Rose calmly met the detective's worried gaze and merely nodded slightly.
"Yes, I know."
She did indeed know. The Arden Academy was one of the pillars of education in the Empire, and its "men only" policy was as famous as its alumni.
After all, the Cordron Empire was renowned for its conservatism. The older generation of aristocrats still firmly believed that coeducation of young men and women was a direct path to debauchery and moral decay. How could one study with so many temptations around? Exactly, it was impossible!
Therefore, segregated educational institutions flourished in the Empire. For young men, their own academies where they learned sciences and military affairs. For young women, their own, where they were taught etiquette, music, and the art of household management.
Yes, in recent years, coeducational academies had appeared, but they were still considered something of an experiment. Most noble families, trembling for the honor of their offspring, preferred the time-tested segregated institutions.
The Arden Academy, of course, was the jewel in the crown of male education. An elite establishment where one couldn't just get in easily. Connections, recommendations, and preferably a fat wallet were needed.
Initially, this institution was founded as a military academy for training officers, but over time it expanded its curriculum and began also graduating diplomats, lawyers, and statesmen.
Rose, of course, knew this. Just as she knew that entry there was categorically forbidden for girls.
But what difference did it make, really?
Her brother had changed his identity to get in there. So why couldn't she do the same?
After all, all that was needed was a bit of luck, a little acting skill, and a complete lack of conscience. After five months of hell, Rose had no problem with the last one.
She wasn't planning to stay there for years. The plan was simple: find that scoundrel, grab him by the scruff of the neck, and drag him home. At most, it would take a week.
Who would see through her in a week?
And yet, looking at her calm face, both the detective and the Countess stared at her as if she had just suggested taking a stroll through a minefield in ballroom slippers.
"No, Rose, this is madness!" the Countess threw up her hands, and her eyes filled with tears. "Do you have any idea what will happen if you get caught? How can a lady from a noble family disguise herself as a man and infiltrate a men's academy?! That would be... that would be a scandal heard across the entire Empire!"
"Mother, calm down. Everything will be fine," Rose spoke evenly, as if discussing something completely ordinary. "I'll be careful."
"Careful?!" the Countess clutched her heart. "Rose, I think you've lost your mind! This stress... these months... you simply don't realize what you're saying!"
Rose just sighed quietly.
Perhaps, from the outside, her calmness really did look frightening. Any normal girl in her position would already be sobbing into her pillow or writing her will.
But Rose de Rosmund was no longer a "normal" girl.
Five months of constant tension. Five months of lying to the most powerful house in the Empire. Five months of waiting for the Valentino's people to knock on the door at any moment demanding an explanation of why the fiancé of their precious daughter still hadn't married her.
During these months, Rose had gone grey. Not completely, of course, but a few silver threads now adorned her pink locks, reminding her of the horror she had endured.
And now she was supposed to be afraid of some men's academy?
Compared to the wrath of the Valentino family, the Arden Academy seemed to her like a blooming garden full of unicorns!
What could be scarier than an enraged Duke who had been mortally insulted? Only an enraged Duchess. And the Valentino family had both.
Rose was ready to descend into hell, personally tie up the devil, and drag him to the altar if it would save her family.
And this was just a men's academy with a bunch of spoiled aristocrats.
Big deal.
Perhaps, over these months, she really had gone a little mad. But did she have a choice?
"Mother," Rose took the Countess's hands in hers, looking her straight in the eyes. "Trust me."
"But..."
"I will bring Gilbert back. Dead or alive, but I'll bring him back. And he will marry that woman, even if I have to personally drag him down the aisle in chains."
She smiled — that same frightening, confident smile that sent shivers down the Countess's spine.
"Everything will be fine. I promise."
The Countess looked at her daughter and understood: arguing was useless. Before her stood a predator, ready to tear out throats to save her family. All that was left was to pray.
But Rose was thinking about something else.
For some reason, she was sure that it wasn't her who should be worried.
It was Gilbert who should be worried.
Because when she got to him, his hide would be stripped from him in thin shreds.
And that was putting it mildly.
***
Detective Klein wasn't just a professional. He was a genius.
Preparing the fake documents for admission to the Arden Academy took less than a week.
Rose didn't know whether to be happy or frightened by such efficiency.
