The heavy doors groaned open, and all conversation ceased. A hundred noble heads swivelled in unison. The hall was already packed, every aristocratic seat filled except for the three stragglers: me, Sylvia, and Kalix.
Of course. We're late. Day one, and I already wanted to dissolve into the floorboards.
The professor's stare was a pinprick of accusation. "I assume you are Seina of House Delian, Sylvia of House Delavine, and Kalix of House Medieval?"
We bowed in unison, offering our apologies.
"My apologies for being late on the very first day of class," I began, forcing my voice steady. "We had embroidery earlier, and we… may have lost track of the time. Also, the halls are—"
Laughter erupted. My words barely finished before the entire class was chuckling. Confused, I glanced at Sylvia and Kalix, only to see their shoulders trembling, their faces contorted as they fought to hold back laughter too.
Great. Absolutely wonderful. The joke is me.
"Very well," the professor said at last, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Ladies and gentleman, you may take the remaining seats."
We bowed once more, scanning the room. My stomach twisted. Of the few seats left, one was directly beside Prince Ashen.
Shook. Just kill me now. Day one, and the curse has already landed.
Steeling myself, I walked over. Before sitting, I offered him a polite, small bow.
"Please," he murmured, his voice a low thrum meant only for me. "Don't be so formal. We are classmates here."
His chin lifted slightly, and that familiar, faint smirk tugged at his lips—the one he always wore when he knew he had me perfectly cornered. I sat beside him, my heart hammering, trying to mask my irritation beneath a flawless mask of composure.
The Diplomacy hall was a grand, tiered amphitheatre, every row stacked above the other, with the professor's podium at the lowest level. Our seats were at the very back, the highest tier. The sheer elevation made the three long tables up here feel less like seating and more like a literal stage. And somehow, I had secured the most unfortunate spotlight possible: centre seat, with Prince Ashen at my side.
The physical proximity was agonizingly intimate. I could feel the faint warmth radiating from his body, the subtle, expensive scent of bergamot and leather, and the heavy, intrusive awareness of his presence just inches away.
To my right was my brother, Zein, seated with a minor noble girl I didn't even recognize—a girl with wide, nervous eyes. Zein, ever the professional guard, was pretending to be deeply engaged in reviewing his course materials, giving me a rare moment of privacy from his cold scrutiny.
To the left were Sylvia and Kalix, whispering now and then, trying not to look too entertained by my predicament. Kalix met my eyes briefly, and I caught the telltale twitch of his lips—he was failing not to laugh at my distress.
The arrangement wasn't random—it was intentional. Boys and girls paired side by side, like practice for diplomacy itself. But being seated on the top tier made us more noticeable, like figures displayed on a pedestal for the whole room to watch. We were the silent rulers, literally looking down on the rest of the class.
From where I sat, I could see every noble below. Their polished uniforms, their stiff postures, the not-so-subtle glances thrown our way. And of course, sitting beside Ashen only amplified their curiosity. The whispers from the hallway had merely been the prelude; now, the full Academy had a clear view of the Prince engaging a mysterious commoner.
Day one, and I'm already on display. Wonderful.
I felt Ashen shift beside me. My instincts screamed at me to create distance, but any sudden movement would draw even more attention. I gripped the stylus in my hand so tightly my knuckles were white.
"A fortunate coincidence, wouldn't you agree, Miss Delian?" Ashen's voice was a low murmur, only for my ears. He didn't turn his head, his gaze fixed straight ahead, but the amusement was clear in his tone.
I refused to look at him. He is enjoying this. I immediately activated the cold, slightly aloof persona of Seina of House Delian.
"I was under the impression that seating arrangements at the Academy were strictly alphabetical, Your Highness," I replied, my voice cool and flat, prioritizing formality over truth. "Coincidence plays no part in meticulous organization."
I heard Zein's sharp intake of breath beside me—a silent warning to stop being so abrasive to the Prince. But Ashen just offered a subtle, silent shrug, accepting the calculated rudeness with a maddening ease.
