CHAPTER 252: THE NEW SEATS [2]

Professor Aldric’s lecture had transitioned smoothly into the next period.

He’d stepped aside as another instructor entered.

A woman in her early forties, professor Mirelle Ashton. She moved with the confidence of someone who’d spent years both in academic halls and on actual battlefields. A faint scar traced along her jawline, barely visible, but there if you looked.

"Good morning," she said briskly, setting her materials on the desk. "I’m Professor Ashton. For those new to Silver Crown, I’ll be handling your practical combat applications and tactical essence deployment."

She pulled out her wand, a sleek instrument of darkwood and silver, and with a flick, complex diagrams appeared in the air above her desk, rotating slowly.

"Today we’ll be discussing essence efficiency in high-stress combat scenarios. Specifically, how to maintain spell integrity when your concentration is compromised by—"

Knock! Knock! Knock!

The sharp rap on the door interrupted her.

Professor Ashton’s expression tightened slightly, clearly not pleased with the disruption, but she lowered her wand. "Enter."

The door opened, and a student wearing a silver sash entered.

"Apologies for the interruption, Professor," he said with a respectful bow. "Academy-wide announcement."

Professor Ashton gestured permission with visible reluctance. "Make it quick."

The student stepped to the front of the room, pulling a rolled parchment from his sash. His eyes swept across the class, lingering briefly on Verelia, then others, assessing jis juniors.

"Attention, students," he began, his voice carrying easily through the room. "By decree of the Headmaster and the Student Council, I am here to announce the commencement of this year’s Student Council President Elections."

Murmurs rippled through the class. Some students leaned forward with interest. Others exchanged glances.

Alaric’s attention sharpened.

"As is tradition," the council member continued, "the position of Student Council President is open to any student who meets the eligibility requirements. The President serves as the primary liaison between the student body and Academy administration, holds significant influence over campus policies, and commands respect across all houses."

He paused, letting that sink in.

"Nominations will open tomorrow at dawn and close three days hence at sunset. Any eligible student may nominate themselves or be nominated by a peer, provided they secure signatures from at least twenty students across a minimum of three different houses."

Oliver whistled softly from the fourth row. "Twenty signatures? That’s steep."

The council member’s eyes flicked toward him briefly before continuing.

"Once nominations close, candidates can do their campaign. This includes public speeches, debates, and demonstrations of capability. The election itself will take place via secured essence-ballot in the Grand Hall three weeks from today."

He unrolled the parchment further.

"Requirements for candidacy are as follows: Minimum academic performance of eighty-five percent. No disciplinary infractions within the past year."

"Additional note," he added, his tone becoming more pointed. "The position demands not only combat capability but leadership, diplomacy, and the ability to navigate complex political dynamics. Previous Council Presidents have gone on to serve in royal courts, military high command, and influential noble positions. This is not a ceremonial role."

Silence filled the room as students absorbed the information.

"Nomination forms will be available at the Administration Building starting tomorrow. Questions may be directed to any current Council member." He rolled up the parchment. "That concludes the announcement."

He bowed to Professor Ashton. "Thank you for your patience, Professor."

"Of course," she said dryly. "Now if we might return to actual learning?"

The council member exited quickly.

As the door closed, conversation exploded across the classroom, quiet but intense.

"Student Council President?"

"Who do you think will run?"

"Probably Lord Kaelen. He’s fourth year and his family—"

"What about Lady Hena? She’s got the grades and—"

Professor Ashton rapped her wand against the desk.

Crack!

The sound silenced everyone instantly.

"Enough," she said sharply. "You can gossip about politics during your free time. Right now, you’re in my class, learning skills that might actually keep you alive one day."

The students settled immediately.

"Now then. As I was saying before we were interrupted, essence efficiency under duress..."

As Professor Ashton resumed her lecture, Alaric’s mind worked through the implications.

Student Council President.

Beside him, Lyria had returned to taking notes, expression unchanged. As if the announcement had been no more interesting than a weather report.

Several seats away, Verelia had finally set down her book and was actually paying attention to Professor Ashton’s lecture now that the interruption was over.

