#royal alchemist

Royal Alchemistby@niftyvisuals​ | nb!Alexis & Seirin, Nazir, Aurelius
Summary:Alexis Rosenkreuz’s days are full, and unsurprisingly revolve around the princes they were appointed to teach. 
Notes:another fic!! this time featuring all three princes, because I love them all. slight spoilers for each route, as this fic references events that happen when alexis gets to know them a bit more, but nothing for the main plot. :) 

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The mornings belong to the second prince, Nazir.

The Royal Tutor works on their reports in the morning, but is interrupted like clockwork. They have come to anticipate the sound of familiar footsteps—always rushing, never a mere walk—and the flinging open of their door without knocking.  

“My dear Alexis!” Nazir exclaims, loud and cheerful, earning him an indulgent smile in return.

“My dear Nazir,” Alexis replies calmly, as they continue to write, though their eyes are amused.

It’s become routine, this interaction. The second prince, so famously truant in his duties within the palace, rises far earlier than most people realize. Sometimes he comes to his tutor’s office to merely chat, curious about the Council and the world beyond Eskia—but often primarily interested in Alexis themself. Nazir has plenty of questions when he is interested, though to Alexis’ chagrin as a tutor, it is hardly ever about academics. Still—Alexis is aware of Nazir’s strengths; it is not so much that his truancy is a shortcoming, merely a difference to be adjusted to. The second prince is like a bird, roaming and free, and not at all content to live inside a cage.

But—Alexis knows as well, that Nazir prizes his brothers’ talents above his own, that he does not prize his own at all, if he can even see them. It saddens them, but Alexis is patient, and a tutor, and they will coax out that confidence that not many know he lacks underneath his charm and bravado.

Other times, Nazir comes to Alexis’ office with a scheme: trips out into town as he once more avoids his duties, a cover-up only his tutor can provide, a plan for both of them to assist at or participate in the drinking contests at the Whitehart. Sometimes Alexis will capitulate; they are not totally immune to Nazir’s excitement and persuasions, after all. But they also have their own duties as Nazir has his; Alexis’ office is not an entirely private space, as several people come and go with paperwork or requests. Raphael and Harris thus quickly become aware of Nazir’s new favorite “hiding spot”, and frequently come to take him away. Alexis smiles and deflects Nazir’s attempts to weasel his way out of the situation yet again, and the second prince goes with mock affront at the betrayal.

Even so, he comes to Alexis’ office like clockwork, despite how easily he can be found. On the rarest occasions, he comes and does his homework sitting in their office, shooting off questions when he has them without proper regard for Alexis’ own work. They don’t mind, adept as they are in multitasking, and it gladdens them to see Nazir showing at least a modicum of interest in his studies. His talents may lay elsewhere, but he still needs these foundations. Yet Alexis has also been gearing his assignments more towards refining the raw power he seems to have an abundance of, and he is not yet aware of the path of Alexis’ intentions for him.

As time passes, Nazir comes to do his work in Alexis’ office in the morning more often. He is scolded of course by Raphael, for Alexis’ office is their office for a reason. But though it is more a more frequent occurrence, it is not a constant one. Nazir has no desire to overtake his tutor’s office, and he still plays truant often enough.

But—it is evident that both enjoy those mornings. Nazir will come in with his loud greeting, Alexis will smile and welcome him. Raphael will provide tea, for the Royal Tutor always takes tea several times a day. The two will work through their respective assignments—and in Nazir’s case, sometimes with the assistance of Raphael. Chatter and laughter will permeate the office regardless, and the assignments may take a little longer in Alexis’ case, but Nazir’s work will be reliably done by the end.

“I’ll say! That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Nazir grins, and Raphael laughs.

“If only you would be so proactive all the time, Your Highness,” Raphael retorts, pouring them another round of tea, and Alexis chuckles.

“Where would the fun be in that?” Nazir asks, waving his hand.

Raphael shakes his head, long used to the second prince’s antics.

“As ever, it is only Master Rosenkreuz who can keep Nazir in line,” he says, and both Alexis and Nazir laugh.

