The Academy of Elarion
The Academy of Elarion rose from the earth like a palace carved by the gods, its alabaster towers piercing the pale morning sky. Sunlight spilled across its courtyards like molten gold, glinting on crystalline windows and the banners that fluttered gently in the mountain breeze. Students milled about, voices buzzing with idle chatter— anticipation, nerves, excitement.
The first day was always chaos.
Carriages rattled past the gates, servants unloaded trunks, and merchants sold last-minute supplies to panicked nobles who had forgotten ink or spare cloaks. It was a spectacle the academy staff had long learned to ignore.
Prince Lucien Alexander Thorian Calvire, however, was not impressed.
He stood in the middle of the courtyard, arms folded, expression regal yet faintly irritated. His dark hair caught the sunlight, his posture impeccable even while annoyed. Beside him stood Lucas Simeon Kidrey, future commander of the Shadow Guards, future knight, and presently the prince's most enabling friend.
"Your Highness," Lucas said while hefting a trunk under one arm, "I still think we should check the exam results."
Lucien raised a brow, the gesture slow, deliberate, princely.
"Why?" he asked. "I always place first."
Lucas opened his mouth, then closed it. "Well, yes, but—"
"There is no 'but'," Lucien declared, turning to walk toward their assigned dormitory. "I took the exam. I answered everything flawlessly. It's simple."
Privately, he thought
If someone truly surpassed me, then perhaps I am ill. Should I ask the royal physician? No—ridiculous. Impossible.
Lucas jogged ahead to open the door for him. "You're confident."
"I am accurate," Lucien corrected.
The two made their way up the marble steps, but before they could take three more strides, a pair of passing students caught their attention.
"Did you see the results?" one whispered excitedly.
"Of course! I can't believe someone actually beat Prince Lucien!"
Lucien froze mid-step.
Lucas slowly turned his head toward him.
Lucien blinked once.
Twice.
…I'm sorry? Beat who? Me? I Lucien Alexander Thorian Calvire!?
He inhaled.
No, surely I misheard. Perhaps they said greet Prince Lucien. Or seat Prince Lucien. Or—
"Your Highness," Lucas whispered, "d-do you want to check now?"
Lucien exhaled very, very slowly.
"Yes," he said, voice perfectly calm. "We should verify which delusional creature started such a rumor."
The announcement board was surrounded by a crowd of murmuring students. Lucien's presence parted them instantly—nobles bowing, whispers trailing behind him.
He ignored all of it.
His eyes flicked upward.
There it was.
#1 — Veyra Faelwen.
Score: 100% (Perfect).
#2 — Lucien Alexander Thorian Calvire .
Score: 98% .
The prince stared.
Lucas stared.
The crowd stared at the prince staring.
Lucien blinked again.
Perfect? PERFECT? Who receives a perfect score at Elarion? Even the founders didn't have perfect scores! Is this a misprint? Should I demand a recount? Should I burn the board? No—calm. Dignity. Remember dignity.
"…Who the hell is Veyra Faelwen?" Lucien muttered under his breath.
"I don't know," Lucas whispered. "But she must be incredible."
As if summoned by the words, a ripple went through the crowd.
"Is that her?" someone said.
Dozens turned.
Lucien did too.
A young woman walked through the parting students with the quiet confidence of someone who owed the world nothing—yet still surpassed it. She was tall, slender, and graceful in a way that wasn't affected but natural, like the slow sway of moonlit water. Her raven-black hair fell neatly around her shoulders, glossy as ink. Her eyes—cool, unreadable—swept forward with disinterest.
Beside her walked another young woman with long caramel hair and a bright, laughing expression: Chandria Melendez, energetic where Veyra was composed, warm where Veyra was cool.
The contrast made Veyra more striking.
More… breathtaking.
Lucas elbowed him lightly. "She's beautiful, Your Highness."
Lucien didn't look at him. "I will beat her next time."
"That's not what I meant—"
"I said what I meant."
But even as he said it, he watched her—watched the way she moved like carved ice, watched the way sunlight glided over her hair, watched the polite but distant nod she gave those who greeted her.
She didn't acknowledge the crowd's awe.
She didn't try to charm.
She didn't need to.
