Thorne. My family name is Thorne, and my given name is Kaelen, but often, within the court, I am simply called Kaelen Thorne. It flows with a certain weighty grace, unlike the solitary Kaelen, which feels too exposed. Lord Valerius was the first to suggest it. That was during our initial season at the Scholar's Spire, when we found ourselves assigned to the same preceptory. Since then, Kaelen Thorne I have remained.
Only a few still address me as Kaelen. The reasons for that are a private matter, reserved for deeper introspection.
Lord Valerius, who shared my first season’s precepts, was starkly different from myself. From his commanding height to the sun-kissed hue of his skin, his very presence was an antithesis to my own quiet demeanor. Academically, our paths diverged sharply; he comfortably occupied the lower strata of the Spire's distinctions.
Did I then dismiss him, upon our first encounter? In my heart, I believe every soul occupies a designated rung on the social ladder of Aethelgard. Typically, yes, I would have measured and cataloged him. Yet, Lord Valerius defied such easy categorization. His eyes, the color of rich amber, fixed upon me with an undeniable force. They held a raw power that demanded attention.
Lord Valerius possessed a singular scent. It was elusive, a whisper of cedar and something wild, something that clung to him like a second skin. Its faint, colorless essence captivated me, drawing me in. Like a moth to a flickering flame, I found myself, unconsciously, initiating conversation.
I often sought common ground between us. Surface-level affinities: how we both moved among the more influential young nobles, our shared lineage from houses of ancient wealth and standing.
The Scholar's Spire, for instance, sat poised between the opulent Obsidian Ward and the more modest Shale Quarter of the ducal city. Its student body reflected this divide.
My fortune, I admit, lay with the Obsidian Ward. Not merely a wealthy district, but the heart of Aethelgard’s most esteemed families. Born the only son of doting parents, I received every conceivable privilege. More than that, my family, House Thorne, held a quiet, formidable influence. It was a golden inheritance, placed gently in my infant hands. It bred in me, perhaps, a certain subtle cunning.
Because of this disparate enrollment, the Spire was a curious crucible of scions from both the affluent and the struggling houses. Lord Valerius, I discovered, hailed from a house as venerable and powerful as my own. Learning this, a thrill of quiet triumph coursed through me. Armed with this justification, I approached him without hesitation. We forged an alliance, effortlessly.
Just as I excelled in the intricate dance of courtly studies and historical archives, Lord Valerius flourished in the dueling yards. His natural charisma swiftly drew the fiercest young nobles to his orbit. Within a single moon, he stood at the apex of the Spire’s hierarchy, a recognized leader among his peers. Thus, Lord Valerius became the most renowned young lord of the Eastern Quarter's cohort.
---
The heavy oak door to Lord Valerius’s private chambers remained stubbornly shut. I stood there, waiting. A dull ache began to throb in my stomach, a familiar companion to my anxieties. Only then, as my hand unconsciously moved to press against the discomfort, did the door finally yield.
Through the narrow gap, I caught a flash of Lord Valerius’s flushed skin. His hand, still reddened, released the latch. The door swung shut again, momentarily concealing him. Before it could fully close, I slipped inside. A desperate measure.
Inside the room, Lord Valerius was already seated on the plush bed. He wore only close-fitting undergarments, a finely carved quill between his teeth, gnawing on it absently.
“Damn it all. My father presses me again. If his courier comes, tell him we were deep in our studies, understanding?”
He flicked a small, silver lighter open and closed, a nervous habit. The quill remained unlit, but his languid posture, the subtle sheen on his brow, spoke of recent exertions, intimate ones. My stomach twisted with a tight, raw sensation. I rubbed it, approaching him.
Snatching the bitten quill from his mouth, I snapped, my voice sharper than intended. “Why should I?”
“Because we are companions.”
Right. Companions. The way he drew out the word always struck me with an odd pang of melancholy. My chest felt as if it were being torn. Yet, my expression remained deliberately calm.
“Just know I will exact my due, in time.”
“My gratitude.”
The air within the room hung heavy with the cloying sweetness of night jasmine and the faint, clean scent unique to certain court ladies. Honestly, Lord Valerius was the reason I had learned to identify such nuances.
I had heard whispers from his younger squires and pages: he had been consorting with ladies since his mid-teen years. Rumors claimed he’d taken his first conquest in a forgotten archive annex, with a junior scholar. That told me all I needed to know.