“You sound like Master Kabeer,” Alexis says, and Nazir gasps.

“Issa said that about me? I can’t let my wild reputation be ruined,” Nazir laments, “Though how could I not enjoy being kept in line by my wonderful, esteemed, darling dearestAlexis?”

The tutor snorts, hard.

“I don’t think anyone could keep you in line, my dear Nazir,” Alexis replies, dipping their quill into ink again. “Though if you like being kept in line so much, perhaps you will stop drawing portraits during class and pay attention to my lecture.

The banter continues; Nazir will return to his usual antics (but the portraits do mean he’s paying attention, don’t they see? Just not to the lecture—) and the spell of productivity will be broken. The second prince will never be tricked into doing more work than he’s set out to do in these mornings, flying free the moment he can.

But there is peace in these mornings, and the arrangement works for everyone. The most fickle prince comes back to the Royal Tutor always, with a joke or a story or a scheme, and their door is always open to him—though he opens it himself, anyway. Raphael and Issa Kabeer are not wrong; Alexis keeps Nazir in line because they do not even try. Nazir heels of his own accord for the pleasure of Alexis’ company—for the faint smile that graces their lips, for the lack of judgment and condemnation he finds at their side, for the comforting sound of their voice and laughter as they welcome Nazir with open arms.

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The afternoons belong to the first prince, Seirin.

Many find the Crown Prince the ideal gentleman, if perhaps a little distant. But those close to him know how heavy the burden of the crown is, and how admirably he intends to wear it. Nevertheless, Seirin is still young, and while he logically knows that the path to kingship is paved with difficult decisions, his kind heart has him fretting and agonizing over every choice, so much so that it takes a toll on his body.

He is reminded to rest, he does not, and not many can refuse him when he politely dismisses them from the room—or, they simply believe him when he says that he will.

The Royal Tutor too is still his subject; their manners are impeccable and they respect the young Crown Prince, and thus maintain the proper decorum—at first. As Seirin reminded them on their first day, they are the Royal Tutor, and that position affords them a particular type of familiarity and authority over the princes that others do not.

Besides—after Alexis caught the Crown Prince losing his guard and attempting to mingle with the common folk the first time at the Whitehart, there is…an understanding between them.

“I suppose I cannot expect you to change your entire bearing,” Alexis muses, before one of their incognito (in Seirin’s case, anyway) trips to the town. “But when you speak of the Crown at least, do not seem too eager—it will raise suspicions.”

It is merely the way Seirin was raised and taught that he is so achingly polite and formal—his posture and mannerisms too are elegant, and try as they might they cannot make him seem any less of a nobleman.

“I will try,” Seirin says sheepishly, tousling their hair further in an attempt to look scruffier, but only looking more artistically disheveled.

Alexis laughs lightly and tugs him along, and together they sample the wares from local vendors, gathering information about merchant routes and potential recent problems in the kingdom, large or small. Alexis pokes the space between Seirin’s eyebrows when they furrow, reminding him that as much as they cannot stop him from gathering information, he is only allowed to process it when they return to the castle.

“Does Raphael not chide you for working even when you should not be?” Seirin asks with a smile, as Alexis hands him a skewer of meat, which he takes gingerly.

“Touché, my Lord,” Alexis says teasingly, “And so I shall be your Raphael, who chides me until I take my break, as well.”

Seirin chuckles and does not protest further, allowing himself to be pulled along.

He always returns to the castle more relaxed, and though the palace guards are worried about the Crown Prince’s safety for no guards attend these trips, they are grateful for the tutor’s interference, as it is better than him sneaking around entirely unchaperoned. Seirin can fight and is adept at magic, but he is not as trained as Aurelius, nor is he Nazir who knows the towns like the back of his hand and bears a silver tongue to charm his way out of almost anything.

If Seirin and Alexis do not take an outing, the two often come across each other in the library, and just as they work on their respective projects with comfortable ease, they also take breaks together. Between tea and engaging conversation on matters other than the kingdom, Seirin relaxes this way as well. (Alexis, however, does prefer coaxing him outdoors if they can. It is a more reliable method to have Seirin stop thinking about work for a period of time, when he is not surrounded by it.)