Veyra Faelwen walked as though every step was weighed, measured, purposeful. A mind sharper than the academy's best professors sat behind those cool eyes—Lucien could sense it.
But most of all—
He hated that she didn't even glance his way.
Does she know who I am? …Of course she does. Should I walk closer? No, that's absurd. Why do I care? I don't care. I absolutely do not care.
Veyra continued walking with Chandria, disappearing into the dormitory halls.
Lucien exhaled as though breaking a trance.
Lucas grinned. "So. Impressions?"
Lucien turned away sharply. "Irrelevant."
Lucas said nothing.
The prince was scowling, and slightly annoyed.
The Second Morning
The bells of the Imperial Elarion Academy rang at dawn, their crystalline chime scattering across the quiet courtyards like droplets of morning frost. Light spilled over the grand marble buildings, brushing the spires in ember gold. Students streamed into the halls in waves—some eager, some groggy, most buzzing with nervous excitement. After all, it was only the second day of the academic year, and expectations hung heavy like banners over the campus.
Among the earliest to arrive were two young women walking side by side—one slender, graceful, carrying herself with cool indifference; the other bright-eyed, long-haired, and energetic despite her anxious fidgeting.
Veyra Faelwen, daughter of a count, walked with the effortless poise of someone who understood discipline better than comfort. Black hair framed her pale face, and her blood-red eyes—rare, striking—did nothing to soften her icy exterior. She moved like a blade sheathed in etiquette.
Beside her was Chandria Melendez, her best friend and fellow boardmate. Light brown hair tied in a loose ribbon swayed at her back, and her soft purple irises flicked around nervously as though expecting a surprise test at any moment.
"Do you think the class arrangement is already posted?" Chandria asked while clutching her bag strap.
"It should be," Veyra replied simply, keeping her eyes forward. "The placement exam results were released last night."
"And you're sure we'll be together?"
"Your score was above ninety," Veyra said. "You'll be fine"
Chandria flushed. "You say that so casually… You ranked first in the entire year!"
"I studied. That was the purpose."
Chandria sighed. "Right… I keep forgetting you're like that."
As the girls stepped into their designated building, students parted automatically. Some whispered when they passed—mostly because of Veyra's appearance—but Veyra paid them no mind. Chandria whispered back to her often, but Veyra always responded with the bare minimum necessary.
Still, it wasn't as if she disliked the attention. She simply learned long ago that emotions, when displayed, were invitations. And she had no intention of inviting anyone.
The two arrived at Classroom A–1, the highest tier among the Academy's placement grouping, designated for those who scored above 80% on the entrance examinations. The words "Honors Hall" were engraved above the archway, though students simply called it:
The Advanced Wing.
Veyra and Chandria were the first inside. The room smelled of polished wood and parchment, sunlight filtering through wide arched windows. Veyra scanned the seats briefly.
"Where should we sit?" Chandria whispered.
"Last row," Veyra replied. "Middle."
Chandria blinked. "Not the front?"
"I prefer peace."
Chandria laughed quietly. "Then the last row it is."
They took their seats, arranging their things in silence. Veyra immediately pulled out a notebook, pen already moving before Chandria even settled her bag.
"You're studying already?" Chandria asked.
"There's time," Veyra said, flipping a page.
Chandria admired her friend's discipline, though part of her wished Veyra would act more like a normal sixteen-year-old girl. They were in a prestigious academy, after all—shouldn't she be excited? Nervous? Anything?
But Veyra Faelwen was composed as ever, writing in her neat and deliberate script.
Minutes later, quick heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway. Chandria turned first.
In walked Lucas Simeon Kidrey, future Crown Prince Knight Guard candidate—and currently, academy menace. His red hair was tousled, his red eyes half-closed as if he had lost a battle with his pillow and barely survived. He yawned loudly.
Behind him arrived a presence that made every student straighten instantly.
Lucien Alexander Thorian Calvire, First in line of the throne of the Calvire Empire—the empire's young sun.
Light gold hair, like early dawn; eyes blue like cut jewels. His uniform blazer hung open casually, but nothing about him looked careless. His steps were measured, confident—the walk of someone who had never known what it meant to be ignored.
Chandria pinched Veyra's sleeve in panic, but Veyra didn't react.