This was no longer a class; it was a demonstration. I was meant to act like a slightly overwhelmed, minor-House student, overwhelmed by the Prince's presence. Instead, I was forced to maintain a flawless performance of disinterest to protect a secret that could topple the government.
The next two years were going to be far more complicated than I ever imagined. My freedom had come at the cost of being trapped right next to my future husband.
The lecture hall of the Imperial Academy was silent except for the soft flicker of torchlight against the stone walls.
"Today's matter—" the professor began, his hand clasped behind his back. "In the year 1230, if an empire seeks to avoid war with its rival yet refuses to bend to humiliation, what is the truest path of diplomacy?"
A quiet hum of thought ran through the room. Then, almost at once, two hands were raised—mine and the Prince's.
"Yes, Ms. Seina of House Delian?" the professor called, acknowledging me first.
I stood, my eyes sharp as steel. "The truest path," I declared, my voice cutting through the quiet, "is negotiation backed by leverage. To talk without power is begging. Diplomacy without strength is submission. If the Empire wishes peace without humiliation, it must negotiate from a position where its rival knows war would cost them dearly."
My seatmate, of course, Prince Ashen, rose as well. "Yes, our Prince? We would be glad to hear your opinion as you are the Prince of this Empire," the professor said.
"You confuse diplomacy with intimidation," Ashen countered, his voice calm, yet edged with steel. "Leverage may silence enemies, but it breeds resentment—and resentment is the soil where rebellions grow. True diplomacy," he asserted, "is the art of giving just enough that your rival believes they've won something, while in truth, you've ceded nothing. That is how empires endure centuries, not decades."
I felt my jaw tighten. The arrogance of his idealism was infuriating. "And what if their rival sees that as weakness? Would you gamble the Empire's dignity on illusions of peace?"
The tension between us pulled every noble's attention. "Better to gamble with illusions than to bury thousands in graves. An Empire's dignity means little if its people starve because of endless war."
I leaned forward, unflinching. "And an Empire's survival means little if it bows until its crown slips from its head."
The hall buzzed with whispers, the nobles leaning forward as if watching a duel rather than a debate. Zein sat utterly immobile, his eyes flickering between us—half-warning, half-fascinated.
The professor only smiled faintly, his eyes glinting with approval. "Excellent," he said, raising his hand to still the room. "This—this clash of iron and silk—is the essence of diplomacy. Remember: empires fall not because they lack armies, but because they fail to master the subtleties of peace."
Both Prince Ashen and I remained standing, our gazes locked in a silent contest across the narrow space between our desks, neither conceding the philosophical ground. I could read the challenge in his eyes—a silent acknowledgment that I was a worthy intellectual opponent.
But beneath the surface of the debate, a darker realization struck me. My father's challenge was to find a weakness. The Prince's strategy—to value peace over dignity, illusion over leverage—was a vulnerability I could exploit, both in politics and, perhaps, in our personal alliance.
"You have spirit, Miss Delian," he murmured. "A commendable, if dangerous, conviction."
"And you have sentiment, Your Highness," I returned coolly, gathering my books. "A commendable, if naïve, flaw."
Ashen inclined his head, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips. His chuckle was a soft, low sound—one that should have been disarming, yet it only tightened the coiled air between us. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a murmur meant only for my ears:
"We shall see whose strategy survives the coming years, my princess."
The whisper was an electric jolt. My spine stiffened at the title, which was laced with equal parts mockery and respect. A flush of heat warmed my cheeks, but my glare remained fiercely unwavering.
"Then may the years be kind enough," I retorted quietly, my own voice a carefully controlled edge, "to prove you wrong."
A pointed cough from the professor shattered the tension. Across the room, the rest of the class exhaled a collective sigh of relief, utterly unaware of the silent, unspoken war that had just begun between the two seatmates.
