A peculiar disquiet settled upon me. One day, without discernible cause, a nascent curiosity blossomed regarding the daily departure of Lord Kaelen Thorne and young Lord Valerius from the Imperial College. It was a base, almost childish envy, yet potent. A sentiment I disdained in myself.
My observations suggested young Valerius merely followed in Thorne’s wake, never quite walking beside him. Still, the image persisted: a scion of a minor house, trailing the formidable Thorne, an unspoken devotion clinging to him like a burr. The indulgence of this fleeting interest sparked a cold dread. A premonition, like probing a forbidden reliquary.
Its contents, a cruel hope masquerading as despair, promised only ruin. Yet, the urge to peer within, to understand, remained irresistible.
“...I am losing my composure.”
Indeed, my faculties were compromised. Yet, despite this stark realization, I found myself following Valerius as the afternoon classes concluded.
My pursuit did not endure long.
Moving with the utmost caution, lest Thorne’s keen gaze detect me, I watched Valerius. His eyes were fixed on Thorne’s departing back. The worn stone of the academy’s outer wall, stripped of its original gilding, the rusted iron gates, the dusty, uneven cobblestones leading to the lower districts—all conspired to frame them. Two young lords in such a setting: Thorne leading, Valerius trailing. And I, a silent sentinel, observing from a discreet distance.
My presence felt ignoble, utterly foolish. I turned back towards the scholars’ wing.
Later, within the muted confines of my chambers, the gas lamp unlit, I considered my decision. A profound satisfaction bloomed. Curiosity was a dangerous mistress, yes, but to have persisted, to have witnessed more? The cost would have been too high. Better to remain ignorant. I was no fool to unseal a cursed casket for the sake of petty intrigue.
Lord Kaelen’s obsession with Valerius intensified with each passing day. Valerius, in turn, seemed to fear him, or perhaps detested him outright.
No, his aversion was palpable. And quite justified. How could one feel anything but contempt for a peer who had, for months, used physical intimidation as a form of address? A flicker of self-satisfaction warmed me. Perhaps it was for the best I had never intervened in Kaelen’s earlier cruelties.
Lacing my fingers behind my head, I gazed at the coffered ceiling. The ornate frescoes depicted ancient Argentum glories, a stark reminder of my own privileged, if precarious, existence. Born to a lineage of declining prestige, yes, but never denied a proper education, never wanting for basic comforts.
“...Damnation.”
Once, I believed no ambition lay beyond my grasp. Until Lord Kaelen Thorne entered my sphere. That ruthless man had unveiled the bitter truth: life often refuses to bend to one’s will. I suspected Kaelen, too, was learning this same brutal lesson.
Ah, the world possessed a merciless cruelty.
At least I had mastered the art of control, of concealing my deepest sentiments. Kaelen, by contrast, was consumed by his emotions, blind to the fevered intensity of his regard for Valerius. Such a raw, unbridled affection must have been profoundly unsettling for him.
I understood his turmoil. I had known it myself. But while I had endured, Kaelen could not. Thus, instead of seeking to win Valerius’s favor, he had chosen a path that only ensured enmity. For my purposes, this was ideal.
“Remain oblivious, if you please,” I murmured into the quiet air.
Or better still, let Valerius grow weary and depart. I held no desire for Kaelen to turn his attention to me. Indeed, this brand of possessive affection filled me with a primal dread.
I yearned for one solitary outcome: a day when my attachment to Kaelen Thorne dissolved, and he, in turn, found affection elsewhere. That was all. But the empire rarely granted such simple mercies.
To exacerbate matters, Kaelen had recently appropriated the desk directly adjacent to Valerius. His new position, unfortunately, was squarely before the Master’s lectern, a terrible choice given his imposing stature. He completely obscured the illuminated texts on the learning board. Valerius’s former desk-mate offered an awkward, apologetic nod to Cassian Beaumont and myself, a strained grimace playing on his features.
“Greetings, Lords.”
Cassian and I exchanged a fleeting glance, then offered curt, almost imperceptible nods.
“Hah…”
The man’s nervous chuckle hung in the air, unanswered. Neither Cassian nor I offered further acknowledgement. We held no interest.
