"My eyes are big so I can see you more clearly," the wolf said with absolute conviction. "My hands are big so I can hug you more passionately! Everything about me is big. You'll soon find I'm not lying.
Why are you looking at me like that, little girl? Why aren't you answering?"
The sorceress smiled faintly. "Because I'm going to give you a surprise."
— "Surprise," from Fairy Tales and Folk Stories by Florence de Lannoy
…
This sorceress was small and slender, with long, straight straw-blond hair. Her blue lace blouse was cut low, and over it she wore a veil-thin white shawl—so sheer that the tiny mole just beneath her collarbone was plainly visible.
She had a straight, refined nose and pale cherry-colored lips. Her delicate neck was swanlike, and her skin—whiter even than the gauze—was as smooth and fine as a young girl's. Around her neck hung a silver ankh set with zircon.
The only thing that didn't match the girlish impression she gave was her eyes.
Those clear, luminous irises reflected an arrogance that held everything in contempt. When her cold gaze swept the room, not a single knight dared meet it head-on.
As she walked step by step toward Siegfried, her posture was like a fierce lioness. Standing beside the knight, Victor could even feel a faint prickling on his skin from the ripples of magic in the air.
She extended her right hand to Siegfried, and the Rose Knight bowed to perform a flawless kiss of the hand.
According to a bit of practical knowledge Eskel had once shared with the boy, almost all sorceresses liked having their hand kissed. Politely put, it let them enjoy the same treatment as a princess. Bluntly put, it made them feel respected.
— Eskel: "People are always afraid of them, but they rarely respect them."
Her earrings swayed with a bright, chiming jingle. Her movements were gentle, yet somehow both ostentatious and brazen.
"Speak, Siegfried of Denesle. Keira Metz, court adviser of Temeria, is asking you a question. What exactly happened tonight in the Temple Quarter? I heard it even involved a wandering mage. His Majesty Foltest—your king—wants a detailed account." As she spoke, she lifted her snow-white neck, slim enough that it looked as though it could be snapped with ease.
Victor bent slightly at the waist. From that angle, all he could see were her calves, her wyvern-leather shoes, and several exquisite toes peeking out.
From the moment she started walking toward Siegfried, he'd adopted that posture—perfect for projecting the image of a youthful boy too shy to withstand her beauty.
— Eskel: "Getting close to a sorceress is dangerous. Her beauty can knock the sense right out of you. And if you don't lose your head over it—at least, if you don't act like you have—she might give you a 'surprise' you'll never forget!"
Sorceresses were as famous for their mercurial tempers as they were for their beauty. Victor had no illusions that he was handsome enough for Keira Metz to forgive even the smallest, accidental slight.
Faced with her questioning, the Rose Knight handed her the freshly signed statement.
As Keira skimmed the clerk's transcription, the disdain in her eyes deepened with every line. Her pale cherry lips parted as she spoke.
"Idiotic bumpkins…" Her brown eyes shifted, and she flicked a glance at Victor. "And an ordinary little wretch, putting on this worthless farce together—just so I have to climb out of a warm bath in the middle of the night, set aside my blueberries and nuts, and my Fiorano rose red—ah… damn it…"
No one in the reception room had the standing to interrupt or soothe a displeased sorceress. So even Siegfried—who seemed sincerely earnest—kept his eyes lowered, avoided her gaze, and stayed silent while she cursed.
Then, from far to near—
Clack… clack… clack… clack…
The even, unhurried strikes of iron boots against the floor, somehow carrying an overwhelming presence, cut straight through her complaining.
The door opened.
A long, square face—hard as stone. A full beard—imposing and proud.
Thunder seemed to roll through the world as Jacques arrived in all his glory, Victor thought instantly, because the man's entrance was so effortlessly commanding it left no room for argument.
Every knight bowed deeply at once. Angoulême and Victor followed suit. Even the haughty sorceress inclined her head in acknowledgement.
And as he stepped into the room and advanced, one step at a time, the contrast became unmistakable. Keira's magic had only raised a prickling on Victor's skin—Jacques's magic made the very air feel thick, almost sticky.
If Victor had to put it in a more concrete way: if you treated a School of the Wolf medallion like something that buzzed, Keira could make it tremble at a normal, modest pace—while Jacques walked in like the thing had been cranked to its most violent setting.
…
Inside the reception room, once they finally faced each other and began to speak, everyone else became furniture.
Jacques de Aldersberg: "Court Adviser Keira Metz—what brings you to the Order's headquarters at this hour?"
His tone was calm, but not particularly respectful. Her smile was present, but it wasn't joy.
"Grand Master Jacques, our king wishes to know the full sequence of events behind the disturbance in the Temple Quarter tonight."
He took the incident report from Keira, glanced through it quickly, and didn't address the sorceress at all—first, he looked to Siegfried.
"My knight. I want to hear your opinion. Do you believe this record is credible?"
Siegfried pressed a hand to his chest and lowered his head. "Grand Master, I trust my friend's character. In fact, only a few days ago we fought side by side to clear drowners."
The Grand Master smiled. He swept his gaze up and down Victor once, then spoke.
"Clerk. Later, copy the statement again and send it to Falwick of Moën. Tell him I wish to hear his explanation."
Only then did he look to Keira Metz, giving the transcript in his hand a light flick.
"Madam, that is the beginning and end of it. Please convey my respects to His Majesty."
Dismissed so lightly, the sorceress's eyes turned to ice as she stared at Jacques. And Jacques's eyes—like cast steel—were just as cold, just as hard.
Their clash of gazes didn't last long. Keira dipped in a formal bow, signaling the matter was finished. As she bent, a flash of swaying white was… striking, but none of the four men in front of her were affected.
The Grand Master's will was unshakable. The Rose Knight's heart was fixed on serving the Eternal Fire. Angoulême was a girl. And Victor had seen absolutely nothing—he'd been staring at Keira's calves the entire time, fully committed to preserving his "bashful" image.
With a casual spell, Keira duplicated the statement and took it with her. She lifted one hand as though the weight of the world was nothing, opened a portal, and vanished from the room—leaving behind only a lingering trace of scent: rosemary.
…
Her departure made everyone noticeably more at ease.
The witnessing knights and the clerk rose one after another, saluted the Grand Master, and left the reception room. Soon, only four people remained inside.
"Witcher apprentice, from east of Zerrikania—Victor of Bell Town," Jacques said, his voice rich with warmth, deep and mellow. "And Melitele's acknowledged 'Pure One.' You needn't worry any longer. Falwick will stop his attacks on you—unless he wishes to bear the king's wrath, and my judgment."
At that, Victor finally raised his head, facing the Grand Master at close range.
"Thank you for your help, Grand Master Jacques."
"A small matter. Which school are you apprenticed to, young man?"
"The School of the Cat."
"And your master?" Jacques asked. "I didn't see anything about him in the transcript."
"He died last winter, in a kikimore nest…" Victor lowered his head as he spoke, showing grief. Angoulême cooperated, lowering her head as well, saying nothing.
"What a shame…" Jacques patted the boy's shoulder in consolation.
"Listen. You handled the drowners well. I appreciate young people who truly mean to eradicate monsters. But since you've lost the one guiding you, I don't believe you must become a witcher no matter what. If you change your mind, tell Siegfried—our Order welcomes more comrades to strive for humanity together."
After offering comfort and encouragement to Victor, the Grand Master prepared to leave. He gripped Siegfried's forearm in a firm, encouraging gesture, and he didn't forget to give Angoulême a friendly smile and nod.
Then he strode out of the reception room like a man born to command.
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