It is the Royal Tutor who has the most success when Seirin refuses breaks (other than the Regent, who is frankly too busy to spare more attention to his nephews and interfere more frequently). And so it is the Royal Tutor who is recruited, often by Raphael, when Seirin’s level of stress is palpable by his closest servants.

“We really must stop meeting like this, Your Highness,” Alexis says, as they bring the tea that Seirin has requested to his study, having relieved Raphael of the duty just outside the door.

“Master Rosenkreuz!” Seirin exclaims, a guilty look flashing in his eyes, before he registers their words and a faint flush colors his cheeks. “I am not straining myself, I merely have not yet found a good stopping point.”

Alexis laughs, setting the tray of tea down.

“Truly? Those words sound terribly familiar. Would you like me to look over the documents and assist in finding said stopping point?”

Seirin smiles faintly, sighing a little in defeat.

“No, that is alright; if you give me a few moments, I am sure to reach one soon.”

Alexis smiles back and says nothing, sipping at their tea as they wait. True to his word, Seirin’s quill stops a few moments later, and he moves the documents aside carefully.

“I hardly thought with how much the courtiers and nobles vie for my uncle’s attention I’d be getting scolded for not resting,” Seirin admits as Alexis pours him tea.

“It is simply a testament to how much people care for you,” Alexis says easily, “We know how much you do, and do not think the shadows under your eyes go unnoticed. It will not do to wear yourself to mental exhaustion. The burden of the crown is heavy; that does not mean you must bear it alone.”

Seirin pauses; Alexis holds his gaze.

“The Council did well when they sent you to us,” he murmurs, “You are wise beyond your years.”

Alexis laughs.

“I’ve simply learned such things early. Do not forget that Raphael must remind me of my own breaks, and even the Regent has stepped in every now and then. You yourself have insisted as well, in fact. It seems we are two peas in a pod, Prince Seirin, and doomed to remind each other to rest even as the work builds up and we continue to ignore said reminders until we cannot.”

Seirin chuckles, and raises his teacup.

“To peas, then,” he says.

“To peas,” they smile, and raise their own cup to clink against his.

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The evenings belong to the third prince, Aurelius.

He takes the longest to warm up to the Royal Tutor, but his reputation precedes him and it is to be expected. Aurelius tests them through combat once in the beginning and for the most part leaves them to their own devices as he attends to his; they maintain a distant, professional relationships for several weeks.

But—the third prince is a remarkable student and Alexis is an academic, so it was only a matter of time before they began to respect each other, and then bond. Aurelius devours information with a voracious appetite, and Alexis is a wealth all too willing to share. He requests materials of them, and books, and formulae, meets with to synthesize new items and puzzle over tweaks in recipes. In return, he teaches them chess, and the sword, and the politics of the court—though his methods are far less straightforward, and they pick up swordplay with more difficulty than Aurelius does with his studies.

The two of them are blades being sharpened by the other. (Aurelius thinks—if Alexis does not—that the two of them are a dangerous pair. Their collaboration should be kept as quiet as possible, lest more rumors of potential usurp of the throne run rampant.)

Aurelius most of all wants to be the sharpest kind of tempered blade; despite the rumors, he is Seirin’s loyal brother, and he will be there to help his brother’s transition to kingship be an easier one. He will be there to protect both his brothers in the ways they need, even if they do not recognize it. Yes, Nazir too. He and Seirin both are kind to an almost fault; both worry or agonize over their decisions, both bleed more than they should.

Aurelius makes—and will make—the decisions they cannot bring themselves to. He will face backlash and disapproval from the court and populace with nary a glance; he’s never been popular, after all, and not once has he cared.

It takes a while for Alexis to learn this, closed off as Aurelius is, but of course they eventually do. His attitude may bite sometimes, but Alexis weathers it with respect. Though he may soften at rare moments, Aurelius is not a soft man—he could not be, growing up the way he did—and this is simply how things are.  

Alexis is fine with this; comfortable, even.

