Chapter 7: The Guardian Officer for Men

Mélusine settled into the ducal manor with a quiet discretion that caused few ripples. Save for the hours dedicated to tutelage, she remained almost entirely within the confines of her chamber.

During their second lesson, she enlightened Dias further: in Waite, more powerful witches could draw sustenance directly from the ambient mana in the air, partially supplanting the need for conventional food. Those who attained the rank of Rex Nemorensis, she explained, had even transcended the need for mortal sustenance altogether.

When Dias, her curiosity piqued, inquired as to where Cécile stood by this standard, Mélusine had added that Cécile was… an exception. The physician belonged to the 'Magician' domain, a sphere largely populated by educators and researchers who, respectively, safeguarded the foundational knowledge and pushed the very boundaries of Waite's magical arts. They were, she implied, judged by a different metric.

Corneille had arranged for the female members of the household purchasing staff to liaise directly with Mélusine, thus sparing her any awkward or private discussions with men. He also instructed the chef to prepare a separate menu of local Waite dishes for her, astutely aware that the Federation's cuisine was often unpalatable to those native to Waite.

Mélusine, for her part, demonstrated a keen understanding of social graces. In her conversations with Corneille, she spoke only of Dias, her words invariably painting a picture of a well-behaved and sensible pupil, one blessed with remarkable innate talent and making astoundingly swift progress.

"Given time," Mélusine declared, her voice carrying a note of conviction, "she will undoubtedly blossom into a formidable witch. Regardless of the domain she ultimately chooses, she possesses the inherent qualities to contend for the title of 'Rex Nemorensis.' And when that day comes," a hint of pride touched her tone, "I, as her initial mentor, shall share in the radiance of her glory."

A subtle frown touched Corneille’s brow. Dias’s dabbling in witchcraft was merely a temporary expedient, a means to an end. It did not, by any stretch of the imagination, imply that he intended for Dias to permanently forfeit his… masculinity. How else, after all, was Dias, as the "Duke of Alva," to marry and secure the continuation of his line? There were many burdens Corneille could, and would, shoulder on Dias's behalf, but matrimony and procreation were, regrettably, beyond his capacity to delegate.

On the morning of April 10th, Corneille entered Dias's chamber. He could sense a faint, almost imperceptible thrum of energy coalescing around her – tangible evidence of Mélusine’s tutelage bearing fruit. This nascent aura was still far too weak for Dias to weave any true spells, yet her physical condition had undeniably improved. She ate with a healthier appetite, slept more soundly, and a new vitality seemed to spark within her… which also, disconcertingly, made her resemble the young Angelica with ever-increasing fidelity.

A nightmarish sort of bliss, Corneille thought, his emotions a tangled knot.

He called for Dias to rise. She sat up slowly, her movements languid, a silken strap of her nightgown slipping to reveal a sweep of snow-white shoulder, now tinged with a healthy, rosy blush.

Corneille gently brushed aside the strands of her golden hair and adjusted the errant strap, pulling the nightgown back into place. Dias mumbled a sleepy "Good morning," her eyes half-closed as she fumbled for the set of feminine attire laid out for her.

In addition to the formal ensemble sponsored by the doctor, Corneille, after consulting with the younger female members of his staff and seeking Mélusine’s advices, had procured a selection of their outgrown garments to serve Dias’s immediate domestic needs. He had also commissioned a local tailor to create a more extensive wardrobe of spring and summer dresses.

The intricacies of makeup application, the wearing of intimate feminine undergarments, and the management of… uniquely female monthly cycles… these were matters he could not, in good conscience, inquire about. He knew only that after a private consultation with Mélusine, Dias had returned with her skirts clutched in her hands, her face flushed a becoming crimson, and her features subtly enhanced by a delicate application of cosmetics that had caused Corneille’s own heart to skip an undeniable beat.

"Well, now," Corneille had teased, his voice carefully light, "it seems I shall have to be exceedingly stringent in my assessment of your potential suitors. Any who are not at least as comely as yourself, I shall most certainly refuse to acknowledge the match!"

Dias had merely responded by butting her head gently against Corneille’s chest, again and again, until he, feigning defeat, had tumbled onto the bed in a gesture of mock surrender. Only then had a small, genuine smile graced her lips.

"Being a girl," she had sighed, "is truly wearisome." A few moments later, she had added, her voice a soft whisper, "This may sound like a form of emotional coercion, Pierre, but… I have never, not for a single moment, felt myself to be a girl. Yet, for your sake, I can be 'Théresias.' I can endure the awkwardness this… this gender brings. I can even learn all this knowledge that I know, with absolute certainty, I shall never have cause to use in the future."

After that heartfelt declaration, Dias’s complaints about being treated as a girl had noticeably diminished. Instead, she had begun to earnestly, almost meticulously, embrace the role.

Corneille now removed the feminine attire from Dias’s reach and presented a set of male school clothes. She glanced at it. "That gown is hideous. Find me another… Oh!" Her eyes widened. "This is the uniform of the Merida Academy of General Studies! I am to be a student, starting today!"

All trace of sleepiness vanished. Dias, her face alight with an almost feverish excitement, eagerly mixed her dose of the ointment with water and drank it down. For the past fifteen years, her education had come primarily from tutors engaged by her father, supplemented by lessons from Angelica and Corneille himself. She had never experienced the camaraderie, the shared learning, of attending school with her peers.

The prospect of this entirely new experience filled Dias with a buoyant anticipation. Soon, however, as his male form reasserted itself, a chilling emptiness, a profound coldness, seeped into him, leaching the joy from his body as if it were a tangible thing.