Even then, apparently, he seemed years beyond his age. Lord Valerius’s mature appearance was atypical of a young noble. Most who first encountered him mistook him for a seasoned knight, or perhaps a courtier well into his adulthood. His bold, defined features lent him a brooding, sophisticated aura.
Once he entered the Scholar's Spire, he openly frequented certain establishments beyond the city walls whenever boredom struck. He had ample coin. Somehow, he acquired a ducal pass bearing an adult’s birth year. He brandished it with confidence, as if it were his own, engaging attractive ladies and treating fleeting liaisons as a regular pastime. His striking good looks played a significant part in concealing his hedonistic ways.
Individually, his eyes, nose, and mouth were not remarkably distinct. But combined, they formed an inexplicably captivating visage. His aura was so refined that no one believed he was merely a young lordling; most assumed him to be at least five-and-twenty years old.
My gaze drifted about the room, as if searching for something, though the gesture was hollow. The heavy atmosphere, lingering in the aftermath of his escapade, made my gut clench with nausea.
“Where is Lord Aric?”
“He departed.”
“...”
“That rogue is utterly mad, no matter how I perceive him. A sheer mockery.” Lord Valerius rested his chin on his hand, a wry chuckle escaping him. I frowned, the ache in my stomach intensifying.
Lord Aric was the second person whose presence I found most irksome.
He had only become close with Lord Valerius in our second season at the Spire. As much as I loathed to concede it, they spent enough time together to be deemed companions. When Lord Valerius commanded the loyalty of the Eastern Quarter, Lord Aric held his own formidable reputation in the Western Quarter.
Still, our paths rarely intersected. The only times I saw him were in the Grand Dining Hall, a vast chamber shared by students from both quarters.
Once, while in the Dining Hall, someone nudged my shoulder. A hushed whisper reached me: “That is Lord Aric.”
Curiosity, a subtle predator, urged me on. I rose on my toes to observe. Among the sea of black-haired young nobles, a tall, sharp-featured lord stood out. I knew at once it was him.
“He projects a most disagreeable temperament.”
When I voiced this, one of Lord Valerius’s retinue, a junior baron, replied, “Indeed, somewhat. They say he is excessively self-absorbed.”
A small, cynical smirk played on my lips, but I only offered a half-hearted nod in response.
As much as I detested the admission, I understood why he found himself in a peculiar rivalry with Lord Valerius. This only deepened my aversion, yet, for reasons I could not quite grasp, I found myself unable to look away.
A dazzling gloom—that was my initial, unsettling impression of Lord Aric.
By chance, our eyes met. It was peculiar that he noticed my gaze, given the multitude of eyes that must have been upon him in the crowded hall. His long, hooded eyes and thin pupils made a striking impression. Reflexively, I flinched, as if struck by a pebble.
‘What are you staring at?’ The silent question formed on my lips.
He must have read my intention, for he narrowed one eye at me. Honestly, a flicker of intimidation touched me. I pretended indifference, turning my head. Then, loud enough for the young baron beside me to hear, I murmured, “He has the gaze of a serpent.”
After that, Lord Aric and I often found our gazes entwined. Yet, we invariably ignored one another. Whenever our eyes locked, he would be the first to lower his head, only to lift it again moments later, seeking my gaze once more. Nine times out of ten, he broke the connection first, but I found myself following his lead once in a while. I stopped counting after the eighteenth time.
---
As if by some strange twist of fate, Lord Valerius and I found ourselves in the same study cohort once more, for our second season. While secretly pleased by this continued connection, I encountered another familiar face. It was truly surprising—and utterly maddening. For the first time, I received a proper, close look at the visage behind the infamous reputation: Lord Aric.
It was Lord Aric who addressed me first. His voice, a low rasp, cut through the murmurs of the study hall.
“Kaelen Thorne. Care for some repast?”
Damn it.
And just as everyone within the Spire had anticipated, the two of them became fast companions. Lord Valerius, a man who reveled in his own brilliance, found Lord Aric, subtly regarded as his rival, to meet his stringent standards. Aric was masculine, successful among his peers, and held in high esteem. Their friendship, it seemed, was an inevitability.
In our studies, the topic often arose: if Lord Valerius and Lord Aric were to clash, who would prevail? From my own calculating perspective, the two would never truly engage in open conflict. While Lord Valerius and I were superficial opposites, Valerius and Aric were remarkably similar in their underlying ambition and aura of command.
Yet, a singular, stark difference separated them.
