CHAPTER 569: I BELIEVED YOU COULD FIGURE IT OUT

Liam and Sheila drifted along the quiet, lantern-lit path with an unhurried stillness, the kind that made the night feel softer than it really was. The moon hung low and pale above them, washing the gardens in a silver glow that stretched across the hedges and marble arches. Their footsteps were light, their breaths nearly muted by the cool evening air, and though neither spoke for a while, something unspoken wove itself between them—subtle, steady, almost intimate in a way neither dared acknowledge.

Sheila’s thoughts wandered far faster than her steps. ’I only asked him for a simple conversation,- she told herself, watching the shadows of roses sway gently as they passed. ’Just to clear the air about that gathering weeks ago... so why does this feel like we’re taking a quiet stroll as if we were...’ She stopped the thought before it could finish, cheeks warming slightly. The silence between them was not uncomfortable, but it carried a strange charge, enough to make her more aware of their proximity.

Liam eventually broke that silence with his usual calmness, his tone slicing neatly through her reverie. "You said you wanted to talk about something."

His voice startled her enough to make her shoulders jump. "Oh—right, I did," she replied quickly, trying to regain some composure. She cleared her throat softly, letting her thoughts settle before she spoke again.

"The thing is..." she began slowly, her voice softer than she intended. "That gathering you had with my father weeks ago—did you know I already knew you protected me, just like you claimed in front of everyone?"

For a moment Liam didn’t answer. He simply studied her from the corner of his eye, that unreadable expression of his barely shifting. Sheila felt his attention, wondered what he saw in her face, what conclusion he was reaching. When he finally spoke, it was with the same steady calm.

"No. I didn’t."

His answer caught her off guard. She blinked once, taken completely by surprise. "Then why did you say something like that in front of all those nobles? In front of my parents, especially my father? You do realize he could have had you executed on the spot, right? He’s been waiting—still is waiting—for any excuse to undo you because of your dark magic. If I hadn’t stepped in and supported your claim, you wouldn’t even be here right now."

Liam’s eyes slid toward her again, catching the concern layered beneath her words. He gave a faint huff under his breath—almost amused, almost acknowledging her worry—before looking forward.

"Yeah, I’m well aware of all that, princess."

Sheila stared at him, baffled by how lightly he carried something so dangerous. Then she tore her gaze away and exhaled. "So why did you do it anyway? Was it just some wild gamble? Hoping I’d be able to back you up?"

"Honestly, at first, it was a gamble," Liam said in that quiet, steady way of his. "But once I thought things through, it stopped being one."

He slowed to a halt beneath the drooping branches of a moonlit willow, turning to fully face her. His hands remained tucked in his pockets, shoulders relaxed, crimson gaze lowered to meet her widened blue eyes. Sheila stopped as well, the soft night breeze brushing her hair across her cheek.

"I believed you would figure out the truth I never told you," he continued, his voice even but carrying a sincerity she wasn’t used to hearing from him. "All I had to do was place the right pieces where you could see them. And someone as observant and sharp as you connected the dots exactly the way I expected. Because of that, you helped me secure my right to use dark magic freely in the academy."

Sheila felt the words sink into her, slow and warm, leaving her momentarily breathless. Pride curled into her chest, mixed with something gentler she didn’t want to name. Liam had been sincere several times today—far more than she’d ever imagined he was capable of—and somehow it still disarmed her. More than that, his explanation confirmed everything she’d theorized over the past weeks. She had replayed that day countless times in her mind, wondering how he could stand so confidently before the Crescent throne while saying something he had never told her directly. Now it made sense—every subtle phrase he had used that day had been chosen deliberately to remind her of moments she had pushed aside or forgotten.

Because she remembered, she had been able to defend him before her father and the court.

A soft smile curved her lips as she finally broke the silence. "I see," she murmured, a light chuckle slipping out. "I’m actually a bit flustered. To think you planned all that just because you believed in me. Did it ever cross your mind what would happen if I couldn’t piece it all together?"

"Nope," Liam said immediately, already turning to start walking again. "Like I said, you putting everything together was a certainty. No need to worry about the rest."

It was a lie, smooth and effortless, the kind he had perfected long before stepping foot in this academy.

In truth, he had considered the possibility—every variation, every risk, every way it could go wrong. Especially with the uncertainty of whether Sheila was still the girl he had known, or if her father’s influence had changed her again. But the moment he saw her expression that day, the moment he entered the throne room and met her gaze, he’d felt a fragile thread of certainty. Enough for him to take the risk.

