"He made him piss his pants!"
"Did you see his face? Thought he was going to cry."
"Marcus always was a coward. Just needed soone to call him on it."
"Glimor didn’t even raise his voice. That was the scary part."
The whispers and murmurs rippled through the dining hall as students began dispersing back to their als or heading out for their next activities. So lingered, still talking excitedly about what they’d just witnessed.
[ 150 DP]
[ 50 DP]
[ 10 DP]
[ 25 DP]
[ 5 DP]
...
...
The notifications kept coming as Alaric and Oliver made their way toward the exit.
Alaric sighed as they stepped through the doorway into the corridor and summoned his status window.
[Domination Points: 8,200]
Well. Not bad.
Four hundred points from a single confrontation. If he could keep this up, maybe hitting fifteen thousand in a month wasn’t impossible.
He turned his head to Oliver and clicked his tongue. "Why couldn’t you defend yourself?"
Oliver’s head snapped toward him, eyes wide. "Are you serious? They were three people and I was one!"
"So?"
"So?" Oliver’s voice rose. "Plus Marcus is a Count’s son! How was I supposed to go up against him? I’m a scholarship student with no family backing. He could’ve had expelled!"
"Coward."
Oliver stopped walking. "Excuse ?"
Alaric kept moving. "You heard ."
"I’m not a coward!" Oliver hurried to catch up, his face flushed with indignation. "I was being smart! Not everyone can just grab people and threaten them without consequences!"
"Yeah, yeah, everyone says that."
"Because fighting back would’ve made it worse!"
"Really?"
"Ofcourse!" Oliver’s hands clenched into fists. "You don’t get it. You’re a noble. I have nothing. If I fight back and lose, I’m done. Expelled. Sent ho in disgrace. My family can’t afford—"
"You should’ve fought back anyway."
Oliver’s jaw worked. His face had gone from flushed to pale. "So what, I should’ve just attacked a Count’s son and gotten myself killed or expelled? That’s your advice?"
"My advice is grow a spine."
"Fuck you, Alaric."
The words ca out sharp and sudden.
Alaric’s eyes narrowed. He took a step closer, and his voice dropped dangerously low.
"Oh wow. Now you’re talking back when I just saved your sorry ass." His gaze locked onto Oliver’s.
"What happened to your tongue back then? When Marcus was standing over you?"
Oliver flinched. "That’s... That’s different."
"How?"
"Because you’re..." Oliver paused, looking down.
"I’m what?"
Silence stretched between them. Students passed in the corridor, shooting them curious glances.
Oliver’s shoulders slumped. "Nothing. Forget it."
He turned and started walking. Alaric watched him go for a mont, then followed at a distance.
They moved past the courtyard, students scattered across the open space.
Oliver walked a few paces ahead, shoulders hunched.
Then a figure erged from the side path near the fountain and stepped into their path.
Her silver-blue hair catching the fading sunlight. Two of her usual companions stood a respectful distance behind her, waiting.
Verelia’s ice-blue eyes fixed on Alaric. "We need to talk. Now."
Oliver glanced between them, then seed to decide this was a good excuse to leave. "I’ll just... go back to the room."
He hurried off without waiting for a response.
Alaric looked at Verelia. "About?"
"Not here." She gestured toward the eastern wing of the academy. "Sowhere private."
He looked at the direction and nodded. "Lead the way."
Verelia turned without another word and started walking. Her companions stayed behind, which ant whatever this was, she wanted it truly private.
They crossed the courtyard in silence, passing groups of students who stared openly at them walking together. Whispers followed in their wake, the newly engaged couple were rarely seen in each other’s company, now heading sowhere alone.
Great. More rumors by dinnerti.
Verelia led him through a side entrance into the older part of the academy. The corridors here were narrower, less trafficked. Portraits lined the walls, their painted eyes seeming to follow them as they passed.
She took two more turns, then pushed open a heavy wooden door.
Inside was a small study room. A desk sat beneath a tall window overlooking the gardens. Bookshelves lined one wall. Two chairs faced each other across a low table.
Verelia entered and closed the door behind them. She moved to the window first, glancing out to confirm no one was nearby, then turned to face him.
"Sit," she said, gesturing to one of the chairs.
Alaric remained standing. "I’m fine here."
"This would be easier if you’d cooperate."
"Then talk. I’m listening."
For a mont, she looked like she was about to insist but thought against it. She moved to one of the chairs and sat, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap with practiced grace.
"The interrogation," she said. "What did they really ask you?"
"I already told you. Details about the attack."
"I’m not stupid, Alaric." Her voice was sharp now. "The Queen doesn’t personally conduct interviews about terrorist attacks to ask basic questions. She was looking for sothing specific."
"Then maybe you should tell what you think she was looking for."
Verelia’s eyes narrowed.
They stared at each other across the small room.
Finally, Verelia broke the silence. "My father is under suspicion."
Alaric kept his expression neutral. "For what?"
"Don’t play dumb. You heard the rumors. Duke Rithvale controls the largest military force outside the royal army. He has connections throughout the eastern territories." She paused. "The King suspects him of being involved in the attack. Or at minimum, of knowing about it and doing nothing."
"Is he?"
"I don’t know." Verelia shook her head. "But that doesn’t matter if the crown decides to make an example of him anyway."
Alaric moved to the other chair and sat down. "So why tell this?"
"Because our engagent puts you in the middle of it whether you want to be or not." Verelia leaned forward slightly. "If my father goes down... I want to take over his position as the new Duchess."
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