Page 51 of Heir to His Court

I agreed. It was one of the reasons his death haunted me. It shouldn’t have been that. . .easy.

We presented ourselves at the registrar's office and waited for the clerk to summon someone in charge. Who they summoned and how long they forced us to wait would inform me if I would be required to wield rank—otherwise known as aristocratic bullying.

The office was a fairly modern room with pale yellow walls and thick carpet, antique wood chairs for guests, office personnel at heavy desks behind a long counter. To arrive here we'd walked through a wide hall of pale stone, the floors black and white marble—which made me wonder who had given input on the interior architecture. The ceilings soared, upper floors visible as people walked down hallways overlooking below.

The clerk returned in five minutes, opening the office door with enough force to indicate he'd been running. “Lady Aerinne, the Dean of University is honored to serve.”

But was he? I followed, Lavendre at my back. The clerk led us down the central hall knocked on another door, opening it after a muffled call to enter.

“Lady,” the clerk murmured with a small bow, then left.

A male with the coloring of House Ramonne rose as we entered. Lavendre closed the door behind us and stood in front of it.

His short loose waves were a deep red brown several shades darker than his bronzed gold skin. Eyes glimmering green-gold stared at me with sharp curiosity, but no surprise. He was dressed in modern academic, khaki slacks and a white shirt unbuttoned at the neck. A jacket of the Everennesse style draped over the back of his chair. He was tall and lean in the way of most Fae, shoulders slenderer than what I was used to surrounded by warriors daily, the side of his left hand stained with ink.

“Lady Aerinne,” he said in the soft, trained voice of a lecturer. “I'm Alawarre Ramonne, Dean of University.”

I'd recognized him. Manuelle's cousin, descended from the main bloodline of his House, though not a Lord. A strategic decision since University faculty were in theory neutral of House matters. A polite fiction. One did not become Dean of this University without navigating Court politics. Which he must be adept at, if the House Lords accepted his appearance of neutrality.

I almost held out my hand for him to shake because the setting reminded me of my days in New York, but stopped and offered a polite bow, which he returned, deepening the obeisance.

His chalcedony eyes briefly touched my robes. “Forgive me, I failed to note your appointment, Lady. Are you here on a House matter?”

I ticked his age up several decades. Older Fae could convey a wealth of communication through subtle nonverbal cues, an ability my mother had trained me in when she'd trained me in languages. Training that was becoming more useful now that I’d abandoned the feud.

His gaze told me he was fully aware of who I was, my import at present to the city and the High Fae Court, and he was willing to set those considerations aside or not, at my will.

Resigned, I accepted what Nora and Renaud had told me—that there was not a person in the city peripherally involved in House matters who did not know what I was. consort-in-waiting to the Prince. I didn't know why I was foolish enough to think there would be a wait. Now I was surprised it had taken an entire five minutes to gain an audience.

“I had no appointment,” I said, telling him silently that this truly was a personal matter, and I might be dealt with simply as Aerinne Capulette, and not the consort-in-waiting. “I beg pardon for the abruptness of my visit, if you have time to indulge me.”

“Ah.” He considered me, then abruptly relaxed. “It's been five years. I wasn't sure if you would come.”

“You. . .held the book?” It was a guess, a wild guess—I didn't want to expose that I had no idea why I was here.

His smile warmed with a teacher's knowing humor. “Books, Lady. We held the books. Professor Gautier would be pleased.”

I felt my eyes widen and controlled my expression. Books? I barely had time for one. “I'd believed there was only one text. I must have misunderstood his instruction.”

Alawarre chuckled. “There is far more than one text. It wouldn't be the first time Professor Gautier lured in a prospective student by. . .”

“Under promising the depth and breadth of the course of study?”

“You understand. Please, don’t be daunted. We often have students who must study between. . .events. . .or pursue nontraditional study.” He paused. “I was honored that the Professor consulted me some in the development of the course path.”

“I see.” Embry had trusted him, then, in a fashion. “The High Lord was kind to me when I was a child, and exhorted I apply to the University. I hope to fulfill some of that request now. Again, I beg your pardon for not approaching through the usual channels.”

He shook his head, mahogany curls falling over his forehead. “If you had attempted to enroll in the usual fashion, you still would have been routed to me immediately.” The corners of his eyes crinkled. “The University and its faculty are neutral, but prospective students of note are handled accordingly.”

Which made sense. Absent politics, the University still depended on the Houses for funding, and there was always safety to consider. They could not, for instance, enroll me in the same class as a highly ranked Montague. Or they could, but they would be fools not to expect the inevitable outcome of such a lapse in judgment.

“Well,” I said lightly, “I hope I don't waste your time. I fear I never excelled at academic work.”

I hadn't really intended toenroll. . .but it was too late to retreat without looking like a fool. I was just easing down the road. Embry had said go to the University, get the book. It could be a cookbook for all I knew.

Alawarre's gaze sharpened. “Professor Gautier did not trouble with students who did not show enormous promise, Lady.”

I said nothing.

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