The Royal Academy resumed its rhythm a few days after the incident in the Crimson Trail, and life, for the most part, returned to normal. Classes with my brother Kael now covered topics ranging from the history of the Kingdom of Thane to information about the wider continent and the three empires that dominated it.
The Solara Empire, the Duskfell Empire, and the strongest of them all, the Aetherion Empire.
Medea's voice carried across the classroom, calm yet commanding. "The Solara Empire thrives under an imperial family of Diamond-grade summoners bonded to Eterna divine beasts. The Duskfell Empire, by contrast, is ruled by Diamond-grade summoners with Eterna miasma beasts. And the Aetherion Empire… their strength lies in their Diamond-grade summoners bonded to Eterna mana beasts."
But there was one figure who towered over all others, a name that seemed almost larger than life.
"Empress Lillian Melshide von Aetherion," Medea continued, her tone reverent. "The strongest summoner across the entire continent."
A murmur rippled through the classroom. Even here, in our distant Kingdom of Thane, her legend loomed. Yet, no one knew the nature of her summons—what beasts could serve a being so exalted that they eclipsed every other summoner?
My thoughts turned inward as I listened, distracted by the enormity of the idea. 'A Diamond-grade summoner, like me.' It felt impossible to grasp. To be the strongest in a kingdom was already a monumental feat. To be the strongest in an empire was the stuff of legends. But to be the strongest across the entire continent?
That was myth incarnate.
The lesson ended, and lunch break arrived with the chatter of students echoing through the halls. Kael joined his friends, leaving me alone to navigate the crowded cafeteria.
I scanned the tables, the clusters of chatting students, and the loud exchanges of laughter. Nowhere seemed inviting. Sitting down next to a friend group I wasn't part of felt awkward. So, as always, I found my way to the garden.
My bench greeted me like an old friend, a quiet place amidst the greenery. I opened my packed lunch, savoring the familiar spices of the grilled chicken sandwich, and let out a satisfied sigh.
'Delicious.'
Then a sharp voice cut through the peaceful air, yanking me out of my thoughts.
"How dare you?"
I froze, sandwich halfway to my mouth.
'It's not your business, Elara,' I reminded myself. 'Curiosity kills the cat.'
But some cats never learned. Quietly, I rose and moved toward the source of the commotion, careful not to draw attention. The garden was unusually empty, save for one clearing where the voices grew louder.
Peering from behind a tree, I saw them.
There stood Gail Kilt, his usual lazy grace unruffled even as Katherine von Ashworth—daughter of Count Ashworth—gripped his collar with trembling hands. Her golden hair caught the sunlight, but her face was streaked with tears.
"You... why did you kiss her?" Katherine's voice cracked like thin ice. "After everything we—"
"You wanted to wait till marriage," Gail interrupted, his tone carrying a calculated gentleness that somehow made his words crueler. "I didn't."
The slap echoed through the clearing like thunder. Katherine's hand left an angry red mark on his cheek, but Gail didn't flinch. He simply watched her, his dark eyes unreadable.
"Then just end it properly!" Katherine's voice shattered. "Don't play with people's hearts like they're your toys!"
"Aren't they though?" Gail's smile was soft but sharp. "Everyone knows what they're getting into with me."
Katherine stared at him for a long moment, her blue eyes swimming with tears. Then she turned and fled, her sobs fading into the afternoon air.
Then his dark eyes turned toward me. My heart jumped into my throat as I ducked down, pressing myself against the tree trunk and clasping my hands over my mouth.
'Please tell me he didn't see me!'
The crunch of his boots faded, and I exhaled in relief. But just as I was about to get up, a voice whispered behind me.
"Boo."
"Kyaa!" I yelped, falling backward onto the ground.
Leaning casually against the tree, his smirk as infuriating as ever, stood Gail Kilt.
"Hello again," he said, waving lazily. "I didn't expect the daughter of Marquis Veylin, the first Diamond-grade summoner in the kingdom, to have a penchant for eavesdropping."
I scrambled to my feet, brushing dirt off my skirt as my face burned red. "I-I wasn't eavesdropping! I was just… just…"
Gail raised an eyebrow, the smirk never leaving his face. "Curious?"
His tone was teasing, but there was something else in his gaze—a flicker of interest, as if he found the situation amusing. And somehow, that made it worse.
"I didn't mean to," I stammered, my hands twisting the hem of my shirt.
"Don't worry, little lady," Gail said, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I won't tell anyone your secret."
I blinked, still trying to catch my breath from the scare. "My secret?" I shot back, narrowing my eyes. "Isn't it your secret?"
He tilted his head, feigning innocence. "What secret?" he asked with a shrug, his lips quirking into that infuriating smirk. "Who doesn't know about the playboy of the Kilt family?"
I paused, my retort dying on my tongue. He wasn't wrong. Gail Kilt's reputation preceded him. It wasn't just rumors; society was practically littered with tales of his escapades.
Take the infamous debutante ball two years ago, for instance. Gail had waltzed in with a radiant debutante girl on his arm, the picture of high-society charm. Then, like a magician performing a vanishing act, they disappeared. When they reappeared, hours later, Gail's hair was disheveled, his cravat askew, and his lips still bearing a faint smear of lipstick. The rumors that followed were enough to send every gossip in the kingdom into a frenzy.
I sighed inwardly. I had almost forgotten this side of him, perhaps because of how serious he had been during our time in the Crimson Trail. But it seemed that beneath the veneer of responsibility and power, the infamous playboy still lingered.
"Maybe you only cared about being serious in the Crimson Trail because Mary and I don't matter to you," I muttered under my breath, though I wasn't entirely sure I wanted him to hear.
"Oh, that's a bit harsh," he said, dramatically clutching his chest as though I had wounded him. "You wound me, Lady Elara. Besides," he added with a grin, "Mary hates me for being too interesting."
"Interesting," I repeated flatly. "Is that what you call it?"
"It's what I prefer," he said, his smirk deepening.
I rolled my eyes and turned to leave, hoping to escape this ridiculous conversation. But his voice stopped me.
"How did you even sneak up on me?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him. I clearly remembered hearing his boots fading into the distance—how had he appeared behind me without a sound?
Gail's grin widened, as though he enjoyed my confusion. "Ah," he said, tapping his nose. "A man of many secrets."
"That's not an answer," I muttered, crossing my arms. "Synchronisation with summons isn't even possible yet. Our bonds aren't strong enough."
He leaned against the tree, the picture of nonchalance. "What can I say?" he said with a wink. "Maybe I'm just exceptional."
Exceptional at being insufferable, maybe.
"And," he continued, extending a hand toward me with a theatrical flourish, "as a gentleman, it wouldn't do to leave a lady in such a… compromising position."
It took me a moment to register what he meant. Then I looked down at myself—still sitting awkwardly on the ground, my skirt slightly askew. My cheeks burned.
I reluctantly took his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. His grip was firm but warm, steady in a way that contrasted starkly with his casual demeanor.
As I stood, I tucked a strand of silver hair behind my ear, trying to hide the heat rising to my face. Gail, of course, noticed.
"Thank you," I said curtly, turning away before he could catch any more of my flustered expression.
Behind me, I could practically feel his grin. "You're welcome, little lady," he called after me, his voice full of that infuriating charm.
I didn't turn around. If I did, I wasn't sure if I would manage to keep my composure. 'Infuriating man,' I thought as I marched back to my bench.