Chapter Five: Princes, Dukes, and Delusions
That night, boredom became Amanda's greatest enemy.
She had finished her assignments early. The dorm was quiet. The air felt too still. Her thoughts too loud.
So she left.
Baggy gown on. Veil in place. Hands tucked casually into the deep pockets of the oversized fabric. She walked with no destination in mind, just letting her feet guide her along the stone pathways of the Empiral Honour School's island campus.
Lanterns lined the walkways, glowing with soft mana light. Students dotted the grounds in small clusters—laughing, training, whispering secrets.
Amanda exhaled slowly.
Peaceful.
For once.
She turned a corner near the lower terrace steps—and miscalculated.
Her foot missed a slight drop between stones.
Her body pitched forward.
Great. Just great. I hope I don't get too injured—
She never hit the ground.
Two hands caught her.
Firm.
Warm.
Steady.
Not Arthur.
Her body immediately knew the difference.
Arthur's touch felt controlled, deliberate, almost commanding even in softness.
This was… smoother.
More practiced.
She looked up.
Lucas Graytrith.
A branch of the Grayhound family—ducal nobility, not direct royalty. Still powerful. Still influential. Still dangerous in a different way.
He smiled down at her, white teeth flashing beneath charming eyes that had likely dismantled dozens of girls' defenses.
"My lady," he said smoothly, holding her upright a second longer than necessary. "Are you alright?"
Amanda stepped away immediately.
Distance.
Control.
Veil still secure over her face.
She glanced at him once—cool, unreadable.
"I am fine. Thank you."
Then she turned to leave.
Rude?
Not particularly.
Lucas Graytrith was known.
Charming. Flirtatious. A collector of attention. The type who enjoyed conquest more than connection.
And more importantly—
Arthur hated men like him.
If Arthur saw them standing like that, close, hands lingering—
Lucas might not survive the week.
Behind her, Lucas didn't look offended.
He smiled wider.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
A girl who didn't melt.
A girl who didn't blush.
A girl who walked away.
He watched her retreating form and murmured softly to himself, "How refreshing."
Unbeknownst to him—
She already belonged to a storm far more dangerous than he imagined.
---
Amanda made her way toward the lower courtyard, where street-style food vendors set up stalls for students during the weekends. The scent of roasted meat, spices, and grilled vegetables filled the air.
Finally.
Something uncomplicated.
She approached a stall and pointed lightly. "A mix, please. Of the roasted meats."
The vendor nodded.
She reached into her pocket—
And suddenly—
Arms wrapped around her waist from behind.
Soft.
Confident.
Too comfortable.
"What are we getting, bae?" Lucas' voice purred near her ear.
Amanda froze.
Her eyes narrowed beneath the veil.
Is this man brainless?
She was a princess of Anirc.
He was a duke's son.
The audacity alone was impressive.
Slowly—very slowly—she removed his arms from around her waist.
Not violently.
Not dramatically.
Just firmly.
She took the wrapped roasted meat from the vendor.
Paid.
And walked away.
Did not respond.
Did not acknowledge him.
Did not even look back.
Lucas stood there, blinking.
Then his jaw tightened.
Ignored.
Not teased.
Not flustered.
Ignored.
That stung far more than rejection.
His eyes darkened slightly.
"Alright," he murmured under his breath. "Let's see how long that lasts."
---
Later, Amanda climbed the stairs toward her dorm wing, chewing thoughtfully on a skewer.
She felt lighter.
Annoyed—but not shaken.
Until she reached the landing.
And saw her.
Sylvester Stallone.
The Elven Princess.
And when people said beauty—
They meant beauty.
Silver-blonde hair cascading like moonlight. Skin smooth as porcelain. Eyes sharp and luminous like polished emeralds. Her posture alone could intimidate entire assemblies.
Rumors followed her like perfume.
Rumors that Arthur had once fought for her kingdom during the war.
Rumors that she had fallen hopelessly in love with him after witnessing his power.
Rumors that she had never quite recovered.
Sylvester looked Amanda up and down.
Then scoffed.
"So this is what you used?" she said coldly. "Your big, curvy body to deceive my Arthur?"
Amanda nearly choked on her food.
My Arthur?
She swallowed.
Composed herself.
Then smiled beneath her veil.
"You mean," Amanda corrected gently, "my Arthur."
Sylvester flushed red instantly.
The tips of her ears practically burned.
"You insolent—!"
Amanda tilted her head innocently.
"Was there confusion?"
The elven princess stepped closer, fury simmering beneath her elegance.
"I will make your life miserable in this school," Sylvester hissed. "You do not deserve him."
Amanda blinked once.
Then—
Chuckled.
Soft.
Unbothered.
"Kay."
She stepped around Sylvester.
Did not slow.
Did not argue.
Did not flinch.
Just walked off.
Sylvester stood there, stunned.
Most people trembled before her.
Most scrambled to defend themselves.
Most tried to prove worth.
Amanda?
Didn't care.
And that, somehow, burned worse than any insult.
---
Inside her dorm room, Amanda closed the door behind her and leaned against it.
Exhale.
Lucas.
Sylvester.
Jealous nobles.
Entitled heirs.
And Arthur in the middle of it all.
She removed her veil slowly and stared at the ceiling.
"So even the elven princess…" she muttered softly.
She flopped onto her bed.
Arthur Grayhound.
Unintentionally—or perhaps intentionally—collecting hearts like trophies.
And she?
She wasn't even trying to compete.
Her fingers clenched lightly into the bedsheets.
What if someone stronger tried harder?
What if one day he looked at someone like Sylvester and decided—
No.
She shook her head.
Arthur didn't seem like that.
But perfection attracted obsession.
And obsession attracted trouble.
Outside her window, the island breeze carried faint echoes of laughter and distant training.
Inside her room, Amanda Scarlett lay staring at the ceiling.
War was simple.
Politics was predictable.
But this?
This battlefield of pride, jealousy, and possessive nobles?
Far more dangerous.
And somewhere across campus—
Arthur Grayhound was likely unaware—
That two powerful heirs had just set their eyes on what he had publicly claimed.
One with desire.
One with envy.
The week had been chaotic.
But something told Amanda—
It was about to get worse.
The end.....