Lucas rubbed his eyes. "We're… early, Your Highness, you said we were late! " he groaned.
Lucien didn't pay no mind to his friend's tantrums. His gaze instead swept the room, catching sight of the two girls at the back.
He smirked—calm, too assured, the kind that could either charm or irritate depending on who saw it.
He walked up to them.
Chandria froze.
Veyra didn't.
"You're early, Ms. Veyra Faelwen," Lucien said with mild amusement.
Veyra rose only because manners demanded it. Chandria scrambled up after her.
"I greet the empire's young sun, Prince Lucien," Veyra said, voice calm, bow precise and flawless.
Chandria bowed more awkwardly, nearly dropping her notebook.
Lucien's smile grew at that contrast.
As soon as she finished the greeting, Veyra sat back down—elegantly, unapologetically—before the prince even dismissed her.
Lucien blinked.
Lucas choked on his spit.
Chandria silently screamed.
"V-Veyra, the prince is still here!" Chandria whispered harshly.
Veyra ignored her, resuming her writing.
Lucien studied her. "Classes haven't even started. Do you think about anything other than your notes?"
"Yes," Veyra answered, eyes not leaving the page. "Don't mind me."
What a disrespectful son of a-
Lucien thought but managed to stop himself from saying it.
Lucas, still half-asleep, rubbed his head. "Your Highness… where do we sit?"
"Here," Lucien said, taking the seat right next to Veyra.
Lucas snapped fully awake. "W–wait, Your Highness! D-Do you actually plan to sit there!?"
Lucien's eyebrow raised. "Obviously."
Lucas stared at his prince as if the world suddenly went upside-down. It was widely known that Lucien disliked sitting beside women—too much squealing, too many fluttering eyelashes, too much perfume and forced simpering.
Yet here he was.
Voluntarily sitting beside a woman.
The classroom filled quickly. Students whispered at the sight of the prince sitting beside someone who didn't appear the least bit interested in his presence. Some watched in awe. Others in disbelief.
Veyra simply wrote.
Lucas hovered around them, panicked, before taking the seat in front of Lucien. Chandria reluctantly sat beside Veyra on the other side, still confused on whether she should keep bowing.
Moments later, the door opened.
"Good morning, students," said a tall man with silver hair tied at the back. "I will be your professor starting today. I am Professor Jessiah Arthur. Pleased to meet you all."
"Good morning, Professor," the students chimed.
Class began with a history lecture—the origin of the Calvire Empire.
Veyra listened while still taking extra notes. Lucien noticed, though he said nothing.
Professor Arthur paced slowly. "Our beloved empire began long ago with a man named Theobald Janiar Calvire, once a wandering mercenary. Fate led him to a neglected, impoverished city abandoned by its lord. Seeing the suffering of its people, he chose not to turn away."
The professor's voice echoed like an old storyteller.
"He gathered the starving villagers, taught them to farm, and poured every coin he earned into helping them rebuild. Harvest by harvest, trade by trade, the city flourished. Neighboring towns sought him for guidance. Even foreign rulers took note."
He paused before the chalkboard.
"And when the people asked him to lead them, Theobald accepted—not for glory, but because no one else would."
Chandria whispered, "It's like a storybook…"
Veyra nodded once. "It's recorded in the old chronicles."
Professor Arthur wrote names on the board. "The nobles of today descend from those who helped him build the early empire—farmers who became landowners, warriors who became generals, advisers who became lords."
Lucas straightened a little; his family descended from one of those early warriors.
Lucien, however, did not look impressed—he had memorized this history years ago.
He was watching Veyra again.
A girl who treated him like any other person in the room.
How… inconvenient.
Class ended after an hour, and students began packing.
Veyra stood, Chandria followed, and the two made for the cafeteria.
Behind them, Lucas stretched. "So, uh, where are we going next, Your Highness?"
"To the cafeteria," Lucien said casually.
Lucas froze. "Huh!?"
"You heard me."
"W-what do you mean cafeteria!? Your Highness, you have a private cook! You aren't allowed to just— just—eat normal food!"
Royals are known to have their meals at their respective dormitories bringing along them their trusted servants to avoid assassination attempts like food poisoning.
Lucien didn't reply.
