the debate team. Only afterward did it occur to her with a pang that she would have to abruptly abandon her duties to that org one of these days.

She had to face reality. Her time in the real world was winding down. Her blissful days of freedom were numbered. Blissful? She shook her head at the thought. A slow, seeping regret pooled in her stomach. How much time had she wasted? She realized it had only been the last year or so that she had finally relaxed. That finally, what might have been her real self had bubbled to the surface when she hadn’t been looking. And somehow, she had convinced herself that this magical golden era would never end. An era that was only now obviously and painfully short.

That bitter pill made it hard to enjoy the usual chatter with the group or to absorb what was said in her classes. She found more and more her attention drifting to her sketchbook, where her unconscious mind produced prompts for her pen to explore. Slowly depicting and arranging symbols here and there that she tried to draw meaning out of. For all of the faults of the institutions around it, her family was the beating heart of the country. She yearned more than ever to be able to see it through someone else’s eyes. To understand that sort of abstract love and loyalty directed at the shadow of her mother.

“–huh, Scarlett?” Denisha asked. Sophia blinked. It was morning in the great courtyard and she had again lost track of the conversation. A minute ago it had been on naval cadets and their merits as party guests. Yet again, Sophia’s mind had been pulled to her incomplete drawings before she realized it.

“Yeah, Scarlett, aren’t they?” Mike teased with his usual lazy grin.

Sophia felt her face suddenly redden. This was a joke. She had drifted off at just the wrong time, and had no idea what the context was. But judging by Mike’s stupid expression, there were landmines around any possible response.

“Uh…” was all she could manage to say.

“The dress uniforms,” Denisha clarified, taking pity on her and elbowing Mike. “They look snazzy, right?”

“Oh,” Sophia said, realizing what Michael was trying to frame her hesitation and blushing as. Glaring at him, she said stiffly, “Not a big fan of uniforms, personally.”

“Prefer the rag-tag rebel type?” Michael suggested, chuckling softly to himself.

“Shoot,” Isaiah interrupted, glancing up from his phone. “We gotta go, man.”

“We have time for an answer,” Michael said, even as he started to follow his buddy. “It’s just one word,” he said towards Sophia.

“To be continued, Michael,” Denisha answered instead as the boys raced off towards class. Then she glanced towards Sophia. “What’s eating you?”

“Nothing,” she deflected. Glancing around the courtyard, she realized it was getting late. “I should be going, too.”

Denisha looked worried and said, “You know we were just joking, right?”

Sophia smiled slightly, even though she didn’t feel it. “Michael can keep guessing what works for me to the end of time, so long as he isn’t disappointed with the answers.”

That seemed to satisfy Denisha, and she set off with a wave, giving Sophia a chance to pull up her bag and re-orient herself. It took a moment to remember she didn’t have class for a while. No, this was the day of her usual meeting with Dean Foster. She was pretending to be his niece, which gave an excellent excuse to speak with him regularly. The meetings could cover any facet of her stay at the Academy, and were usually short and amicable. She winced as it occurred to her that today’s might be an exception. She slowly started making her way towards the admin building.

But she had hardly taken two steps when she saw the commotion. Charmies and the boy from her Civics class – Kennedy. Before she could take in what they were talking about, she saw one Charmy reach for Kennedy’s face. Sophia stopped short. What was–?

Kennedy grabbed the Charmy’s arm and started swinging at him. Four bodies collided into a whirlwind of violence. Horror and triumph wrestled each other for dominance in her heart. Part of her was furiously elated at seeing Kennedy’s first strike hit the Charmy square on the chin. But it was quickly suppressed by the shock of seeing such a display on campus.

She glanced around, looking for someone to intervene, and saw a smattering of other students watching the brawl. Someone rushed past the onlookers and dove into the scrap. Sophia had to do a double-take at that. Again, thoughts competed for her attention. Another student was standing up to the Charmies and giving them what they deserved, part of her crowed. This is going to turn into a full-scale riot if this keeps up, another part squeaked.

But before she could see which would win out, a naval instructor came roaring in and pulled the two factions apart. Kennedy and his friend passed something between them. His sunglasses! There was something written on them – she couldn’t make it out. Clearly embarrassed, Kennedy tried to wipe it away.

