Rebecca finally managed to get to school by midday.

As she walked through the front entry of the school, her feet were aching. For whatever reason, Aleric remained on her mind—and not just him. All she could think about was the fact that hundreds were now willing to die for her. They spoke of it as if it was honourable, something they wanted to do. As if dying for her was perfectly sane.

Which it was not.

Even thinking about it was terrifying.

"To the left."

Without questioning it, Rebecca turned to the left. Unlike her old high school, it was decadent. In the centre, there a large square courtyard. Half of it was grass, the other half gravel. Statues surrounded the edges. All the classrooms were in the surrounding two-storey buildings that acted as a border. It was like a fortress.

"Right."

She changed direction, turning right at the end of the hall. Momentarily blinded by light, Rebecca shielded her eyes with her hand. The windows in the door were overtly large, so the light streamed through even from far away.

Abruptly, she stopped, turning slightly. "I don't know where I'm going," she admitted.

Her guards just stared at her.

"Go on," she said. "Say it: I'm an idiot. And because of it, now I'm lost."

Unsurprisingly, none of them said it. Frankly, there presence made her nervous. She understood that they had to follow her around—but at a place where she went to learn? It felt unnecessary. Luckily, the halls were empty so she wasn't being stared at by others on top of it.

She sighed. "Do any of you know where I'm going?"

More staring.

Finally, one of them stepped forward. He didn't say a word, but he did walk around her. Whatever direction he was heading, he was walking with purpose. So, Rebecca rushed to follow behind him.

He went straight through the doors with the dome-like windows.

Rebecca raced to follow him, squinting against the harsh light that almost blinded her. As she got a better view of him, she wasn't surprised to see who it was. He was the young guard that had been the most compensable before. Already she could tell, that out of all them, he was the friendliest. The others stayed silent; brooding no matter what they did. They didn't attempt to talk to her—then again, she didn't know if they spoke English or not.

As soon as she stepped out into the main courtyard, the blistering heat hit her. It hadn't been that hot before, that she knew. Rebecca tried her best to ignore it as she made her way down the metal steps, passing an overtly-large and slightly terrifying gargoyle statue to her left.

Behind her, the rest of her guard hurried to catch up—but Rebecca paid them no mind. Instead, she moved until she was standing next to the faerie who was leading the way. "Uh, hi," she blurted. "How do you know where my class is?"

For a second he didn't respond. Then he turned his head, though he didn't actually make eye contact. "Ser Lancester obtained the schedule."

Rebecca frowned, wishing her legs were longer. Then she'd be able to walk faster. "I'm sorry—who?"

"Ferro Lancester. First Millietum to Your Grace."

"First what?"

He seemed confused, but he responded nonetheless. "Millietum. Soldier. Guard. Whichever you prefer."

Oh. She had no idea he had that sort of officious title. But she couldn't say she was surprised. It didn't matter anyway—she'd just ask him about it later.

"Can I let you in on a little secret?" Rebecca asked, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand. It didn't really work, but she continued to attempt it.

"At your discretion."

Okay, she thought, odd choice of words. She didn't know what to make of them. Despite that, she confessed, "I don't know Faelk. Not one word of it. So, uh, when you say it, I'm lost."

"You do not speak Faelk." It wasn't phrased as a question, but as if it was a ludicrous statement of consider.

Rebecca shock her head. "No. So when I hear it... I hear nothing. It's not great, especially when everything here revolves around Faelk." She paused, risking a glance behind her. "The rest of them don't speak English, do they?"

"English?" He sounded genuinely lost.

"What we're speaking now," she said, at a loss.

"Englicus, Your Grace. I haven't heard the term 'English.'"

It was the same language but a different name for it—realistically that wasn't anything unusual. "Oh. Englicus then—do they speak it?"

"They speak a little, Your Grace."

She didn't know how far a little stretched to, but she let it go. "They aren't friendly either," she muttered, thought she wasn't bothered in the slightest.

"It is not a matter of being friendly." Surprisingly, his tone was even, void of any judgement. "It is a matter of protection. To guard the Queen is an honour, one men kill for—as you've seen."

"Why are you so friendly then?"

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw him glance at her. The corner of his mouth was turned up in a grin. He looked young, wearing the expression. Too young to be willing to protect her at all costs. "I see no point in watching you suffer."

She wasn't suffering, per se, but she appreciated the gesture. "Thanks, I guess."

To that, he didn't respond. But he did continue to walk, and Rebecca continued to follow him. She stepped over wayward pebbles on the ground, refusing to question the scorch marks, because she doubted she wanted to know how they'd gotten there.

As they got to the centre of the courtyard, Rebecca had to break the silence. The sound of rough footsteps was grating. "Do you follow me around everywhere?"

