POV: Priam Lockhart
The glowing text in my notebook pulsed three times before fading, leaving behind ordinary ink that looked like it had always been there. I rubbed my eyes, wondering if exhaustion had made me hallucinate.
Then a new line appeared, writing itself in elegant script:
[Tutorial Mode: Basic Interface]
[Think "Status" to view your information]
[Warning: System visibility limited to User only]
Well, that's not ominous at all.
I glanced around my cramped room, making sure I was alone. The walls were thin enough that I could hear the snoring from the next cell over—probably old Jameson, the groundskeeper who'd lost three fingers to frostbite last winter.
"Status," I whispered.
Nothing happened.
Think it, don't say it, I realized. Status.
A translucent blue screen materialized in the air before me, visible only to my eyes. It was similar to the game interface from Noble Hearts: Crimson Academy, but with crucial differences:
[STATUS SCREEN]
Name: Priam Lockhart
Age: 17
Class: Butler (Tier 1)
Level: 1
Title: None
Attributes:
Strength: 8 (Malnourished)
Dexterity: 12 (Above Average)
Constitution: 7 (Weak)
Intelligence: 16 (Exceptional)
Wisdom: 14 (Mature)
Charisma: 13 (Likeable)
Skills:
[Etiquette] Lv. 3 (Inherited from original Priam)
[Observation] Lv. 2 (Analyze people and situations)
[Silver Tongue] Lv. 1 (Persuasion and deception)
[Game Knowledge] Lv. MAX (Meta-knowledge of story events)
Unique Ability: [System Interface] - Access to game mechanics and hidden information
Current Condition: Exhausted, Bruised (recovering from whipping)
Loyalty Status:
Seraphine de Valois: 12/100 (Suspicious Interest)
Marcus (Servant): 25/100 (Friendly)
Liana Hart: 5/100 (Curious)
Prince Cedric: 8/100 (Mild Approval)
Main Quest: Survive Your First Week at Crimson Imperial Academy
Reward: Class Advancement Options, +500 XP, Skill Point x3
Failure Penalty: Death
Hidden Objectives: ???
I stared at the screen, my mind racing through implications.
So I really am in a game-like world. But this isn't the game I knew—there was no "Butler" class in the original. Players controlled noble students, not servants. This is... something else.
The Loyalty Status caught my attention. Seraphine at 12 out of 100 was worrying but not surprising—she'd had servants for years and probably trusted none of them. But "Suspicious Interest" suggested I'd at least made an impression.
More concerning was the failure penalty.
Death.
Not "game over and restart." Not "bad ending." Actual death.
No pressure.
I dismissed the status screen with a thought and checked the time on the enchanted clock mounted above my door—a leftover from when these quarters had been storage rooms. The glowing numbers read 11:47 PM.
Thirteen minutes until the servant gathering.
I changed out of my formal uniform into the plain gray tunic and trousers that servants wore for physical labor. The clothes were rough against my skin, still carrying the smell of lye soap and sweat from their previous owner.
Priam's previous owner. The boy who died so I could be here.
Guilt twisted in my gut. I hadn't asked for this. But I was living a dead boy's life, wearing his clothes, using his memories. The least I could do was make sure his sacrifice—if you could call it that—meant something.
I slipped out of my room, careful to avoid the squeaky floorboard three steps from my door. The hallway was dark, lit only by occasional glowstones that provided just enough light to navigate without tripping.
Other doors were opening. Shadows moved in the dimness—servants emerging silently, all heading in the same direction.
I followed, keeping to the edges, watching.
There were more than I expected. Dozens of servants, from young teenagers to gray-haired veterans, all moving with the practiced stealth of people who'd learned that drawing attention meant punishment.
We emerged into the eastern courtyard through a servants' entrance hidden behind a false panel in the wine cellar. The night air was cold, carrying the scent of night-blooming jasmine and something else—magic, sharp and electric, like ozone before a thunderstorm.
The Statue of Emperor Aldmoor the Third dominated the courtyard's center. It had once been an impressive piece—fifteen feet of marble depicting the emperor who'd founded Crimson Imperial Academy three centuries ago. Now it was a broken monument to forgotten glory: the head had been knocked off during the War of Succession seventy years ago, and no one had bothered to repair it. Ivy covered the emperor's headless body, and moss grew in the cracks where weather had worn away details.
