In the academy's courtyard, autumn sunlight spilled across a carpet of golden leaves.

I was crossing with an armful of books when I froze mid-step.


At the center of a gathered crowd stood Sebastian and Isabella, hand in hand, their posture deliberately intimate. Isabella wore the undisguised smile of a conqueror, her gaze sweeping the onlookers before landing squarely on me—a naked challenge.

Whispers buzzed around me like persistent insects.

"I told you—how could Arya compete with a real princess?"


"Sebastian's no fool. His future's set now."

"Poor Arya. Cast aside like yesterday's news."


I kept my expression neutral while an invisible vise crushed my heart. The gossip meant nothing, but Sebastian's averted eyes cut deep. He couldn't meet my gaze, his once-familiar face now a mask of guilt and discomfort.

He'd made his choice. For what he called his "future."

I turned away, desperate to escape this suffocating theater of judgment.

"Pay them no mind."

A steady voice spoke beside me. Reynard had materialized at my side, his tall frame naturally shielding me from curious eyes.

He glanced at the smug couple and remarked casually: "Just petty clowns performing their little act."

His words surprised me. No empty comfort, just a matter-of-fact dismissal of their display as the farce it was. It helped more than any sympathy could have.

I offered him a grateful nod.

Lately, Reynard had been a constant presence—neither overbearing nor fawning, respecting my boundaries while offering quiet support.

A few days later, a crowd gathered before the academy's bulletin board.

An official student council announcement had captured everyone's attention: "Field Trip to Windermere Palace."

The poster featured an elegant photograph of Egret Manor with text beneath: "To inspire artistic creativity, we are opening 100 spots for a three-day cultural excursion to this royal residence. All clubs invited to participate."

The crowd erupted into excited chaos.

"Oh my god! It's actually Egret Manor!"

"Princess Isabella's royal residence! She's actually opening it to the school!"

I observed from the crowd's edge, my gaze cool and detached. Isabella and her entourage soon pushed their way forward.

"Only one hundred spots?" her sycophant Fiona shrieked. "Will you be selecting them personally, Isabella?"

Her piercing voice carried, instantly redirecting the surrounding chatter. Murmurs of doubt and discontent rippled through the crowd.

Isabella's lips curved in smug satisfaction. Clearly she viewed this as another chance to bask in attention due to her "royal status," delighting in the commotion these "limited spots" had caused.

"The day-to-day management of Egret Manor is handled by the staff—I don't typically interfere. But I can certainly make my preferences known!"

I nearly snorted. She was masterful at these evasions. I had to admit, she'd played me well.

Just then, the student council president stepped onto the platform before the notice board.

"Fellow students, your attention please." Though not shouting, his voice carried commanding authority.

"To ensure fairness, we've established specific selection criteria," he announced, his gaze sweeping across the assembled students.

"For this excursion, positions will not be available through general application."

He paused, allowing the statement to sink in before continuing.

"All participants will be selected by the presidents of our major clubs. The Art Society, Poetry Society, and Music Society—as our three premier artistic organizations—will each receive thirty recommendation slots. The remaining ten positions are open to independent applications, which the council will review personally."