Chương 20: Chapter Twenty

Evan scowled at the visage that greeted him as he emerged from the toilet stall he'd just occupied. There, reflected in the mirror over the sinks, was the passive expression of William Ashfield, the boy casually washing his hands as he hummed happily to himself. The prick was clearly happy about something. He was tempted to call the other man a satyr too, but he knew better than to apply that moniker to a future duchess's betrothed. Even within the sanctity of his own mind.

It helps that the guy probably isn't, Evan thought irritably as he strode over to a neighbouring sink. Rumours to the contrary circulated of course, but they always did. Even about Evan himself, much to his chagrin - given that a new one surfacing invariably resulted in days of questioning from his own betrothed. Unfortunately, that was just the price one paid for being a man in an academy filled with horny girls.

Never mind the fact that he was part of his fiancé's retinue and couldn't go anywhere without at least one of them accompanying him. Sure, technically they'd be his future wives too, but only Marin held the family name. Thus, the other girls were merely subordinates for now – and his minders. Even as he washed his hands, he knew one of the girls was waiting outside the heads for him.

Evan was self aware enough to realize that, even ignoring his own political leanings, the fact that the boy opposite him could avoid having babysitters of his own was at least part of the reason for his – indeed most boys – animosity towards the man.

Because, even ignoring William Ashfield's well documented animosity towards his fiancée, as well as his frankly foolish re-affirmation of support for the Abolishment movement, it was mostly the fact that he often wandered around unaccompanied that so contributed to the mass of rumours circulating about him regarding his promiscuity. Ever flitting between different parts of the academy, be it the forges or the alchemy labs. His constant comings and goings had been noticed.

As a guy, it would be impossible for them not to be. And thus rumours circulated in greater and greater numbers. Still, as a guy Evan was familiar enough with the hallmarks of a girl fabricating an encounter to separate the lies from the truth. Any story involving more than a half-dozen orgasm was typically a giveaway. He wasn't infallible of course, but as far as he could tell, William Ashfield had remained 'pure' in his time at the academy. A surprise for a man so clearly bereft of gentlemanly traits.

Perhaps he's a sword-swallower, Evan thought with a malicious grin. It would certainly explain why he was so reluctant to marry a woman who was frankly beyond his station.

"I sometimes wonder?" Evan said, keeping his tone casual as he soaped up his palms.

"Do you reject your lady's advances because you're delusional or because deep down you're aware of just how beneath her you truly are? After all, you come from a house of farmers and fishmongers." Duels had been called over lesser insults – though only amongst women. Given that was not an option for men, insults between them had a reputation for getting… dark. Yet rather than react, the boy simply kept humming, washing his hands. Had he not heard him? Frowning, Evan continued.

"Or perhaps there's a more personal reason for your animosity? Perhaps you're more interested in me than my lady?" Even as he gave voice to the question he'd pondered earlier, he found himself genuinely curious as to the answer. Certainly, he didn't expect the other man to admit it if he were unnatural in that manner, but the weight of his reaction might give Evan a clue as to the truth. Indeed, his pulse quickened a tad at the thought of being able to inform his lady that she'd been sold a 'defective' stallion.

In doing so, perhaps her gaze might settle on a more appropriate match. And while Evan's betrothal to Marin presented something of an issue on that front, it was nothing the power of the House of Blackstone could not overcome. Alas, even as the wild – if unlikely – fantasy bloomed in his mind, the other man did not so much twitch at his thinly veiled accusation. As the Ashfield turned to dry his hands, it felt for all the world as if he wasn't even aware that Evan was there. That he wasn't even worthy of notice.

Evan could admit that the thought riled more than it should. He dealt with enough of that from the ladies on his team. Oh, they were quite attentive under normal circumstances, constantly jockeying for his favor, but on any matter of true import that same was not true. It didn't matter that he was a cadet the same as them, in practice matches he oft found himself kept as far from danger as possible. Positioned as the very last line of defence. Simply a static guard positioned in front of the mithril-core.

To the detriment of the team as a whole. Not like the Ashfield. No, he had somehow wrangled himself into the position of team leader. Of a very successful team. Never mind that there were two lady elves present. Things like that were apparently as air to the Ashfield scion – a man who simply breezed through life, moving as his whims took him. Never mind tradition. Never mind duty. Never mind sacrifice. Evan hated it. Truly. Deeply.