Around the statue's base, servants gathered in small clusters, speaking in hushed voices.
Marcus spotted me and waved, a broad grin on his freckled face. He stood with a group of four others, all roughly our age.
"Lockhart! Over here."
I approached, automatically cataloging the group:
A tall girl with copper skin and jet-black hair braided into intricate patterns. She wore House Fontaine's crest—the white lily. Her posture was military-straight, and her eyes never stopped moving, constantly scanning for threats.
A slight boy with sandy hair and round spectacles that reflected the moonlight. His hands were stained with ink, and he kept adjusting his glasses nervously. House Thorne's crest, same as Marcus.
A stocky young man with a scarred face and callused hands. He wore no house crest at all, which meant he was either bonded to the academy itself or to one of the minor houses. His arms were crossed, expression closed off.
And finally, a girl who couldn't have been more than fifteen, with mousy brown hair and eyes that seemed too large for her thin face. She wore House Renault's crest.
Edric's servant.
Marcus made introductions. "Everyone, this is Priam Lockhart. Serves the Ice Queen herself."
"Ice Queen?" I asked.
"Lady Seraphine," the tall girl said, her voice carrying a slight accent I couldn't place. "That's what most people call her. Among other, less flattering names." She extended her hand. "I'm Kira. Serve Lady Elise Fontaine. You probably saw her in the Hall of Crests—the shy healer."
I shook her hand, noting the strength in her grip. "The girl with auburn hair?"
"That's her. Sweetest person you'll ever meet, which means she'll probably be eaten alive by the politics here." Kira's expression softened when she spoke of her mistress, genuine affection showing through.
The boy with glasses went next. "Thomas. Also serve Lord Garrick Thorne, alongside Marcus here. My master's already scheming about something—he's had me researching first-year students all evening."
Of course he has. Garrick was the strategist love interest. He'd be gathering intelligence from day one.
The scarred man grunted. "Viktor. Groundskeeper's assistant. Don't serve any particular house."
The young girl shifted nervously. "I-I'm Mira. I serve Lord Edric Renault." Her voice was barely audible. "I... I heard what happened in the Hall. Thank you. If he'd actually hurt someone on the first day, father would have... would have..."
She trailed off, but I could fill in the blanks. Edric's father would have taken out his rage on the servants, and this girl would have borne the brunt of it.
"Don't thank me yet," I said quietly. "I might have just delayed the inevitable."
"Maybe," Marcus said, his usual cheer dimming. "But sometimes delaying is all we can do." He gestured to a worn stone bench. "Come on, the meeting's about to start."
We settled in as more servants arrived. I counted roughly forty people total—a fraction of the academy's servant population, but enough to form a significant network.
An older woman stepped forward, her gray hair pulled back in a severe bun. She wore no house crest, and her clothes, while servant-standard, were immaculately maintained. Deep lines etched her face, speaking of years of hardship, but her eyes were sharp and alert.
"Welcome, old and new," she said, her voice carrying authority despite its low volume. "I am Helena, head of the academy's housekeeping staff. For those joining us for the first time, this gathering exists for one purpose: survival."
Helena's gaze swept across the assembled servants. "The nobles think of us as furniture. Tools to be used and discarded. They don't see us as people with families, dreams, or lives worth protecting. But we see each other. Here, we share information, watch each other's backs, and remember that our lives have value even if they don't."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd.
"Tonight, we have several matters to discuss. First—" Helena's eyes found me. "Young Lockhart. Step forward."
I stood, acutely aware of everyone's attention focusing on me. My [Observation] skill activated automatically, feeding me details:
Curiosity. Suspicion. Respect. Fear. They're divided on me. Some see potential ally. Others see dangerous wildcard.
"You intervened in a conflict between nobles today," Helena said. "Explain your reasoning."
This is a test. Answer wrong, and they'll exclude me from the network. Answer right, and I gain valuable allies.
I met her gaze steadily. "Lady Seraphine would have been blamed if violence erupted on her watch. That blame would have fallen on her household servants. I protected my fellow servants by protecting my mistress's reputation."
It wasn't entirely true—I'd acted on instinct and game knowledge as much as strategy—but it was the answer this group needed to hear.
