The warmth of the summer season was beginning to pass, and for many young women of Europa this meant a return to the Principality of Saône and the continuation of the education their prestigious, affluent parents had paid the way for. The winds from the North Sea made the Coccinelle Commune particularly brisk, though for students who were former graduates of previous years, it wasn’t all that cold, relatively speaking. As it had been in previous years, the climate and temperature of the principality would only be offsetting to those from the southernmost nations or from overseas. But for most it was more of the same. That said, it was still an hour out from the opening ceremony and students had ample time to move from the train station that serviced the academy and the nearby village to get ready for the ceremony; or as most did, enjoy the time they had before the ceremony started. After all, only the most dedicated and scholarly of students would want to wait in the ceremony hall in a mostly empty room for an entire hour. Once confirmation at the front gates of their arrival they would pretty much have the hour to themselves to talk amogst themselves or distract their attention away from the beginning of the academic year.

Though with the tension building between Xargon, Espenova, Britannia, and the other large nations it was probably going to prove to be an interesting autumn term if not a year entirely.

I always did dislike the western weather.

It almost made her regret making no complaint to her father about returning to L’Espoir, but there was still knowledge to be gained and political observations to make. Espenova was neither the pinnacle of society or the center of European politics, after all. The fact that in a near hour she would have to listen to another dreadful opening ceremony did displease her greatly, especially considering the fact it was a monotonous dredge that had no information of worth. Nadalena had no interest in the posturing of others, especially when the posturing was an unneeded superfluousness. Alas, such things were necessary to keep up appearances and she had no intention to be disciplined for an absence just because she valued none of it; it was not difficult to simply smile and nod.

But she still had nearly a whole hour to sit outside and do whatever she wished until the ceremony started, a fact she was aware of as she kept the pendant watch on-hand as she did as she opened the pages of a book that she had intended on finishing; a book she had brought back from her winter stay in her home country of Espenova. The courtyard bench she sat on was solitary for the moment and the lack of incessant distractions proved it was the perfect time to get a few pages digested before she headed off for the opening ceremony. Presuming nobody tried to engage with her, of course.

But Nadalena was rarely that fortunate.

Perhaps it was the hot weather. Perhaps it was the massive crowds of people bustering about. Perhaps it was the nerves for the year to come. Perhaps it was all of it.

Whatever the cause, the result was the same. Maya of Telemarin, daughter of a renowned, infamous mafiaboss, was trembling in slight fear. Fear for the new year and everything that was to come. She always was like this, Maya, worried sick despite her neverchanging, cold looks. How one can become so used to hiding ones emotions is only left to imagination for most, and she certainly was no different. How was it that she could look at everyone without a smidget of emotion? She was always so nervous, so fidgetty inside. Perhaps that was one one of those inherited traits she was taught the previous year in biology class. She did not know.

What she did know was that here in the schoolyard, where all the girls buzzed about in expectation of both the new senester as well as the headmaster's welcoming speech. Hardly interesting to Maya, she had little necessity for congratulations and pep talk. She had her own method, after all. In her bag she carried the collective works of the famous Telemarin philosopher Gaea Einarsdottir, and the discussions about economical progress being the pinpoint of her philosophy. Maya admired Gaea greatly, though that may also be because Gaea is her great grand aunt. Either way, it was her medicine.

So she strolled about, taking in the same sights she'd gotten so used to over the years. It was in all a fairly beautiful day, she reckoned, with the sunshine strong and the sounds of singing birds barely audible over the constant chitchat. The benches were full with girls talking about the previous year and their time during summer vacation, as well as the odd ones out that instead read books. She recognized some of them, though she had no reason to chat with any of them. Or any one at all.

She was, after all, heir to a mafia Empire.

"Fortune favors the bold."

At least that was Seyrun's approach to everything in her life. She never thought that living at a slower pace, or being a prize for those seeking easy entry into her country's royalty, were good choices in life; or she didn't think so most of the time, at least. However, there were circumstances that always made Seyrun rethink her choices, one of such being the annoying heat of Southern Europa. Even on her fourth year attending to L'Espoir, Seyrun still didn't get used to it.

