"Why's everyone staring at me?" Verity asked warily as she paused in the act of tearing into her food, with an enthusiasm usually relegated to wild animals, to glance around the cafeteria.
Just watching her, William knew he would need to help teach her proper table manners at some point. Not because her lack of them offended him personally, but because it was a skillset she'd need if she was going to be running in noble circles.
Idly, he flicked away a chunk of beef that had somehow made its way over to his side of the table.
Ok, maybe her lack of social niceties offends me a little, he thought with a small grimace.
"I think it has something to do with you powderizing that girl's jaw," Bonnlyn murmured as she cut into her own food with considerably more decorum.
For just a moment, the orc flushed, before muttering, "She insulted my family."
William couldn't help but note that she didn't sound like she regretted her actions. Which he supposed wasn't all that surprising. He doubted she'd gotten to where she was by being sunshine and rainbows all the time.
She certainly didn't get those skills by being nice, he thought contemplatively. Sure, she was clearly a little unused to dealing with an opponent using a sword, but she wasn't unused to fighting in general.
Glancing across the table, he noticed Olzenya looked to be about to say something biting, but held herself back at the last second. "Well, you certainly made a statement," the elf said eventually.
And she wasn't wrong. Only a small portion of the first-year intake had been present for their last dueling lesson, but it seemed like a decent chunk of the academy had their eyes on Team One-Seven's table. Including a few curious second and third year teams.
Which was not ideal.
While poaching a particularly talented student from another retinue was a considerable faux pas, buying out the service contract of a talented general intake student was not.
And if William's plans were to reach fruition, he needed all the talented teammates he could get.
"Still sulking, Will?" Marline sniped, a smirk spread across her bluish-grey features.
"Just thinking," he said without any heat, the lack of reaction making the dark elf frown.
He still had no real idea what the silver-eyed woman's problem with him was, even if it seemed to only flare up at random moments. With that said, her words weren't entirely wrong.
He wasn't particularly happy with his own performance last lesson, given that he'd lost.
Quite convincingly at that.
Which wasn't entirely unexpected. Sure, he was bigger and stronger than most of the other attendees, sans the orcs, but as a guy he'd never been taught how to wield anything larger than a butter knife.
Not becoming of a young man, his aunts had said.
That particular line had never really stopped him from learning other skills not befitting his station, but sword fighting was one of the few topics he'd allowed to rest.
For one thing, it wasn't exactly a quiet or easy skill to learn. And he'd have to 'seduce' one of the guards or maids into teaching him – which would have made keeping his other 'seductions' from finding out about each other even harder than it already was. And even then it would take hundreds of hours of practice to achieve even basic competency at swordplay.
Time he just… didn't have, given the sheer number of other extra-curricular activities he'd spent his youth honing.
And that wasn't a metaphor for sex.
Usually, he thought wryly.
In the end, the art of stabbing other people at close range just didn't seem that important. Not when the main-armament of a mage - even before accounting for their magic – was the bolt-bow.
The relative usefulness of which only got more explicit once maneuver suits entered the fray. After all, combatants couldn't exactly 'sword fight' when both parties were flying all over the place like excitable grasshoppers.
He sighed, placing his fork down.
He knew he might have done better against a non-noble – provided they weren't an orc - but he'd just not been that lucky.
That loss probably put a dent in the growing legend of the kraken slayer, he thought.
Which was… unfortunate as it was, it was a moniker he'd slowly been coming to terms with. Sure he'd railed against it at first out of sheer habit – given it was borne of an easily proven lie - but in reality the stupid title actually went some way to fulfilling one of his goals upon entering the academy.
Achieving notoriety.
Notoriety enough for someone to see him as a military asset that went above and beyond the value of his ability to make babies.
A difficult task indeed given this world's dearth of men.
Still, it was a goal only slightly less important – and difficult - than breaking off his betrothal. Which was a move that would require his team to outperform a team with two years experience over his own.
Which will be almost impossible even with a few tech advantages, but will be a lot harder still if one of our most talented members is- His thoughts cut off as the general murmur of conversation across the cafeteria grew in pitch.
Glancing up, it wasn't hard to see why.
Someone was approaching their table. A third year. Dressed in red.
Perhaps if his team were part of a different house, another group of third years might move to intercept the incoming member of House Blackstone – the clannishness of the house system working in his favour.
Unfortunately, the 'General Intake' house held no such loyalties. Because that wasn't a fight they'd ever win.
So it was that the third year managed to reach their table without incident, unaware or uncaring of the many stares she was drawing.
He knew who she was, not because they'd ever met, but because he'd seen her portraits. At the time he'd thought them exaggerations intended to flatter the subject – and commissioner.
Now though, he could see there was no need.
She really was just that attractive. Part of it was her confidence. Part of it was just… her.
Aged twenty-one to his – nominal – eighteen, Tala Blackstone strode through the academy as if she owned it. Though, given that the house whose colours she now wore was named after her family, he supposed that in some small way the duchess's daughter actually did.
Frizzy dark brown hair that came down to her shoulders framed a rather striking set of green eyes. Striking enough that he had to wonder if she had some dark elf in her genealogy despite her otherwise pale features.
If so, it'd be quite a scandal, given the Blackstone Dukedom's long outspoken history of pro-human sentiment.
Now, if that were all they championed, he might have actually considered their union, despite his personal misgivings.
I mean, give her another ten years, he couldn't help but think. And I'd consider myself a damn lucky man.
Unfortunately, as he saw his betrothed's features twist into a sneer at the sight of his orcish teammate, he was reminded of the other political arguments the Blackstone's championed.