Chapter 12: The Mirror's Edge 2
"Yeah... now put me down, please," Rin had just muttered, still flustered by the prolonged, accidental... intimacy.
Finn complied, starting to gently lower Rin. It was at this exact moment that the heavy oak door to the study slammed open with a bone-rattling CRASH.
"FINN! I have been looking for you for an—"
Fern, the Lady of White Stone, froze in the doorway.
Her pink eyes immediately took in the scene: her fiancé, the "Saint of Steel," the 3 son of the arrowhead family, was currently cradling a slender, silver-haired girl—who was wearing a very baggy, oversized hoodie—in his arms. They were so close that their breath was mingling, and Finn's brad muscular hands were wrapped securely around her.
Fern didn't explode. She was a five-foot whirlwind of jealousy, yes, but she was also a noblewoman who understood the power of scary stillness.
Her small face remained impassive, but the thick, gray tracksuit jacket she wore suddenly felt tight as she stepped fully into the room. Her heavy pink- reptilian tail lashed out behind her, shattering a decorative vase near the entryway with a wet, heavy crack.
Fern stopped five feet from the pair, crossing her arms over her chest, her expression blank and impossibly cold.
"Finn," she said, her voice sinking into a quiet, dangerous register. "I am trying very hard... very hard... not to lose my composure. Can you kindly explain exactly what is going on here? And who, pray tell, is this silver-haired... guest?"
Finn's internal logic circuits overloaded. His brain, already reeling from the 'split-soul' realization, could only produce one thought: We are both dead.
"Fern! This is just... uh... Rina! Yes, Rina! She's... she's my new specialized consultant for Labyrinth anomalies!"
Rin, still in Finn's arms and now feeling very vulnerable, winced. Rina? Really? We used that name at the safe house! Are we just bad at lies?
"A 'consultant'?" Fern repeated, her tail lashing the air. Her gaze traveled slowly from Finn's hands on Rin's waist to Rin's silver hair. "And is 'Cradling the Consultant' part of standard Imperial protocol, or is this your new method of 'analyzing' mana frequencies, dear?"
Finn stood frozen, his brain seemingly stuck in a mid-air buffer, so Rin took the lead. He let out a long, theatrical sigh, looking up at the armored man with a gaze of pure disappointment.
"We are in this position," Rin said, his voice smooth and steady as he looked toward Fern, "because I was demonstrating to Lord Finn exactly how he gets himself into 'sticky situations' that aren't what they seem. As you can see, he's actually quite terrible at navigating them."
Rin turned his head back to Finn, his silver eyes flat. "Finn... you're still holding me."
"Oh! Right. My apologies," Finn blurted out. The "Saint of Steel" regained his motor functions and placed Rin—or rather, 'Rina'—back on the floor with exaggerated care, as if he were handling a fragile glass vase.
Fern's tail stopped its violent lashing, though her pink eyes remained narrowed, scanning the two of them for any lingering traces of guilt. "I see... so you two weren't doing anything... intimate?"
"No. Not even close," Rin said, his tone turning icy and professional. He turned to Fern and offered a polite, practiced hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Fern. I apologize for the confusing optics."
Fern stared at Rin's hand for a second before shaking it. Her grip was surprisingly strong. "It is... nice to meet you as well, Rina. I suppose specialized consultants have... unique training methods."
Rin turned back to Finn, bowing with the perfect etiquette of a high-ranking subordinate. "My Lord," he said, the title tasting strange on his tongue. "We shall continue our session tomorrow. I wish you a good day."
"Yes... get some rest," Finn replied, his knightly composure finally clicking back into place. "We have much to discuss in the morning."
Rin stepped out of the office, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind him. He stood in the quiet, torch-lit hallway for a moment, letting out the breath he'd been holding.
"Jeez, what a pain," Rin muttered, rubbing his temples. He started walking down the corridor, his oversized hoodie swishing around his legs. "Wait... I forgot to ask him where Milim and Naga are. Dammit."
He looked back at the door, hearing the muffled sound of Fern starting a much more private conversation with Finn.
"Ah, who gives a damn? I'll just find a maid and ask," Rin decided, quickening his pace. "Because there is no way in hell I'm going back in there tonight."
Rin had only made it two hallways deep before he was cornered. A gaggle of five maids, their aprons crisp and their eyes gleaming with the predatory hunger of stylists, swarmed him like a school of piranhas.
"Oh, look at her! She's like a little lost moonbeam!" one cried, clasping her hands.
"The Young Lord's new guest... we simply must get her out of that dreadful, oversized sack," another chirped, reaching for the hem of Rin's hoodie.
Rin swatted their hands away, stepping back with a scowl. "Hey! Back off. I'm not into feminine clothing. I prefer men's clothes—trousers, tunics, things that actually let me move."
The maids froze. They blinked, then slowly turned to one another, a collective "Aww" rippling through the group.
"She's exactly like the Princess," one whispered, leaning toward her colleague.
"I know! They're both so small and adorable when they try to be tough," another added, loud enough for Rin to hear. "Do you think that's why the Young Lord picked her? He says he isn't into small women, but we all know the truth about his relationship with Princess Fern."
Rin stood there, his silver eyebrows twitching. Princess? Fern? So that pint-sized whirlwind of jealousy wasn't just a fiancé; she was royalty. And apparently, the entire castle staff thought Finn had a "type" that looked suspiciously like a high-maintenance lizard and a grumpy silver-haired girl.
"I should probably go," Rin muttered, sensing the atmospheric pressure of "forced makeover" rising.
But he was Level 2, and they were a coordinated unit of Castle Staff. Before he could even think about a slime-dash, three of them grabbed his arms while the other two pushed from behind.
"Nonsense, dear! If you want to wear 'men's' clothes, we at least need to find you a suit that fits! You're drowning in that fabric!"
"To the dressing room! We have some leftover silk breeches from the Young Lord's childhood that would be perfect!"
Rin was hauled off, his feet barely touching the marble floor as he was swept toward the East Wing's tailoring suite.