Corneille’s voice was laced with concern. "The doctor did mention that males possess a significantly lower capacity for mana absorption than females. Therefore, when you revert to your male physique, you may experience weakness, a sensation of coldness, and a lowering of spirits. The strain on your heart will also increase. If you feel unwell…"

"It is nothing, Pierre," Dias said, forcing a wan smile as he gazed at his reflection. "This is a path I must walk, regardless." His hair was shorter now, the soft swell of his chest had vanished, and… other masculine attributes had returned. "Magic," he breathed, "is a truly wondrous, and terrifying, thing."

At half-past seven in the morning, a well-fed Corneille and a decidedly less enthusiastic Dias, whose appetite had dwindled with his transformation, stepped out of the manor. The Guardian Officer, dispatched by the Men's Administration Bureau, was already waiting.

The Guardian Officer was one of the… benefits… the ruling matriarchy bestowed upon its male populace. They received complimentary security services, shielding them from attacks by lawless brigands (often those desperate individuals seeking to "impregnate first and claim immunity later") and from other forms of unwelcome harassment.

It was also, however, a male obligation. The assignment of a Guardian Officer was mandatory. When outdoors, males were restricted to approved activities within areas sanctioned by their escort. Defiance of a Guardian Officer was duly recorded, and such records directly impacted a male's societal rating – a rating that, in turn, determined his future employment prospects, marital eligibility, welfare subsidies, and even his provisions in old age.

When Mélusine had been explaining these societal norms, Dias had asked how one prevented a Guardian Officer from… taking advantage of their charge. A soft, enigmatic laugh from behind the black veil had been Mélusine's only reply.

Now, seeing the Guardian Officer in person, Dias’s question found its answer.

She was a young woman of the Canid race, her black hair styled in a neat bob, her irises a striking crimson. She stood about ten centimeters taller than Dias's current male height of 167cm. Her gaze was sharp, almost predatory, and a wavy, ochre-painted stripe adorned her right cheek. Most striking of all, however, were the black-furred, animalistic ears that twitched atop her head and the equally black, expressive tail that swayed gently behind her.

The Canid race and humans were, thankfully, reproductively incompatible. Furthermore, their estrus cycles were fixed and predictable. Employing them as Guardian Officers effectively addressed the potential issue of escorts… exploiting their position.

Corneille’s attention, however, was focused on the Guardian Officer’s armaments: a breastplate of gleaming silvered steel, a folded buckler affixed to her left arm, a slender rapier at her hip, and a dagger strapped to her thigh. A faint shimmer of energy clung to each item, marking them as enchanted, far from ordinary.

There was, however, a complication. The Canid races hailed from the Federated States – and the Federated States were a cornerstone of the Tri-State Alliance. At present, the Duke of Alva was, at least nominally, a sworn member of the Royalist faction. This particular assignment, Corneille couldn't help but suspect, was a deliberate provocation, a piece of mischief orchestrated by the witches of Waite, eager to stir the political pot and observe the ensuing chaos for their own amusement.

"Salutations to you, Lord Dias de Toledo, Duke of Alva," the Canid woman declared, her left fist striking her chest in a crisp, formal salute. "I am Polly of the Greyclaw Clan. Upon my clan’s honor, I swear to safeguard your person, my Lord!"

Polly Greyclaw’s alien, yet respectful, greeting startled Dias. He instinctively moved to return the gesture, but the presence of a stranger triggered his social anxieties. His mouth opened, but no words emerged.

Corneille, with a sigh, stepped in. "Well met, Lady Greyclaw. The Duke’s safety is in your capable hands."

"Address me as Polly, if you please," she corrected, her crimson eyes flicking towards him. "Greyclaw is not a surname." While Polly was deferential, almost reverent, towards Dias, her demeanor towards Corneille was markedly different – a curt, almost dismissive, nod.

Corneille was familiar with the social customs of the Canid races. They displayed profound respect towards those they perceived as their superiors, yet often treated equals or perceived inferiors with a blunt, almost discourteous, directness. Clearly, he had been found wanting in this young woman's estimation.

The trio proceeded to the public carriage station. As another male perquisite, the Merida Academy of General Studies had prepaid the carriage fares for its male students, allowing them to travel free of charge upon presentation of their student credentials.

Following standard security protocol, Polly flashed her official insignia, compelling all other passengers on the waiting carriage to disembark and submit to an inspection. Murmurs of discontent rippled through the crowd, but they died abruptly as their eyes fell upon Corneille and Dias.

Three pairs of eyes fixed upon Dias, three more upon Corneille, while another three darted assessingly between the two of them. As always, Dias sought refuge behind Corneille’s broader frame, biting his lip in distress at the barrage of hot, insolent stares.

Polly, it seemed, possessed some form of search-related xenogene – supernatural abilities inherited through bloodlines by certain demi-human races. Once the inspection was complete, she glared at the assembled passengers, her hand resting meaningfully on the pommel of her rapier in an unmistakable, naked threat. The crowd quieted, though furtive, lingering glances were unavoidable.

Dias expressed a desire to sit on the upper, open-air deck of the carriage. However, security considerations prompted both Corneille and Polly to firmly position him between them in the enclosed lower compartment.

Polly’s hand never strayed far from her sword hilt. Her palpable vigilance prompted Corneille to keep his own hand equally close to his weapon. An oppressive silence descended within the carriage; even breathing seemed to become a cautious, measured act.

After an agonizing thirty-five minutes, when the carriage finally rumbled to a halt before the grand edifice of the Merida Academy of General Studies, a collective sigh of relief, thick and heavy, filled the air.

"Waite… is a terrifying place," Dias whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Who could argue otherwise?" Corneille murmured. His gaze then caught a familiar figure near the academy gates. He gave Dias a gentle nudge. "Go on. Your classmate is already waiting for you at the entrance."