“Do you think that the path of magic is something that you can simply decide to walk down on a whim?” Arthur questioned with some indignance after her request.

  “Not at all,” Isabella said with a shake of her head.

  “Then you should be aware that you’ll need at least a year of study to even contemplate forming a mana lock,” Arthur continued, crossing his arms. “And that each individual’s mana lock needs to be highly personalized to fit within the matrix of their own mind.”

  She took a deep breath, pondering what she could tell him. That he had already taught her most of what she needed to know in a past life? It was difficult for her to believe what had happened to her. Telling another?

  “I have studied,” Isabella answered without elaborating.

  Arthur looked down at her, then uncrossed his arms and pushed up his glasses. He offered his gloved hand. “Show me.”

  Isabella studied his hand, then looked up at him uncertainly.

  “If you’ve learned, there’s no need for words,” Arthur continued.

  He’s offering me a portion of his own mana to manipulate to demonstrate, Isabella realized. Once she did, she took his hand gladly.

  Isabella felt a faint tingling in her hand. Soon after, mana bridged from him to her, the chaotic energy dancing around in her body. It was leashed by Arthur’s will, but even leashed, its potency couldn’t be underestimated. She grasped it firmly with her force of will, and then began to manipulate it as Arthur had once taught her.

  Forming a mana lock could be likened to pottery. One needed to take the fragile raw materials, and with them, create a vessel that threatened to constantly collapse into itself. Isabella had formed countless mana locks, pining for something that she had never been able to possess. They all crumbled to nothingness once they were finished, unable to maintain themselves in her developed mind.

  Naturally, she finished forming the mana lock quickly. It wasn’t her best work—she was quite rusty after having been bedridden for months—but it did finish. When she opened her eyes again, Arthur stared down at her with a modicum of surprise on his face.

  Arthur pulled away his hand, staring down at it. He was likely studying the remnants of the mana lock before it crumbled into nothingness. When it had, he looked at her evenly.

  “I was under the impression that King Edgar had disallowed all of his daughters from learning magic,” Arthur said. “Who taught you?”

  Isabella stared at him cryptically.

  “I suppose I can’t expect an answer.” He studied her. “I won’t make any promises. That was decent work you did, but you’re quite old to join the path of magic. It wouldn’t be unheard of, but it wouldn’t be common, either.”

  “Meaning you’ve agreed?” Isabella raised a brow. “I don’t have any other way to include you in the event than by taking you as my partner. I’m aware that might be troublesome for you.”

  Arthur looked conflicted. “There’s no other way?”

  Inwardly she was a little stung by his reluctance, but she explained, “My posting is a temporary one born of the king’s whimsy. The reception is tomorrow, and most of the attendants are already codified. I can’t change things.”

  “Very well. You’ll have to forgive me in advance for fulfilling few of my duties as a partner,” he said. “I’m greatly interested in materials sourced from Ambrose. Their magical expertise would be peerless without the existence of my master.”

  “You don’t need to apologize for something I’m going to do as well,” Isabella told him.

  Arthur nodded. “Farewell, then. I’ll receive you tomorrow, an hour before the event begins.”

  Arthur turned to walk away without waiting for her response. Isabella didn’t give one, merely turning back and rejoining with her maid Alice.

  Alice beamed at her proudly as she said, “No one saw a thing, Your Highness.”

  Isabella was about to ask what she meant, but then considered things from her perspective. She’d asked Alice to walk away, had talked with Arthur, then held his hand for a while. She sighed when she realized the misunderstanding that had arisen. And on top of that…

  “He’ll be my partner for the ambassadorial reception,” Isabella told Alice.

  Alice’s already-wide smile managed to widen, somehow. Isabella didn’t know how those cheeks of hers didn’t burst.

  Isabella walked down the hall with a bitter half-smile. If she denied it now, she’d sound like nothing more than an embarrassed young girl bashful at her first romance. Besides, rumors were sure to spread regardless once Arthur arrived as her partner.

  And the rumors would die just as quickly when nothing happened between them.

  Still… it wouldn’t be the worst thing, Isabella thought. Provided, of course, that he wasn’t the one to kill me. That might put a damper on my enthusiasm, she thought darkly.

  “I’m going to check the arrangements for the reception,” Isabella told Alice. “Learn the staff, the attendees…” she sighed. “Brush up on my Ambrosian, and find someone who can speak the language better than I can.”

  All this preparation was expected of her in merely a day. King Edgar II was irredeemably ignorant of what an ambassadorial reception entailed.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  ***

  A dignified man with slicked white hair and a stern impression looked up upon Gaspar of Forseth, Knight-Commander of the Holy Paladins. The blonde man towered over him, but he didn’t seem intimidated in the least.

  “He’s replacing me with an eighteen-year-old girl, whose mother was from some lowly house whose name I can’t even remember?” Count Faust said, more harshly than he’d intended.

  Gaspar put his hand on the pommel of his sword. “You should remember you speak of a Dovhain, Count Faust.”

  Faust closed his eyes, taming his temper. “Can you at least tell me why? Did His Majesty give a reason?”

  “it’s a temporary posting for Princess Isabella to treat with the Republic of Ambrose,” Gaspar explained simply.

  “Ah, yes, a temporary posting, quick and easy. They’re only our most important trade partners,” Faust said sarcastically. “What could go wrong?”

