Alaric sat at his desk, one hand propping up his chin as he stared at Professor Thorne at the front of the room.
They’d gotten back from the palace an hour ago. The carriage ride had been silent, uncomfortable. Now he was supposed to sit here and care about trade routes.
"So when supply lines get cut during a siege, what happens?" Thorne was saying, pacing in front of the map. "Anyone? Co on, this is basic stuff."
A few hands went up. Thorne pointed at a student in the second row.
"The army has to retreat?"
"Sotis. What else?"
"They could try to take the city faster. Before they run out of supplies."
"Right, desperate assault. Usually ends badly." Thorne’s eyes swept the room and landed on Alaric. "Glimor. You awake over there?"
Alaric blinked, then straightened slightly. "Yeah."
"Great. So what would you do? You’re commanding the siege, your supplies just got cut off. Assault, retreat, or sothing else?"
He looked at the map and then back at professor’s face. "Depends on the commander’s ego and how stupid he is."
A few students laughed. Thorne’s mouth twitched. "Elaborate."
"Most commanders would rather die attacking than retreat and look weak. So they assault, lose half their n, and fail anyway. Better option is negotiate while you still have leverage."
"And if the enemy won’t negotiate?"
"Then you picked the wrong fight."
More laughter.
Thorne nodded, looking almost satisfied.
"Not wrong. Pride kills more soldiers than bad tactics." He turned back to the board. "Alright, moving on—"
Beside Alaric, Verelia’s quill continued its steady scratch across parchnt. She hadn’t looked up once during the exchange, just kept writing in those neat, precise lines, ignoring him like always.
The lecture dragged on. Thorne talked about defensive positions, resource managent, civilian casualties during occupation. Standard military theory that Alaric already knew.
He let his mind drift. From all the shit that had happened to him.
"Assignnt due next week," Thorne was telling the students. "Five pages on the rchant Wars. Identify three mistakes each side made. Class dismissed."
Chairs scraped. Students stood up, gathering books and papers.
Verelia also closed her journal and stood up, tucking it under her arm.
Then she actually spoke to him. "You were distracted."
Alaric grabbed his own materials.
"Maybe."
She turned to face him properly, ice-blue eyes studying his face.
But before she could spoke.
"Verelia!" One of her friends called from the doorway.
She glanced back, then looked at him again. "We should talk. Later."
"About what?"
"Not here."
She left before he could respond, joining her group at the door. They disappeared into the hallway.
Alaric finished gathering his things and headed out.
Then Oliver appeared beside him imdiately, slightly out of breath. "So? How was it?"
"Fine."
"Fine? That’s all you’re giving ? The Queen interrogated you and it was just ’fine’?"
"What do you want, Oliver? A dramatic retelling?"
"I an, yeah?" Oliver fell into step beside him. "Were you scared? Did they threaten you? Are you in trouble?"
"No, no, and no."
They turned toward the dormitories. Other students filled the corridors, heading to their next classes or back to their rooms.
"But still," Oliver persisted, "the Queen herself was there, right? What was she like?"
Alaric thought about those green eyes dissecting every word. And those rosy lips—
"Smart. Cute. And beautiful. I don’t even know how that King pulled her off."
Oliver stopped mid-step. Blinked.
His face cycled through confusion, shock, then horror.
"The hell?"
Alaric kept walking, not slowing down.
Oliver hurried to catch up. "Did you just, did you seriously just call the Queen cute? To her face?"
"No, to yours."
"That’s not better!" Oliver’s voice climbed higher. "That’s the Queen! The actual Queen! You can’t just..." He began watching the surroundings, "What if soone heard you?"
"Then they heard ."
"You could get arrested for that! Or executed! Or—"
Alaric turned into the stairwell leading up to their floor.
"For what? Stating facts?"
"For disrespecting royalty!" Oliver was practically hissing now, glancing around like guards might leap out of the walls.
"You don’t talk about the Queen like she’s so... so girl at a tavern!"
"Why not? She’s a woman. She’s attractive. The King’s lucky."
Oliver grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop on the landing.
"Are you insane? Actually insane? Because that’s the only explanation for why you’d—"
"Relax." Alaric pulled his arm free and continued up the stairs.
"I didn’t say it to her. I said it to you. In private. Stop acting like I propositioned her in the throne room."
"You might as well have!" Oliver followed, still agitated.
"What if I accidentally repeat that? What if soone overhears us talking about it? Do you have any idea how fast rumors spread in this place?"
They reached their floor. Alaric walked down the corridor toward their room.
"Then don’t repeat it," he said simply.
"That’s your solution? Just don’t repeat the treasonous thing you said about the Queen?"
"It’s not treason to notice soone’s attractive."
"It is when that soone could have you hanged!"
Alaric reached their door and pushed it open. "You worry too much."
He stepped inside. Oliver followed, closing the door behind them and imdiately starting to pace.
"I worry the appropriate amount! You’re the one who apparently has a death wish!"
He ran his hands through his hair.
"First you sneak out during curfew, then you get interrogated by the Queen, now you’re... you’re comnting on her appearance like—"
"Like what? Like I have eyes?"
"Like you have a death wish!" Oliver threw his hands up. "Normal people don’t do this, Alaric! Normal people are terrified of the Queen! They certainly don’t call her cute!"
Alaric dropped his materials on his desk and sat on his bed. "I said she was smart first."
"That doesn’t make it better!"
"Actually, it does. ans I’m not just objectifying her."
Oliver stared at him, mouth open, clearly trying to find words. "You’re impossible."
"Thanks."
"It wasn’t a complint."
Oliver collapsed onto his own bed, staring at the ceiling.
"I’m going to have a heart attack rooming with you. I’m nineteen and I’m going to die of stress."
"Dramatic."
"Realistic!" Oliver sat up. "You know what? Fine. You want to make inappropriate comnts about royalty? Go ahead. But when they co to arrest you, I’m telling them I tried to stop you."
"Noted."
Silence fell. Oliver gradually cald down, though he kept shooting Alaric looks that suggested he was reconsidering every life choice that had led to this roommate situation.
Alaric lay back on his bed, hands behind his head.
Truth was, the Queen was attractive. Sharp, intelligent, powerful. The kind of woman who could dismantle you with words before you even realized you were being interrogated.
Too bad. I couldn’t talk to her more.
He blinked. More? Why do I want to talk to her?
He rubbed his face.
There’s really serious shit going through my life. The uneasy feeling of yesterday. Now this urge too...
He then closed his eyes.
I think I need to visit a physician soon.
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