"Your Majesty, the Dowager requests your permission to leave and attend the Imperial Academy."
Akan bowed low, his posture immaculate, the quiet in the chamber stretching taut.
Guren's eyes narrowed. "Now the Dowager decides to prance about?"
"This subject does not presume to judge, Your Majesty. Perhaps there is some matter that requires her personal attention," Akan replied carefully.
There was a hesitation in his tone, almost imperceptible, as if even he were uncertain of the Dowager's intentions. For months now, her Ladyship had moved with sudden bursts of willfulness, and even those who had served her for years could not predict her moods.
Guren exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "She should know that hiding beneath a veil is of little consequence. Her eyes, her hair—those of Adiand royalty—cannot be mistaken for the common populace. Even a casual glance will betray her."
Akan inclined his head, acknowledging the warning. "Her Ladyship has made provisions for that, Your Majesty."
A flicker of impatience crossed Guren's expression, but he let it pass. "Very well, then." His voice was clipped; curiosity would not trouble him. She would not act without careful planning and advantage.
"Why bring this to me at all?"
"Her Ladyship simply wished to inform you. She will be absent from the palace for several days."
Guren's frown deepened. What is she plotting? Usually, her actions required no explanation; she acted on impulse, heedless of his opinion. Yet now, she dares to leave the safety of her chambers.
"It is not a matter that precedes. You may go," he said, dismissing him.
Akan bowed again. "Then this subject shall take his leave first, Your Majesty. May you have a restful period." With that, he closed the door.
Guren exhaled sharply. His temples throbbed with a familiar pressure, a headache creeping in, unbidden. His mask of indifference showed the faintest crack. Nights spent in restless vigilance had taken their toll, and peace of mind had become a stranger.
***
Elsewhere, in the quieter confines of her private chambers, Ett examined her reflection in a mirror dimly lit by candlelight. Akan, standing nearby, pursed his lips, his eyes betraying a rare disapproval.
"Your Ladyship intends to pose as a student?"
"Yes," Ett said simply, the word clipped but resolute. "I wish to see for myself."
Akan's brow drew together. "That is… hardly the comportment expected of an Empress Dowager."
Ett tilted her head, regarding him. "The Academy starts in a day. There is an examination, is there not?"
"Yes, and it would require you to lodge within its chambers," he reminded her.
"It is but a few days," she said with a shrug, her small frame poised with an air of impatient determination.
"…Should you be so careless?" His voice softened, laced with concern despite his formal restraint.
"I am a child," Ett replied. Noting his expression, she added with a faint smile, "Physically, at least."
Akan's lips pressed into a line. She was correct in form; in substance, she bore a cunning that far exceeded her size.
"Then shall we visit the Dean when your leisure concludes?" he asked.
"Yes," she said simply.
Akan exhaled, the weight of inevitability settling on him. He would follow her, as always. "Shall I guard you from the shadows?"
"Whatever you deem necessary." Her eyes gleamed with the thrill of this small rebellion.
"Prepare yourself," he instructed, retreating to attend to details.
"When shall we depart, Your Ladyship?"
"Midnight. Do you have the invitation?"
"Yes."
"Good." Ett turned her attention to garments, her hands moving with careful precision. No maids would assist; she was a woman of modern habits in a foreign age, and the lighter attire would suffice. She spent hours adjusting ribbons, arranging pins, transforming her nightclothes into something less conspicuous. When dawn approached, she looked every inch exhausted, her reflection ghostly in the dim light.
A sudden cough shook her, and she tasted the familiar, unwelcome iron tang. "Ah." She spat lightly, annoyed by the intrusion of her corporeal frailty into this otherwise perfect plan.
"Your Ladyship, I will fetch the physician at once!" Akan protested.
"No. I shall rest within the carriage," she said firmly, despite the pain gnawing at her chest.
Akan's shoulders tightened. He might have bound her to her bed in frustration, yet she refused to yield. She always had, even now.
The night passed slowly. When they departed, the carriage carried them quietly from the palace, cloaked by shadows. Ett's small body, unused to the motion, protested repeatedly. The chill of midnight and the journey's length left her pale, breathless, hands stained faintly with blood from her recurrent coughs.
