Chapter 114: Reward
Two days later, under a pale sky and wind that carried the sharp scent of mountain pine, I walked beside Cassandra through the Academy’s east courtyard. I’d expected her to ask questions on the way—what to say, what not to say, how to act in front of vipers in fine robes—but she said nothing. She wore her uniform like armor, her face a mask carved from polished ice. Most students would’ve fidgeted, stumbled through anxieties, maybe even asked to skip this suicidal family field trip.
Cassandra merely walked.
The Drelmont estate annex loomed at the far end of the academy grounds, separated from the main campus like a plague ward dressed in marble. Ornate columns, statues of ancestors who probably murdered their way into the family tree, and that damned crest—a silver serpent biting its own tail.
As the guards opened the double doors, I took a breath and muttered, "Keep your head down, speak only when addressed, and if someone offers you tea, assume it’s poisoned."
Cassandra didn’t smile. "I brought my own," she said, pulling a sealed vial from her sleeve.
I choked on a laugh. "You are my favorite little sociopath."
We stepped into a hall lined with oil paintings, soft velvet carpets, and tension so thick you could cut it with a wooden spoon. At the end of the room stood Elric Drelmont, looking exactly like the kind of man who’d hire a bard to narrate his own morning routine. Platinum blonde hair combed back, perfectly tailored robes with just enough magical embroidery to say I’m important but not compensating, and the smile of a predator who enjoyed setting mousetraps just to hear the squeak.
"Lucian," he said, as if we were brunch partners and not childhood enemies. "And... this must be the curious Miss Fenn. I’ve heard such whispers about you."
Cassandra tilted her head ever so slightly. "Only whispers?"
Elric blinked. I smiled like I’d just watched someone slap a noble with a fish.
We sat at a long table over tea that I definitely didn’t drink. Elric launched into pleasantries with the enthusiasm of a man who sharpened his words every morning. He asked about Cassandra’s studies, her family background, her plans for the future. All very professional—on the surface.