Meanwhile, the instructor berated both sides with the same fervor, which put the conflict in her mind to an end just as as easily as he had ended the physical confrontation. That part of her that crowed at the Charmies defeat now bellowed in outrage. Did he not see that the Charmies had done something to Kennedy’s glasses? The glasses he needed to see? She felt another surge of heat to her face, but the lettering had finally been wiped away, and the instructor was none the wiser.

As she watched them being led away, her mind stuttered, repeating the unbelievable circumstances several times before something useful popped into her consciousness. The dean. There was something she could do.

***

Kennedy walked out of the dean’s office with his head hung low. Sophia’s stomach churned. It was bad, then.

He didn’t look at anything in the waiting area, and was almost out of the room before she could call out to him with a simple, “Hey.”

He paused, and turned around with an unreadable expression behind his now spotless sunglasses. Sophia walked up, glancing at him for any sign of injury. To her relief, she didn’t see anything.

Kennedy finally responded with a slightly awkward, “Uh, hey.”

Nervous, Sophia realized. His expression is nervous. But she brushed past it – she had a plan, at least when it came to the dean.

“How are you? Are you alright?” she asked.

“Uh, I’m alright,” he replied, confirming her quick visual scan.

“Right, that’s good,” Sophia noted, bracing herself to accept any good news in case her efforts didn’t pan out. And on that note, “What’d the dean say?”

“So, I—” he began, rubbing his neck before confessing, “I messed up.”

Sophia didn’t accept the concession. Her instincts recoiled at the idea. She tilted her head as she tried to make out more of his expression. But it read as honest contrition.

“I guess,” she finally allowed. But she also had to push back a little. “I saw what happened,” she continued, and containing her heat as best she could, said bluntly, “honestly, they were looking for a fight.”

“I threw the first punch,” he answered dully, matter-of-factly.

It was kind of irritating. Why wasn’t he defending himself now?

“Yes, technically,” Sophia admitted calmly before pressing, “But those guys kind of had it coming.”

“You know them?” Kennedy asked, surprised.

Sophia saw this would be a difficult subject and did the best she could to skim over it.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?” she finally inquired carefully.

“Sure, go ahead,” he said, a smile finally on his face. “I’m an open book.”

Sophia paused carefully before she asked the question. She really only had speculation and didn’t want to seem insensitive, but she couldn’t think of a better way to phrase it.

“I don’t mean to pry,” she said slowly, “but do you really need those to see?”

“These things?” He asked. Abruptly, he took them off, giving Sophia her first glimpse at his milky-white eyes. She restrained a gasp that threatened to escape despite her suspicions. He, naturally, didn’t notice the motion, and twirled the shades around before putting them back.

“Yeah. It’s a rare condition,” he concluded. “Head injury.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Sophia said sincerely. That would explain why she hadn’t heard of the condition. A bad accident of some sort. Despite her curiosity, she resolved not to pry further. Despite his flippant attitude, she thought she detected a hint of reservation in his choice of words.

“Nah, don’t be,” he waved it off. And then, in an affected casual tone, assured her, “It happens. You know, with a guy like me, always bonking my head.”

He whapped his palm lightly to his skull and joked, “Bound to be a little brain damage.”

Sophia laughed reflexively, but felt a jolt of sympathy. That was hidden pain, no doubt about it. That’s why he wasn’t defending himself, wasn’t it? Embarrassment, or guilt, or blaming himself. It wasn’t right.

“Don’t say that,” she ordered as gently as she could, her arm already reaching out for his and pulling it away from his head. He let her pull it away from the gesture he had been performing.

She quickly searched for the right words, and grabbing the closest thing, tried to assure him, “I doubt you’ve done that much. Honestly, you don’t seem like the type.” Not if what she had glimpsed was the true man. He might not even be aware of it, but she suspected that doubt was smothering his intelligence, his potential.

“Miss Foster?”

Out of nowhere, Miss Clarkson, the dean’s secretary cut into the scene, announcing, “Alan will see you now.”

Sophia pushed aside a fresh wave of annoyance. Be polite, she doesn’t deserve less. She thanked the secretary kindly and quickly so that she could turn back to Kennedy.