"We're protection." She was once against surprised by how old he sounded. "In the event of an attack, we're the last line of defence. In the event, all else fails, we're willing to lay down our lives for you."

"So that's a yes?"

"Yes, Your Grace. We follow you around everywhere."

"All of you?" There was almost a hundred of them...

"No. Ser Lancester hand-picked a select few to act as your personal guards—only a dozen. It is a rotation from there."

Twelve people following her on a regular basis—said as if it was normal. "Oh." She paused, watching a bird fly overhead. It wasn't like a regular bird, instead a lot bigger. "That's a little scary to think about."

"You have nothing to fear, Your Grace."

Because that was the point of having a dozen Fae following her around, wasn't it? So she'd be as safe she'd be wrapped in bubble wrap permanently. What a juxtaposition it all was. "I know," she said. "What's your name?"

The silence that followed was thick with surprised. "Kyane, Your Grace. It translates to young warrior."

Rebecca stopped to look at him again, coming to the conclusion that the name didn't suit him at all. For one, it sounded feminine, and he was anything but. Then again, the translation of it was a huge contradiction. Thought he was young, he was bulkier than males she'd seen before in her life. He looked older too; in the way his eyes seemed to have seen too much violence.

She didn't disclose any of that, of course. Instead, she tested the name. "Kyane," she said—more to herself than anything—as she started to follow him once more. Without the subtle accent they all seemed to have, it didn't sound the same. "Can I ask you something?"

"Whatever you wish," was all he said.

"Would you have a problem with Aleric joining you?" she blurted, wishing she could take the words back the instant she said them.

"It is not my place to have an opinion, Your Grace. If you wish him on your guard that is at your discretion. If you wish to remove someone that is at your discretion too."

"Oh," she said as they lapsed into silence once more. "Okay then."

Left to her own thoughts, she tried to figure out why she'd asked the question. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was paranoia. Whatever it was, a part of her wanted him around her. She blamed the fact that he'd spoken to her like an actual person.

She knew that she'd be asking Ferro about it later.

*

Silence. Shocked, awkward silence greeted her the minute she opened the door of the classroom.

Rebecca was frozen on the spot, unsure of how to act. This, she realised in the midst of her panic, was the aftermath. She'd been publicly seen as queen, now she was reaping the consequences. Of course, she'd know it'd happen. But, she hadn't been banking on going into a place with others so soon.

It was worse than she'd anticipated.

Behind her, she felt the presence of Kyane and the rest of her guard. That didn't help her in the slightest, though.

All she could do was watch as chaos erupted in the room. Fae rushed to stand, conversations stopped, puzzled glance were shared around the room, and panic was so palpable Rebecca felt it clouding the air; above all though, silence reigned.

The layout much the same as the other classroom—u-shaped couches that faced a wall with a gargantuan white board. It meant that Rebecca's view of some were skewed. Even then, she saw that their clothes were disgustingly expensive. She was too pre-occupied to be embarrassed by her jeans.

Finally, the silence was broken by what had to be the teacher (an elderly man with a beard as long as her hair). He spoke rapidly, but the words were in Faelk so Rebecca heard none of them.

"He asked the reason you're gracing him with your presence."

Rebecca looked behind her, eyes meeting Kyane's. She wanted to thank him for translating, but she couldn't find a way to say it without it sounding awkward. So instead she said, "For class. Tell him I'm here for his class—please." She paused. "This is the right class?"

"It is, Your Grace," he said to her. Then, he stepped forward, moving close to her back. The next words he spoke were rapid Faelk.

Rebecca was watching the teacher carefully. At first, he stared at her as if she were a ghost. Then, as he listened Kyane, his eyebrows rose to the point where it was almost comical. He blanched visibly. He looked around the classroom as though he'd never seen it before. Finally, when Kyane fell silent, he went back to staring at her. When he spoke, his voice shook.

After he was done, Kyane muttered, "He asked why you're here."

Rebecca frowned. "He's my teacher," she said. "That's why I'm here. I have class."

"Your Grace..."

She looked around the classroom, watching as the Fae in the room shifted, clearly unsure of how to act. Then it hit her—why he was so hesitant. "It's because I'm Queen. Now I'm banned from school."

"No one can prohibit you of any act, Your Grace. It's just... for someone of your station to attend here is unusual."

Right, she thought. She had official government business—or whatever it was called that royalty spent their time doing. What they failed to know was that she didn't know how to be a queen; what it meant.

She sighed, feeling vulnerable all of a sudden under the scrutiny. "Look, I know I'm not supposed to be here, but... can you ask him if I can stay? Just one class with him. Then I can be done with it and he won't have to see me again."

"Your Grace, you speak as if you burden him. That is not the case. You honour him with your presence."