He was watching Veyra again as she walked down the hall, her steps steady and unhurried.
Lucas blinked. "Your Highness… don't tell me—"
"What?"
"Do you like her!?"
Lucien's head snapped toward him. "What kind of question is that!?"
Lucas raised both hands frantically. "Then why are we following her!?"
"To observe."
"Observe what!?"
Lucien didn't answer.
His silence spoke louder than any confession.
The two followed the girls to the cafeteria, stepping into the long lines of students. Several guards hiding among the staff gave discreet, panicked glances—but Lucien gesturing them to not make any fuss.
Lucas groaned internally. The prince has lost his mind…
Veyra and Chandria got their food and found seats. Moments later, the prince and Lucas sat directly next to them.
Chandria nearly dropped her tray.
Veyra didn't even look up.
This became the pattern for the following weeks.
Where Veyra went, the prince went—not out of favoritism or romantic interest, but out of curiosity sharpened by annoyance.
Her indifference needled him.
Her calm irritated him.
Her refusal to acknowledge his title felt like a puzzle he had never encountered.
Other girls swarmed him daily; they wilted if he frowned and giggled if he breathed in their direction. He had grown accustomed to the attention, to the adoration.
But Veyra Faelwen?
She treated him like he was a chair that occasionally talked too much.
That one strand of hair that just wont get off her face.
In the cafeteria, she ate quietly while he sat across from her, observing like a scholar studying a rare creature.
In the training fields, she practiced sword forms without a glance at the murmuring prince standing at the fence.
In the library, he followed her again.
Which led to today.
Veyra sat at her usual table, books spread out in neatly arranged piles. Chandria was attending an elective class, leaving Veyra alone. The peace was pleasant—
Until a chair scraped across from her.
Veyra didn't react as Lucien sat down, arms crossed, gaze intense as though expecting her to acknowledge him. She didn't.
"You seem to have a lot of time, Your Highness," Veyra said coldly, not lifting her head.
"Yes," Lucien replied with an exaggerated smirk. "I do."
"You might use it for something useful."
"Nothing more useful than this."
He gestured vaguely to indicate observing her for no logical reason.
Veyra turned a page. "Suit yourself."
She didn't even look at him.
Lucien's eye twitched.
Lucas eventually arrived, panting. "Your Highness—! A letter from the palace arrived!"
Lucien reached for it without taking his eyes off Veyra.
And that single, absurd, quiet moment was the beginning of everything—
Not affection.
Not admiration.
Just pure, simmering intrigue.
The kind that slowly, unknowingly, becomes a spark.
Lucas handed the sealed letter to the prince with both hands, as though it weighed more than vellum and ink. The royal crest pressed into the crimson wax caught the library's lamplight, gleaming ominously.
Veyra did not look up, but she registered the faint shift in atmosphere—the subtle stiffness in Lucas's posture, the almost imperceptible tightening around Lucien's eyes. Royal correspondence was rarely trivial.
But she continued writing.
Lucien broke the seal with his thumb, scanning the lines quickly. His expression did not change, but Lucas noticed the prince's jaw tense.
"…Bad news?" Lucas whispered.
Lucien folded the letter cleanly. "No."
Lucas squinted. "It's absolutely bad news."
"I said no."
Which meant yes.
Lucas sighed and dragged a chair over to slump beside him. His head nearly hit the table. "Why is it always me who gets dragged into things…?"
Lucien ignored him. His gaze had already drifted back to Veyra.
She hadn't even flicked an eye toward the royal letter—something most nobles would have craned their necks over. Her quill scratched softly against paper, her handwriting steady.
Veyra Faelwen was difficult.
Not because she insulted him. She did not.
Not because she rebelled. She did not.
Not because she was arrogant. She wasn't. In fact, she was more polite and proper than the girls who constantly tried to impress him.
She simply treated his existence as… irrelevant.
Lucien leaned forward, elbows on the table. "What are you writing now?"
"A summary." Her tone was flat.
"Of?"
"Professor Arthur's lecture."
"I see." Lucien tilted his head. "Why summarize something you understood perfectly well the first time?"
"Retention improves with repetition."
"That sounds tedious."
"It is," she said. "But effective."