Lord Aric possessed a strange, almost straight-laced aspect to his character. Despite his ears being pierced with countless small silver rings, giving him a rakish, almost tattered appearance, he sometimes behaved with an unexpected piety.
For example, when Lord Valerius found himself aroused, he would simply select a lady who caught his eye and spend the night in her company. When pressed for details about his nightly escapades, he would proudly recount his steamy early morning adventures. In stark contrast, Lord Aric would scoff at the typical lewd remarks about desiring to grope a lady’s bosom. Sometimes, he would even mock them outright by seizing the chest of a portly squire sitting nearby, squeezing hard enough to elicit a shriek from the poor victim.
“This pig has more flesh than most women in the ducal court. Go grope him instead, if your urges are so dire. And you, fellow, you look wretched. Don a proper tunic, would you? Cease parading such unsightly proportions—it offends the eye.”
Even his crude remarks were laced with a biting, almost philosophical sarcasm.
Yet, when the opportunity arose, Lord Aric would utter something truly baffling, such as, “My purity is reserved for the Sovereign of my future.” That was the undeniable difference. He spoke of some abstract, ideal ruler to whom his loyalty was utterly pledged.
Lord Valerius once offered to procure him a forged ducal pass for a restricted gathering—an offer he had never extended to me—but Lord Aric dismissed it as a useless notion and staunchly refused. He called it a violation of honor.
Lord Valerius’s usual retinue found Lord Aric’s eccentricities entertaining. I, however, did not. The reason was painfully simple: he was too close to Lord Valerius. And they moved about the Spire like inseparable confidantes. That alone was sufficient cause for my simmering resentment. It was a vile, quiet jealousy that twisted in my gut.
Still, I managed to maintain a civil demeanor with Lord Aric. One of my strengths, a well-honed skill, was concealing my true feelings, regardless of the circumstance. Besides, he was now inextricably linked to Lord Valerius. Yes, everything in my carefully constructed social sphere revolved around Lord Valerius.
To be honest, there were more days when I felt a bitter frustration with myself for this dependency than there were days I spent contemplating Lord Valerius directly. I often felt like a complete, utter fool. But even so, I remained unchanged.
As Lord Valerius tossed a few casual words my way before heading into his private bathing chamber, I sat in thought, the faint aroma of jasmine still clinging to the air. A few minutes later, the silver speaking-tube on the table began to hum, indicating an incoming message. Fresh from his bath, Valerius snatched it from the bed and tossed it to me. I caught it, and through the tube, I recognized his father’s voice.
Clearing my throat, I answered. Why did I even attempt to sound so composed? It was a farce.
“Yes, this is Kaelen speaking.”
“Kaelen? Are you with Valerius right now?”
“Indeed, my Lord. I am.”
“Ah, I see. I worried for naught. I thought Valerius might be out pursuing his usual distractions again. You possess such a pleasant voice, Kaelen.”
“My thanks, my Lord.”
“No, truly. How fares your day?”
“I fare well, my Lord, I thank you. And yourself?”
“The same. You speak with such elegance. If only Valerius possessed such courtly manners. That boy, he has no sense of decorum. So, you were engaged in studies together?”
“Yes, my Lord. Valerius must have forgotten to send word. He has been deeply engrossed in preparing for the mid-season examinations.”
“So, you have been studying together this entire time?”
“Yes, my Lord. He has been in my company without interruption.”
“Well, that is a relief. If he is with you, I may rest easier.”
“It is nothing, truly, my Lord.”
“No, it is something. If he is with you, he cannot fall into mischief.”
“Truly, it is nothing. I will ensure he attends his next precept without incident.”
“Good. Watch over him. Remain companions and avoid any disputes.”
“Yes, of course, my Lord. Farewell.”
Lies flowed from my mouth, smooth as polished obsidian.
After ending the connection, I tossed the speaking-tube back to Lord Valerius. He muttered a short “My thanks,” while pulling on a fresh tunic. Without another word, I turned to depart. Lord Valerius made no move to stop me.
“Until next we meet.” That was all he offered. It was to be expected. This was the true measure of our relationship, a shallow pact. The vast, unbridgeable chasm between us lay painfully clear. Perhaps that was why I quickened my pace, eager to escape.
On my way back to my own chambers, my throat felt strangely raw, as if I had swallowed something sharp and unyielding. The ache persisted, a dull, physical manifestation of the empty words I had just uttered. I hurried from his quarters, the scent of jasmine fading but the metallic tang of deceit lingering on my tongue.