“Don’t ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.” — J. D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

  ???

  “Yes, thank you for the invitation. I’ll take it into consideration.”

  Rowan Mercier watched with amusement from the low table in the shared study room that he occupied with Elias, Gale, and Yulia, being surrounded by piles of books and parchment. He exchanged amused and knowing looks with Elias and Gale, even as Yulia shut the study door firmly, even latching it shut for good measure.

  It, however, didn’t stop the rather pushy and boisterous soldier on the other side from shouting through it. Judging by the emblem on his uniform and how young he is, he was most likely a new recruit from one of the garrison units.

  “If you change your mind, you know where to find us!” The recruit called cheerfully, his voice muffled through the wood.

  It was a Sunday, the day after Debate Hall. Sundays were typically reserved for rest, catching up on projects and homework. A few studious types might spend time in the training room or work in the crafting rooms. But today found Yulia, Elias, Gale, and Rowan practically hiding in their shared study room, taking the chance to finish up their assignments, though it wasn’t due to be handed in for another month.

  At the Imperial Officers Academy, students could co-share a study room as long as there were at least two occupants. There were however strict rules about keeping the rooms orderly, clean, and not damaging the Academy’s reference books, or the study room could be taken away from them.

  The study rooms were generally comfortable and well-furnished, as students—military students, in particular, needs a comfortable place to study and work. The one the four shared had a thick carpet covering the ground, with a tall bookcase reaching from floor to ceiling on one wall, and a hearth with a crackling fire. Heavy drapes hung from the tall arched windows, though they were currently pulled back, allowing the evening light to stream in, and also allowing a good view of the Academy grounds.

  Normally, the four of them spent their Sundays in town, or writing letters back home in the communal areas. But after the fourth person had accosted Yulia today, much to the amusement of the rest of their fellow students, Yulia had wisely decided to seek refuge in their study room. It, however, didn’t stop messengers from the various military branches or squads from seeking her out.

  Rowan tried to hide his snicker by biting on his lip as Yulia returned to the table, exasperation etched into her features. She tossed the latest letter onto the steadily growing pile by her elbow and shot Rowan a warning glare.

  “Don’t say a word,” she said flatly.

  Rowan raised his hands. “I didn’t say anything,” he drawled with a hint of amusement. “Though that’s letter number what now? Twenty?”

  “By my count, it’s at least number thirty,” Gale chimed in, amused. “Who’s it from this time? Don’t tell me that the Borderland Logistics Division is making another pitch. That’d be the fifth person they’ve sent just today. Are they really that desperate for new blood?”

  Yulia groaned, letting her chin fall onto her tower of books. “Mountain Garrison Command this time.”

  Rowan let out a low whistle. Even Elias and Gale looked impressed. “Impressive. Though you’re sure popular,” he remarked, eyeing the mountain of letters. “Not many students can say they’ve been approached by that many prospects in their first year alone.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “I’d rather they not approach me at all,” Yulia grumbled, much to the boys’ amusement. “Now I have to write polite rejection letters to all of them.” She eyed the pile of letters as if it might bite her.

  Elias chuckled. “Do they even know that you’re going into Black Ops after graduation?” He wanted to know.

  Like how Protectorate was usually manned by a member of House Hunt, Black Ops was traditionally led by the head of House Nightray. Since Lord Hamilton Nightray’s death, that military branch had been run by its most senior member. Half the unit was still composed of members of House Nightray. It’s common knowledge that Black Ops was simply waiting for Yulia to graduate.

  “I think everyone does,” Yulia grumbled, clearly unenthusiastic about having to write all the rejection letters by hand. “But it’s rude to ignore them. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Besides, it’s best not to burn bridges. I might need them someday.”

  Rowan rolled his eyes and shook his head, even as Elias and Gale exchanged knowing grins. “You nobles and your alliances,” he grumbled. “Let me guess: there are also partnership and alliance offers in that pile, right?”

  “Mostly minor noble houses based in the capital, but yes,” Yulia nodded, eyeing a separate pile of letters that are marked with family seals or formal proposals. “Some are even offering marriage alliances. Like hell I’ll consider those.”

  “Guess your little performance at Debate Hall caught some attention,” Gale let out a whistle, earning him a sharp look from Yulia. “I’ll bet that Heir Carrington is getting flooded with requests, too.”

  “Knowing Felix, he’ll probably snap by letter number five,” Rowan added, grinning. “Won’t be surprised if he starts brandishing his sword by number seven.”