Nights find them in the classroom, papers scattered and diagrams drawn and alchemy materials spread out as both of them craft or Alexis oversees Aurelius’ crafting. They challenge each other, and this teamwork and camaraderie is familiar and puts Alexis at ease.

But. Evasive as Aurelius may be, Alexis is not blind.

“You would not need these if you were not headed into battle,” they says, holding a very unassuming little grenade in their hand. “And where, pray tell, will you be making your way to at first light?”

“You will be praying awhile,” Aurelius replies, face impassive as ever, as he focuses on crafting another.

Alexis raises an eyebrow. Aurelius glances at them, faintly amused, and relents.

“It is merely routine,” he says, “Conflict along our borders, plundering of the nearby village and disruption of trade routes. But we haven’t the knights to spare.”

“And so the third prince goes off to war?”

“We do not have a war on our hands,” he says, but there’s an elevated pause that implies not yet.

Alexis waits; Aurelius still has not answered their question. But it becomes evident that he has chosen not to elaborate, and Alexis sighs, allowing that matter to drop.

“Will you at least tell me the plan and layout of your…adventure?” they say mildly, and Aurelius holds their gaze for a moment before turning back to his work.

Alexis waits again. This time, Aurelius speaks after he finishes synthesizing another grenade.

“It’s straightforward. We’ll ride hard, then surround the bandits’ keep and use the grenades when they’re unaware. If all goes well then we’ll be back in the late afternoon.”

Alexis purses their lips; of everyone they’ve ever known, Aurelius always has a plan, and adapts quickly if things deviate. There is no need to worry; he is more than capable.

“Straightforward indeed,” they say lightly, and the third prince blinks at them, observing their too-casual expression.

Alexis ducks their head and begins gathering materials for their own synthetization, prompting Aurelius to turn once more back to his.

When the night waxes and the two determine that they really should retire, they clean up the classroom with efficient movements. As Aurelius packs up the grenades, Alexis hands him a few pots of healing salve, as well as a handful of rather beautiful darts. He inspects the latter, having never seen them before, and raises an eyebrow.

“Lotus darts,” Alexis explains, “If they hit skin, they will discharge electricity into the target’s bloodstream and sink them into…a very deep sleep.”

Aurelius says nothing at first, blinking at the extra supplies, then slowly his lip curls up into a faint smirk.

“This is routine, as I said, and I am hardly helpless,” he says pointedly, and they scoff.

“Believe me, Your Highness, I do not need to be reminded that you are not. These are merely a precaution. The tide can turn at any moment, as you have shown me over and over again in chess. If you will not worry for yourself as you do Seirin, then allow me to do so, at least this much.”

They meet the third prince’s gaze squarely, his iridescent eyes betraying no emotion as usual. But eventually he inclines his head, looking—almost shy, or perhaps it is merely the cast of the light.

“Thank you, Rosenkreuz,” he says plainly, and Alexis smiles.

“You are welcome, Prince Aurelius. That being said, I trust you complete your mission splendidly.”

He barks out a laugh, then waves his hand dismissively as he departs. Alexis follows him out, neither of them looking back.

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It is unusual for Alexis to be late to their own lessons, but the Royal Tutor does have several other duties as a representative of the Council, and nor are they immune to the ebb and flow of court politics.

Sala watches with some amusement as she sees Alexis fly down the hall, hair mildly disheveled from the speed of their travel. As they near the classroom, the three princes peer out of the doorway, Nazir’s grin widening as he sees their hurry.

“Darling Alexis,” he coos, and Alexis holds up a hand.

“Not a word, Nazir,” they huff, out of breath, and the second prince laughs, holding up his hands in a placating manner.

“Are you alright? Do you need water?” Seirin asks with concern, waving for a maid who has just turned the corner.

“I’m fine, no need to worry,” Alexis heaves, and Aurelius says nothing but reaches for the books and materials in their hands, which they release without much thought. (It could be consideration, or it could be the third prince wanting to get on with the lessons, as he looks over his tutor’s notes.)

Sala nears, on her way to her own duties, and Alexis exclaims when they see her.

