The letter came on a silver tray at precisely nine o’clock, delivered by a footman whose hands shook badly enough to ensure the envelope rattled.
Elena was eating alone in the small solar and was grateful for the interruption to the reading of the household ledgers in which she’d stolen a few dozen volumes from the library.
She had not attended her father’s breakfasts since the first confrontation, and the man’s tolerance of her attitude had clearly reached its limit since he’d chosen not to push the issue.
“My lady,” he stammered, bowing as he presented the envelope.
“From the Royal Magic Academy.” Elena put down her pen.
She knew the seal; she’d seen a hundred letters like it in the game’s opening cinematic for when it was her villainess’s turn to rise.
The red wax bore the mark of a seven-pointed star, the crest of the Academy, the sign of everything her beloved villainess wanted and didn’t have.
She took the letter from the footman and dismissed him with a wave, waiting until his departure’s footsteps faded before breaking open the seal with a butter knife and reading the letter two times over.
To the Lady Elena Vance, By royal decree and in recognition of your upcoming majority, you are hereby invited to attend the Royal Magic Academy for a term of assessment.
Your arrival is expected on the fifteenth day of this month for enrollment and evaluation of skills.
The invitation is mandatory and has been duly endorsed by the crown.
We look forward to witnessing the development of your…
‘unique’ talents.
-Headmaster Severin Locke Elena read it for a third time, her mouth a thin smirk as the meaning behind the text sank in.
The text was well-meaning.
The implication behind it was a dagger.
Unique talents meant trash skill, which meant they were only extending it out of obligation to the Crown.
It was the setup where they would parade the Duke’s daughter before an audience and have her shine a rock with her Golden Touch while all noble blood watched.
A trap.
Trapped and carefully laid, but well within the bounds of socially acceptable interactions.
“Perfect,” she murmured, folding the note carefully and slipping it beside the ledgers with her fingers.
Four days.
It would take her four days to prepare, and Kael only needed a day to ensure her guards all knew their roles, and to teach the one that wouldn’t look like her sworn protector yet to pretend as such.
She found Kael in the training room.
The tall man had graduated from form to sparring in the days since she’d hired him, practicing with weapons, it seemed, against air because she hadn’t gifted him a suitable sparring partner.
He executed a string of blocks and slashes so fast the afterimages of the blade flickered before her eyes in the dim room.
“Stop,” she finally said, and he did, pausing the motion of the blade just to his right so the blade hovered a hairsbreadth from her shoulder.
“You’re leaving in four days,” she reminded him, watching the way his muscles tensed as she stepped forward, closing the distance as he maintained a guard position.
His sweat dampened his shirt, but his breathing was even, his chest rising and falling with controlled measure.
“The Academy has invited me to demonstrate my skill.
You must come as my guard.” “Will there be people?” he asked, lowering the hilt and studying the length of muscle on his stomach.
“Nobles.
Professors.
The crown prince is most likely.
And the heroine.” Does that bother you?” she traced his jaw lightly with the edge of the note as he studied it.
He didn’t reply.
“People are noisy,” he said at last, his brows knitting in thought.
“Noise is a distraction.
Distraction is…” “Potentially dangerous?” Kael smirked.
“Yes.
I think that would be correct.” “Then we must teach you to filter the noise.” She walked to the weapons rack that ran along the wall, one of her purchases, three different practice swords, a wooden staff, and one properly enchanted sword, the last of which she picked up, rolling the hilt in her palm.
It was a standard military sidearm, lacking any of the intricacies of nobility’s usual fare, but would suffice.
A simple blade, thirty inches long balanced evenly, for a mounted cavalry officer.
Its purchase had depleted her remaining personal assets, and the guardsman hadn’t even been worth forty gold crowns to her.
She tossed the sword hilt first to Kael, watching as the man’s frame changed from that of a practiced and well-prepped but unremarkable swordsman into a man at war.
For a moment, she saw the potential for the man to grow into the Demon King’s arms, where he would cut down lesser foes without even seeing their blade, but the man’s eyes flickered with knowledge of the blade’s weight in his palm, how much force it took to separate two peoples’ bones.
“Too visible.” she muttered, taking the blade by the hilt instead and gesturing at the scabbards that hung from the rack.
“Sheath it.” His muscles tensed at the words, and a moment later, so did the room.
Kael blinked slowly, his fingers brushing the pommel of the hilt as he studied her before he tucked the weapon away, sliding it down the rack.
“I understand, my lady.” he said, his voice unreadable.
“At the Academy, you must not present as a warrior.” she advised, kneeling to pick up a practice staff before offering it to him.
“You must present as furniture.
Do not meet the eye of anyone.
Speak little.
Do not answer questions.
Make no effort to defend yourself.
If they spill wine, thank them for it.
Do you understand?” “I understand,” “If you risk exposure in the slightest by showing even an aspect of what happened in the last few days, both of us shall be dead by nightfall.
The Academy has several professors capable of detecting demonic energy at a long range.