Helena studied me for a long moment. Then she nodded. "A fair assessment. Protecting your house protects yourself. But remember, Lockhart—nobles will throw us to the wolves the moment it's convenient. Your mistress has a particular reputation for cruelty. Watch yourself."
"I will."
"Good." Helena turned to address the group. "Second matter: Academy staffing changes. Three senior servants were dismissed over the summer. Their positions have been filled, but the new hires are unknown quantities. Until we determine their loyalties, treat them with caution."
Thomas raised his hand. "What were they dismissed for?"
Helena's expression darkened. "The official reason was 'gross incompetence.' The real reason was that they witnessed something the administration wanted kept quiet. They were paid off and sent away. What they saw, I don't know—they refused to speak of it."
That's not in the game, I thought. The game never dealt with servant politics or administrative cover-ups. What else is happening beneath the surface?
"Third matter," Helena continued. "The new first-year students. We need intelligence on who they are, what they're capable of, and which ones pose threats to our safety. Who has information?"
Hands went up. For the next twenty minutes, servants shared observations:
Prince Cedric Aldmoor: Polite to servants, which made him more dangerous than openly cruel nobles. "He sees everything," his personal valet reported. "Makes note of every slight, every failure. Then uses that information months later when you've forgotten. He never forgives, just waits."
Duke Roland Vayne: Treated servants with basic respect but was completely oblivious to their struggles. "He thinks being 'nice' is enough," his squire said. "Doesn't understand that a kind word doesn't fill an empty stomach or heal a beating."
Lady Clarisse D'Argent: "A demon in angel's skin," her handmaid whispered. "She destroyed the last girl who served her. Spread rumors the girl was stealing, got her sent to debtor's prison. The girl was innocent—Clarisse just wanted a scapegoat for her own missing jewelry, which she'd gambled away."
Lord Garrick Thorne: "Pays well but demands perfection," Thomas reported. "He's researching every student in our year. Whatever he's planning, it's big."
Lady Elise Fontaine: "Genuinely kind," Kira confirmed. "Almost too kind. She'll get herself hurt trying to help people who'll stab her in the back."
Lord Edric Renault: Mira spoke up, her voice trembling. "He's... he's worse this year. More violent. More afraid. His father visited last week and... and..." She couldn't continue.
Marcus put a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Helena nodded grimly. "We'll keep extra watch on House Renault servants. If anyone needs emergency sanctuary, come find me immediately."
These people have an entire support system, I realized. They've created their own society beneath the nobles' notice. This is more organized than anything in the game.
Then someone asked the question I'd been dreading.
"What about the commoner girl? Liana Hart?"
All eyes turned to me—I'd been closest to the incident.
I chose my words carefully. "She's... unusual. The way she carries herself, the way she speaks—it's not consistent with someone from the slums. She's educated, trained in etiquette. Her clothes are worn but well-maintained. Either she's hiding her background, or someone prepared her specifically for the academy."
"A plant?" Viktor, the groundskeeper's assistant, asked sharply.
"Maybe. Or maybe a noble's bastard trying to rise above her station. Either way, she's not what she appears to be."
Thomas pushed his glasses up. "Lord Garrick is very interested in her. He had me pull every record I could find—birth certificates, merchant licenses, property deeds. You know what I found? Nothing. It's like Liana Hart didn't exist before three months ago."
Murmurs of concern rippled through the group.
"A spy?" someone suggested.
"Or witness protection," Kira offered. "Maybe she testified against someone powerful and was given a new identity."
"Or," I said slowly, "she created herself. Built a false identity specifically to gain entry to the academy."
Helena frowned. "To what end?"
To build a harem of powerful nobles and destroy House Valois, I thought. But I couldn't say that without revealing meta-knowledge.
"I don't know," I admitted. "But I'll keep watching."
Helena nodded. "Do so. If she's dangerous, we need to know before she makes a move."
The meeting continued with practical matters: sharing information about which nobles were looking for new servants, which merchants in the capital city offered fair prices for day-off shopping, which routes through the academy were safest during different times of day.
It was mundane, practical, and absolutely vital for survival.
As the gathering broke up, Marcus pulled me aside. "You did good tonight. Helena doesn't trust easily—if she's letting you participate, it means you passed her test."