"Off to invent another cheap trick?" he grunted, perhaps more loudly than he intended, moving to stand between the other boy and the exit. The Ashfield would acknowledge him. One way or the other.

"The only reason you've done so well thus far is that ridiculous flashbang spell of yours. The one you stole from your family," he continued as the other boy approached.

"And I am happy to say that advantage is coming to an end. Your mother sold it as cheaply as she sold you." He wasn't lying – though in truth he knew what bargain had been struck between House Blackstone and Ashfield for rights to the spell. Only that he and the other members of the House had been given leave to use it in turn.

Given that it was a spell – cheap or not - that had allowed a team with an orc and a dwarf to succeed over other teams infinitely their superior, Evan could not imagine how high his own team might climb with it. Indeed, only the other teams of House Blackstone would be their equal on the Floats. He grinned as the other man paused before him, his words finally registering. To that end, Evan opened his mouth again.

"That's right, you're-" Only to pause as the man simply walked around him, still humming some tune or other. And Evan could only stare after him, blood boiling.

"Fuck you!" He finally shouted, the invective seemingly the only way to voice his rage as he stared at the other lad's retreating back.

"Fuck you, you cunt!" Yet even still, the boy didn't even twitch. As if he hadn't heard. As if Evan just… didn't exist.

"Fuck you," Evan finally muttered, feeling spent for reasons he didn't fully understand. Because he wasn't nothing. He wasn't.

"Marry me."

"No." Olzenya couldn't help but laugh at William's instant response to Bonnlyn's proposal. The girl in question laughed too, even as she speared another spoonful of… If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

"What did you say this was called again?" the High Elf asked.

"Paella," the boy said absently. Paella, a strange name. Though that was something of a byword for anything to do with William it seemed. Nevertheless, it was delicious. Strange or not. Which said something given that Olzenya was not normally partial to seafood. Though it was not so delicious that she had any intention of asking for William's hand in marriage as Bonnlyn did. … Though perhaps if he made those 'cupcake' things again I might reconsider, she thought with some mirth. Though only in mirth.

The human boy might have been attractive enough physically, but his personality could not have been less Olzenya's type if he tried. Oh, she'd not turn him down if he offered her an obligation free liaison in the city of the type the rest of the team suspected Marline was enjoying – despite both their arguments to the contrary – but as a romantic partner William fell far short of her ideals. Both entirely too wilful and stubborn for her taste.

"Not that I'm complaining," Verity said as more food was ladled onto her plate by their team leader.

"But what's the occasion?" The high elf could admit she was curious herself. Time was a premium in the academy. So much so that when it came time for meals, most cadets ended up inhaling the food without so much as tasting it. For William to spend time after evening inspection going down to the kitchen to cook up a late supper, despite the team having eaten dinner not long past, spoke of some prompting factor at work. Again, not that they'd complain.

The food provided at the academy was hardly poor by any standard, but it did tend to err more on the side of filling than luxurious. And William's cooking never seemed to be anything short of luxurious. If a tad strange at times. The boy in question just shrugged though.

"Nothing really. I just found myself really craving some seafood tonight." A bark of laughter was quickly strangled, though that did little to save the person of origin from a series of incredulous stares from the rest of the team. Ignoring the implication that William had said was some kind of inside joke, the fact that it had been Marline that laughed was shocking.

"What?" The dark elf in question asked as she fought down an obvious blush.

"Dunno," Bonnlyn said.

"Just never heard you laugh like that before." Olzenya would agree. Even as the other girl's nominal best friend and closest ally, the most she'd ever heard from her fellow elf was a dry chuckle. Not… whatever that was… Marline flushed.

"I laugh."

"Not normally," Bonnlyn said, gaze turning toward William.

"Almost makes me wonder what the two of you did last weekend that has you so… giggly." They'd definitely been fucking. Olzenya knew it was crass to put it so, but it was so obvious she couldn't help herself. I mean come on, what do they expect us to think? The High Elf thought as she eyed the pair. Spending the night away from the team and sleeping in the same inn could be justified once. But twice?

