If the Royal Family was the lynchpin of the abolitionist movement, then the Blackstones were their opposite number.
"How's your little rebellion working out for you, William?" she said casually.
He could admit, he was a little wrongfooted by her opening statement. It certainly wasn't what he'd been expecting her to say.
He'd envisioned more angry yelling, accusations or maybe if he was particularly unfortunate, sorrow and pleading. Admittedly the latter was incredibly unlikely given their relative social positions, but still possible.
Even if only feigned.
Coughing, he adopted a practiced air of nonchalance. "Well, I have new friends, new clothes, and I no longer have my mother and aunts nagging me at all hours of the day. So all in all, not bad."
Sure, there were instructors now, but they had been relatively hands off thus far. Rather than a school, the academy felt more like a university, where people were expected to succeed or fail on their own merits.
The only time he'd seen the Instructors really get involved with cadets outside of lessons was to dole out punishments for failures of 'decorum' and to prevent disruptions.
And this apparently doesn't count, he thought as he glanced over to the Instructors' table.
One of the half-dozen women – Instructor Griffith – was idly watching the brewing confrontation, but the rest were mostly focused on their meals.
"Unfortunate, but expected given your recidivist ways. Which is why I'm here to tell you that the quality of friends is lacking." The girl's tone was entirely matter-of-fact, as if she was discussing the weather – which only served to further throw William off. "Because while I'm aware that Countess Ashfield placed you into General Intake in the hopes of curbing your worst instincts, I sincerely doubt she actually expected you to be rooming with an… Orc. A violent one from what I've heard."
He resisted the urge to point out that said violence had occurred in a practice duel. Because there was no denying that Verity had been skirting the limits of what was 'allowed' within the arena. As the Instructor had reiterated as they were about to leave, the healers were present as a safeguard against permanent injury – not as a justification for cadets to maim one another.
Verity had only gotten away with what she'd done because her blow had been a single strike that could reasonably have been excused as her misjudging her strength.
"You never know," he shrugged. "While my family and I have had our disagreements, I have always admired my mother's support of Her Highness's reforms. Including the abolition of the horrors of slavery."
He didn't miss the way all of his teammates turned to stare at him at that. With mixed expressions.
Which, fair enough, was a hot topic given the brewing conflict between the Royal Family and the Traditionalists. Despite that, he noted that none of them seemed inclined to speak.
Oh, Bonnlyn looked like she wanted to say something, but she was savvy enough to be aware of the correct time and place.
Which, in front of a Duchess's daughter, was just about never.
Unless you happen to be both self-destructive and a little stupid, like me, William thought with cynical amusement.
"That's her stance right now," Tala said, as if to say it wouldn't be the case forever – which she wasn't entirely wrong in thinking given their upcoming nuptials. Once the Ashfields were tied to the Blackstones by marriage, they'd be expected to toe the company line. "I often find soft-hearted idealism tends to wither when faced with a harsh reality."
Her hand idly played over her thigh at those words. "Hearing that her only son's teammate crippled a girl in a duel may have her rethink the wisdom of your placement here."
William shrugged. "I think you'll find that Verity is quite pleasant to people who are pleasant to her."
"Then perhaps I should be doubly worried?" There was just a hint of a twitch in Tala's expression. "Given that you haven't been particularly pleasant to me, despite my best efforts to make our relationship work?"
William frowned, finally letting some of his genuine emotions slip through. "We don't have a relationship, Cadet Blackstone. We're a pair of strangers whose parents happened to sign a contract. Food for steel. With our marriage as a convenient way of making it binding."
And he could admit that it was perhaps ungrateful of him to rail against it, given that marrying was the duty prescribed to him in return for his family raising and supporting him for eighteen years.
…Never mind the fact that they'd replaced him as heir due to his gender. For a bastard. A move that would have had just about any normal person born into this world spitting blood and likely plotting murder.
Ultimately it didn't matter though. None of it did. He had his own plans.
