Non-Heir (The Black Mage 0.5)(25)

Jerar needed soldiers. He doubted she would ever make it as a mage.



It had to be the worst kind of luck that the person who came seconds away from knocking him to the floor was the same lowborn from before.

Darren had been patiently listening to the orientation given by Master Barclae, the head mage of the Academy, when someone collided with his back. The force was enough to jostle him forward so that he tripped on his cloak and nearly ridiculed himself in front of the man he most wanted to impress. Only a swift recovery kept him from face-planting on the floor.

The bumbling oaf was mumbling an apology as Darren turned, condescension written plainly across his face.

And he found himself face to face with that girl from before.

“Sorry.” Her cheeks were flushed, and they darkened when she realized who he was.

Only a fool wouldn’t. The prince was wearing the black hematite stone of his family around his neck, and it was plainly visible over his black cloak and equally intimidating boots.

He had made a point of wearing all black. It was the best way to tell the others exactly which faction he intended to select.

Not only was the lowborn late to their introduction to the Academy—by hours—but she also smelled something foul. Sweat and dirt streaked her face and her scarlet hair looked like a rat had made a nest and decided it wasn’t fit for habitation. Horsehair covered her rags. Did the girl know anything about first impressions? Just because she was lowborn didn’t mean she had to dress like a creature from the swamps.

Darren didn’t want to miss another second of the master’s speech. The girl had already wasted enough of his time. He wasn’t sure why he had spared her any time as it was.

The master concluded his speech and called for his manservant to direct the first-years to their assignments. The crowd dispersed. Darren didn’t bother to stick around. He had already dropped off his supplies at the men’s barracks. When he arrived, the masters had offered him private accommodations on one of the Academy’s upper floors. But the prince had known that would be a mistake. Convincing the Council of Magic to admit him in the first place hadn’t come easy, and the last thing he wanted was someone questioning his place.

No, when Darren secured his apprenticeship at the end of their trial year, he wanted to make certain no one questioned the validity of a prince.



The prince walked the Academy that night. He took in the looming castle of gray stone and stifled a snort. The place was meant to replicate the decadence of the palace back home, but it wasn’t even a quarter of its size. The stairwell might have been a bit impressive—spiraling in to separate cases as it touched off against the second floor, with a looming many-paned window overlooking the ocean at its center—but from what he had heard, most of his father’s coin went to the mage library and the apprenticeship.

There were a little over a hundred applicants, and from first impression, most would never amount to much. An older boy had even confessed to no magic. He’d shown up at the Academy with hopes it would emerge since it was his last year to apply to the three war schools and he wanted to be a war mage.

Fool. Hadn’t the boy listened to anything Master Barclae said? The masters didn’t take to incompetence. Just like Darren, they despised people who wasted their time. And that older boy was sure to fail.

Only fifteen apprenticeships. The prince already knew the masters would be doing everything they could to discourage their students. After all, the fewer students they had, the more energy they could invest in training the ones who mattered.

Darren looked forward to the next morning. He had a feeling many of the others would be in for a surprise.

He couldn’t wait.



“The accommodations are terrible,” Priscilla declared over the morning’s meal of porridge and some sort of raisin roll, not exactly the spread from back home. “You would think they would offer separate chambers for those who matter,” she continued. “Or at least a bath house free from the lowborns. They smell. And, Darren, you should see what some of the girls look like. There is no way I can survive an entire year with that rabble.”

The edge of the prince’s lip curved up in a smirk. If Priscilla left because of the accommodations, he would have an entire apprenticeship without her presence. Five years. It was a tempting thought. “Perhaps you should leave then.”

The girl sneered at him. “You would like that. You and Eve both. Well, unfortunately for you both, I’m not going anywhere.”

Eve rolled her eyes. “A shame.”

Jake and William snickered. They had heard this argument many times around the training court back home. It had become all the more common the older they got. Any day now, the king would be announcing Darren and Priscilla’s engagement.

“You don’t like me,” Darren said plaintively, “and I don’t like you. Why don’t you do us both a favor and go end this betrothal before it begins.”

“It’s not about what I want,” she hissed. “It’s about freedom. My freedom. And if earning my robes and marrying you to escape my father and the buffoons at court is what it takes, so be it. At least we share the same indifference. I can serve the Crown’s Army and you can go off with your mistresses in the palace. Perhaps I’ll take a man myself, someone who doesn’t brood at every possible occasion.”

Darren grimaced. Priscilla painted such a… lovely picture. But at least with her, there would be no misunderstandings. He had long since given up the notion of a harmonious marriage. And since Priscilla had dropped her flattery, excluding the times when other rivals got in her way, things had been a lot more pleasant.