Nevertheless, Seyrun couldn't say that she had a bad time in the academy. In fact, whenever she went back home, she couldn't help but wait wistfully for the next term to begin. Perhaps introductory speeches grew old after the third time you listened to them but even that bit of boredom had its value if you looked deep enough.


Seyrun arrived at the academy in her typical fashion: being as conspicuous as her otherworldly looks would allow her to. It never went as well as she'd like. Eventually, Seyrun had to stop here and there to greet a few girls — if her intuition was right — looked quite infatuated.

It was during one of those stops that Seyrun's eyes picked up the somber figure of a certain someone that was one of the few people that Seyrun was previously acquainted with. She couldn't call the relationship she had with Nadalena anything like as close as friendship, but it was certainly better than pure political relations; at least it was such from Seyrun's side of it.

"Excuse me, may I have a seat beside you?" A happily smiling Seyrun asked the gloomy looking Espenovan princess, after bidding farewell to the last group of girls and walking as silently as she could towards Nadalena, hoping to not be noticed until she was close enough.

Madeline let out a silent groan.

Unlike most of the girls that attended L'Espoir, Madeline had no wish of being here at the academy. It was her father who had sought for her to attend--not Madeline, whom had felt he had chosen to abandon his own daughter for his work. It was his way to get her out of his hair, Madeline believed; To send her abroad to a fancy, upper-class establishment so that Madeline might return to the way he tried to raise his daughter.

And frankly, it was an idea that appealed little to Madeline.

Whilst the academy hosted a few classes and activities that were more than capable of capturing her attention, Madeline felt a strong distaste for the atmosphere. Often Madeline found herself grimacing as she watched the other girls that attended L'Espoir, feeling engulfed and strangled by the sophistication that these young aristocrats wielded. It was difficult for Madeline to understand the need for the finer points of life--to hold oneself vain.

In light of such thoughts, Madeline found herself resting underneath the shade of a tree, far away from most of the student body waiting for the introductory speech to commence. Madeline was one of those that stood out like a sore thumb, and she had no need for some haughty girl to approach her, mocking Madeline with a snobbish tone for being too "boyish" or "puerile." Not that Madeline cared, however, not minding a chance for a good, old-fashioned fisticuffs or some way to shut up one of the conceited girls at L'Espoir.

Perhaps I'll be able to get some shut-eye, Madeline thought to herself as she gazed upwards, closing her eyes.

“If that is your wish, Seyrun.” Nadalena uttered in response to the inquiry, hiding her inner cynicism and displeasure of being interrupted.

Nadalena moved the bookmark back in place as her eyes met Seyrun Riviathan’s own. A quick glance revealed there were plenty of “seating arrangements” in the courtyard to choose from, so it was hard to imagine why sitting next to the young raven-haired woman was the choice taken. Nadalena knew her fellow student well enough – it was hard not to given the circumstances and there were many of them. She was sure that this year would be unlike any other for the Nordic princess with accolades and perhaps a comfy place at the top of the dean’s list. That was the expectation Nadalena had, at least.

As Nadalena closed the book and placed it at her side without losing eye contact, the Espenovan heir offered an inquiry of her own. “How was the journey from Nordland?”

"I really don't know what warms me up more, Nadia, your sunny disposition or this Southern weather," Seyrun said, replying to Nadalena's answer to her question. The fact that the two of them knew one another well enough to have such an exchange of thinly-veiled jabs take the place of empty greetings always brought a chuckle to Seyrun's throat. This time was no different, of course.

The Nordic princess eyed her colleague up and down, never letting go the delicate smirk that graced her face. Seyrun really wondered if Nadalena was a late bloomer or if the raven-haired Espenovan would continue to look like a precious doll for the rest of her days, like a princess in a fairy tale book. The thought of Nadia's children being taller than her was indeed entertaining and something that Seyrun would be sure to see when the time came.

