CHAPTER 258: VERELIA RITHVALE [1]

The first week of campaigning had been intense.

Kaelen Draveris held rallies in the main courtyard, his charisma drawing crowds. He spoke of unity, leadership, experience, all delivered with the polished confidence of someone who’d never doubted his place at the top.

Verin Ashcroft worked the lower houses personally, shaking hands, learning names, positioning himself as the bridge between Silver Crown’s elite and everyone else. His genuine warmth contrasted sharply with the other candidates’ calculated approaches.

Veldrin threw money at the problem. Lavish campaign materials. Promises of favors and connections. His family’s influence opening doors that talent alone couldn’t.

And Aurelia Glimor... she barely had to try.

Her name carried weight that transcended normal campaigning.

She gave one speech—calm, composed, effortlessly commanding attention—and students flocked to her banner.

The Glimor legacy did half the work for her.

Verelia operated differently.

No rallies. No charm offensive. Just relentless, visible competence.

She attended every debate, dismantling opponents’ vague promises with precise questions about implementation. She published her platform in stark, unadorned language that left no room for misinterpretation.

She was everywhere, in study groups, in the library, in practical training sessions, demonstrating capability in every domain.

And behind the scenes, Alaric worked.

He moved through social circles like water, having quiet conversations with key influencers.

Planting seeds of doubt about opponents’ readiness. Highlighting Verelia’s strengths in contexts. Never obvious. Just gentle pressure applied at crucial points.

He gathered information on Aurelia. Nothing damning yet, but pieces were accumulating.

Classes continued. Silver Crown’s professors showed no mercy for election distractions. Theory grew more complex. Combat Practicals intensified. Students who couldn’t keep up started showing cracks.

Alaric maintained his position near the top academically while managing Verelia’s campaign from the shadows. Exhausting, but manageable.

Oliver had stopped asking questions after the third day, simply accepting that Alaric was "doing mysterious Alaric things" and leaving it at that.

Lyria continued sitting beside him in class, that same tired neutrality present. Sometimes, when he moved too quickly or spoke unexpectedly, she’d tense almost imperceptibly.

But she never said anything. Just existed in that quiet, space she seemed to inhabit.

And now, as evening settled over the Academy, Alaric sat in his room reviewing notes when a knock came at his door.

He opened it to find Verelia standing there, still in her uniform from classes, her expression as neutral as ever.

"We need to talk," she said.

"Come in."

She entered, and Alaric closed the door behind her.

Verelia paused inside, her eyes sweeping across the space with clinical assessment.

The room was organized but lived-in. Books stacked on the desk beside campaign notes. His uniform jacket hung neatly over a chair. The bed made.

A few personal touches.

"Your room is..." Verelia paused, searching for the word. "Balanced. Organized without being sterile."

"Is that a compliment?"

"An observation." She moved to the seating area near the window. She sat with perfect posture, hands folded in her lap. "Mine is more efficient."

"That looks like a military barracks."

"Exactly. Efficient."

Alaric smiled faintly and took the other chair. "So. What needs discussing?"

Verelia pulled a folded paper from her pocket. "The second debate is in three days. I’ve received the topic list." She handed it to him.

He scanned it quickly. Governance structures. Resource allocation. Inter-house relations. Disciplinary reform.

"Standard fare," he said.

"Yes. But Aurelia will be there." Verelia’s expression didn’t change, but something tightened in her voice. "She’s barely participated so far. One speech. Minimal public appearances. But she’s confirmed for this debate."

"Which means she’s about to make her move."

"Exactly." Verelia leaned forward slightly. "Everything we’ve built this week, she can undo in a single strong performance."

Alaric nodded slowly. He’d expected this. Aurelia was too smart to coast entirely on name recognition. She’d been waiting, letting others exhaust themselves while she conserved energy.

"We need to force her off script," he said.

"I’ve been working on questions." Verelia’s eyes gleamed with cold calculation.

"Good. But you can’t be the only one asking them." Alaric tapped the paper thoughtfully. "That makes it look like a personal attack. We need other candidates asking similar questions. Create a pattern."

"You’ll handle that?"

"Already started. I’ve had conversations with a few people who have... concerns about concentrated power." He smiled slightly. "They just need gentle encouragement to voice those concerns publicly."

Verelia nodded. "What about the other candidates? How do we position against them without making Aurelia look better by comparison?"

"Kaelen and Veldrin are easy. Both rely on style over substance. Push them on details and they’ll fumble."

"And Verin?"

"Leave him alone for now. He’s not a threat to you specifically. His support base is lower houses. Let him and Aurelia split the upper-year vote while you consolidate first and second years who care about competence over tradition."

They continued for another hour, refining strategies, identifying pressure points, preparing contingencies.

As the conversation wound down, Verelia stood.

"This is progressing better than I anticipated," she said. "Your contributions have been... valuable."

Coming from Verelia, that was high praise.

"We’re not done yet," Alaric reminded her. "One more week. Anything can still happen."

"I’m aware." She moved toward the door, then paused. "Just make sure your... social activities don’t distract from the work we’re doing."

Alaric blinked. "What?"

"That scene in the gardens. Yesterday. With those girls."

He raised an eyebrow. "You saw that?"

"My window overlooks that area. I happened to glance out." Her tone was completely neutral.

Alaric tilted his head slightly, a faint smile playing at his lips. "You’re—"

"Jealous?" Verelia interjected, her voice flat. "Why would I be?"

Alaric blinked. "Technically, we’re engaged. So—"

"I don’t love you," she said simply, meeting his eyes with that same cold composure. "And this engagement will eventually break. So you’re free to pursue whoever you want."

For a moment, silence hung between them.

Then Alaric stood, closing the distance between them.

He reached out and took her hand. His thumb brushed across her knuckles.

Verelia didn’t pull away. She simply watched him, expression unchanged.

He stepped closer, just enough that she had to tilt her head slightly to maintain eye contact. With his free hand, he reached up and tucked a loose strand of her silver-blue hair behind her ear, fingers lingering just briefly against her temple.

"You’re okay with this too?" he asked quietly, his voice dropping lower.

"We’re technically engaged," she said, her tone still perfectly neutral despite their proximity. "And by chance, if you choose not to break the engagement in the future, we’ll eventually marry. So I don’t see any problem here."

Alaric’s smile widened slightly. "But you just said I can pursue other women."

"Nobles have multiple wives, it’s normal. Expected, even, for those with sufficient status and resources."

"So you’re okay with that? All of it?"

Something flickered in her eyes. Then it was gone.

She finally pulled back, and turned toward the door.

"As long as they know their place," she said without looking back, her hand on the door handle, "I don’t care how many women warm your bed."

Her voice was cold. Matter-of-fact.

Final.

She opened the door, stepped through, and closed it behind her with a soft click.

Alaric stood alone in his room, staring at the closed door.

Then he smiled.