"We didn't do anything beyond enjoy a somewhat subpar variant of the dish you're currently enjoying," Marline said.

"That's why I laughed. William's words on the topic were rather scathing." She was lying. The girl was a terrible liar. Olzenya could see she was lying. Bonnlyn could see she was lying. Hell, even Verity could see she was lying.

"Bullshit," Bonnlyn said a second before Olzenya could put it more delicately. William shrugged, even as Marline looked stricken.

"Believe what you will." It was actually a little annoying that despite knowing William was full of shit, she couldn't pick up even a hint of it on his face. If Marline was a terrible liar then William was peerless. Which was just another layer to the confusing onion that was their leader.

"I will," Bonnlyn said smugly.

"And it doesn't matter how much you claim otherwise, I know there had to be some other reason you split off from the rest of us last weekend."

"Besides an urge to quietly celebrate the success of my latest creation while not being hit on by a horny half-stack?" The dwarf coughed, but rallied admirably.

"First of all, I know you love my flirting, even if you are playing hard to get-""Clearly not too hard if I'm apparently sleeping with him," Marline muttered. Bonnyln stumbled a little as those words registered, before continuing valiantly.

"That's because he clearly has an elf fetish. Which I don't blame him for, you long-ears have mindwhammied half the men on the continent with that horseshit. I just need to bring him around to the idea that short and thick is infinitely better than long and thin." Verity snorted.

"That's a terrible analogy."

"Quiet, tall and thick!" Bonnlyn shot back playfully.

"Because you're as much a rival as these two. For much the same reason I know there was definitely some other reason he begged off hanging out with us last week."

"And that is?" Olzenya deadpanned, just wanting to get this bit over with – even if she was a little curious.

"Verity asked us all to meet her family. And William over here is powerless to refuse her for anything. If whatever he was doing last weekend wasn't urgent – like satisfying the rapacious desires of a hungry dark elf." The orc in question turned red so fast Olzenya was actually a little concerned – even as William's eye twitched. And the less said about Marline's expression the better.

"Rapacious dark elf?" The girl seemed to mutter to herself, her tone dark and foreboding. Not that Bonllyn seemed to notice. Instead she watched William sputter.

"I don't just give her anything she asks for."

"You kind of do," Olzenya said.

"As much as it pains me to agree with the gremlin on anything." A feeling that only intensified as said gremlin gave her an eager thumbs up.

"He doesn't!" Verity said.

"He definitely does," Marline sighed, earlier irritation seemingly forgotten. Or at least morphed in quiet resignation. Not that the orc noticed, seemingly stuck looking anywhere but at William. Who as ever, seemed rather unruffled. Oh, he'd been surprised by Bonnlyn's accusation at first, but much like a hundred other things did, that seemed to have rolled off his back easily enough after a moment of processing.

"Alright, you know what?" He turned toward one of the table's residents.

"Marline, you're a terrible liar. Have we at any time had sex?" The dark elf flushed deeply, something akin to… horror flashing across her features as she frantically shook her head.

"No!" They hadn't?

"Oral counts!" Bonnlyn chimed in, causing the dark elf to glare at her – rightfully blaming her for being put in this situation to begin with.

"No oral either. Nothing of the sort." The dwarf continued to stare at the elf for a few moments before sighing.

"Cheh, I guess I was wrong." Though it was barely a second before a mischievous gleam entered her eye.

"Though that means the mystery of what the two of you got up to last week remains unsolved." William just glanced at her.

"No it isn't. Dock-side paella."

Griffith frowned as she stared down at the metallic object on her desk. The Spell-Bolt. Which was an objectively terrible name. Still, terrible name or not, the thing would be of interest to a great many very important people. A handheld weapon capable of punching through armour at ranges up to a three hundred meters would be a game changer in marine-knight combat.

Certainly, a cannon could perform the same feat – and then some – but there was a world of difference between a weapon that needed mounting to the deck of a ship and a weapon that could be held by a single woman. Naturally, she'd told no one about it. Not even the principle. For though the former royal navy woman aped at neutrality, everyone knew she was in New Haven's pocket. Which was fine normally, given that politics was the Academy's bread and butter, for something like this it was unacceptable.