Plans he was willing to suffer for.
Plans he had suffered for.
Because doing his duty was the easy option. He could have fallen in line and lived the life of a layabout without trouble.
Being a duchess's husband would have been a pretty sweet gig.
Unfortunately, his conscience wouldn't allow it. Couldn't allow it.
Sure, my plan is probably doomed to fail and it'll likely see a lot of people dead before the end – me included – but that was just how it is sometimes, he thought. Nothing is guaranteed and change is always messy.
He was prepared for that. Had been for a long time.
"Is that why you never responded to my messages?" She was eying him now, he could almost see the gears in her head whirring as she sought to figure him out. "Because those could have been the basis of a relationship. A real one, if you want to call it such."
"I don't. We're incompatible," he said honestly. "Because everything I needed to say and know about you occurred after I sent that first message."
The first and last he'd sent her. Because while he'd never read or replied to any of her letters to him, he had opened communications by sending one to her.
Three actually. All saying the same thing. All using a different means of conveyance.
To hopefully allow at least once to avoid being intercepted by her family or his.
'I don't like slavers and I won't marry you. Call off the betrothal.'
Simple and to the point.
A line in the sand.
"That silly thing?" Tala scoffed, a hint of incredulity in her tone. "And you were twelve at the time."
He smirked back, well aware of her thoughts. Because of course, a solemn choice was basically little different from a tantrum when it came from someone without power. Whatever they were protesting would still happen, just with a lot less grace on the part of the protester.
Thus, resisting was pointless.
Worse yet, it was awkward. It was embarrassing. It generally lacked class.
And yet he was doing it anyway.
And he'd keep doing it – until he had power of his own.
"You're not twelve anymore," the woman eventually sighed. "Eventually you're going to have to grow up and accept your place in the real world."
He cocked his head. "Yes, my mother said much the same thing." He stretched his arms about. "Thus, here we are. Here I am. Growing and learning."
The brunette recognized the impasse he'd created. "I suppose you are. Still, I'm not comfortable with you rooming with that orc. Not before this afternoon and certainly not after." She eyed him, deliberately ignoring the hurt look on Verity's face. Or rather, he doubted she even noticed it. "Unfortunately, there'd be little point in moving you into a third year retinue, so I'll be writing to Countess Ashfield to request that you be moved into one of my vassal's retinues."
Who'd all be human or elves, it went without saying.
"Never mind my wishes?"
Her eyes softened for just a second. "Fool or not, you are still my future husband. And thus the future of House Blackstone. I will see you cared for, whether you like it or not."
He had a feeling she thought that sounded romantic.
"One wonders why you even came over at all?" He laughed. "If it was just to dictate terms."
She paused in the act of leaving. "I had thought we might talk. I see now that was naïve of me."
Leaving a gulf of silence in her wake.
-----------------
"Fireball. Full charge. Instant Activation. Right palm. Ranged."
The spell flew forth, lighting up the night sky as it flew across the range.
Then William watched with muted frustration as his fireball fizzled just short of the dummy he'd been aiming at. Admittedly, that was only to be expected. The thing was covered in kraken scales, but that did little to soothe his ire as he pulled on his second contract for the evening.
Smaller this time, barely a third of the one that preceded it.
"Fire-bolt. One charge. Instant Activation. Right palm. Ranged."
The ball of flame that flew forth this time was significantly more condensed – and fizzled just short of his target all the same.
For just a moment, he was tempted to use something more effective. An earth-lance or an ice-shard, before he quashed the impulse. The range master had signed him in before returning to her shed. The grizzled woman would definitely know who to blame if she woke up tomorrow to find a hole in one of her practice dummies.
Especially given that he was the only one out here.
Probably wasn't wise to skip evening meal, he thought as his stomach grumbled rebelliously.
Alas, he'd had some frustrations to work out.
"Fire-bolt. Two charges. Instant Activation. Right palm. Ranged."
Once more, another spell flew out and fizzled.