"Can you just ask?" she said, grateful their exchange was so quiet that only her other guard could hear.

He was silent. Then he spoke loudly in Faelk, the words short and clipped—unlike the borderline friendly but profoundly respectful tone he'd taken with her.

Rebecca went back to watching the teacher. He looked so pale, she feared he'd fall over any second. It was unnerving sight. Did they fear her? Or were their reactions based upon shock? She hoped it was the latter. Besides, if anything she feared them.

After what seemed like hours, Kyane murmured, "You're free to join the class, Your Grace, if that is your wish."

Sitting down on the couch was as awkward as standing by the door. It didn't help that she had five huge Fae hovering behind her, content to announce they had swords they'd use in a second to defend her.

Once again, Rebecca was alienated. Only this time, it was by her own choice. Weaving to the couches, she found the one where no one was sitting. The back was very clearly the general spot to sit, the two side couches almost vacant. It seemed that being as far away from the teacher was the aim.

Rebecca quickly set towards the front edge, folding her legs underneath her. Kyane sat to her left, tense and brooding. Any kindness he'd shown her was gone. Her other guards stood behind the leather lounge, their presence impossible to miss.

It took a second, but once she sat, the other Fae followed suit. They didn't relax, however. Instead, the air remained so thick she was almost choking on it. Rebecca was afraid to make any sudden movement in case they ran from her—something she wouldn't put past them.

Kyane broke the tense silence by whispering, "He will not begin until he has your go ahead."

Rebecca looked over at him, trying to gauge his expression. He was serious—completely so. "Can you tell him to start then?" Her voice was shorter than she'd intended, but she blamed frustration.

He stared at her and Rebecca was grateful to see that he seemed genuinely sympathetic. Then, he said something loudly in Faelk.

Almost immediately, the teacher started to talk. It was in rapid Faelk—unsurprisingly—but Rebecca tried her best to pay attention. Besides, they said the easiest way to learn a language was to listen to it. So she listened, trying to find any words that sounded like what she knew in English.

It wasn't very successful. For one, she could feel the eyes of those staring at her. The nervous enough was so palpable in made her hair stand on edge. There was also the fact that she felt irrevocably vulnerable.

This was a mistake, she realised, suddenly wishing she could run from the situation with her tail tucked between her legs. But she couldn't do that—she'd just look weaker. Though she was no longer an orphan; though she had thousands standing behind her, ready to catch her if she fell; though she was queen... she felt as weak as she had when Mikael had first come into her life.

She'd made a vow to try, so she couldn't just throw up her hands and call defeat. The whole situation was ironic really. The same Fae she was vulnerable under the scrutiny of, were the same people who were relying on her to succeed.

Rebecca sat back, bringing her legs up and wrapping her arms around them. She tested her cheek on her knees, closing her eyes. Around the room, she could hear the scraping of pen on paper. The quiet chatter. She heard the sound of the teachers feet on the hardwood floor; a solid, monotonous tap-tap-tap. She was lulled by the words she heard—begrudgingly admitting Faelk sounded far more beautiful than English did.

Panic was a feeling she knew well—it was also horrible. As of late, she'd been feeling less of it. But right now, she felt so much of it that it made up for the absence.

Time continued to pass. Rebecca kept shifting in an attempt to get comfortable. Beside her, Kyane kept running commentary on what the teacher was saying, translating so she could hear. It was actually fascinating—the topic the war Mikael had told her about.

Apparently, it had begun in the early eighteen-hundreds, lasting more than one hundred years. Unlike the wars she'd learned about in the human world, there was no nuclear weapons—or any weapons—involved. It had only ended when both sides had conceded.

It had been lying dormant for more than a century.

At least, it had been until Rebecca had blown up the Dark Fae—inevitably restarting the war. If that wasn't scary, she didn't know what was. The good thing, though, was that they had no idea it was her who'd done it. The general assumption was that a large group had gone against the Dark Fae and self-sabotaged themselves. The logistics didn't quite add up, though. While a little over-the-top, Rebecca was grateful no one mentioned her name.

Eventually, Fae lost interest in staring at her like she was under glass. Rebecca was able to breathe easier—

The knock on the door stopped all movement in the room; the teacher stopped pacing and the students stopped writing notes. Next to her, Kyane tensed, as did the other guards. She noted that his hand went to the sword at his waist.

Slowly she turned her head. In the open doorway, an elderly woman stood. She seemed to wear a uniform—a white shirt and pants, a band going from her waist to over her shoulder (on it seemed to be some sort of crest with a dragon).

Her gaze swept around the room, before landing on the teacher. Then she said something in rapid Faelk.

Beside her Kyane seemed to relax.

"What did she say?" Rebecca asked quietly.

"I heard Her Grace is here. The council respectively asks for her presence, if it would not offend."

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