The next morning, Rose found out the answer.
She stood before the large mirror in the drawing-room and couldn't believe her eyes.
Her mother, the Countess Rosmund, had personally transformed her into a young man.
And it wasn't just about the clothes.
She was wearing a strict dark blue suit, tailored in the men's fashion, with a high collar and silver buttons. Trousers, boots, a white shirt with a jabot — everything fit perfectly, as if it had been sewn especially for her.
Her chest was professionally concealed by a tight bandage.
There was no makeup, but her mother had somehow managed to make her features slightly coarser using light shadows and correcting her eyebrow line.
But the main thing...
"Mother... what is this?" Rose touched her head.
Her long pink hair had disappeared. Or rather, it was neatly gathered into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and on top... on top, she was wearing a wig.
Short, dark chestnut, with a slight carelessness. A men's haircut that perfectly concealed her real hair and yet looked absolutely natural.
"A wig," the Countess announced proudly. "Ordered from the best craftsman in the capital. He made wigs for the Imperial Theater itself! The quality is guaranteed."
Rose examined herself in the mirror and couldn't believe her eyes.
From the reflection... a handsome young man looked back at her.
No, seriously.
Slender, with regular features, those bright violet eyes, and a dainty nose. In men's clothing and with a short haircut, she looked like a typical "pretty boy" from aristocratic ladies' novels.
"I... this is..." Rose couldn't find words.
"Do you like it?" the Countess asked, pleased.
"I look like a guy," Rose breathed out.
"You don't look like a guy," her mother corrected. "You look like a guy. Handsome, a little effeminate, but a guy. Such types are found in academies, don't worry. There is a type of man who is naturally graceful."
Rose twirled in front of the mirror.
The wig sat perfectly on her. Not a single pink strand escaped. The clothes concealed her figure. Her chest wasn't noticeable.
If she hunched a little and spoke in a slightly lower voice...
"Mother," Rose turned to the Countess, and there were tears in her eyes. "You're a genius!"
"I know," she smiled modestly. "And now, let's practice your gait. Men walk differently, and that's very important. And your voice. And your manners. We have a few hours before departure, and I'll teach you everything I know about men."
"But where do you..." Rose began, but the Countess interrupted her:
"Darling, I was married to your father for twelve years. I know enough about men to turn any girl into a boy in one day."
Rose smiled.
For the first time in long months, she felt that everything would be alright.
With a mother like this and with such determination, she simply couldn't fail.
"Well then, Ruven Rosenberg?" the Countess handed her a small mirror. "Ready to conquer the men's academy?"
Rose — now Ruven — looked at her reflection and smiled predatorily.
"Ready."
Somewhere in the south of the Empire, Gilbert suddenly sneezed.
***
Rose's departure for the south took place just a few hours after her magical transformation from lady to lord.
The morning was overcast, but that only emphasized the gloomy solemnity of the moment. All the inhabitants of the estate came to see her off — her mother, the few servants, even the old gardener who usually never went beyond the gates.
The Countess Rosmund stood on the porch, clutching her lace handkerchief as if it were a lifeline. Her face had that greenish tint that appeared only in moments of extreme stress.
"Rose, please..." the Countess's voice trembled like an autumn leaf in the wind. "Tell me, you can still change your mind, can't you?"
This was the thousandth time her mother had asked this question. Rose had lost count yesterday evening, somewhere between the fifty-seventh and fifty-eighth.
"No, Mother," Rose answered patiently, as if to a small child. "I am completely, absolutely, finally sure. One hundred percent. Two hundred percent, even!"
The Countess sobbed and pressed her daughter to her chest with such force, as if she were about to sail across the ocean forever, not just travel to a neighboring province.
"But if it gets too hard... If those terrible boys start bothering you! If someone suspects! You must return immediately! Run! Save yourself!"
"Mother," Rose gently freed herself from the embrace, "you speak as if you're sending me off to war."
"It is war!" the Countess wrung her hands tragically. "You are going into the enemy's camp! Into the lion's den! Into a men's academy, where there are hundreds of these lions!"
The Countess's maid, standing nearby, sighed sympathetically and patted her mistress on the shoulder.
"Madam, why are you so upset? Miss Rose is just going to relax at the summer residence. Get some fresh air, clear her head..."
"Exactly!" the butler chimed in. "What could possibly happen at a summer residence? Fresh air, peace and quiet. No worries or anxieties at all."
Rose and the Countess exchanged glances.
Ah, if only they knew.
But the servants truly hadn't been told the truth. Not because they weren't trusted — these people had served the Rosmund family for decades and were more loyal than any spies. It was simply that some knowledge was too dangerous. The fewer people who know a secret, the better.
Only three people knew the true purpose of this journey: Rose herself, the Countess, and Detective Klein. And also Sir Dietrich, the old knight who was to accompany Rose. But he didn't count — that silent warrior could keep secrets better than a grave.