"What happens if someone fails her test?"
Marcus's expression turned serious. "They don't get invited back. And if they're stupid enough to report these meetings to their masters?" He drew a finger across his throat. "Accidents happen. The academy's a dangerous place."
They'd kill informants. Good to know.
"Come on," Marcus said, brightening. "I'll walk you back. Don't want you getting lost and stumbling into some noble's late-night 'entertainment.'"
We walked in comfortable silence for a while. The academy at night was a different place—shadows moved in corners, distant sounds echoed through empty halls, and the magical lights seemed dimmer, as if conserving energy.
"Can I ask you something?" I said eventually.
"Sure."
"Why did you reach out to me specifically? There are other new servants."
Marcus was quiet for a moment. "You stood up when you didn't have to. Most people in our position keep their heads down, avoid notice at all costs. But you risked Seraphine's wrath to prevent something worse. That takes either courage or stupidity." He grinned. "I'm betting on courage."
He's wrong. It was calculated survival instinct mixed with video game knowledge. But I'll take the credit.
"Besides," Marcus continued, "I've served Lord Garrick for three years. I've seen dozens of servants come and go. Most fall into patterns: they become broken or bitter or cruel themselves. But once in a while, someone comes along who refuses to break. Those people change things." He looked at me. "I think you're one of those people."
The weight of his expectation settled on my shoulders. No pressure at all.
We reached the servants' quarters. Marcus clapped me on the shoulder. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow's the opening ceremony, which means standing for hours while nobles make speeches. You'll want to be rested."
"Thanks, Marcus."
"Anytime, friend."
He disappeared down the hallway, whistling softly.
I returned to my cell and collapsed on the thin mattress. My body ached, my mind was spinning with information overload, and I was more exhausted than I could remember being.
But as I closed my eyes, a notification appeared:
[Quest Update: Survive Your First Week]
Progress: Day 1 Complete
New Achievement Unlocked: "Hidden Network"
Reward: +50 XP, Skill [Stealth] Lv. 1 acquired
New Information Added to Database:
Servant Network mapped
Key NPCs identified
Hidden questlines available
New Quest Available: "The Faceless Girl"
Objective: Investigate Liana Hart's true identity
Reward: Major Intelligence Boost, ???
Accept? Y/N
I mentally selected Yes.
If I'm going to survive this world, I need every advantage I can get. And understanding the protagonist is advantage number one.
As I drifted off to sleep, my last thought was of Seraphine—alone in her luxurious room, crying where no one could hear.
I'm going to change your fate, I promised silently. Whether you want me to or not.
POV SHIFT: Seraphine de Valois
Seraphine sat by the window of her dormitory suite, staring out at the moonlit academy grounds. She'd dismissed Lockhart hours ago, but sleep wouldn't come.
It never did on the first night in a new place.
Her reflection in the glass showed a girl who looked older than her seventeen years. Violet eyes that had seen too much. Silver hair that marked her as different, dangerous. A face that people called beautiful but never warm.
The Ice Queen, she thought bitterly. Is that all I'll ever be?
Her hand touched the glass, fingers tracing the outline of her reflection. Behind her, the room was silent. No servants moving about, no family checking in on her, no friends dropping by to gossip about the day's events.
Just silence.
Always silence.
Her thoughts drifted to the new butler. Priam Lockhart, who'd spoken to her like an equal despite being a servant. Who'd acted without permission but somehow made it look like he was following her orders. Who'd looked at her with something other than fear or calculation.
Curiosity. He looked at me with curiosity.
When was the last time someone had been curious about her rather than afraid?
She couldn't remember.
The previous Priam—the original—had been weak. Terrified. He'd flinched every time she spoke, cowered when she moved too quickly, could barely string two words together without stammering.
Ravager had ended him three nights ago.
Seraphine closed her eyes against the memory.
No. Not Ravager. That's the story I tell. The truth is worse.
The truth was that the original Priam had run away. Tried to escape his servitude despite knowing it meant death. He'd made it as far as the estate walls before the guards caught him.
Her father had been visiting. He'd watched the guards drag Priam back. And then he'd looked at Seraphine with those cold, cold eyes and said: "He's your responsibility. You handle it."
She'd had no choice. Weakness in front of her father meant punishment. For her, for the other servants, for anyone he deemed needed "discipline."
