“Your highness, your highness!”


    Lavisa suppressed her annoyance. Though she didn’t wish to acknowledge her, she twisted around all the same. It was Odeé, House Vlasalisk’s treasurer.


    The girl brushed a strand of looping red hair away from her sweaty forehead, and though she stood tall, her frazzled appearance made it seem as if she had just come out of Art.


    “Is something wrong, treasurer Odeé?” Lavisa asks.


    Odeé breathed, looked like she wanted to throw up, then sighed. “I was—” she wheezed. “I’ve been searching for you all day.”


    “What for?”


    “The monthly tourney!”


    Lavisa turned away. “My answer remains as ever, Odeé. I’ve no interest in participation, much less regarding a school activity.”


    Odeé frowned. “B-But why? Doesn’t your father—”


    “What my father wants is of no concern to you. Are we clear?”


    “But—”


    Lavisa shot her a critical side glance. Odeé, as insistent as she was, capitulated. Her icy-pink eyes widened with fear.


    “I-I…yes, forgive me, your highness. I didn’t mean to offend.”


    “You are forgiven. Now, none of this tourney talk from hereon. I’ve tired of it.”


    Odeé winced. “About that…”


    “Yes?”


    “Though I respect your decision, this request doesn’t stem from your father. It’s the Lord himself.”


    “I see.”


    Lavisa continued down the great hall, the warmth of the lusarello seeping through her white gloves. Though the cafeteria served adequate meals, House Vlasalisk’s food bar surpassed it in terms of quality. They even possessed foreign goods other Houses could only dream of.


    Not that Lavisa partook in the meals they served. Price wasn’t an issue. No, they were simply too fattening. She had seen one too many Vlasalisk engorge themselves on that delectable sauced bread. The meat and vegetables layered upon a slathering of melted cheese and warm tomato sauce, that crunchy, buttery bread betraying hints of garlic…


    A dull, gut-rending pain clawed at the cavity in her core. Good blood, what she would do to have a taste of that again.


    “Y-Your highness! Wait,” Odeé exclaimed as she followed her down the winding hall of their wing.


    Lavisa lengthened her strides in return. “I’m terribly sorry, Odeé. I’ve somewhere to be. May we schedule this appointment for another time?”


    “But the Lord wishes for you to participate this year!”


    “Fascinating.”


    “Innes isn’t going to be enough!”


    “You don’t say.”


    Odeé pushed ahead of her, exasperated. “He wants royalty! Real royalty. Not some distant runt.”


    Lavisa eyed the treasurer. “I’d be mindful of what you say around me, Odeé. You never know who could be listening. As for the Lord, I couldn’t care less for what some glory-hungry, clout-chaser could want.”


    “He won’t stop pestering me until I get a yes from you!”


    “Ah, then I’ve a wonderful idea! What say I lend you a wig? That daft oaf would think you my splitting image.”


    “Lavis— Er, I mean, your highness, be serious! You can’t just ignore a Lord’s orders.”


    “What a shame…” Lavisa turned her attention to the hall. “Do give him my warmest regards. Also watch out.”


    “Wha—” Odeé crashed face-first into a column, but instead of helping her, Lavisa turned the corner into the Fadenician branch.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    Participation…how laughable. From the moment she arrived, House Vlasalisk had done nothing but win. They were as influential and powerful as anyone could be. They practically carried the school during the Academy-network games. Or so she’s heard. Yes, they might have the occasional assistance of Dragonfang and Fadénix, but the team consisted largely of the “courageous.”


    Not that she felt particularly brave. Anyone could pass with such a lame attribute. Even the downtrodden of Fadénix. They might not have acknowledged it, but the records she’s poured through revealed their greatest victories during the games solely attributed to Fadenician tenacity. Did anyone offer them praise for it? No, and they had Vlasalisk to thank for crossing the finish line.


    Lavisa spared Odeé a cursory glance. The Vlasalisk treasurer flailed about, kicking, screaming, then cursing into her hands as if her face had caught fire. The impact must’ve broken her nose.


    Several Vlasalisks bowed to her as she crossed their paths, though she didn’t care enough to offer an acknowledging nod.


    To enjoy the sweet embrace of that firm, makeshift coffin… Yes, to them, it must’ve been paradise. For one to not only acknowledge they were at death’s doorstep, but invite them so willingly…


    No. There was no genuine comfort in a bed. Not when it would leave them with a ghostly impression that would only mock them.


    The lusarello bounced against Lavisa’s hips as she blazed through the Fadenician wing, her boots clicking in rapid succession. She buried the memory with a mountain’s worth of lectures, but it would only ever return. Those pallid lips complimenting her cold skin.


