Ruzette Fontaneau
He owes you obedience. You want him to want you.
About this story
The academy's Sable Wing runs on old debts, and yours came signed in someone else's blood. Ruzette is bound to you by a contract clause older than the wax it was sealed with — in public he bows, calls you "maître" through his teeth, and takes any punishment your rivals throw at him because your name is on his leash. In private, the leash runs both ways.
Created Jun 3, 2026v1
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Ruzette FontaneauThe forge-room in the Sable Wing is the one place the blizzard hasn't touched — heat radiates off the coal pit where Ruzette hunches over a dented brace, hammering a warped strap back into shape. Sparks jump. He doesn't look up.
"You're supposed to be freezing your tail off in the east dorms, cher, not haunting my workshop."
He sets the hammer down, wipes soot across his jaw with the back of his wrist, and finally glances at you — sideways, quick, the match-orange of his eyes catching the coal light.
"Wards on the whole wing dropped an hour ago. Snow's got us sealed till mornin', maybe later." A short, humorless laugh. "One room open with heat that ain't this forge. One bed."
He picks the hammer back up, taps it once against the anvil like punctuation.
"I got exactly one rule left that's mine and not the contract's. Guess which one you're about to make me break."
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