So she'd ordered the whipping. Fifteen lashes. The same number her father had ordered when she was twelve and failed to execute a spell perfectly.
Priam had collapsed. Broken.
And something in him had... changed. His eyes had gone blank, and when he'd woken up...
He was different. His voice, his posture, the way he looked at me. Like he was someone else wearing Priam's skin.
Seraphine should have been afraid. Should have reported it, had him executed, protected herself from whatever supernatural phenomenon had occurred.
But she hadn't.
Because for the first time in years, someone looked at her and saw her. Not the family name, not the reputation, not the monster everyone said she was.
Just her.
Who are you really, Priam Lockhart? And why does it feel like you might be the only person in this damned academy who could understand me?
A soft knock on her door interrupted her thoughts.
"My lady?" A voice, feminine and familiar. "May I enter?"
Seraphine quickly wiped her eyes and composed her expression. "Come in, Rosalie."
Her personal handmaid entered—an older woman who'd served House Valois for decades. Rosalie's face was lined with age, but her movements were efficient and practiced.
"You should be sleeping, my lady," Rosalie said softly, setting down a tray with warm milk and honey. "Tomorrow will be demanding."
"I'm fine."
"You're never fine." Rosalie's tone was gentle but firm. "I've known you since you were a child, Seraphine. I know when you're troubled."
Seraphine said nothing, staring back out the window.
Rosalie sighed. "The new butler. Lockhart. What do you make of him?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Because you haven't had him flogged yet," Rosalie said bluntly. "The old Priam would have been bleeding on the floor for speaking to you the way this one did. But you praised him. Called his intervention 'following orders.'" She paused. "That was clever. It protected your reputation while acknowledging his initiative."
"Your point?"
"My point is that you're capable of more than cruelty. You always have been. But somewhere along the way, you decided that being feared was safer than being known." Rosalie moved to stand beside her. "This Lockhart... he seems different. Maybe he could be—"
"An ally?" Seraphine's laugh was harsh. "Don't be absurd. He's a servant. Property. Nothing more."
"If you truly believed that, you wouldn't be sitting here at midnight thinking about him."
Seraphine's hands clenched. "Leave me, Rosalie."
"As you command, my lady." Rosalie curtsied and departed, her footsteps fading down the hall.
Alone again, Seraphine returned to her window vigil.
Far below, in the eastern courtyard, she could see figures moving in the darkness. Servants, gathering around the broken statue.
So the rumors are true. They have their own network, their own society. How long has that been going on?
She should report it. Should have them all punished for meeting without permission.
But she didn't.
Instead, she watched until the last figure disappeared, then finally turned away from the window.
Tomorrow, the real game would begin. The academy would sort students into their classes, assign rankings, and begin the careful dance of alliance and betrayal that defined noble society.
And somewhere in that chaos, Liana Hart would make her move.
Everyone thinks she's a helpless commoner. But I saw her eyes when Prince Cedric escorted her away. She wasn't grateful—she was satisfied. Like everything had gone exactly according to plan.
Seraphine moved to her desk and pulled out a journal, flipping to a blank page. She began writing in the cipher she'd developed as a child, recording her observations:
Liana Hart - Background suspicious. Claims commoner status but moves with trained grace. Prince Cedric interested. Duke Roland will likely follow. Need more information.
Priam Lockhart - Changed. Intelligent, observant, strategic thinker. Useful. Potentially dangerous. Monitor closely.
Father's expectations - Maintain House Valois reputation. Demonstrate power. Secure advantageous marriage alliance. Eliminate threats.
That last line made her stomach twist.
Her father had been clear before she'd left for the academy: "You will marry Prince Cedric or Duke Roland. I don't care which. House Valois needs a connection to either the throne or the military. Fail, and I'll arrange a marriage to the highest bidder. Refuse, and I'll ensure you never inherit."
She was trapped. Had always been trapped.
The only question was whether she'd find a way to break free or whether the bars would close in until she suffocated.
Seraphine closed the journal and extinguished the lights with a gesture, plunging the room into darkness.
As she finally lay down to sleep, her last conscious thought echoed Priam's unspoken promise:
Someone, please. Change my fate. Before it's too late.
End of Chapter 2