2

Asher nods briskly. While you take a brief walk to the edge of the lake, they spread a cashmere blanket on the ground and smooth it out. It's only when they open the picnic basket that you realize how hungry you are.

Next

The wind picks up, rippling lightly along the surface of the lake. Close by, birds sing in the reeds while swans sail serenely across the water. This could be a pastoral landscape painting from the last century.

Dinner consists of crusty bread, roasted vegetables, and salad. Asher waits to check that you've eaten your fill before wolfing down a sandwich. They spread the map over their knees and study it while they eat, occasionally shaking their pale hair out of their blue eyes.

"I'll make sure it's more comfortable for the next part of the journey," they say. "It shouldn't take long. Round the western edge of the mountains, over Gallatin town, and then we should be there by the evening. I'll telephone the palace to let them know you've arrived all right. No need to worry."

They sound very much as though they're worrying.

Asher sits up very straight. "Of course!" they say. "It's my job to make sure everything's safe and smooth for you!"

For as long as you've known them, Asher's been this way: intensely focused on their work, and refusing to budge from it no matter how much your siblings tried to distract them. That, of course, means making sure you're doing exactly nothing dangerous.

Asher should trust you enough that you can escape their scrutiny; perhaps living away from the palace will mean you have more freedom to do as you please.

The fishermen finish up refueling the plane; you drink deeply from your carafe of ice water and dust your hands on your pants. Asher rises with you, pulling their flying jacket on and zipping it up to their neck.

"We should get going," they say with a final wistful look over the lake.

Pulling on your flying cap and goggles, you wait for Asher to start the engine. They draw the plane around the edge of the lake, slowly picking up speed.

Your heart is in your throat as the plane takes off.

You Ascend

Circling the Gallatin Mountains, Asher guides the airplane west. Nestled in the valley below sits Gallatin town, a mile or two from the Academy. As the light fades, it grows harder to see ahead of you, and your face grows damp.

"We've hit a bank of fog!" Asher shouts from ahead of you. "Watch out for any planes nearby. It's hard to see anything!"

Worse, you realize, it will be near-impossible to spot Archambault Academy from this distance.

"What should I do?" Asher calls over their shoulder. Their voice trembles.

"Go for it!" Asher shouts. "They're in the left compartment."

You dig out the pack of flares and snap one with the reek of cordite. It shoots above you, and red light bursts over the plane, illuminating your way. As Asher presses on, the fog thickens, and you dimly see the faint crimson stain of sunset in the distance.

It feels like hours. Your lips are growing cold.

Next

Finally, finally, you see twinkling lights below.

"That's it!" Asher yells. "The Academy!"

They bring the plane down, down, and you finally touch down with a jolt. Cheering bursts around you.

Next

A gaggle of teachers and students have been waiting on the field for you, and as soon as the engine is switched off, they swarm to you. You jump to the ground and, from the pilot's seat, so does Asher.

The tallest of the crowd is a middle-aged man with a ruddy complexion and a beard, whose picture you recognize from the Archambault prospectus. Lord Pascal Haberlin, the Headteacher. He bears a lantern and is dressed in a long brocade robe that looks suspiciously like a dressing-gown.

"Your Highness!" he shouts.

Next

Please allow us to welcome you to our little school!" calls Pascal.

You take off your cap and goggles, blinking at the sudden cool breeze on your face. The audience applauds as though you've done something remarkable, not caring about your ruffled appearance.

"My goodness," Pascal says, partially to you and partially for the benefit of the assembled crowd. "You're the absolute image of Queen Estell!"

You've heard that many a time. The blinking lights of the plane give your coloring an unnatural cast, but like the rest of the royal family…