The day after the tour was supposed to be a break—a welcome breather following the structured madness of schedules, introductions, and formality. Elara had planned it meticulously. The library was marked on her mental map, and she was itching to finally peruse its volumes for historical blueprints, rare rune combinations, and maybe even hidden treatises on mana flow dynamics. She had already imagined the quiet hum of magical lanterns and the scent of old parchment surrounding her like a warm embrace.
Instead, she opened the door in her pajamas.
"Lady Elara Wyrmshade?"
Standing outside were two tall, armored women in elegant blue-trimmed silver plate. Knights. Real ones. Polished, decorated, and very clearly holding back expressions of… was that embarrassment?
Elara blinked. Once. Twice. Then looked down.
"...Ah."
She wore a fluffy pastel shirt with a sleepy kitten embroidered across the chest and loose cotton shorts that had ridden up one thigh. Her hair stuck out in multiple directions, a combination of pillow-friction and sleep-induced head-burying. One sock was missing.
The older of the two knights cleared her throat. "We have been sent to escort you to an audience with His Majesty, King Aldren the Third. If now is not too inconvenient."
"It is very inconvenient," Elara deadpanned. "Give me five minutes."
She closed the door calmly, then internally screamed for a solid ten seconds before throwing herself into a frantic clothing change.
Of course, she only had her academy uniform. It was the closest thing to formalwear she owned. A wave of resentment hit her—how could she be forced into a royal audience looking like an honors student in a magical prep school? The uniform even had the faint floral scent from yesterday's accidental detergent spill. She groaned but had no alternative.
Emerging dressed and moderately groomed, she gave the knights a flat look. "Ready."
The younger knight still seemed slightly pink in the cheeks.
The carriage was sleek, mana-powered—one of her own inventions, not that anyone acknowledged that. They rode in silence at first. Elara sat primly, knees together, hands folded. She noticed the knights glancing at her intermittently through the mirror panel.
Then they hit a bump.
The world tilted for a moment, and Elara instinctively grabbed the side of her seat. The movement hiked up her skirt slightly, unnoticed by her.
The knights, however, went completely silent.
Elara, unaware of the new airflow across her upper thighs, leaned forward to peer out the window. "Are we near the inner gate already?"
No response.
One knight coughed into her fist. The other stared stoically ahead, ears glowing red.
At the palace, everything was overwhelming.
Massive stained-glass windows. Banner-lined halls. Walls pulsing softly with enchanted masonry. Elara was guided through them with such speed and precision that she barely had time to panic.
Until she saw him.
Tolan.
Leaning against a marble pillar, arms crossed, smirking.
"Morning, kid. Sleep well?"
"You!" Elara pointed accusingly. "You knew!"
"I hoped. The king asked for you personally. And technically, I am obligated as your master and legal guardian in magical matters to facilitate such introductions."
"You could've told me!"
Tolan shrugged. "And miss this glorious reaction?"
Elara glared. "You used to be a court tinkerer, didn't you?"
"Guilty."
She crossed her arms. "Anything else I should know?"
Tolan's face grew more serious. "The Royal Family has been… aware of you. Since the first blueprint I submitted under your alias. They're not just curious. They're invested."
"I hate this."
"You might. But hear them out first."
She rolled her eyes, but followed.
The throne room was grand. Of course it was. Ceiling like a cathedral. Floor so polished it could shame a mirror. Guards at every pillar, all standing stiff as carved statues.
And there, at the far end, was the king.
Elara straightened. She had one chance to not screw this up. Channeling every historical drama she'd ever watched, she walked gracefully, precisely, even allowing her hips to move with uncharacteristic elegance. Head slightly bowed, posture perfect.
Behind her, she heard multiple sharp inhales.
A younger man—no older than her, probably the Second Prince judging by the chain across his uniform—turned bright red.
A second later, he sneezed, stumbled, and pitched forward.
His face hit the marble.
Then came the blood.
Nosebleed.
Elara froze mid-step.
"ELRIN!" the King barked.
Servants rushed. The prince was escorted out with tissues clamped to his face, leaving a trail of crimson droplets and baffled nobles.
Elara remained standing there, stiff as a board.
"…Sorry?"
The King blinked. Then laughed. A deep, belly-shaking laugh.
"Wyrmshade! You are exactly as my advisor described."
Tolan gave a polite wave from the sidelines.
Elara awkwardly approached the dais. The King stood and gestured grandly.
"You, young lady, are the reason this kingdom will endure. Your devices have turned theory into practicality. Our gates stay open longer. Our healers have stabilized entire triage centers with your mana rings. And those mana lamps? My wife refuses to use anything else."
Tolan raised a hand. "All her designs. I just passed them along."
The King's smile softened. "Then you, Elara Wyrmshade, have my thanks. And the promise of protection, resources, and the freedom to pursue your craft unhindered. Whatever you need."
Elara's mind spun. Was she being bribed with... infrastructure?
"I… appreciate the offer."
Then another voice.
"Father."
The Queen stood from her throne. Graceful. Quiet. And beside her—
"Sylv?"
The girl winked.
"You two know each other?" the King asked.
"We've… met," Elara said carefully.
"Father," Sylv interjected. "I wish to enroll fully in the academy."
The King turned. "You're already an external student."
"I wish to board with Elara. As her roommate."
Now it was Elara's turn to flush.
Sylv continued. "It is my judgment that her surroundings warrant direct oversight. For her safety."
The Queen coughed, clearly amused.
The King sighed. "Her current room is occupied."
Sylv beamed. "Then I'll take the one next door. For security reasons. A single suite should suffice."
"…Perks of being royal," Elara mumbled under her breath.
The King ignored it. "Fine. But no special treatment."
Sylv beamed brighter.
The ride back was mercifully uneventful. The knights kept their eyes glued forward.
Elara collapsed into her dorm bed the moment they arrived. The pillow muffled her next words.
"I am not made for this social stuff."
No response. Blessed silence.
Then came Sylv's voice through the wall of the adjacent suite.
"I think you did great. Especially the walking part. You even made Elrin bleed."
Elara groaned. "Kill me."
Sylv giggled. "Not until we're both top of the class. Goodnight, Chef."
"Don't call me that."
"Chef."
"Ugh."
Sleep took her fast—dragging her into the only peace left in her chaotic, royal-tinted day.