Once the principle behind the Spell-Bolts operation was out, every house would seek to replicate it. Oh, they wouldn't use it openly; no house wanted to be seen as a spell thief, but they'd make copies. For a fast roll out once the rights were sold to them – or as a weapon of last resort in the event of… Well, all sorts of things. The most likely of which she could think of currently was a civil war given the continued tensions between the Crown and House Blackstone.

Neither side wanted a war, not with the Solites and Lunites waiting in the wings, but the longer things dragged on the more likely it would become inevitable. House Blackstone refused to back down on the issue of slavery – and at this point the Crown couldn't either. If they backed down now it would be a tacit admittance that they could no longer enforce their authority on their vassals. Thus the two were stuck in a continually growing…. well, she supposed it was a 'cold war' of sorts.

To that end, the weapon on her desk presented a sizeable advantage to the side that possessed it – so long as it was kept secret from the other. After all, much like William Ashfield's recent flashbang spell, once the principles behind the device were known, it would hardly be complicated to replicate. To that end, it was fortunate that unlike the Flashbang, the exact mechanisms behind the Spell-Bolts function weren't immediately obvious simply upon seeing it in action.

Hardly impossible to decipher, merely a little more complicated without an accompanying explanation. To simply see it fire, one would think the weapon to instead be some kind of spell-aid. Given all that, William's conditions for selling the device were both simple and complex. Not least of all because I have to ask the Ashfields if they are aware of the device without actually saying what it is, Griffith frustratedly thought.

If the Ashfield matriarch could be shown to have no actual knowledge of the device, the ownership of it would default to William and William alone. Which was something of a legal conundrum given both his gender and membership to said house. Technically speaking, anything that belonged to him belonged to his house. And as the Matriarch of said house, thus belonged to Janet Ashfield. Of course, as the saying went, possession was nine-tenths of the law.

And if William truly had developed the Spell-Bolt independently of his house… well, it was clear who the Crown would have to speak to if they hoped to acquire it.

"All of this will need to be recorded," she said tiredly, running a hand through her hair. If only to intercept any attempts by the Ashfield family to claim the spell as their own once it went 'public'. As they did with the Flashbang. Fortunately, unlike with the Flashbang, this time young William would have the power of the Crown on his side. If only because his current course of action benefited them.

For sole 'legal' access to the Spell-Bolt, the Crown would more than happily bend the rules – or invent entirely new ones. She resisted the urge to snicker at the thought. Young William Ashfield was essentially using the monarchy of an entire country as an attack dog against his own house. As a first year cadet. She shook her head at the ridiculousness of it. What was worse was that she had no idea if the whole thing was actually borne out of loyalty to the crown or out of youthful rebellion.

Certainly his first conversation with his fiancée suggested the former, but she knew plenty of instructors believed it to be the latter. Sighing, her mind turned toward the young scion's second condition of sale. He wanted to use it in Float matches… The idea boggled the mind. Here the boy had an invention that might literally change how battles were fought across the continent – and he wanted to use it in a schoolyard brawl. It was a firm reminder that for all his… genius, he was still just a young man.

One that seemingly had no idea of the wider consequences of his actions. And why am I being turned on by the thought of that naivety? She thought incredulously, shame flooding her at lusting after a student. Her student. Shaking her head, she returned to penning her report – even as her thighs continued absently rubbing together beneath the desk. Indeed, she was so distracted by her runaway thoughts that she actually jumped a little as someone knocked on her door.

Quickly hiding the Spell-Bolt beneath her desk, she cleared throat.

"Who is it?"

"Private Mckenly, ma'am," a young woman's voice came through the wood.

"I come bearing a message from the Principal." Frowning, Griffith stood up, moving over to the door and stepping out, making sure to lock it behind her as she turned to look at the academy guardswoman standing there.

"The Principal? At this hour?" she asked. The young woman nodded.

"Aye, though it's not just you ma'am. I don't know the specifics, but it seems like half the Instructors in the academy are being summoned." She leaned in.

"Word is that something's happening down by the beach. Something big." Well, that was singularly unhelpful, Griffith thought as she nodded before striding off toward the Principal's office. With that said, as annoying as this would likely turn out to be, it would at least be nice to be stuck dealing with something that for once was not a result of the actions of one William Ashfield. The boy's antics ate up far too much of her time as it was.