Kaelen settled beside Valerius without a word, maintaining a stony silence throughout the morning’s discourse. I hoped, no, I fervently prayed, this tense tableau would persist for the remaining academic terms. That, one day, this agonizing moment would recede into a forgotten, vague dream.
Another shift in Kaelen’s habits became apparent. He, who once spent his leisure days in revelry, now seemed to have curtailed his nocturnal pursuits. Or so it appeared. Whispers amongst Cassian’s associates suggested he had not entirely ceased, but at the very least, he no longer boasted of his conquests within the college halls. The lingering scent of illicit pleasure no longer clung to his silken robes.
For me, this offered a modicum of relief. I no longer had to endure the cloying aroma of his escapades from such proximity.
“Lord Kaelen, forsaking your spirited entertainments, are we? Like this?”
Ser Bronn, a lesser noble from a provincial house, swayed his hips with vulgar suggestiveness before Kaelen, his hands gesturing obscenely. Kaelen’s face twisted in an expression of disgust at the crude display. A swift, almost imperceptible glance towards Valerius, and then Kaelen’s voice, sharp with anger, cut through the quiet.
“You oaf! I have forbidden such coarse antics in public!”
“Why this sudden modesty, my lord?”
“Should you utter another word of it, Ser Bronn, your lineage will be forgotten.”
“Come now, Kaelen—”
“I said silence!”
“...As you wish, my lord.”
Others in the group displayed clear disappointment. Kaelen, with his imposing bearing and worldly air, had served as the perfect conduit for the burgeoning curiosities of young men brimming with unspent vitality.
Kaelen’s and Cassian’s associates were no novices; they had all navigated clumsy initial experiences. Compared to uninitiated scholars, they were more easily swayed. With Kaelen no longer regaling them with his exploits, their attention shifted to Cassian. Yet Cassian merely bared his teeth, a flash of pure disdain in his eyes.
“You depraved fools.”
“Ah, there he goes again! Cassian with his pious pronouncements.”
“He is but a zealot. Truly, such a waste of potential.”
Laughter rippled through the antechamber, loud and fleeting.
Most of the young men in their circle had, at some juncture, explored forbidden territories. But for reasons unknown, Lord Cassian Beaumont had not. While they jested, calling him the ‘Untouched Lord,’ no one dared truly disrespect him. He was Cassian Beaumont, after all. Simultaneously, Cassian possessed a lighthearted, almost careless demeanor, which rendered his actions approachable and his pronouncements easily dismissed. People found this either charming or refreshingly honest, often remarking how it belied his formidable countenance.
“Insolent louts, cease your glaring. You risk soiling yourselves.”
“Indeed, that fellow possesses a most intimidating visage.”
“Do you cur have a death wish?”
Cassian scowled, and the group erupted into laughter, though the jest itself held little humor. A few younger scions loitering at the back of the chamber—perhaps friends, perhaps less—joined in with forced merriment and chatter, adding to the din. Amidst their boisterousness, I stared blankly at my crossed legs, lost in thought.
“…”
If my memory served, I had never once felt arousal for a woman. By default, I supposed, this designated me as I was, from birth. Certainly, I had experienced a stirring while observing depictions of both sexes entwined, yet I had never once envisioned a woman’s form while engaged in private indulgence. The former seemed a reaction to intensity, the latter a stark absence of genuine desire.
I had once been coerced by Lord Kaelen to attend a clandestine gathering, but I had not even breached the threshold. Without the necessary seals of age, I waited outside until Kaelen re-emerged. Brothels? Repugnant. The mere thought of such places filled me with revulsion. I often wondered at their allure.
Due to these inherent inclinations, the others jestingly referred to me as ‘the Ascetic Scholar Vance.’ In truth, my abstinence was largely involuntary.
I exhaled a soft sigh.
The others remained oblivious, engrossed in Cassian’s sardonic retorts. Seizing the moment, I risked a glance at Kaelen, who sat in stony silence. His gaze was fixed on the back of young Valerius’s head, as Valerius bent diligently over his studies.
And, as ever, I regretted it. Why had I looked? Why had curiosity ensnared me? To divert my own mind, I posed a trivial question to Cassian.
“So, are you truly pledged to celibacy until the day you take a consort?”