But there wasn’t enough time for anything else. The guy had bumped into the wrong crowd, and bad circumstances were about to shunt him off campus. At least, if she couldn’t do anything about it. And she resolved instantly that she would. Someone would fight for him.

“Well,” she began her final pitch to him, “if you do decide to stick around, why don’t you come by this Saturday? Some friends of mine are throwing a welcome-slash-welcome-back party now that everyone’s settled in. It’s something of a tradition. You’d have to try really hard to get in trouble there. You can make some new friends, see that not all of us bite.”

He seemed surprised. Which from what she had observed so far, wasn’t surprising.

“Uh, sure,” he responded. “But I don’t think it’s up to me whether I stay.”

You’ve still got a chance to fight, she said silently. But out loud, all she asked was, “Isn’t it?”

And with that, she couldn’t wait any longer. With a brief, enigmatic smile to Kennedy, she turned and walked swiftly to the dean’s office. She could keep the door from closing on Kennedy, and with any luck, he’d step through. It wasn’t much, but at least she could do a little good before she had to say goodbye to Aechyr Academy.

***

Dean Alan Foster squirmed a little in his comfortable office chair. The small-ish man always seemed uncomfortable if a conversation with Sophia went off-script.

“Begging your pardon, your Highness,” he began, “but may I inquire… I was under the impression that there were no other witnesses to the beginning of this confrontation.”

“Alan, since when have I been ‘your Highness’ to you?” Sophia asked, taken aback a little. “Just ask your question.”

“To answer yours first,” the dean replied, still not easing the muscles in his shoulders, “since the Academy has received numerous inquiries from the palace as to the timeline of your return and confirmation as Crown Princess. It seemed to me at this stage that a continuation of our casual etiquette is no longer appropriate.”

Sophia’s heart sank. Another bit of her delicate illusory life withered away.

“I’m not the Crown Princess yet,” she almost pleaded. “And honestly, it’s not like I’m going to report you to someone for talking to me the way we always have.”

“Nevertheless…” the dean said, trailing off without elaboration.

This is silly. He’s acting like this because he is in awe of the institution of the crown, but that same awe is now making him quiver. He’s seen the reality of who I am, of what I’m like. Is it because he’s an administrator – wrapped up in a world of rules and protocols – that he’s like this? Or is this really the effect my family has on the average Aechrian?

Sophia pondered the issue for a moment, but no amount of thought would thaw the growing lump of ice in her chest. It really was over.

She sighed, barely hiding it from the Dean. This was another goodbye.

Ever so slightly, she shifted her posture. Her ankles came together again, and her spine straightened.

“Very well, Dean Foster,” she began in a suddenly composed tone, “I’d be happy to discuss arrangements with yourself and the Lord Chamberlain for my return. However, I would like to conclude the other topic of our discussion before we move on to that.”

“The incident in the courtyard?” Dean Foster asked, his own posture stiffening in response.

“Yes, exactly,” Sophia nodded. “I believe you were inquiring as to what I personally witnessed, is that correct?”

“If your Highness would be so gracious as to elaborate,” the Dean replied cautiously, but eagerly.

“I witnessed the three men in gray reach towards…”

“Mr. Frost?” the Dean suggested meekly.

“Yes, towards Mr. Frost’s face. Then he struck the first of the men in gray. After the altercation, I noticed that Mr. Frost’s glasses had been vandalized in some way. I believe this should be sufficient to establish who the aggressors were.”

The Dean broke eye contact for a moment, staring off into the corner over his wiry spectacles.

“That…” he slowly let out, “would seem to be circumstantial evidence for that conclusion, yes.”

“Is there some other factor to consider, Dean Foster?” Sophia asked. She could practically see that he wanted to squirm again.

He cleared his throat and seemed to steel himself. “It is unfortunate that the parties involved did not attest to these facts,” he said. “I would prefer not to involve your Highness in an arbitration procedure in which each witness’s or participant’s words must be weighed against the other. This may be immaterial, however, as it is general practice of the Academy to enforce a no-tolerance policy.”

“Is it not Aechyr Academy’s policy to also protect those with disabilities from discrimination?” Sophia asked as mildly as she could muster.