We were already seated again, two hours still left before the diplomacy class ended. The professor's voice echoed through the chamber as everyone listened attentively. Everyone, except me.
Because Ashen was teasing.
I tried to ignore him, eyes fixed on the professor, notes in front of me, quill ready. Still, I couldn't focus. My chest was restless. To calm myself, I placed my hand flat on the desk, steadying my breath.
Suddenly, warmth. His hand slid over mine—firm, steady, claiming. Hidden beneath the desk where no one could see. He leaned back, turning just enough to keep Kalix and Sylvia from noticing, his whole body shielding the quiet betrayal of touch.
I turned sharply toward him, glaring with narrowed eyes. "What are you doing?" I whispered.
Ashen leaned closer, his lips barely moving, his smirk unmistakable. "Why? Am I not allowed to hold the hand of my future wife?"
My face felt scorched. My heart somersaulted. For a desperate split second, I wanted to yank my hand back, but instead... I froze. And then, I let him hold it.
For the rest of the class, our hands stayed locked beneath the desk. I couldn't hear half of what the professor was saying—every moment, my mind screamed at the warmth of his fingers wrapped around mine.
But him? The audacity. He sat tall, sharp-eyed, responding to the professor's questions like the perfect royal scholar… all while casually holding my hand, never once loosening his grip.
I was completely shaken. Because this was the same prince everyone whispered about—the cold, untouchable one, the figure people feared to approach. And yet here he was, impossibly clingy, stubbornly affectionate.
And worst of all… I didn't hate it.
An hour passed, and the professor was still deep in his discussion. Yet all I could focus on was the weight of Ashen's hand still clasped over mine.
He kept threading his fingers between mine, shifting, pressing lightly, as though memorizing the geography of my hand. I adjusted, sliding our joined hands onto my lap to ease the stiffness, but the move was futile: he refused to release me. So there we were—his hand wrapped securely around mine, hidden in the folds of my skirt, his fingers still tracing gentle patterns across my knuckles as if the lecture didn't exist at all.
And though I tried to keep my eyes on the professor, every heartbeat reminded me: I was trapped in Prince Ashen's grasp, and part of me didn't want to escape.
"Do you have Military Works class tomorrow?" Ashen asked suddenly, his voice low, the question completely ordinary despite the private revolution happening under the desk.
I blinked, caught off guard. This wasn't the cold, intimidating prince the entire academy whispered about. This Ashen was softer. Kinder. The kind of person who, if I asked something impossibly difficult of him, I had no doubt he'd try to do it without a moment's hesitation.
"Uhm… yes," I answered quietly.
His thumb brushed over the back of my hand again, slow and deliberate. "Good," he murmured, his tone calm but laced with something protective. "Then… be careful."
For a moment, I couldn't even breathe. My mind should've been on the lecture, but all I could feel was his warmth, and all I could hear was his voice—gentle in a way I never imagined possible from him.
The lecture finally ended—and with it, the agonizing tension I'd carried for the entire hour. At last, he released my hand. Prince Ashen stood first, straightening his coat with that composed grace of his. He mentioned something about returning to the mansion, where his office was waiting. Of course, duty never left him alone.
I remained seated for a moment, head still spinning. So much had happened in just one day—things I hadn't prepared for. Managing to keep my identity hidden felt like the only victory I'd earned.
I was also deeply relieved no one had recognized Kalix or Sylvia. Whenever they traveled to the capital, they moved cloaked and masked, making them nearly impossible to identify. The empire might boast of its "most powerful knight," but truly, no one had ever seen Kalix's real face. I didn't even know the true face of Prince Ashen's silent shield. It was a funny kind of irony: the strongest protectors of the empire were faceless, even to their own people.
A whisper broke through my thoughts.
"My lady, it's time to take a break and eat before we go home," Sylvia murmured softly, maintaining the required facade.
I glanced at her, exhaling a long breath. "I told you, no need to act so formal," I replied, a tired smile tugging at my lips as I finally pushed myself up from the seat.