Later, Milly rejoined Sierra, and together they took their seats at one of the tables just as the signal was given to begin.
The rules of this tea party dictated that every student begin in a group of three. Moving around afterward was permitted, but the tradition was firm: Your first cup had to be shared with two companions. Because of that, many students had arranged their trios in advance so they wouldn’t be left scrambling. As for Milly, well...she had Sierra.
“Um, Milly?” Several minutes passed after they sat down. The venue was growing louder as the party filled, when Sierra ventured a timid question.
“Yes?”
“Um, what should we do? About the third person?”
Her expression turned apologetic. Milly blinked, then recalled the obvious. To follow the rules, they still needed one more at their table. And with the seats filling up fast, they’d better act quickly.
“Right. If only we had someone we knew to join us...”
“Oh, well, as you’re surely aware, I don’t know anyone.”
“Neither do I.” The only acquaintances Milly could reasonably claim were her fellow council members, but the rules forbade them from sitting together. And seeking out Angelina was, of course, unthinkable. “Which means we’ll have to find someone here and now...”
She glanced around the hall, but every time her gaze brushed across another student, they quickly looked away. Milly frowned. Sierra gave a sheepish smile.
“As expected, not many are brave enough to sit at this table.” Indeed, it was daunting enough to take tea beside the duke’s daughter. Add to that the presence of a commoner at her side, and the pairing must have looked positively perilous.
Resigned, Milly sighed. For the first time in her life, her noble birth felt like a hindrance. “My apologies. It’s my fault, being born a lady of the grand duke’s house.”
“You make it sound as if you regret even existing.”
“That’s it! If I renounce my family name here and now, I’ll be a commoner.”
“P-Please don’t even joke about that!” Sierra shook her head so hard it was a wonder it stayed attached.
Milly gave her a quizzical look, genuinely puzzled by the reaction. “But what other choice do we have?” Before she could continue, her eyes fixed on a nearby table. A silver-haired girl was speaking with some students as they sat down at a table.
A green scarf. That means she’s a third-year.
She hadn’t noticed Milly watching her. After exchanging a few words, her expression twisted in disappointment, and she trudged away alone. She must have been turned down from joining that table. Feeling a little sorry for her, Milly suddenly realized the situation was perfect. If they invited her, their problem would be solved.
“Excuse me, girl with the beautiful silver hair over there!” Milly pitched her voice loud enough to carry across the tables. Instantly, the surrounding chatter died down, several tables falling silent at once. That certainly hadn’t been necessary. Milly was only calling out to the one girl, but the hush did make it easier for Milly to be heard. Feeling every pair of eyes on her, she smiled at the silver-haired girl who had turned back to face her.
“You caught my eye, you see. I think it must be because your hair is so strikingly beautiful. Would you do us the honor of joining our table?”
All the watching eyes shifted from Milly to the girl.
Startled by the sudden attention, the silver-haired student flustered, her voice trembling as she answered. “M-Me? I... I can sit with you?”
“Of course. Right, Sierra?” Milly turned, and Sierra, her face drawn tight with nerves, nodded quickly.
The silver-haired girl’s eyes welled up, and soon, the three seats at Milly’s table were neatly filled. The girl thanked them so profusely it was almost embarrassing. This was no place to admit that Milly and Sierra themselves had been equally desperate not to be left out.
Her name, they soon learned, was Lizbel. A third-year from a viscount’s family, she had a wealth of knowledge about plants, enough to make Sierra’s eyes light up with admiration.
Her lack of friends, she explained, stemmed from her family’s circumstances. She hadn’t gone into detail, but said she’d grown used to being isolated at social gatherings, and that she’d never imagined the grand duke’s daughter would invite her to sit at a table. She confessed that she’d been dreading the tea party entirely.
“Oh, I understand that perfectly!” Sierra chimed in. “Until Milly invited me, I was just wondering which illness to fake.”
“And I,” Lizbel said with a small smile, “am simply grateful that Lady Milly pays no heed to a family’s place in society.”
In truth, Milly was ignorant of such matters. But admitting that would spoil the moment, and having others fuss over her felt hollow anyway. So she held her tongue.
“Excuse me.”
Their pleasant conversation was interrupted by a maid assigned to serve during the tea party. Judging from her uniform marked with a crest, she had been dispatched from a noble household.
Unused to conversing with servants, the two girls glanced at Milly as though clinging to her for support. She raised a hand with effortless composure, and at once, the maid set her tray down at the center of the table.
The tea service was lavish, crimson porcelain gleaming with gilt trim. This, it seemed, would be their set for the day.
“How lovely. Surely not something off the shelf?”
“I was told it was specially commissioned by one of the students’ families, my lady.”
“Mm. Nobles do have a way of flaunting their wealth,” Milly murmured under her breath, watching the maid’s slender hands place a cup before her. The academy might claim to admit students of all ranks, but here and there the scent of coin was unmistakable. If the school truly wished to lessen the divide, it could do better than lean so heavily on its patrons’ “generosity.”
Milly lifted her hand once more, dismissing the maid with a courteous nod. No sooner had the servant left than her companions exhaled in unison, their nerves unwinding all at once. Milly couldn’t help but laugh softly. Their unguarded honesty was strangely endearing.
Sierra’s eyes shone. “You looked so impressive just now, Milly! The way you gave orders with a single hand, so commanding!”
Milly flushed. “D-Did I really?”
“Of course,” Sierra said warmly. “With your poise, even the smallest gesture looks polished and refined.”
“Oh, please. Flatter me any further, and I’ll feel obliged to hand you part of my estate.”
“That’s a bit much,” Lizbel replied, deadpan.
Before they realized it, their chatter had eaten up the time. A clear signal rang through the courtyard. The tea party proper was about to begin.
Milly, Sierra, and their new companion exchanged glances. Sierra rose with a nervous expression, reminding Milly of the peculiar, unwritten rules that governed these gatherings.
At the Grandor Magic Academy, the tea party had several customs borrowed from high society:
One: The tea must be poured by the lowest-ranked member at the table.
Two: Cups are to be filled in ascending order of rank.
Three: The one who pours may not sip until the others have tasted theirs first.
They were petty rules, dreamed up by status-obsessed students and passed down by those of like mind, and Milly found them all thoroughly ridiculous.
But when Sierra had explained them to her earlier, Milly’s dismissal—“Don’t bother; none of this matters”—had been met with a firm shake of the head.
“I knew you’d be upset, Milly, but I can’t bear to draw attention to myself. Please, let me do it properly!”