Klein not only managed to find the right people on the admissions committee but also created an impeccable legend for Rose. A new name, a new biography, new relatives who had never existed.
Now studying at the Arden Academy was one Ruven Rosenberg — the modest son of an impoverished but noble northern baronet, who, alas, had recently died of a mysterious illness, leaving his son an orphan.
A touching story, wasn't it?
True, for such services, payment had to be made. And a lot of payment.
So much that Rose seriously thought: even if Gilbert's marriage to Valentino ultimately didn't happen, they would still have to somehow compensate for these expenses.
Maybe she really should sell her brother for organs? One kidney, they say, is worth a fortune. And he had two! Plus a liver, corneas, bone marrow...
Yes, such thoughts truly come to the mind of a "kind and loving" older sister.
But that's not the point now.
Now she stood before the mirror in her room, looking at her own reflection with a heavy heart.
Tomorrow — departure.
Everything was ready. Documents were in order. The legend was polished. Bags were packed.
One small but agonizing problem remained.
Her hair.
Her long, luxurious, pink hair.
In the mirror, a girl looked back at her whom nature had clearly created in a fit of inspiration.
Pink hair — not pale pink, but a rich shade of blooming cherry blossoms. Thick, silky, it fell below her waist in soft waves. A neat little face with regular features, a dainty nose, full lips, and those eyes... violet, huge, with long lashes.
Name. Hair color. Eye color. Last name.
Everything pink!
Rose de Rosmund.
Sometimes she thought her parents were just mocking her. When they looked at their newborn daughter with pink fuzz on her head, didn't they have any other association besides the name of that flower?
Maybe something like "Lily"? Or "Violet"? That, incidentally, also means violet, but sounds nobler!
But no. It had to be Rose.
A walking bouquet. Cotton candy on legs.
In childhood, it was cute. Now, it was infuriating.
Because with such looks, pretending to be a guy would be... somewhat difficult.
Rose critically examined herself.
Chest? It could be bound with cloth. Shoulders? A bit narrow, but if she wore a loose jacket, maybe it would pass. Height? Acceptable, not a dwarf.
But her face...
This face could only belong to a girl. Moreover, a girl artists would want to paint.
If she cut her hair, perhaps she would become a bit more androgynous. A short haircut — and there was a chance that in dim light and men's clothing, she might be taken for a pretty youth.
But...
Was it worth it?
She planned to be there for only a week. Less, if she was lucky. Find her brother, grab him, and go home.
Surely they wouldn't necessarily see through her in a week?
And her hair... her hair would have to be grown back. Years, damn it!
For a girl from a noble family, hair is a symbol of femininity, her pride. A short haircut among aristocratic women was considered either a sign of mourning or a sign of madness.
Rose bit her lip, studying her pink locks.
Cut? Not cut?
"Rose, are you busy?"
Her mother's voice from behind the door interrupted her agonizing thoughts.
"Come in, Mother."
The Countess Rosmund entered the room, and her gaze immediately fell on her daughter standing before the mirror with scissors in her hands.
"Oh god!" the Countess paled. "What are you planning?!"
"I'm... thinking about something," Rose admitted honestly.
"You want to cut your hair?!" the Countess rushed to her daughter and snatched the scissors from her hands, as if they were laced with poison. "Don't even think about it!"
"But, Mother... for the disguise..."
"No 'buts'!" the Countess cut her off in a tone that brooked no argument. "Your hair is your wealth! Do you have any idea how many years you'll spend growing it back? How much oil and balm we've used to make it this beautiful?!"
Rose guiltily lowered her eyes.
"I understand... but safety is more important..."
"Safety?" the Countess suddenly smiled strangely. "I've already thought of everything regarding safety."
Rose grew wary.
"What do you mean?"
The Countess came closer, placed her hands on her daughter's shoulders, and looked mysteriously at her reflection.
"Don't worry," she whispered with an intriguing smile. "Your mother knows what she's doing. With a disguise like this, no one will see through you!"
Rose blinked.
"Mom, you're scaring me more than this whole venture itself..."
"Trust me," the Countess winked. "I raised two children and know perfectly well how sometimes girls can look like boys. Especially when they really need to."
With these words, she left the room, leaving Rose in complete bewilderment.
What was her mother planning?
And most importantly — why did she have that expression on her face, as if she was about to pull off an adventure even crazier than infiltrating a men's academy?...