Lucas stared at her blankly. "Are you sure you're human?"
Veyra paused only long enough to glance at him once, expression devoid of emotion.
Lucas raised both hands. "Okay—okay—sorry."
Lucien's lips twitched in amusement.
But Veyra did not notice.
---
A soft rush of footsteps approached. Chandria slipped into the library, slightly out of breath. "Veyra! I thought you'd be in the courtyard—oh." Her eyes widened when she spotted the prince.
She bowed so fast she nearly fell over. "G-Greetings, Your Highness!"
Lucien nodded.
Chandria slid onto the seat beside Veyra, whispering urgently, "Has he been here long?"
"Yes," Veyra said without lifting her gaze.
Chandria's eyes darted around like a cornered rabbit. "Oh."
She opened her own book but kept sneaking glances at the prince, as if expecting him to suddenly demand something absurd. Instead, Lucien watched Veyra in that unreadable way of his—half-annoyed, half-curious, fully intrusive.
Chandria leaned closer to Veyra. "Veyra, aren't you uncomfortable…?"
"No."
"That wasn't convincing…"
---
Lucien tapped his finger on the table. "Faelwen."
"Yes?" Veyra didn't stop writing.
"You never look at me when you respond."
"There is no need."
Lucas stared at her in horror. She's going to get executed.
Lucien raised a brow. "Is it disrespect, or disinterest?"
"Neither," Veyra replied, turning a page. "You are simply not part of the work I am doing."
Lucas slapped a hand over his face.
Chandria stared at the ceiling, silently praying.
Lucien leaned back in his chair. "You speak boldly."
"Only honestly."
"Do you speak honestly to all nobles?"
"Yes."
"And to your father?"
"Yes."
"And to me?"
Veyra finally paused. She set her quill down, looked up slowly—finally meeting his eyes.
Her expression was calm, neither intimidated nor impressed.
"…Yes, Your Highness. The truth is easiest."
Lucas held his breath.
Lucien's gaze sharpened—calculating, unreadable.
Then—
He laughed.
Not loudly. Not mockingly.
Just a soft exhale of amusement that surprised everyone, even himself.
"I see." His lips curved faintly. "Then by all means, continue being honest."
Veyra blinked, confused as to why he laughed at all.
"…As you wish." She returned to her work.
Lucas slumped in relief.
Chandria exhaled shakily.
Veyra shifted, gentle cascade that glowed hitting her softly in the afternoon light—an image Lucien couldn't look away from. He didn't know why he was suddenly… less irritated.
Troubled, yes.
Intrigued, deeply.
Annoyed, absolutely.
But not as irritated.
It was the first crack in his emotional armor, and he didn't notice.
Yet.
---
Lucas leaned close to whisper. "What did the palace want, Your Highness? You looked… tense."
Lucien tapped the folded paper against the table. "There will be a gathering. A formal event."
"A ball?"
"A small one. For diplomats." His eyes flicked to Veyra.
Lucas followed his gaze, groaned quietly. "Oh no."
"What?"
"You're thinking about inviting her."
Lucien frowned. "I am not."
"You are."
"I am not."
Lucas crossed his arms. "Then why are you looking at her like that?"
Lucien opened his mouth—then closed it.
He had no answer.
Because truthfully, he didn't know why he looked at her like that.
Annoyance? Curiosity?
No—not curiosity anymore. Something tighter. Sharper. Something he didn't want to define.
"I'm thinking because the palace expects protocol," Lucien snapped softly. "Not because of her."
Lucas nodded slowly. "…Right. Protocol."
Lucien glared.
Lucas immediately looked away.
---
After their break, the students headed to the training fields for physical exercises. The sun was high, warm but not punishing. Grass swayed under a mild breeze.
Veyra tied her black hair up with a simple ribbon, revealing a pale neck that contrasted with her crimson eyes. She stepped onto the training mat with practiced ease.
She did not aim to stand out.
She simply did the work.
Which made her stand out.
Her footwork was sharp. Her movements clean. Her precision undeniable. She learned sword basics quickly, adapting her form after each demonstration.
Chandria lagged behind, stumbling often, but Veyra coached her patiently, adjusting her stance without judgment.
Lucien watched from a distance, arms crossed.