"Tiring. The weather was terrible during the sea leg of the trip. It's as if the very land is shaken by the unrest of these times," Seyrun said, replying to Nadalena's question. She didn't need to mention what unrest she was talking about; nevertheless Seyrun finished her declaration with a wistful sigh followed by a question of her own. "What about you? Considering the building tension I had my doubts about whether or not I would see you again this year. That's one of the few times I'm glad I was wrong."

“It is good to be concerned about the political climate.” Nadalena replied, matter-of-factly.

It was a fair thing to be worried about given the political unease, especially considering for the most part it was expected of young girls like Seyrun and Nadalena to keep an eye on political disagreements, trade disputes, and other such matters. Nadalena was the direct heir of the Espenovan Commonwealth – though she wasn’t wishing for her father’s demise quite yet. After all, she had just turned fifteen just last spring and such an age was a terrible age for a ruling monarch. Though she supposed she would have little choice in the matter when fate decided it was her “time”. Whenever that time was, she wasn’t looking forward to it.

“I cannot imagine what dire crisis would’ve removed all possibility of you attending, however. I suppose you are afraid of the border disputes between Telemarin? I cannot imagine the more central issues further inland are a great threat to Nordland stability. Not that I am an expert on such things.”

Meow.

No answer.

Meow meow.

The muscles in Madeline's forehead tensed, as if she had been disturbed by the inessential mewling of a cat. Her eyes flickering open, Madeline stared upwards face-to-face at a--likely stray--European shorthair. The cat watched Madeline's every movement; Its eyes almost taunting the girl with every glance.

"What do you want?" Madeline asked the cat.

"Meow," it replied. An obvious response.

Madeline sighed, annoyed that her shut-eye had been disturbed by the shorthair. Nonetheless, with every attempt to doze off once more, the cat would make sure that Madeline stood wide awake. "Meow," the cat would continuously mew, "Meow meow." With it now evident that the cat had no plans to leave her alone, Madeline decided to take matters into her own hands.

Snatching a broken stick from the ground, Madeline tossed it into the air at the shorthair, much to the dismay of those who might be watching the spectacle. Nevertheless, the cat refused to scram, and instead chose to descend from the tree and to the ground. Brushing against Madeline, the cat purred an ode to its stubbornness.

"I'm doomed," Madeline spoke to herself as she gave into the cat's whims, her hand petting the shorthair's unusually soft fur.

"Cute cat. Is it yours? I did'nah think pets were allowed. Secret's safe wit' me."

Almost as if Madeline had expected it, someone had eventually decided to approach the New Columbian. Whereas Madeline figured it would had been a rich, snooty girl from one of the aristocrat houses of Europa or just someone with a lot of cash, she was genuinely surprised in regards to the girl that chose to make conversation. The girl had a heavy accent, and her clothes were baggy--clearly oversized for a girl of her stature. Just like Madeline, the girl seemed out of place at the academy.

"The cat?" Madeline responded, taking a short glance at the cat that was busy snuggling against her leg for a reason she struggled to fathom. "No, it's not mine. In fact, I'm not certain whose cat it is. Maybe it's a stray." A likely guess, in the end. Madeline couldn't remember if pets were allowed at the academy, but she hardly paid attention to the rules in the first place. Figuring the girl wanted to pet the cat, Madeline gestured in its direction, as if to say to the stranger: "go ahead."

By then, Madeline took another gaze at the girl before herself. Despite having wished to be left alone from the rest that frequented the academy, Madeline wasn't a total asshole. Whilst she despised the upper class, it was evident that the girl in front of Madeline was not upper class by any means. "So, what's your name?" Madeline asked. "I'm Madeline, but it doesn't bother me if you prefer Maddy instead." She continued, thinking it might be nice to make a friend that didn't see her as a "disgusting being" for being too boyish.

"When you say it like that, it's indeed a possibility, but not one I pay much mind to. 'Nordland is going to remain neutral at all costs,' is the will of our National Assembly," Seyrun replied to Nadalena's question about possible border disputes, followed by a satirical impersonation of Nordland's Prime Minister. The Nordic princess' love for drama and theatrics were evident as she did her best to mock a man thrice as old as she.