“Sala! Oh, wonderful timing—please take these, I had meant to give them to you earlier, but I was regretfully sidetracked.”

Alexis pries a pouch from the materials in Aurelius’ hands and passes it to Sala, who opens it to reveal a supply of the special herb she had spoken of previously. Her eyes widen at the amount, and she inclines her head in thanks. Alexis smiles.

“My dear Alexis, you are simply a treasure,” Nazir croons, “Are you ever doing a single task at once?”

“Never, my wonderful Nazir, for even when I am teaching I am trying to get you to pay attention,” they reply smoothly, waving him into the classroom.

Nazir squawks, mocking affront even as he laughs; Seirin smiles and Aurelius’ eyes crinkle ever so slightly. Sala smiles as well, and takes her leave so that the Royal Tutor may get back to their students.

“Have a good lesson, Master Rosenkreuz,” Sala says.

“As ever,” Alexis says, voice mirthful, turning into the room themself, “Have a good day, Sala.”

Sala lingers only for a moment, looking at all of the princes. It is not an understatement to say that Sala is the one who knows all three princes the best, having watched all of them grow up. That’s why she can see the differences where others may not—Nazir’s more genuine openness, Seirin’s rare relaxed manner, Aurelius’ natural trust—all of which bloom in the presence of Alexis Rosenkreuz.

She goes on her way, smiling again, softer this time. She thinks, regardless of whatever happens in the future, the castle—and the princes—will always be a little brighter with Alexis around.

Royal Alchemist by@niftyvisuals | f!Alexis/Aurelius 
Summary: A Royal Tutor comes to the court. Prince Aurelius makes an assessment.
Notes: Wrote this more or less straight after I played Aurelius’ route! He was first choice but I’ve since played through all three romance routes and frankly, I love all of them ;w; If you’re interested in a (absolutely wonderful!!) stat-building visual novel/dating sim, I highly recommend it!! No spoilers, though this does include/reference events that happen in the beginning portion of the game.

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Aurelius’ first impression of the Royal Tutor nothing worth noting. She is pretty and slim and totally battered, with all the elegant manners of a noble as she sinks to her knees once she realizes whom she’s speaking to. Seirin begs her to stand, as it is they who will be deferring to her in matters of magic from now on, and she’s relieved when she can finally stroll through the castle gates without further trouble.

She’s uncomfortable at being presented in front of the Regent in such a disheveled state, but she composes herself well as she gives the account of the attack on her carriage. Her eyes become distant and haunted during the tale, but she falters only a little as she continues, clenching her fists and blinking away the images she must surely be recalling.

The Regent does not keep her long, and Nazir is the one who escorts her out of the room, setting her at ease with his personality. Aurelius’ eyes trail after her. Ally or foe? He cannot determine just yet with certainty, but more likely an ally, what with her being a Rosenkreuz and the attempt on her life.

Nevertheless, one cannot be too careful, and of his brothers, Aurelius will take caution the most seriously.

He taps his fingers on his arm, turning his attention back to his uncle.

The proper assessment Alexis Rosenkreuz remains to be made.

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She is a bad swordswoman, but she is not exactly abysmal, either. Aurelius invites her for “tea” and the absolute shock and disbelief on her face amuses Harris, who is holding out the swords. But he knows that she’s been learning under Garion, during the snatches of time she can spare; practically no alchemist or mage is also a warrior, but with the attacks floating around and danger apparently imminent, her decision to learn more physical aspects of combat, no matter how bad she may be at them, is a sound decision.

Still; she could be an assassin herself, or a mole, or no one of a particular title except someone with an intent to harm, and Aurelius will determine that.

Her grip on the sword is comfortable at least, and her reflexes are decent; she blocks and dodges his blows well enough, struggling against his strength when their swords connect, scrambling out of the way when he doesn’t give her a chance to rest. She’s focused, which is good, and it also gives him plenty of opportunity to observe her as much as he sees fit. Her moves are very much that of an amateur; he doesn’t even break a sweat as he parries her, whereas she is tiring quickly. She’s too focused on his sword and getting out of its trajectory, not anticipating his next move at all from his body language; she doesn’t know how to read a battle in this way. Too genuinely unskilled, then, to be an assassin. Her expression of disbelief earlier too immediate and open to be a mole. Her behavior too natural and at ease while teaching especially for malicious intent—though such a thing could always remain to be seen.