"I know, I know..." the Countess weakly waved her hand at the maid. "I shouldn't worry so much. It's just... you can't fool a mother's heart."
Her blue eyes suddenly became sharp as blades. She shifted her gaze to the knight standing a little apart.
"Sir Dietrich."
The old warrior stepped forward and bowed his head. He was over fifty, but his back remained straight, and his hand steady. He had served Rose's father and remembered her as a tiny thing.
"I'm listening, my lady."
"You must take care of Rose. At any cost. Do you understand?"
"I understand," the knight nodded. "I will deliver milady to her destination safe and sound."
"And not just deliver," the Countess lowered her voice. "If something goes wrong... if she is in danger..."
"I will die protecting her," the knight finished with a simplicity that was utterly natural.
The Countess nodded satisfactorily.
The brief glance they exchanged said more than any words. Sir Dietrich knew what he was getting into. He knew he was accompanying a lady into the very heart of a men's academy, where exposure would mean the end not only for Rose but for their entire family.
But the old knight did not fear death. He feared only one thing — failing the family he had served all his life.
"Well, I should go, Mother," Rose hugged her mother once more. "Take care of yourself."
"May the gods protect you," the Countess whispered, kissing her daughter on the cheek. Tears welled up in her eyes again.
Rose got into the carriage and looked out the window one last time. The Countess stood on the porch, waving her handkerchief, wiping away tears. Beside her, the maid and butler fussed, urging the mistress to return inside.
A strange feeling stirred in Rose's chest.
She had never been this far from home. At most, to neighboring estates for balls, and even then under her mother's watchful eye. And now she was traveling to the other end of the Empire, to completely foreign lands where no one knew her.
Where she was no one at all.
Not Lady Rose de Rosmund, the Count's eldest daughter.
But simply Ruven Rosenberg — an orphan, the son of an impoverished baronet, a newcomer at an elite academy.
It was frightening.
But alongside the fear, another feeling grew in her soul. Strange, unfamiliar... anticipation?
Rose shook her head. Unbelievable, it seemed she really was starting to go mad.
"Milady, are you ready?" Sir Dietrich's voice came from outside.
Rose took a deep breath.
"Yes."
The carriage started moving.
Rose watched out the window until the family estate became a tiny speck on the horizon, and then disappeared completely.
Two feelings battled within her: anxiety about the unknown and a strange relief that she had finally started to act. Enough sitting and waiting for things to happen. Enough fearing the Valentinos. It was time to take fate into her own hands.
And her brother's ass, too.
"Milady," the knight's voice came again. He was riding beside the carriage, and his voice carried through the thin walls. "Forgive me for disturbing you, but... should I now address you as Lord Rosenberg?"
There was a barely suppressed smirk in his tone.
Rose grimaced.
"Did you want something, Dietrich?"
"Just wanted to ask... do you really understand what it means to act like a guy?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm just afraid you'll be exposed on the first day," the knight admitted honestly.
Rose snorted.
"You'd be surprised."
"Oh? And why is that? Do you have some kind of plan?"
"A plan?" Rose smirked. "I don't have any plan."
"What?!" the knight was so surprised he even reined in his horse. "You're going to the Arden Academy, to the very heart of male education in the Empire, and you don't even have a plan?!"
"What would I need one for?"
"What do you mean, what for? To avoid exposure! To behave correctly! So that no one suspects you're a girl!"
Rose leaned back in her seat and allowed herself that particular smile — cold, dangerous, the one that sent shivers down normal people's spines.
"Dietrich, I'm not going to a social gathering. I'm going to kick my younger brother's ass. For that, I don't need a plan. I only need my hands and my anger."
The knight was silent for a second, then burst out laughing.
"Ha ha ha! Oh, milady... now I recognize my young mistress! With that attitude, you'll definitely get to Lord Rosmund!"
Rose smiled.
She felt lighter.
Sir Dietrich was an old grumbler, but he knew how to offer support. And he knew when to joke and when to be silent.
The journey south promised to be long, but with a companion like this old warrior, even the road didn't seem so frightening.
***
Their journey lasted a month and a half.
A month and a half of jostling in the carriage, dirty inns, bad food, and endless roads. A month and a half during which Rose grew to hate traveling so much that she swore never to venture further than her own garden for the rest of her life.
She couldn't have imagined the Empire was so vast.
That the north and south differed not only in climate but in mentality, food, even the air. In the south, it smelled of flowers and the sea; in the north, of pines and snow. People in the south were more open, louder, gestured more often. Rose found this very unfamiliar.
But most of all, the journey itself exhausted her.
Having grown up in the hothouse conditions of the count's estate, she had never experienced such physical strain. Her lower back ached constantly. Her legs went numb from sitting so long in the carriage. And from the drafts that swept through the cracked walls of roadside taverns, she managed to catch a cold twice.
Sir Dietrich just shook his head and fed her herbal concoctions, grumbling that "today's youth are such sissies."
Rose got angry, but she drank.