Akan adjusted cushions and blankets around her, each movement precise, patient, and careful.
"Here, take some tea, Your Ladyship," he murmured. The warmth seeped into her chilled limbs, though it could not banish entirely the discomfort or her awareness of vulnerability.
Hours passed. Ett tumbled from the seat, a sudden slip, and he lifted her with the careful reverence one might reserve for a fragile creature. Even in her dishevelment, she seemed impossibly small, a paradox of strength and fragility intertwined.
"Would you step outside for air?" Akan suggested gently.
Ett nodded. The chill stung at her skin, but the clarity of open night soothed some of her weariness. When they returned, he had fashioned a bed of wood and blankets, surrounding her in warmth and support.
"You may rest here briefly," he said, voice soft. "When the test begins, someone from the Academy will guide you."
The guide arrived in due course, a woman of impeccable bearing, bowing with grace. "I am Reas Linn, Your Ladyship. It will be my honor to accompany you."
Ett's eyes swept the figure critically. "Pleasure is mine. And you are?"
"My name is Nakan," the woman replied, giving a nod of courtesy to Akan. Even her modesty carried dignity, the simple syllable unique in its originality. Ett allowed herself a faint, approving glance.
Akan, turning back to her, gave a slight inclination of his head. "I shall withdraw. Your personal attendant will assist with your belongings."
Ett frowned, noting the absence of a maid, but she followed Reas without further comment.
***
The carriage rolled to a halt outside the Imperial Academy. Ett's eyes traced the grandeur of the gates, the sweeping architecture, the intricate spires that caught the first light of morning. The empire, she observed, was flourishing. Streets were clean, orderly; there was no evidence of the squalor she might have expected from her modern sensibilities.
"This empire is no barbarian state," she murmured to herself. Even the nobles, for all their pride, could not obscure the careful balance of order, cultivation, and foresight. Guren's rule, she realized with a pinch of exasperation, had established a stability her own modern mind found both admirable and tiresome.
Her thoughts turned inward, spiraling into considerations of strategy, defense, and the burdens of governance. Militia, taxation, diplomacy—each played out in rapid mental calculations. She shook her head sharply, as though to dislodge the encroaching weight of analysis.
"Akan," she said finally, her voice brittle with fatigue and thought. "Train the soldiers. Gather more men. We cannot rely solely on the current forces."
"Your Ladyship, the militia is well funded," Akan replied calmly. "But further mobilization may provoke the nobles. They would demand explanations, and taxes would rise."
"Let them protest," she snapped. "In the presence of Guren, they are lambs. Talent and merit are what shape an empire, not empty titles."
Akan inclined his head, understanding her perspective perfectly. Indeed, the Adiand system had evolved such that nobility without skill found itself stripped of privilege. Competence, above birthright, dictated survival.
Ett took a deep breath. To her modern sensibilities, the empire's strategy was fascinating, exhausting, and oddly satisfying.
A finely dressed woman approached, bowing in acknowledgment. "Young miss Ettna Froiz, I am Reas Linn. I will be your guide for the following hours."
Ett's response was curt but polite. "Mmm. Very well."
The journey through the Academy grounds revealed a meticulous order. Each courtyard, each hallway, seemed designed for purpose, reflecting the disciplined mind of Guren's administration. And Ett, for all her exhaustion, could not suppress a quiet hum of appreciation. The empire had grown, adapted, and thrived.
Her attention shifted to the passing noble children, their glances narrow, their curiosity barely concealed. She suppressed a smile, inwardly acknowledging the irony of her smallness against their hauteur.
"Do you remember your role, Your Ladyship?" Akan asked quietly.
"I am not that old," Ett replied lightly, though her eyes scanned the grounds critically. The adopted daughter of the Archduke in a neighboring empire would never see her here; even if someone investigated, the trail led to an orphan taken and discarded into obscurity.
Akan's presence was a constant reassurance, a quiet anchor as she moved through the imposing corridors. And for the first time in days, she felt a flicker of something resembling freedom.