  “His Majesty said that it should serve as a reminder that there’s always room for improvement,” Gaspar said, but even he didn’t seem too pleased to give the order. “I’m merely his messenger, my lord.”

  The count realized there was no use getting angry at the knight-commander. “I apologize for my tone, knight-commander. Please let His Majesty know I have received the decree.”

  Gaspar dipped his head. “It’s nothing worth apologizing for, my lord.”

  When Gaspar walked away, Faust walked over to his room’s window and peered out at the city below. It sounded like a demotion… but perhaps it was an opportunity.

  If things go wrong, it’ll be ample proof how indispensable I am to our diplomatic efforts, Faust thought. I don’t know what that girl was thinking, accepting such a posting… perhaps she was simply chosen at random. I spent much of my life picking up the pieces from the many diplomatic faux pas that brat Edgar made when he was a prince. This would merely be another in a long line of poor choices.

  “Forgive me, but… I’ll have to ruin your night, Isabella.” Faust shook his head.

  The royal court had always been somewhat ruthless, but it seemed that the accession of a new king would redouble things. He’d need to get with his allies, let them know the circumstances. They’d definitely back him in making the night a difficult one for the young princess. A young, sheltered girl like that, barely an adult, would almost definitely crack beneath the pressure.

  Once Isabella had made a mess of negotiations, Faust would be the natural choice to go in and repair things. The circumstances of Dovhain’s alliance with Ambrose might be slightly worse, but that was a sacrifice he was willing to make. There would be much need of diplomats with a tyrant like King Edgar II reigning.

  Prince Claude… Faust sighed. You would’ve made such a better king than your bastard of a brother.

  ***

  There came a knock at Isabella’s door—looking at the grandfather clock in the room, Arthur had arrived precisely one hour before the event began. She gave once last look at herself in the mirror. For an event like this, she’d decided to wear something austere. Even the least fancy of her dresses still felt somewhat decadent. It was an off-white dress trimmed with ornate beige flourishes. It was comfortable, which had been her largest concern, and came with equally comfortable shoes. This promised to be a long, exhaustive event, and she didn’t want to break her ankles wearing heels. If what she knew of the Ambrosian people was right, they wouldn’t look down upon her dress.

  Alice opened the door for the guest, and Arthur stood out front. He dressed in the same natural tones with a traditional green shoulder cape draped on his right shoulder. He carried a book with him, neatly tucked in the crook of his arm. He looked at her politely.

  “You look… well, Your Highness,” he said.

  Isabella almost laughed at his stiff, ill-fitting compliment, but managed to contain herself. “Shall we go?”

  “I’ve prepared a carriage,” he said, then gestured to the hall. “After you.”

  ***

  Arthur had begrudgingly accepted Isabella’s request to attend as her partner to the ambassadorial reception. It was a difficult thing for him to get an opportunity to speak to Ambrosian envoys, and he’d take it, even if that meant treading the fine line of neutrality his master had established.

  Fortunately, the princess wasn’t especially talkative or demanding. He liked to be alone with his thoughts, and it seemed that she did too. She didn’t protest at the humble carriage that the Archwizard had lent him. Once the both of them had settled in and the carriage set off toward the event hall, Isabella looked at Arthur.

  “Count Faust is going to try something to undermine me at the ambassadorial reception,” Isabella told him.

  Arthur, who’d been looking out the window, looked back at her. “How do you know?”

  “Because I attempted to reach out to the people that are his allies, and managed to sound them out from their reactions,” Isabella said. “I have a relatively surefire approach which I’m confident in using on the visiting Ambrosian envoys, but I do have something to ask of you.”

  Arthur looked back out the window. I knew there would be something.

  “Please don’t help them denigrate me,” she said. “That’s all.”

  Arthur was taken aback, and looked back at her. “Don’t help them denigrate you?”

  “Correct,” she confirmed with a curt nod.

  Arthur stared at her a few moments, silently. He voiced his thoughts honestly, asking, “Partners are intended to support one another, no?”

  “But you don’t want to be my partner,” Isabella pointed out. “This is merely an exchange.”

  “That’s…” Arthur trailed off, finding it difficult to dispute or agree with what she said.

  “Objectively speaking, there would be more benefit to you to work with Faust,” Isabella outlined. “Indeed, he’ll likely approach you. All I ask is that you do nothing. It would mean a great deal to me. I won’t forget it.”

  She means it, Arthur realized. She’d be pleased if all that I did was nothing. Forget taking her side, helping her… she’d be grateful for me not to hinder her?

  Arthur wondered if she was trying to trigger his guilt, make him take her side in this dispute out of pity. But… she didn’t seem to be trying to act pitiful. Rather, she looked out the window lost in thought, clearly planning for the afternoon ahead.

  “You should already know I practice neutrality,” he finally said.

  Isabella looked at him, gave a smile with an intent he couldn’t quite decipher, then looked back out the window. She was the very picture of composure. Watching her, Arthur somehow felt this spur-of-the-moment choice to attend the reception wouldn’t be a decision that he regretted.

  ***

  Isabella alighted from the carriage, gratefully accepting Arthur’s hand to steady herself. Once she had her feet on the ground, she looked up at the Ambassadorial Hall. Compared to the royal palace loomed large above the city in the background, it seemed small, but was a nevertheless stately marble building. Others were arriving. Most of them were looking at her and Arthur.

  In a manner of speaking, this would be her debutante ball. Not into the social world, but into the cutthroat arena of royal politics.