Because she had no choice.
And so, after a month and a half of hell, they finally arrived.
The Arden Academy greeted them with grandeur.
The carriage stopped before massive wrought-iron gates that resembled the entrance to a fortress more than an educational institution. High stone walls, overgrown with ivy, stretched as far as the eye could see. Above them rose the spires of the main building, adorned with the flags of the Empire and the academy's crest.
Rose swallowed.
It looked imposing. Even frightening.
But there was no turning back.
She quickly changed into her men's suit right there in the carriage — a skill she had mastered perfectly during the journey. The wig sat perfectly, her chest was bound so tightly that breathing was difficult, but for the cause, she could endure.
When she stepped out of the carriage, Sir Dietrich gave her an appraising look and nodded approvingly.
"Lord Rosenberg," he said with a slight smirk, "I'll help you carry your things."
He was barely restraining himself from laughing out loud. Rose shot him a withering glare but remained silent. There would be time for settling scores later. For now, she needed to maintain composure.
"Fine," she replied in as neutral a tone as possible.
The knight picked up her luggage — one small suitcase containing everything necessary. Rose had deliberately taken a minimum of things to avoid attracting attention. Also because she didn't plan on staying here long anyway.
They headed for the gates.
At the entrance stood two guards in academy uniforms — tall, broad-shouldered, with stern faces. Typical retired military men, common in the security of elite institutions.
"State your name," one of them said dryly.
Rose tried to make her face look as bored as possible. The way she imagined young aristocrats looked when speaking to servants.
"Ruven Rosenberg. New student."
The guard looked her over. Rose tensed internally but remained outwardly composed.
"Your documents."
She handed over her identification — the very one Detective Klein had obtained with such difficulty and for such an exorbitant sum.
The guard studied the paper for a long time. A very long time. Rose was starting to get nervous when he finally shifted his gaze from the document to her face and back.
"Hmm," was all he said.
Rose held her breath.
"Alright," the guard nodded. "I'll escort you to the Director. Follow me."
Rose exhaled.
"Thank you."
The gates began to slowly open, and Rose stepped forward, ready to finally set foot on academy grounds.
Sir Dietrich moved to follow.
But he didn't make it.
"Halt," the second guard suddenly blocked the knight's path with his spear. "Outsiders are forbidden entry."
Sir Dietrich was taken aback.
"But I just want to help the young master carry his things..."
"Not allowed," the guard cut him off. "Only students and faculty may enter the academy grounds. Accompanying persons are forbidden entry."
"But..."
"We'll handle the luggage ourselves," the first guard added. "Don't worry."
Sir Dietrich shot Rose a worried look. She responded with a brief nod.
It seemed the rules here were indeed strict. And security measures — serious.
Well, that was to be expected. An elite academy for the offspring of the Empire's noblest families couldn't afford carelessness.
"It's alright," Rose said to the knight as calmly as possible. "You can go."
Sir Dietrich hesitated, then sighed and set the suitcase on the ground. One of the guards immediately picked it up.
The old knight looked at Rose with a long, serious gaze. In his eyes was a mixture of anxiety and respect.
"Young master... take care of yourself."
"You too," Rose nodded. "Thank you for everything."
They exchanged final glances, and Rose turned away.
Sir Dietrich remained outside the gates.
And she stepped inside.
The gates closed behind her with a heavy, inexorable clang.
Rose de Rosmund, eldest daughter of Count Rosmund, had just officially ceased to exist.
From now on, she was Ruven Rosenberg — a student of the Arden Academy.
And the first thing she saw upon setting foot on the grounds of this elite institution made her heart skip a beat.
Boys.
A whole lot of boys.
They were everywhere.
On the main avenue leading to the academic buildings, on the benches under the spreading trees, on the library steps. They sat, stood, walked, talked, laughed, argued. All in the same burgundy academy uniform, young and noisy.
Rose had never in her life seen so many men in one place.
At balls, of course, there were also many gentlemen, but there they were spread out across huge halls, mixed with ladies, muted by etiquette.
Here, though...
Here was a real male beehive!
Rose felt panic rising in her throat.
She was a small fish, just thrown into an ocean teeming with sharks.
She was a sheep locked in a wolf's den.
She was...
"Hey, newbie!" one of the students called out as he passed by. "What are you standing there like a statue for? You're blocking the way!"
Rose flinched and hastily stepped aside.
The student grunted and walked on, without even glancing at her again.
Rose exhaled.
That was close. But it was too early to relax.
She was here. In the very heart of enemy territory.
Around her were hundreds of boys, each one potentially capable of uncovering her secret.
"Lord Rosenberg?" the guard leading her turned around. "Are you coming?"
Rose — no, now Ruven — shook her head and followed.
"Yes, coming."
Yes, right now she was indeed agitated and even a little frightened. And yet... Rose remembered why she was here.
Determination simmered inside her.
Gilbert, get ready.
Your big sister is coming for you!