Several relics that could sense a sealed entity.” A pause as she stood up, hands on her hips.
“An entire department dedicated to detecting monsters and sealing them for the entertainment of their kingdom.
So you, my dear, will be weakness.
You will be pathetic.
You will be the broken slave I purchased for fifteen crowns and keep for target practice, and only when the time comes, will I tell you to stop pretending.” Her words hung heavily in the room, and Kael studied her, the height difference significant to him as he had to tilt his head to see her clearly.
“And what if that moment comes?” he asked, his voice quiet.
“Then you show them, exactly what their mockery has paid for.” she said, taking a step back.
“Until then, we practice.
Starting with your posture.” She took up a practice sword before placing it in his grip.
“A broken slave does not stand like a king.
They stand like a dog.” It took an excruciating three hours for her to teach Kael his part, not in combat this time, but in the art of subserviency.
She didn’t teach him how to kneel with perfect form as Kael had been beaten to such compliance, but how to kneel so that it seemed as if he had no will or intent of ever doing anything beside following her orders, and for the next few hours, his existence on this plane would be to serve Elena Vance while she carved her way to infamy.
The practice, in turn, was harder than Kael’s actual combat training.
He was used to being told, but not trained.
His very soul screamed against it.
To know his weaknesses as a fighter and to play up to them rather than downplay them, was an absurd notion.
But he would learn.
Because Elena asked him to.
She was sweating by noon when she released him, his posture having improved greatly, though he still looked like he had been beaten and thrown down at the end of the day.
Good enough.
He would improve; his skills could not come naturally if every movement was practiced.
“We’ll try it again tonight and tomorrow.” she said eventually, turning to her feet.
His voice stopped her.
“Lady Vance.” She looked over her shoulder.
“Yes?” “The sword.” He held it out to her, a look of hesitation on his face.
“You bought it.
It belongs to you.” Elena looked at the weapon, then at him.
“It belongs to me.” “I have no right to–” “You have every right,” she said, not taking the blade in his hand.
“I have invested in you, Kael.
That means I provide the capital.” She left him in possession of his weapon, her mind occupied with more pertinent matters as she entered the hall, her status screen flashing before her eyes.
Her hands shook, but the numbers didn’t.
[DEATH FLAG: 176 DAYS] [DUKE VANCE RELATIONSHIP: HOSTILE — GRUDGE] [NEW OBJECTIVE: ACADEMY ASSESSMENT — 3 DAYS] [ASSET #1 COMBAT RANK: F+ (RISING)] Three days until the real game began.
Tomorrow, she had several hours to retrain Kael, but for now, it was the Duke’s call.
The request came that evening, and the moment was as much a trial as ever.
She prepared herself as best she could.
No riding habit (she knew how nicely the light caught her silvers) but a severe gown that took the form of a businesswoman without being an outright debutante.
She wore no jewelry, and her hair was loose and messy, falling in soft waves down her back.
Everything but her appearance was suited to the occasion.
The Duke greeted her upon arrival to his study, the man not bothered to look up with the ledgers and maps scattered before him.
They all converged around the room, discussing things too quietly to understand.
“The Academy,” he finally said, and it was no question.
“Yes.” “You’ve been preparing.” He finally looked up, his eyes dull and gray like the ice that clung to the grave in front of his room.
“A guard.
A sword.
Practices in the west wing.
Maps and ledgers from my library.” He regarded her now with eyes that looked like those of any other nobleman.
“Should I be concerned, Elena?” “Concerned?
No, father.” She returned his gaze, smiling in the manner that her villainess had perfected.
“Curious, perhaps?
I think, perhaps, I have discovered my passion at last.” “And what is it?” “Allocation.” She took her seat at his side, resting her hands on his wooden desk before leaning in, looking him full in the face.
“You taught me that everything has value, people, land, information.
The skill is the knowing of when to invest and what to spend.
I am simply applying those principles.” “Very well.” The Duke sighed, laughing then with the deep chuckle of a man who had seen far too many strange things to be truly surprised at any given time.
“Go to the Academy.
Humiliate yourself before others with your trash skills and return home chastened.
We will then discuss the Ashford engagement again.” He waved his hand, dismissing her.
“But Elena?” “Yes?” “If you bring dishonor to this family, I will not disown you.
That is enough cruelty.
I will simply deem you as irrelevant.” The words were as he turned to a page of his ledger, and he was gone.
Elena straightened.
“Then I must hope I am far more valuable than you think.” She walked out of his office and checked her status.
Her fingers trembled against the fabric of her riding habit.
Numbers flickered up beside words.
[DEATH FLAG: 176 DAYS] [DUKE VANCE RELATIONSHIP: HOSTILE — GRUDGE] [NEW OBJECTIVE: ACADEMY ASSESSMENT — 3 DAYS] [ASSET #1 COMBAT RANK: F+ (RISING)] Three days.
The real game was beginning.
Tick.
[Academy invitation accepted.
Cover identity drilled.
Duke threat escalated.
Countdown: 3 days.]