Please Be Patient, Grand Duke

hey were, Lia came back to her senses.
She grabbed Claude’s hand, the one holding the dagger.

“Sir Claude, stop.
There are people watching,” she implored.

“I thought you would be more grateful,“ he accused.

“I am.
Of course I am.
But there are many people watching us closely, and I think it would be better to avoid causing more of a disturbance,“ she explained, hoping he would listen to her.

He stood near enough to her that she could smell the faint scent of lavender on him.
She had no idea why he was in the library, but she was thankful for his presence.

His gaze still fixed on her, Claude removed the dagger from Eddie’s groin and took a small step backwards.

“There will be no more warnings,” the Duke promised.

Now Lia understood why there was a rumor that the true owner of the Academy was actually Duke Ihar.

Eddie gingerly put a hand to his wounded neck.
The blood from the small cut soaked his lapel.

“Duke Claude, you don’t need to protect him.
Sir Canillian is not a child.
He’s a man who’s soon about to have a debutant,” the principal muttered under his breath.

“I should have cut your tongue out,” Claude growled.

“You don’t have a right to criticize me,” Eddie brazenly stated.

“You seem to be missing a few of your mental faculties, it appears you are still talking,” Claude said, his voice low and elegant, despite Eddie’s sarcastic remark.

Eddie stared at him, expression filled with suppressed anger.
Taking out a handkerchief and holding it to his wound as he turned, the principal shamelessly walked away.

The sounds of other students going about their business suddenly rushed in, washing over her senses.
Her nerves began to crumble, and her legs started to shake.

“Thank you, Sir Claude,” Lia whispered, her voice shaking.

Lia clutched her trembling hands to her chest and stepped away from the Duke.
He looked down at her bloodless face without a response.

“You look ridiculous dressed as a woman,“ he said with disdain.

Embarrassed, pink spots bloomed on her cheeks.
She feared that was what he had been thinking, but she had hoped to be mistaken.

Ashamed, she put as much formality in her tone as she could muster, thanking him, before grabbing the hem of her dress and turning around.

“Stop,” he ordered, before she had the chance to leave.

He grabbed her wrist, not giving her the chance to turn around.
Claude practically dragged her between rows of bookshelves, passing one after the other in rapid succession.
Heads of other students looked up at their brisk pace, and Lia feared someone she knew would see her.

Opening the door they suddenly found themselves in front of, he swore softly.

The door led into a huge resting area, restricted to high nobility.
The room was filled with priceless, luxurious furniture and artworks.

“Sir Claude?” Lia asked, confused at being brought to this room, usually bard to her.

The wrist that he had grabbed pained.
He held it so tightly, the blood had stopped circulating properly.

“Please let go,” she pleaded, lifting her head to look at him.