"It seems that some of the most spineless politicians believe that the fact that I came here to study might be seen as a political maneuver in search of allies by one, or both, sides of this conflict," Seyrun said with a grave voice. She made a momentary pause to let the seriousness of their talk cool down for a bit before adding in her characteristic jovial tone, "can you believe? Who in the world would think that a nation's Crown Princess, no matter how much of a charismatic troublemaker she may be, would act as a spy?"

Nadalena had thought long on the relations between her neighboring countries, but if it came to war the will of Espenova was not one that was the same as Nordland. Naïve fancies of neutrality were not things that were options as the relationship between her people and that of the Xargonites were souring more and more by the day. War was inevitable, it just depended on when the führer had his fill. But then again, maybe some of her peers were right about her being a bit too presumptive in such matters. After all, what did a teenager know about political tensions outside of what she had been told?

“Then I suppose you had nothing to worry about in the first place. War has not happened and you are most certainly not a spy, despite how scandulous that would be. Imagining you a spy is like imagining myself the Empress of Rome.”

A slight giggle left her lips at the absurd notion of the thought.

“It is rather absurd, isn’t it?”

"Hahaha! Indeed, it truly is," Seyrun said amid a sudden burst of laughter from the mental image that came with Nadalena's comparison. "I can barely imagine how you'd look dressed in Roman-style royal garbs," she added while trying to regain her composure, after her outburst attracted a great deal of unwanted attention.

"It's because of this kind of thing that I really miss you, Nadia."

"Anyway, that's enough talk about Nordland for the time being. There are many more interesting things on the main continent. Like the stories I've read about airplanes. Who would say that machines like that would be perfect this soon?" Seyrun said before pulling a Xargonian magazine whose main story was about the second edition of Myrándais great air fair that happened on the previous Spring. "This seems to be a very entertaining hobby. I wonder if I would be able to fly one of these one day? I mean, it can't be much harder than driving, can it?"

“I imagine there is an operating curve of sorts.”

Nadalena had heard about the development of these early “aero-planes” Seyrun spoke of, but she wasn’t exactly sure what to make of it. She hadn’t been born when the first competition to showcase such vehicles occurred in Vannetais in 1889 at the Exposition Universelle of Paris and most of the other showcases at other fairs had been on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean for the most part. She had heard that in April of next year that the world’s fair would return to Europa, though it had been announced the location would be in Aachen of all places. Nadalena wasn’t sure what to think about being a “tourist” in a Xargonite city.

“I suppose we could begin petitioning for our class year to visit Aachen come April. I'm sure you will get to see them first hand at the World's Fair.”

As much as she didn’t want to talk about things at the moment Nadalena did find a comfort in all of it. There was something about talking to someone who was genuinely interested in technology and all of the bells and whistles that came with it.

“Maybe you could pick some aviator's brain, though I suppose if you get too friendly it could be quite the scandal.”

"That's a brilliant idea, Nadia, I'll begin working on a petition as soon as the opening ceremony is over and we are settled in our rooms," Seyrun said in an excited voice after she heard Nadalena's suggestion.

"If I ever become a famous explorer, you can be sure that I'll write about this moment in my memoirs," the blue haired princess said while flashing her typical cat-like grin; not at her conversation partner but at the vast blue skies overhead.

"Anyway, do you have plans for lunch today? If not, would you like to come with me to the garden?" Seyrun said while straightening her back, stretching like a cat in the morning sun. "A few first years asked me already, but if you are free, I can find a way to continue our conversation later. It's so rare for us to be able to have such a carefree talk, I don't want to lose this chance," she added before sighing wistfully.

“You can call the book The Princess and The Pilot. Do be sure to give me credit.” Nadalena uttered, moving a strand of hair from her face as a gentle breeze blew forward. A smug, self-important smile was on her face, obviously proud of the joke she had just made.

“Where do you find the time for all of these first years? You haven't even been back for a whole day yet. Your dilligence and patience surprises even me. But I digress. I don't think any of us have plans for lunch today. It is everyone's first day back, after all.”

