Book 2: Chapter 8 - The Tutor [Part 2]

  The recent attempt on Seraphina’s life cast doubt upon the de Laney family's ties to the Empire. After all, was not their eldest daughter, Eloise, lady-in-waiting to Seraphina herself? It helped in a minor way to dispel those rumors that just happened to actually be true. An attempted assassination on her life was not just a scandal—it was a potential spark for war. And, if she were honest, a part of her welcomed it. A war might perhaps give Seraphina an excuse to avoid enrolling in the Academy altogether.

  No. She needed to be here. If nothing else, she had to keep an eye on someone who would soon arrive. Beyond that, the Academy was a rare opportunity—to make connections with the scions of other powerful houses, to refine her gifts, and to expand her understanding of magic, if the game’s lore was to be believed.

  These thoughts swirled in her mind as she descended the rather grand staircase and entered the drawing room where her guest awaited.

  Inside, she was greeted by the sight of a man seated in one of the plush chairs, conversing with Eloise. There was a slight tension between them, the kind that existed in families long separated, uncertain of how to bridge the gap of time. He was comely, a slightly more masculine reflection of Eloise’s delicate, doll-like features. But where Eloise’s hair was jet black, his was a mousy brown, and though his eyes were green, they were of a paler hue than Seraphina’s own emerald. To his side rested a pair of crutches.

  A cripple.

  With Eloise’s assistance, he managed to rise.

  “I must apologize for my brother Beron’s tardiness, Lady Seraphina. He can be quite… distracted where his research is concerned,” Eloise offered, her voice polite, though she shot her brother a reproachful look.

  “You will forgive me if I do not bow as manners dictate, Lady Seraphina,” Beron said with a small, self-effacing smile.

  “Not at all, Lord de Laney… It is just that…” Seraphina trailed off, tilting her head slightly, feigning hesitation.

  Beron’s brow furrowed slightly. “What is it, milady?”

  Seraphina smiled sweetly, emerald eyes locking onto his with an almost playful glint. Time to take him down a peg. An old classic would do nicely.

  “Well… Eloise has said so many things about you. So many wondrous things. I had always imagined that you would be a little taller,” she tittered, covering her mouth.

  She saw the exact moment her barb landed. He stiffened, the smile on his face remaining, though it no longer reached his eyes.

  “Well, I will allow you some time with your sister…” she mused, already turning away.

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  “That will not be necessary,” Eloise interjected smoothly, sensing her mistress’s displeasure.

  “Oh, very well then. Shall we retire to the study, Lord Beron? I am sure you have much to teach me before the upcoming entrance exams. They are fast approaching, after all. I expect nothing less than excellence.”

  “I am of the belief that results depend as much on the student as they do the teacher,” he replied sheepishly. “And just Beron will do. I am afraid I am still not quite used to the title.”

  And you never will, Seraphina thought darkly. Your father has already chosen your younger sibling as heir, despite your many scholarly achievements. Or perhaps, because of them. You are the spare, no longer the heir. More importantly, studying with you will give me a bonus to my learning speed—though how that translates outside the confines of the “game” remains to be seen.

  “Very well… Beron,” she said, as if testing the name, giving him one of her radiant smiles. Then, she turned to Eloise with a small nod.

  Eloise responded with a deep, formal curtsy.

  ***

  In the game, studying with Beron gave a boost to a character’s learning speed between twenty to fifty percent, depending on compatibility. Here, Beron’s bonus was expressed as him being a most skilled and excellent tutor. Despite being very young, he was knowledgeable in many different fields of academia. He did not patronize or merely lecture. Instead, he guided, drawing answers from her that she would not have reached on her own. He knew precisely how much to push, when to challenge, and when to let her struggle just enough to grow. Even the dry subject of Aranthian history took on a new life under his instruction. He wove personalities into the names, inserted small, intriguing anecdotes that made dates and events easier to remember. He had a gift for making the past feel real.

  Time slipped by unnoticed, and to her own surprise, Seraphina found herself enjoying the lessons far more than she had anticipated. She found herself smiling, more out of genuine joy than simply good manners. But as much as she relished their quiet hours together, it seemed the young Beron de Laney did so as well.

  Indeed, for him, teaching the young, beautiful noblewoman was hardly a chore. The atmosphere of the study was intimate, secluded. He found himself striving to be engaging, to be interesting, to be normal. For once in his life, he had a reason to shine. A reason to try harder—beyond simple curiosity or personal ambition. After all, even Beron was a young man, and Lady Seraphina was undeniably captivating.

  Yet, beneath it all, there remained a gnawing, bitter truth.

  He was nothing but a cripple.

  Even his own family regarded him with thinly veiled disappointment. A burden. A failure. A broken thing.

  But Seraphina—she looked at him differently. And that terrified him in a different way. Because the greatest of despairs blooms from the most fragile of hopes.

  The only part of their lessons that he truly dreaded was the end, when he had to stand. When he was forced to remember all the ways in which he was lesser. Half a man.

  He envied his sister, who spent so much time in the presence of the future queen of Aranthia, the soon-to-be mother of the nation. Another reminder that she was far, far out of his reach.

  And all the while, the maid Miriam sat in the corner of the study, watching. She leafed through ledgers and reports, attending to the many businesses and ventures she managed in Seraphina’s name. But she was not blind to Beron’s gaze, nor to the pathetic flickers of admiration in his eyes. She knew her mistress’ charm was like an indiscriminate weapon, and could not fault Beron entirely. Still, his clumsy, unspoken attempts at flirtation were a constant, simmering source of irritation.

  The Palisa Slug did not usually enjoy consuming human flesh.

  But for Beron, she could make an exception.