Nevertheless, he thinks more and more that she is merely here to do exactly what she was requested to do: be a Royal Tutor to the three princes.

Her eyes glint; she thinks she sees and opening and takes it—it’s a farce, of course, and Aurelius disarms her easily, smiling slightly at the initiative, knocking her onto her back with perhaps a little more force than necessary. She wheezes, the breath knocked out of her, and she stares up at the sky, gasping loudly as she tries to regain her bearings.

“Did you get what you wanted, your Highness?” she says, once she finally recovers, her breathing still labored.

“No,” Aurelius says, as Harris reaches out a hand to help her up. “But it’ll do.”

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(He hears from Harris the next day that Alexis had shown up bright and early to Garion’s session, a slight frown creasing her lips and an unusual air of determination about her.

Aurelius smirks into his teacup.)

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She has secrets, but so does everyone, Aurelius determines. Another assassination attempt takes place and Aurelius watches as the petals around her neck glow beautifully when she casts her spells. She grits her teeth, her eyes narrowing, and her complexion looks paler the more magic she uses.

A price to pay, perhaps, for the blessing of all six elements?

He’s not sure. The prisoner spits how funny, a Rosenkreuz putting another in chains, and she stiffens, her eyes widening. Garion asks her what he means and she says she does not know, but her breath comes shorter and quicker, and Aurelius’ eyes narrow before she mumbles something else and tilts in a dead faint.

He catches her with one hand, frowning at the heat radiating from her body.

The Rosenkreuz are protected by the High Council—so well, in fact, that it is impossible to find out any information regarding them. Amazingly, not one Council member can be swayed in revealing anything more than what is also known about the Rosenkreuz clan. That is suspicious—there are always ways for information to be found, in Aurelius’ eyes—but the Rosenkreuz have nearly always been in positions of quiet academia, so there is also no real reason to go digging up dirt, either.

Aurelius stares at the petals on her neck and the sweat shining on her forehead, at the troubled crease of her brow. This woman has survived at least two assassination attempts; she is far from helpless, but even so, he wonders what, exactly, kind of protection she has, if she really has any at all.

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Alexis recovers surprisingly quickly, startling them all when she comes down into the dungeons. She is still wan and pale, but does not look as though she is wilting as she walks over to the prisoner and gags him with efficient movements. Garion and Seirin both look surprised, but she raises a brow at their expressions, tilting her head in an innocent way. Aurelius resists the urge to smile; it is an endearing action, and a teasing one.

“Your resilience is remarkable,” he comments, “I expected you to be in bed for another day, at least.”

Amusement shows on her face as she turns to him.

“This is not the first time I’ve been in danger,” she replies smoothly, and inclines her head at him with a meaningful arch of her brow. Yes, he did warn her previously, when he roped her into yet another duel, didn’t he?

His brothers are surprised when he voices his respect; they are correct, that it is not lightly given nor retained. Alexis inclines her head again, and her smile this time is softer, her countenance pleased yet still slightly bashful.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” she says, “I hope to continue on this path in strengthening our relationship further.”

He breathes in sharply at her words; she knows not what this invokes with him, he, the bastard child of the court.

“…I am confident you will,” he manages, the slightest of frowns creasing his lips before he half-turns his face away. “Well. If you are of sound enough health to trade compliments with royalty, perhaps you can recommend a strategy to deal with the prisoner?”

She stares at him a moment longer, expression slightly confused, likely puzzling out his behavoir. Both Aurelius’ appearance and countenance is in stark contrast to his brothers, and he knows he is not an easy man to read. But his brother must already know, brothers as they are; Nazir’s smirk will be positively unbearable if the moment stretches just a second too long, while Seirin, as always, bears himself calmly and admirably even though his eyes are a touch brighter at the exchange. But the assassin groans and draws their attentions once more, and Aurelius is at least minutely relieved that he is not yet vulnerable to the charms of a Rosenkreuz.