Her statement wasn't exactly avoiding the question, but she sure as hell didn't give a obvious “yes” or “no”. For those who knew Nadalena they understood that this was her way of supposing she didn't have anything better to do and that she could humor their presence for such a time. Though, Nadalena did still prefer not to have to deal with such a meeting, but Seyrun was rather accommodating in the past so she had little issues with her personal character beyond thinking she was a bother. It took a lot for the Espenovan girl to actively dislike someone.

"That's a pretty good idea for a title. I knew that I could count on you when it comes to literary issues," Seyrun said in a completely earnest tone. After all, while Seyrun was by no means uneducated—she wouldn't be sitting on this bench if she was— but she always admired Nadalena for her way with words. The raven-haired girl had a knack for these matters that Seyrun lacked, except perhaps when it came to the next subject of their conversation.

"It's less of a matter of finding time for them and more of they squeezing it out of me. It all began after I helped some of them find their way around the Academy, but the story escalated fast after they began to call me a Prince Charming or something like this. Can you believe on that?" Seyrun said in a totally nonchalant voice. In fact, she was having more fun with the idea than anything else, which was pretty evident in the smirk she had stamped in her face. "But I'm pretty sure you won't want to hear about such outlandish stories, right?"

"Anyway, I'll meet you at lunch, then. As long as the weather is fine we can even have it in the garden," the blue-haired girl said, as soon as Nadalena said that she could join her.

The first day back at L'Espoir had been as inviting as it always had been in the past.

Headmaster Rutger Poelvoorde had given the speech alongside his aide, Mistress Cécile, to introduce the girls to another year of promise, creativity, and wisdom. After speaking clearly to the room of students, he delegated their boarding arrangements, and schedules, though the first day was hardly a day of grueling work. For many of the veteran students, it was more of the same as they were more than familiar with their surroundings in the old estate. Most returning students even had few changes to worry about as the administrative staff felt it unwise to shuffle the best and brightest into new rooms every year; though sometimes it was a necessity when students did not reapply for a return year.

After getting their schedules and meeting with their homeroom instructors, the female students of L'Espoir now found themselves preparing themselves for lunchtime as they approached the academy's dining hall. As it had been like in the past, the rest of the day was open to them due to the belief that the new students needed to socialize and the old students needed to plan for what clubs they wanted to associate with, what activities they were interested in, and whom they wanted to catch up with after a summer apart. All while they returned to the Belgian and French cuisine that was a staple of the dining options at the academy.

The introductory speech given by Headmaster Poelvoorde and his aide, Mistress Cécile, had always bored Madeline. She had spent time at the academy on four different occasions by now, and truth be told, Madeline failed to notice any difference in the headmaster's speech from the years before. In the end, it was always the same dictation of "another year of promise, creativity, and wisdom" that Madeline had to power through lest she fall asleep where she stood. Sweetened, honeyed words were for the easily enamored, after all.

Once she received her schedule and had met with her homeroom instructor, Madeline was quick to follow the trail of students that led towards the academy's dining hall. She hadn't cared for friendly conversation; no, Madeline's only desire was to find a suitable position among the many tables of the dining hall. Being stuck in a room with a group of idiotic nobles and moronic upstarts was already enough, but having to ask to sit with them to find a place to sit down?

It had been a thought that led Madeline to cringe. Madeline despised those around her, and she had no intention to suck up to someone on the first day.

As Madeline sat down and placed the appropriate meal card down on the table, she found herself wandering. Her thoughts shifted to the girl earlier this morning, which Madeline wondered where the girl had went. It wasn't hard to pinpoint someone who clearly appeared as if they didn't belong here, and surely Madeline wasn't talking to a ghost, right?

Eventually, her thoughts waltzed back to the academy itself. Each student was paired with another individual, and for as long as the term lasted, they were to be roommates. In general, Madeline never had a great relationship with any of her roommates, and her previous roommate from the year before was not returning to the academy this year, therefore she was destined to be paired with someone new or in a similar situation. Glancing around the dining hall, Madeline considered several girls as possibilities before ultimately shrugging and leaning back into the wooden chair she sat upon.

Watch my luck; I'll probably get paired up with some Toulousian, or worse, some noble princess from God knows where.