Cassian, lounging in his chair with an air of proprietary indolence, abruptly directed his gaze to my lap. His stare was so unyielding that I instinctively drew my legs tighter. What in the blazes?
“You are not my betrothed, Elian, so why the concern? Are you perhaps offering your hand?”
“…”
Of course. That man always harbored such malicious jests. The others chuckled, and I delivered a sharp kick to Cassian’s shin beneath the table.
Such was the rhythm of my days—a monotonous repetition, day after day.
---
In the solitude of my chambers, I often found myself adrift in contemplation, constructing myriad scenarios within the confines of my mind. Inevitably, these musings sometimes strayed into forbidden fantasies.
Today, I wondered what life might have been if my heart had fixed upon Lord Cassian Beaumont instead of Lord Kaelen Thorne. It seemed a far more agreeable plight. If I loved Cassian, I would not be forced to endure the agony wrought by Kaelen’s dissolute entanglements.
Even so, heartbreak would still be my portion.
Neither Kaelen Thorne nor Cassian Beaumont would ever return my affections, of that I was certain. Yet, at the very least, my heart would be spared the peculiar ache induced by young Valerius.
This train of thought eventually devolved into a bitter tide of inferiority and resentment. In the end, I simply wished for the swift arrival of graduation, to become a distant stranger to Lord Kaelen Thorne.
---
At some indeterminate point, I began unconsciously resting my hands beneath my desk whenever I sat. This habit had taken root during my second year at the preparatory academy, and its impetus remained steadfastly the same—other men.
As my fingers traced the cold metal buckle of my tunic, my thoughts wandered. Should I? Or should I not? The faint, metallic click of my nail against the buckle filled the quiet room. Just as my thumb pressed down to release the clasp, a knock echoed at the door.
“Elian! Are you diligently studying?”
“...Ah, no! I mean, yes! I am!”
My heart lurched within my chest. This day, clearly, was not auspicious. Mortified, I buried my face in my arms. Damnation.
---
Lately, Lord Kaelen Thorne had become particularly grating.
Sometimes, when Valerius ventured a glance in my direction, Kaelen would deliberately initiate conversation with him. Valerius, caught between us, would flick his eyes towards me, his lips parting as if to speak, only to press them together again. Then, as if wary of Kaelen’s formidable presence, he would lower his head and offer an almost inaudible response.
“Y-yes…”
That was his limit.
Valerius had begun to subtly seek me out more often, and he had adopted the practice of addressing me simply as ‘Elian.’ Aside from my familial tutors, almost no one used my given name without title, so the alteration was quite noticeable. He seemed to believe he was being discreet, but he was not. The most aggravating aspect was Kaelen’s inability to conceal his discomfort whenever Valerius displayed even a hint of such daring.
“Valerius, cease disturbing Lord Vance from his academic pursuits.”
“What?”
“Desist. Is that not clear?”
“Oh… uh, y-yes…”
When Valerius stammered and averted his gaze, Kaelen immaturely slammed his fist against the ornate leg of the desk beside him. I feigned ignorance. Annoyingly, the unwitting Valerius seemed to believe no one cared for his use of my given name anymore. He grew bold, using it casually, as if it were an established custom.
“Uh, Elian… my apologies for interrupting your studies.”
I stiffened, staring at him in utter disbelief. Had he lost his senses? Kaelen was seated mere feet away.
Predictably, Kaelen pounded his fist on the desk again. Damnation.
“You! Valerius!”
“…Huh?”
The atmosphere soured instantly.
“I warned you.”
Kaelen’s anger was palpable, undisguised.
“I told you not to call him ‘Elian,’ did I not?”
“…W-well…”
“Address him as Lord Vance. That is his proper name—Lord Vance.”
His gaze sharpened, almost predatory, as he fixed it upon me. I loathed that look and instinctively lowered my head. At that precise moment, Lord Cassian Beaumont, seated beside me, casually draped an arm over my shoulder. His low, distinctive voice murmured close to my ear.
“Kaelen Thorne, persist in this course, and you shall irrevocably damn yourself.”
“What impertinence are you uttering?”
“I speak of regret, Kaelen.”
Cassian smirked, and I felt a faint flicker of irritation. For one reason only.
“Kaelen Thorne, you are a fool.”