Chapter 164: Little Squire

Cassian’s pale, flawless face instantly lost whatever color it possessed.

"Y-Your Grace!" Cassian stammered, his icy-blue eyes widening in sheer panic, finally breaking his stare to look at Leonidas. "I... I cannot! My training schedule is incredibly rigorous! I have three hours of sword katas, followed by four hours of meditative prayer! I cannot simply... escort someone!"

"Nonsense!" Leonidas waved his hand dismissively. "Consider this a test of your holy patience. The Lady Seraphina wishes to tour the outer courtyards and perhaps visit the armory. You will guide her. You will protect her. And you will try not to bore her to death. That is an order from your Archduke, Little Squire."

Cassian swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing against his starched collar. He looked trapped. He slowly turned his head, his crystalline blue eyes locking onto the tiny, dark-haired girl sitting at the wrought-iron table.

Seraphina was looking right back at him.

She wasn’t scowling. She wasn’t stuffing her face with pastries.

She was offering him a slow, wicked, and predatory little smile.

’Oh, this is going to be so much fun,’ Seraphina’s adult mind cackled, practically rubbing her hands together in glee. ’The loud Archduke just handed me the ice-prince on a silver platter. He is so rigid he looks like he swallowed a broomstick. I am going to completely dismantle his entire psychological infrastructure.’

"Hi, Young Lord Cassian," Seraphina chirped, hopping off her chair, holding the pink puppy under her arm. She waddled directly up to him, looking up with big and teary, innocent eyes. "Are we going to be friends?"

Cassian stiffened, instinctively taking a half-step backward, clutching the hilt of his un-drawn training sword as if it were a talisman.

A faint, treacherous flush of pink immediately began to creep up the back of his neck.

"We are not peers, Lady Seraphina," Cassian stated, his voice tight, attempting to project an aura of cold, devout superiority. "I am but a servant of the Light. You are the Heir of the North. I shall execute my duties as a guide with utmost professionalism, but I do not engage in... frivolous fraternization."

Using such difficult and hard vocabulary for someone of his age, it seems like this was also a reason he didn’t have any friends aside from the matter of having that cold little face,

Seraphina thought as she secretly rolled her eyes after he was trying to act cold and nonchalant, sticking out her tongue to bleh~

Seraphina didn’t let him see her expression though, lest he thought that she was mocking her.

"That’s okay," Seraphina nodded agreeably, her smile widening into something undeniably menacing. "I can do enough fraternizing for both of us. Let’s go!"

Without waiting for his consent, Seraphina reached out, her tiny hand firmly grasping the pristine, starched fabric of his white sleeve, and began to drag the twelve-year-old prodigy out of the solarium.

"W-Wait! Unhand the vestments! The fabric requires delicate handling!" Cassian protested weakly, forced to stumble after her to avoid tearing his shirt, casting a desperate, pleading look back at Lysandra and Leonidas.

Leonidas merely offered a thumbs-up gesture, thoroughly enjoying the torment of the stoic little boy, while Lysandra hid a soft laugh behind her teacup.

For the next two hours, the grand courtyards of the Obsidian Gate became the stage for a bizarre, highly asymmetrical battle of wills.

Cassian attempted to conduct the tour with the dry, academic precision of a museum curator.

He led her through the training yards, the statuary gardens, and the lower battlements, marching with rigid, military steps, his hands clasped firmly behind his back.

"To your left," Cassian lectured, his voice a droning, monotonous hum, "you will observe the statues of the founding Archdukes. They were carved from volcanic glass utilizing heat-friction magic. It represents the unyielding strength of the Southern—"

"Wow! Why is that man bald! His Head is so shiny!"

"..."

"Cassian, look! A bug!" Seraphina interrupted, squatting down on the cobblestones, pointing excitedly at a large, iridescent beetle crawling across the path.

Cassian stopped, closing his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath of patience. "Lady Seraphina. It is merely an insect. Please return your attention to the historical architecture. And do not call the statues... baldy. They are famouse historical figures."

"It has shiny green wings," Seraphina insisted, poking the beetle gently with a twig. She looked up at him, tilting her head. "Do you think it has a name? I’m going to name him Sir Butt-tolomeow the Second. Because he looks like he is wearing a very formal attire!"

Cassian felt a vein throb in his temple. "You mean, Sir Bartholomew. Prounounce it rightly, or it feels rude to the one whom you are calling by the name. Also, insects do not possess names. They lack the divine spark of a soul. Please, stand up. Your dress is gathering dust and ash. Modesty and cleanliness are the third and fourth tenets of the Sun God’s teachings."

"You’re very bossy for a boy wearing a cape," Seraphina pouted as she observed mildly, standing up and dusting off her knees.

Cassian’s pale face flushed an angry, bright crimson. "It is not a cape! It is a holy mantle! It signifies my devotion to the Light and my rejection of earthly vanities!"

"It looks swishy," Seraphina grinned, entirely unfazed by his outburst.

She was actively poking the bear, and she was loving every single second of it. Her childish mind found the boy’s rigid adherence to religious dogma absolutely hilarious.

He was only twelve. He shouldn’t be lecturing a six-year-old on the tenets of modesty; he should be climbing trees and scraping his knees at this age.

As they walked toward the inner courtyards, Seraphina’s acute radar detected a familiar, intoxicating scent drifting on the warm breeze.

Sugar.

They were approaching the kitchens.

More specifically, they were approaching the outdoor cooling racks where the bakers placed their afternoon confections to rest.

Seraphina’s eyes lit up. She immediately altered her trajectory of route.