“It is,” the dean hastily agreed. “However, to determine if that is the case, it would be best practice to hold an arbitration. And with respect, I believe such a process may be awkward for everyone involved. Nevertheless, all parties have a right to such proceedings. It was my inclination to issue the appropriate punishments first, and only initiate a review if it was requested.”

Too much to hope that Kennedy would take that initiative, Sophia thought bitterly.

“If I may,” she began tentatively, “while I recognize that the operation of the Academy is hardly my domain, I might have a proposal.”

The dean suddenly seemed to brighten. “Given that your Highness is unfortunately, albeit tangentially, involved in this situation, I would be happy to hear any suggestions that may resolve this difficulty.”

“Thank you, Dean Foster. In that case, might I recommend that arbitration be waived in favor of more lenient consequences?”

The dean considered, appearing to be waging some sort of internal battle.

“Without an inquiry as to the matters her Highness has brought to my attention, such reduced consequences would have to apply to all parties equally,’ he concluded with a hint of unease.

Dean Foster was a stickler for procedure. Sophia wasn’t happy about the suggestion, either – it was far too lenient to the Charmies. On the other hand…

“Instead of expulsion, what you would propose?” Sophia inquired.

“A semester’s suspension and disciplinary notice.”

“One month,” Sophia countered. “Plus the notice.”

Dean Alan Foster looked at her, startled. He tried to conceal a mix of emotions as he took in her words. No doubt he was wondering how he was supposed to haggle with the Crown Princess. Sophia felt the smallest twinge of sympathy for the man, but he had chosen to change the dynamic.

“And then, if you would like,” she added as an offer to the man who had helped her, even distantly, “you may inform the Lord Chamberlain that I will return to the palace at the conclusion of the Crystal Ball.”

Another flutter of emotions, again too quick to entirely pick out. Sophia thought, however, she could see the average of them settle towards acceptance.

“Thank you, your Highness,” he finally said stiffly. “As for that first matter, it may be reasonable to limit the suspension to a single month so long as it is understood that any subsequent infraction will lead immediately to expulsion. Such unorthodox procedures would demand nothing less.”

“Of course, Dean Foster,” Sophia said agreeably, “I trust you know what is best for the Academy.”

***

Sophia glanced out the window to the posturing wolf on the pillar marking the Southeast quadrant of the Academy. It bathed in the sunlight, looking proud and at ease. She only felt a fraction of the pride the statuette depicted. But it was something.

She hurried her pace towards the outside. She had made her decision. Set an endpoint to her time here. The dread that had been clawing at her alleviated slightly with the removal of uncertainty. In its place, a faint mourning had appeared.

Well, we’ll just have to make the most of what was left, she told herself.

As she stepped out into the sunlight, she saw Kennedy standing there, seemingly taking in the sights as well. The slightest hint of recklessness hit Sophia, and she decided she liked the feeling.

I’m a princess, after all, she told herself. I should be able to do what I want.

“Right,” she said towards Kennedy, who had turned towards her with the slightest surprised and gratified expression. “I hope, then, you’ll be there this Saturday. Celebrate some school spirit,” she suggested.

She passed him a hastily scribbled invitation, which seemed yet again to surprise him. It was kind of cute, but fortunately, he recovered before the effect got old.

“Yeah, sounds good,” he answered.

“Cool,” Sophia said, smiling at him. As she made her way down the stairs, she added, “Bring some friends.”

Before she could reach the bottom of the stairs, she heard him call after her, “Hey.”

She turned, expectantly.

“The dean–Dean Foster–Is he–?”

She smiled, amused. He was picking it up quicker than she had expected. After all, she hadn’t known his last name until minutes ago.

“My uncle,” Sophia said brightly, and then added teasingly, “I don’t get many favors, so don’t come asking for any more.”

“Got it,” he replied gratefully. “Thank you! I owe you one!”

Sophia cocked her head and found the answer already on her lips. “That’s what the invite’s for.”

And with that, she turned back and walked towards the courtyard. November Ninth. The Crystal Ball. The last day of freedom she would have. But there was still plenty of time before then, and hopefully Callis would be off her back. There was still something to be made of these last days. The last days of Scarlett Foster. And just like when she had first created the identity, Scarlett could be whoever she wanted.

Time to explore her before Sophia had to put her away.