And in the back, Oliver was scribbling something in the margins of his notes.

Alaric turned his attention back to the lecture.

Professor Ashton’s lecture concluded with a final demonstration of a complex essence weave that hung in the air, pulsing with controlled power before dissipating.

"Your assignment," she said, dismissing the spell with a flick of her wand, "is to diagram three combat scenarios where essence efficiency would be the determining factor between victory and defeat. Due next class. Dismissed."

The scraping of chairs filled the room as students began gathering their belongings. Conversations resumed immediately.

As Alaric closed his notebook, he caught a glimpse of Lyria beside him.

She’d gone still.

Her hands rested on her desk, fingers pressing slightly too hard against the wood. Her purple eyes were unfocused, staring at nothing.

Her breathing had changed, shallow, controlled. For a moment, she just sat there.

Then she blinked, the moment passing. Her expression returned to that same tired neutrality. She gathered her things with the same mechanical efficiency as before and stood without a word.

She walked toward the door, not looking at anyone.

Alaric watched her go, curiosity flickering.

What was that about?

"Alaric! Come on!"

Oliver appeared beside his desk, grinning and already halfway to the door. "Lunch time! I heard Silver Crown gets priority seating in the main hall. Let’s see if it’s actually true or just propaganda."

Alaric stood, shouldering his satchel. "Lead the way."

They moved toward the exit, joining the flow of students leaving the classroom. Oliver was already talking.

Alaric was only half-listening.

They’d almost reached the door when—

"Alaric."

The voice was cool, precise, and directly behind him.

He stopped. Oliver nearly walked into him, stumbling slightly.

Alaric turned.

Verelia stood there. She held her book against her chest with one arm, the other hanging at her side.

She’d approached so quietly neither of them had heard her.

"Verelia," Alaric acknowledged calmly.

Oliver’s eyes went wide. He glanced between them, clearly debating whether to stay or flee. Self-preservation won. "I’ll just... wait outside. Yeah. Outside." He practically bolted.

The classroom had mostly emptied. A few stragglers remained, packing slowly, but none close enough to overhear.

Verelia’s gaze didn’t waver. "You remember what I said, right?"

Her tone was flat, matter-of-fact.

Alaric met her eyes steadily. "The deal."

"Yes." She tilted her head slightly. "I help you break the marriage contract. You remain my ally and assist me in winning the Student Council President election."

She paused, letting the words settle.

"The nominations open tomorrow. I intend to run." Her expression didn’t change, but her voice carried absolute certainty. "And I will win."

"Confident," Alaric observed.

"Realistic," she corrected. "I have the qualifications. The grades. The backing." Her eyes narrowed fractionally. "What I need is someone capable of navigating the... less official aspects of campaigning."

"You want me to handle the politics," Alaric said.

"I want you to ensure obstacles are removed and opportunities are leveraged." Verelia’s gaze was unflinching. "I don’t care about popularity contests or making friends. I care about results."

She stepped closer, not aggressively, but deliberately closing the space between them.

"So I’m confirming, you remember our agreement. You understand what’s expected. And you’re prepared to uphold your end."

Alaric smiled slightly. "I remember. And yes, I’ll uphold my end."

"Good." Verelia stepped back, restoring the professional distance. "I’ll contact you tomorrow after I submit my nomination. We’ll discuss strategy then."

With that, she walked away, her footsteps silent on the polished floor.

Alaric stood alone in the nearly empty classroom for a moment, processing.

And then headed for the door.

Oliver was waiting in the hallway, practically vibrating with curiosity.

"So?" he whispered urgently as Alaric emerged. "What was that about? What did she want? Are you two—"

"Lunch," Alaric interrupted, starting down the corridor. "You were saying something about priority seating?"

Oliver deflated slightly but followed, still shooting curious glances back. "Fine, fine. Keep your secrets. But you will tell me eventually."

"Perhaps."

"That’s not a no!"

Alaric smiled faintly as they walked toward the dining hall.

The pieces were moving.

And the board was getting more interesting by the hour.