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Alexis does not improve in swordplay as rapidly as Aurelius and his brothers improve in magic; she simply doesn’t have enough time to invest in it. So, Aurelius takes it upon himself, though not exactly for selfless reasons. While he does not invite her for “tea” specifically again, there are all manner of ways that he manages to rope her into a bout. He is her student and also a prince, and she is required to spend the time on him. She’s often exasperated, the first several times, but eventually to takes to them with a resigned sigh and wry smile. He trains her like he’d train any other recruit; his commands are sharp and blunt, and she frowns in concentration and does not even take offense at the brusqueness. He only soften his strikes out of necessity and not kindness; she is still the Royal Tutor and cannot be the too sore to move or too tired to teach. She will never be a master swordswoman, but perhaps halfway decent skills will save her life in the future.

There have already been two too many attempts on her life since her appointment here was decided.

Aurelius watches as she stretches and walks around the pavilion to cool down her muscles at the end of today’s session; Harris watches him watch her.

“Neither night was the first time you have been in danger,” he states, and she blinks at him, surprised at the suddenness of the question.

But she inclines her head, understanding what he isn’t asking, because that is too close to sounding like concern.

“Indeed, Your Highness,” she says. She smiles a little. “Why the sudden interest?”

“I am thinking you should be better at protecting yourself if that is the case,” he says crisply, and she lets out a bark of laughter.

“The High Council protects the Rosenkreuz admirably,” she says, “Perhaps recent events are a reminder that I should not rise too far above my station.”

The last bit is an echo to the mockery of nobles, and Aurelius frowns, remembering her credentials. Besides being appointed the Royal Tutor, she is also the youngest member to be appointed to the Council ever, so her alchemical and magical abilities must also be extensive and impressive. However, she is also scion and of House Rosenkreuz, which has a…unique position in society, as its makeup defies tradition.

“It cannot qualify as a reminder if you are dead at the end of it,” Aurelius says, and she chuckles.

“Yes, please remember that in our next training session, Your Highness,” she says, “For I cannot teach you if I am dead, either.”

“I am not so clumsy that I would kill you during training,” he says, and she gives him a wry look. “And might I remind you that I’ve saved your life, previously.”

Her smiles widens, and somehow, he feels like he’s made a mistake in pointing this out. The application of her lessons, the banter they shared that night, and afterwards…he has not forgotten.

“Indeed you have,” she murmurs, “I suppose my protection outside of the Council falls to you then, Prince Aurelius.”

He frowns, but only a little, his lips threatening to quirk up. He must admit that he is fond of the way she says his name.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he says, though not exactly unkindly.

She laughs.

“How could I ever, Your Highness?” she says, but already, the barriers between them have softened.

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She still attends Garion’s lessons when she can, for practice and upkeep are important for any skill and Aurelius is not as readily available, despite how many sessions he is able to hold with his tutor. It’s only natural, then, that Aurelius notices how her movements become more fluid, her tactics more sound, her strikes weightier the next time they fight. With Aurelius’ own projects and Alexis’ work, it’s been a while since their last bout. She spins to avoid his sword and snaps her wrist to attempt a quick strike, and he arches his brow slightly as he disarms her.

She sighs, massaging her wrist as she goes to retrieve her weapon.

“Will you ever let me win, Your Highness?” she asks, half teasing and half rueful, and he frowns.

“That would only be a disservice,” he says, with perhaps a touch more force than necessary. The mastermind after her life is still at large, with who knows how many plans and pawns to take it, and still there are no leads as to who the mastermind is.

She sighs, knowing full well he is right. Despite the fact that she is beaten every time, she takes defeat rather well; not once has she declined a bout—had she refused at any point (besides the first time, he supposes, but she’d accepted then, too), he would not have forced her. He may be calculating and strict, but he is not cruel. Yet whenever the swords are brought out, she merely sighs and resigns herself, and not once has she said no, I do not wish to do this.