And he had been right

Unbeknownst to her, something gentle unfurled in Sheila’s chest—quiet, steady, unbidden. She felt genuinely glad, almost oddly relieved, that Liam had believed in her so deeply. A warmth she didn’t attempt to hide softened her expression, a tender smile curving her lips as the two continued down the moonlit path, their steps unhurried and in sync.

Liam noticed the shift in her demeanor, the way her posture eased as though she had finally found solace in the truth he had offered. And because the atmosphere between them had settled into something calmer, he finally voiced the curiosity that had been lingering in the back of his mind.

"By the way," he began, tone steady. "Mind telling me how you managed to piece everything together? I’m a bit curious."

Sheila gave him a quick glance, as though sorting through the memories before putting them into words. "Oh, that? Well, I just... remembered all the strange times Lady Ember kept calling me aside, always asking for my help with something she never named." She exhaled softly. "And every single time, either Dylan or Charlotte—or even Asher, sometimes—would appear out of nowhere to drag me away with some silly excuse that suited their personalities way too perfectly."

Liam gave a thoughtful hum. "I see. But how did you connect all that back to me?"

"That part was easy," she answered, her voice carrying a note of lingering irritation from the memory. "There was a point where I got fed up with their interference, so I confronted Dylan. And he told me you asked him to keep me busy after class or during lunch. When I asked him why, he said he didn’t know but... he had this feeling that you... um..."

Her voice dwindled, heat rising faintly in her cheeks.

"That I had a crush on you?" Liam finished for her, entirely unruffled, as if he were asking about the weather.

"Yeah..." Sheila admitted, her embarrassment flickering across her expression before she tried to mask it. "And I almost took that seriously until these past few weeks."

Liam hummed again, a soft note of resigned amusement. "Can’t blame you. Dylan has a way of... influencing people with his nonsense." His tone stayed effortlessly calm. "Still, I’m glad you managed to piece everything together. Means a lot to me."

"Yeah, sure," Sheila replied with a small smile, her voice gentle. "I’m glad I could help."

Their pace stayed unbroken as they continued along the garden’s winding paths, eventually leaving the soft earth and lantern-lit hedges behind for the firmer cobblestone walkways that led toward the dormitories. The night air grew cooler, and the academy buildings loomed closer in the distance, their windows glowing faintly against the darkness.

But just as they rounded the final corner, Liam’s entire body stiffened. A sudden shift in the air—sharp, unnatural, lethal—rippled across his senses. Beside him, Sheila tensed as well, though not nearly as visibly.

Liam caught a flicker of reflected moonlight from the far edge of his peripheral vision, just a sliver of movement slicing through the darkness.

"Hm?" he murmured.

An ice dagger shot directly toward his eye with blinding speed.

Liam’s reaction was instantaneous. With the same speed, he tilted his head just enough for the dagger to graze past him. But in the same millisecond, he reached up and caught the weapon mid-flight with his bare hand. The dagger continued forward only an inch before it stopped—its deadly point suspended mere inches from Sheila’s face.

Sheila’s eyes widened at the sight of the frozen blade in Liam’s grasp, the cold glint inches away from her skin.

"You okay?" Liam asked, his voice steady, his head unmoving as he kept his attention forward.

"Yes... thank you," Sheila breathed, impressively composed for someone who had nearly been impaled.

Liam didn’t waste a second. He raised the dagger to inspect it, noticing the frost crawling rapidly up his hand, freezing flesh and skin in an instant. Without hesitation, he summoned heat—his flames bursting subtly beneath his skin—and melted the ice in a swift burn, dissolving the dagger and stopping the freezing entirely.

His gaze then shifted toward the direction the attack had come from, eyes hardening though his tone remained deceptively calm.

"You don’t plan on staying there all night, do you?" he murmured, already having pinpointed the exact position of their hidden assailant.

Silence followed, stretching long enough to confirm Liam’s accuracy. Then the faint crunch of footsteps approached, slow and deliberate.

"You are every bit as perceptive and sharp as Lady Seraphina claims," a deep voice replied, the tone cool and controlled.

Behind Liam, Sheila’s breath hitched. She recognized that voice instantly, her eyes widening, her lips parting in shock as a single strained word escaped her.

"B-brother?"

A tall figure emerged from the darkness—a young man dressed in the academy’s upper-year uniform. He looked older than both of them, his posture straight and commanding. His cold blue eyes swept across them with restrained scrutiny, and his snow-white hair, neatly kept, caught the moonlight as he stepped fully into view.

His presence alone carried weight, a quiet authority that matched his reputation.

Percy Granger. The prodigal son of the Crescent royal family.