  Considering the personality of the Carrington heir, that was extremely likely.

  Rowan’s eyes drifted back to the pile of letters, before he then turned towards Yulia again. “Can I ask something?”

  Yulia only raised a brow. “Since when did you need permission?”

  Rowan sighed. “Fair enough,” he said. “I believe that at least half our class, and maybe the whole Academy, has heard about your confrontation with Nathan Hunt last night.” Even by the Academy’s standards, those rumours had spread unusually fast. “What’s exactly going on between you and Nathan Hunt? And the Crown Prince?”

  “Yeah, I was wondering that, too,” Gale added with a frown. “You’ve always been close with House Hunt, considering Lord Hunt’s friendship with your father. You and Heir Hunt seem tight since childhood. But with Nathan Hunt… You two clearly don’t get along.”

  “I have no feelings about him either way,” Yulia replied coolly. “He’s the one who has a problem with me. And as for Rem…” She hesitated, then shook her head. “It’s…complicated.”

  Elias sighed, and Gale looked ready to groan. “You always say that, Yulia,” he grumbled.

  “Because it’s the truth,” Yulia countered. Rowan said nothing. He merely waited, looking at her expectantly. Finally, Yulia sighed, drumming her fingers on the table. “With Rem…” She hesitated. “At this point, I’m about to give up on him entirely,” she admitted, to the boys’ surprise. “If he keeps trying to make everyone love him, someone’s going to gut him before he ever wears the crown.”

  Rowan didn’t flinch at the cold honesty in her voice.

  Elias sighed, nodding. “The prince… He’s a people pleaser,” he admitted, and there were nods from Gale and Rowan. “We’ve all seen it. He’s just afraid to be disliked. To be hated. Some of the seniors were already whispering. And after yesterday? Even most of our own year are questioning whether Prince Rem is ready to rule.”

  “I didn’t get what you meant about him before, but after yesterday, I think I understand.” Gale admitted, looking at Yulia. “Even still, Yulia, you’re still his guardian. You still have a duty to him.”

  “I know. I don’t plan to abandon my duties or my House’s oath to the Crown,” Yulia muttered, annoyed, though the look on her face told everyone present that she would rather protect anyone else but Prince Rem. “It’s just…” She sighed, looking at Rowan. “I told Elias and Gale this before. But being the prince’s guardian is more than just protecting him from assassins, and from blades and arrows. It means making sure that he’s strong enough to carry the weight of the crown. Making sure that’s he’s ready to lead. To rule. To be the king Alathia needs. Make him strong enough to make decisions that no one will thank him for.” Yulia’s hands curled into fists. “Rem wants to be a good king. But that’s not the same as being a good king. I’ve tried to guide him for years. Push him. But it’s like trying to drag a thirsty horse out of a stream on a hot day. He won’t move until blood’s already been spilled. And Hunt isn’t helping in that regard.”

  The three boys exchanged looks. Then finally, Rowan spoke, studying Yulia carefully, his voice low. “I think I understand now,” he said. Yulia looked at him questioningly. “I used to wonder why you were always so sharp with the prince. Why you always seemed…disappointed, even. Angry. I thought it was because of what happened during the war. But it was more than that. And I think I get it now.” Rowan leaned forward, his voice gentle. “The truth is, it wasn’t Prince Rem you were mad at.” Yulia’s brows furrowed. “It was yourself.”

  The words hung in the air like a blade balanced on its tip.

  Yulia said nothing for several long moments, staring down at the table, her fists clenched, trembling. Gale and Elias exchanged looks, but said nothing. Whatever that had happened between Yulia and the Crown Prince… It wasn’t their place to pry.

  Even still, Yulia didn’t deny Rowan’s words.

  Despite his habit of sleeping through lectures, Rowan had consistently maintained his academic student ranking position in the top ten for a reason, and is undeniably sharp and observant. Neither Gale nor Elias would be surprised if Yulia had already marked Rowan for Black Ops recruitment. It would certainly explain why Rowan had started hanging around them just a month into term.

  “I don’t think Rem will learn… Not until life smacks him in the face,” Yulia said at last, lifting her gaze to meet theirs. “Not until it hurts him. And that… That is what I fear the most. Whether Rem had the courage and the will to withstand the hurdles that life will throw at him.” Her voice was quiet. “And as he is right now? He’s not ready to stand on his own. Whether as the king… Or as the prince.”

  The three boys exchanged looks, but said nothing. The rest of their evening was then spent in silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of parchment, and the soft crackling of the fire.