Lucas groaned. "Can you at least pretend you're not staring?"
"I'm observing," Lucien said.
"You've been observing for half an hour."
"She's good. She can probably surpass you with proper training."
"Your Highness! That's not true!"
"I'm kidding." Lucien said almost laughing.
"She has no idea you're here right?." Lucas asked.
Lucien paused, tilted his head.
Veyra definitely knew.
She just didn't care.
The realization annoyed him more than it should have.
---
During paired drills, a few noble girls approached Veyra.
One of them—Lady Erinel—tossed her hair. "You work so seriously for a mere count's daughter."
Veyra didn't respond.
Chandria stepped in, cheeks puffed with anger. "And what is wrong with working hard?"
Erinel smiled condescendingly. "Nothing at all. But some places aren't meant to be reached by everyone."
The implication was clear.
Veyra finally raised her gaze, expression empty. "If you are implying I should remain behind you, then train harder. Or step aside."
Erinel flushed. "How dare—"
Before she finished, Lucien's voice cut through the air.
"Enough."
Every student froze. Even the wind quieted.
Lucien approached, expression calm but cold.
"Lady Erinel," he said evenly.
"If you have time to comment on others, you have time to improve yourself." Lucien said looking at her with a sharp gaze.
Erinel shrank back.
Lucien turned to Veyra, expecting at least a nod of gratitude.
Veyra merely bowed once, stiffly. "Thank you for maintaining order, Your Highness."
Then she walked away.
Lucien stared after her, baffled.
Lucas covered his mouth to hide a laugh.
"She just thanked you like you're an event organizer."
"Shut up."
---
Night fell over the academy. Students filled the study halls, preparing for the next day's lessons.
As usual, Veyra took her seat near the window. Chandria scribbled beside her. Lucas dragged a chair across the floor like a dying animal. And Lucien sat directly across from Veyra, no longer bothering to pretend he wasn't following her.
The candle flickered between them, softening the shadows on their faces.
Veyra kept reading.
Lucien kept observing.
Chandria tried not to make eye contact with either.
Lucas rested his head on the table, defeated.
After a long silence, Lucien spoke.
"Faelwen."
"Yes?" she replied without looking up.
"…Do you ever get tired?"
"Of what?"
"Everything."
"No."
He leaned back. "Why not?"
"Because it has to be done."
"That sounds like obligation."
"It is."
"Does it not weigh on you?"
"No."
Lucien stared at her.
He had never met someone whose sense of duty did not suffocate them.
Until now.
Veyra's quill paused for a moment. "Your Highness."
"Yes?"
"You have shadows under your eyes. Perhaps resting would be more beneficial than watching me."
Chandria choked.
Lucas snorted.
Lucien stiffened. "…I am not watching you."
"You have been watching me for weeks."
Silence.
Even the candle flame seemed to hesitate.
Lucien cleared his throat. "I… observe many things."
"No," Veyra said simply. "Just me."
Lucas slid lower into his seat. *He's dead.*
Lucien opened his mouth, ready to retort—
And then stopped.
Because she was right.
And he hated that she was right.
He himself don't know why he's doing this.
Veyra picked up her book again as if the conversation never occurred.
Lucien stared at her for a long moment more, expression unreadable.
Then—
He smiled.
Not amused.
Not annoyed.
Something quieter.
Something he didn't recognize.
--Ball Preparations
Two weeks before the diplomatic ball, the academy finally announced that students were allowed to return home after afternoon classes to prepare their attire and arrangements for the event. They still needed to attend morning lectures, but afternoons were theirs.
Everyone rejoiced.
…except Lucas.
Because one week before the ball, the Emperor requested Lucien's presence at the palace and Lucas would obviously have to go as well.
He is literally the only aide that Lucien have present.
"His Majesty wishes for the Crown Prince to supervise the preparations," the messenger announced. "It will serve as part of Your Highness's training."
Lucien accepted without argument.
Lucas accepted with all the enthusiasm of a dying man.
Before they could leave, however, their homeroom professor informed them of one last requirement:
"You two will finish one full week of accelerated studies before you return to the palace."
Lucas visibly deflated.
Lucien only lifted a brow. "Is that all? I've studied more in a day."