    Even if she were to smile again, it wouldn’t drive away the hurt. She was gone now, and there was nothing Lavisa could do to return her.


    Well, almost.


    She still had the Tourney at Godsfield. Yes, it was some four years away, but when it came time, she would be the sole victor. Then, the Beholder of God would grant her the one Wish. The only one that mattered.


    The only one she would ever ask for.


    Even if she had to best the finest Juneac?o Vale?o had to offer, she would personally grind them into dust. Swords, spears, fists… She couldn’t afford any other outcome. This was her only way.


    Her only chance.


    Lavisa zipped into the Fadenician dorm-filled corridor. Unlike the Vlasalisk and Dragonfang wing, almost no one here decorated their doors, but if she recalled the address…


    Several Fadenicians did a double take as she passed, and though no one stopped to greet her, they gave an obligatory bow. Finally, she arrived at his door, knocked, then waited.


    And waited.


    And waited.


    The first thought that brushed against Lavisa’s mind was harmless: He was asleep. Simple as that. It was still early in the day, and perhaps he hadn’t acclimated to the draining schedule of Hierrsé.


    But then came the whisper. Death. He was knocked unconscious. Perhaps lightheaded after his concussion the other day.


    Had he lost strength, bashing his skull against the edge of the desk in the process? Bleeding out all over the floor, his cries for help unheard…


    Lavisa knocked again, the unreal door flickering from the jarring blows of her impacts.


    She had to do something, but waiting for a nurse or instructor would take too long; she had to act!


    A spark of heat flashed at her hips, growing hotter and hotter until she used that flame to stir the shallow depths of her Well. She wouldn’t need much of a burst. Perhaps one or two well-placed blows would do. Hierrsé would be more than willing to cover the damages.


    Before Lavisa could deliver a swift kick, Tan?o cracked the door open. He rubbed his orange-green eyes, let out a small yawn, then, once they focused, looked at her oddly.


    “Lavisa? You’re here early.”


    Lavisa quickly gathered her bearings and offered him his lusarello. “I didn’t want you spoiling your appetite with sweets, so I thought it appropriate to arrive before time.”


    “You’re almost an hour early.”


    “Fortunately for you, that wrap keeps the food warm for another twelve.”


    “Oh, um…thanks.” Tan?o graciously accepted the platter, glanced inside his room, then shot her an uneven grin. For a moment, the brilliance of royalty masked his pools of sunset-field eyes. Purple and gold. Just like the man who could never bring himself to smile. “Wanna stay for a while? I''m not really a master strategist so I don''t have board games, but—”


    Lavisa gently brushed past the dark-haired commoner without further confirmation. “I’d love to. Go and enjoy your meal. I’ll prepare some nightsip in the meantime.”


    “But you’re my guest. I should—”


    Lavisa ushered Tan?o to the kitchen table. “You’re in no condition to argue. Eat.”


    “But I’m feeling—”


    Lavisa pulled a chair out from under the table, fluffed the cushion, and, after some gentle persuasion, sat him down. She flew to the kitchen and sifted through his disorganized cupboard. There, near the bottom shelf, was a hastily torn sack of nightsip resting on its side. The grounds having long since spilled into the crevices.


    Retrieving it from its spot, she started the brewing process, cleaning the shelf of the black sprinklings only once freed. After she achieved a pristine state, she plucked an empty container from the cabinet and poured the sack’s contents into it.


    “Lavisa, can you stop going through my stuff? That’s kinda creepy.”


    “A little reorganization never hurt anyone.”


    “Well, yeah, but this is going too far, don’t you think?”


    Lavisa pushed the sealed container to the back of the countertop before whirling around to face him. Her hands on her hips. “Eat.”


    Tan?o frowned. “But I’m not hungry.”


    “Eat. Your queen commands it.”


    Tan?o sighed, and realizing he truly had no other choice, undid the knot tying the lusarello closed. He nibbled on the edges of his food but soon realized that their quality far surpassed that of the cafeteria’s. In a matter of seconds, he was devouring it.


    Or he would’ve if he hadn’t saved a portion for her. She insisted on him finishing it, but he wouldn’t relent. Saying he wanted her to have a share.


    They (calmly) argued back and forth, and realizing she wouldn’t win, she partook. Secretly enjoying what he had saved for her. Namely, several helpings of an eastern delicacy referred to as “stir-fry,” and the sauced bread.


    They washed it down with some nightsip after, and though she didn’t want him speaking, he coaxed her into fights of breathless laughter. His wit sweeter than the sugar blended into their drinks.