Another increase to his respect for her. She takes the training seriously, despite her occasional jokes and complaints, as is evident in her improvement. What is curious, however, is the style that she seems to be developing. It is not Garion's—too elegant, even in her inexperience. Nor is it Harris’, who teaches her dirtier tricks that Garion will not, on occasion—it is too proper overall, though he can see the influence in her tactics.

It takes him a frankly shameful amount of time that it’s his movements and his style that she seems to be emulating, and it seems to be more unconscious development than otherwise. It is unsurprising, he supposes, considering while Garion lays the foundations, the bulk of her technique comes from him, who drills her even more harshly than the Marshall himself.

The feeling that bubbles up when he recognizes this is…curious.

“How do you find your classes, Prince Aurelius?”

He blinks at the sudden question, but she’s asking the question very seriously.

“Fine,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “They are sufficiently interesting.”

She smiles a little, but shakes her head.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that. Let me amend my question—are they sufficiently challenging?”

He pauses.

“They are not unchallenging,” he says, and she smiles wider at the diplomatic response. However—"I do mean that.“

She nods thoughtfully, and says nothing more of the matter, taking her stance again. Aurelius raises an eyebrow at her lack of continuation of the conversation, but does not push, and begins the bout anew.

.

It is unsurprising when he notices his assignments becoming harder, more advanced. Though he and his brothers all attend the same daily lecture, there are the individualized lessons and assignments that are interspersed throughout the week as well. Her commitment to her position is one of the reasons why the princes are advancing in their magical abilities so quickly—even Nazir, who daydreams and truants as often as possible. When it’s Aurelius’ day for his private session, she smiles at the crease in his eyebrows when he sets down his paper.

"Oh, my,” she says, “Perhaps it wastoochallenging.”

“No,” he says, though he pauses before he speaks, closing his eyes briefly. “But it did take considerable effort.”

He will admit this. She laughs, delighted, and he sighs.

“Revenge, is it?” he says, and she tilts her head at him.

“That would imply I intend to do you harm, Your Highness, so no,” she smiles. “This was bound to happen sooner or later; it would be a disservice otherwise. It just so happens to coincide with how frequently you beat me up with your sword.”

“Mental strain to make up for the physical, then,” Aurelius says, with a nod of his head.

“I must assert my strengths as your tutor somehow,” she says, “Lest you get too comfortable.”

Her eyes twinkle; he feels his lips quirk up into a smile.

“How could I ever?” he returns, and she laughs again.

She rounds the desk, half-sitting on it as she picks up his paper and begins to read it. Aurelius takes the opportunity to scrutinize her unabashedly; she’s become used to his discerning eye on her, making assessments.

“Very good, Your Highness,” she says after a while, eyes still on his assignment, “You’ve grasped these concepts perfectly. The next step will be to apply them.”

She looks at him when he doesn’t respond, and he meets her eyes squarely. An extended moment of silence passes between them, and her expression is curious before she seems to understand.  

“Did you get what you wanted, Your Highness?” she questions, another one of those faint smiles gracing her lips.

He reaches for her a lock of her hair; he hears the soft intake of her breath.

“I did,” he murmurs, “And more, I should say.”

He lets go of her hair, rises from his seat.

“Goodnight, Rosenkreuz.”

She’s too surprised to respond, and nor did he expect her to as he sweeps out of the room.

Back at his chambers, Harris arrives shortly with a pot of tea, and his manservant raises an eyebrow at the amusement in the third prince’s air.

“Did something good happen, Your Highness?” Harris asks, as he arranges the tea-things.

“I suppose so,” Aurelius says noncommittally. “And I suppose more will.”

Harris stares, then chuckles before excusing himself.

Aurelius looks out his window, considering the morrow. Another day, another lesson, another bout of training. It’s slowly becoming something of a dance between them, he thinks, as they fight and learn together. It is not so bad, to have his world open up this much for her—because of her.

She’s duly captured—and maintained—his interest, which is not an easy feat.

He smiles into his teacup. He supposes he’ll have to look forward to what comes of this.