The professor sighed. "Of course you have, Your Highness."
Thus began the most exhausting week Lucas had ever experienced.
Morning: normal classes.
Noon until sunset: special advanced lessons.
Evening: assignments that made Lucas want to leap out a window.
Lucien breezed through everything as if reviewing topics he already memorized months ago.
Lucas, meanwhile, contemplated whether the Imperial Family would accept his resignation from being the prince's best friend.
By the fifth day, Lucas lay slumped over his desk in the special study room.
"This is so boring, Your Highness…" he whined, face smashed against the table.
Lucien flipped the last page of his assignment. "I'm finished. How about you try studying so we can go back already?"
"But Your Highness—"
The door suddenly swung open.
"Professor, I'm here to subm—"
Veyra halted in the doorway.
Lucas sat upright, suddenly alive. Lucien froze mid-breath.
"Oh. Greetings, Your Highness," Veyra said, bowing politely.
Chandria wasn't with her today. She stood alone, posture straight, expression unreadable.
Lucien stared at her for a beat too long—expression blank, mind absolutely empty.
"You—"
"Your Hi—"
"Your High—"
"YOUR HIGHNESS!" Lucas finally shouted.
Lucien blinked.
"Lady Faelwen just left! What are you spacing out for!?" Lucas hissed.
"She left? Already?" Lucien asked, surprised.
"Yes! She came to submit the exam papers!" Lucas shook his head. "You really didn't hear anything?"
Lucien only frowned at the door she disappeared through.
---
The Next Day — The Day Before Departure
The moment their lessons ended, Lucas approached Lucien, frantic.
"Your Highness, where are we going? We still have packing, we still have documentation, and we still have—"
"Just follow," Lucien said, already walking off.
"That's what I'm afraid of, Why do I have to go as well?!" Lucas muttered as he hurried after him.
They crossed the courtyard, and Lucas finally realized where Lucien was headed.
Under the shade of a tall willow tree, Veyra and Chandria sat at a small table, enjoying tea. Veyra wasn't reading. She wasn't writing. She wasn't analyzing, calculating, or outscoring anyone.
She simply sat there—quiet, serene, almost soft.
Lucien slowed for half a step.
Then—
"Lady Faelwen," he called.
Both girls rose and bowed.
"Greetings, Your Highness," they said in unison.
Lucien handed Veyra a rectangular, sealed card—golden and embossed with the Imperial crest.
Veyra took it, brow slightly furrowing.
"What is this?"
"An invitation," Lucien said simply.
"I know," she deadpanned. "But why?"
"It's yours."
She immediately held it back out. "I have no use for this, Your High—"
His hand came up, stopping hers.
"I know you don't. You can hand it to Count Faelwen."
Veyra blinked in mild surprise. "Why are you doing this?"
Lucien shrugged lightly. "Because I want to?"
And with that, he turned and walked away.
Chandria stared at the shining card in her friend's hand, jaw dropping. "Veyra… th-that's a gold invitation."
Veyra said nothing, still looking at the prince's back as he left.
---
On the Path Back to the Dorms
Lucas nearly tripped over his own feet. "Your Highness—why did you give away your gold invitation!?"
Gold invitations were rare—symbols of privilege, allowing the recipient private audience with the Emperor himself. Nobles fought for them. Families used them to gain support, request funding, or curry favor.
"Why would I need an invitation?" Lucien snapped. "This is our banquet. And besides—" he scoffed. "I don't need a slip of parchment to speak with my father."
"Then… why give it to her?" Lucas asked again, slower this time.
Lucien stopped walking. The brief silence that followed was uncharacteristically heavy.
"Her father was betrayed." His voice softened—just a little. "The mines he discovered, the business plans he drafted—they were all taken by someone he trusted. That 'friend' rose in rank and wealth… while Count Faelwen was left with debts, losses, and scars."
Lucas turned toward him fully. "Your Highness… how do you know all this?"
Lucien resumed walking, hands behind his back.
"I've done my research."
Lucas stared at him, stunned speechless.
"We have to get back to the palace before sun down Your Highness" Lucas informed.
"Let's go."
The Crown Prince walked on, his cape brushing the path, expression unreadable.
But something about him…
Had undeniably changed.
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