Non-Heir (The Black Mage 0.5)(26)

If pleasant meant only wanting to stab out his eyes half the time.

“Well, it looks like you are all still here. I will try my best to discourage that.”

All conversation fettered off as the Master of the Academy entered the dining hall. Barclae was a handsome man with a sharp face and even sharper gaze. He had a graying mustache that still sported stubborn black hairs that refused to relinquish their youth. The man was the epitome of strength.

He was just as intimidating as the night before, except now he appeared annoyed.

“Have I bored you?” the man drawled loudly, his eyes fixated on someone to the back of the room.

Darren shifted on his bench to see who the man was glaring at.

It was the lowborn from earlier, and… Ella? Darren couldn’t tell for certain, but she had an uncanny likeness. Both were staring at the floor, shaking their heads in response to the master’s question.

“Really, I insist, what is so fascinating that you needed to interrupt my lecture?”

The lowborn said nothing, but the second raised her head with a defiant lift of her chin.

“Him,” she said. It was Ella, and she was pointing at Darren.

The prince’s jaw clenched as he saw the disgust in her eyes. The look she shot him made it clear she hadn’t forgotten that night at the ball.

Fury filled his chest. How dare she. Not only had Darren saved her, but his brother had nearly lost his life in the infirmary because of it. Blayne never would have been foolish enough to challenge their father if he hadn’t been so humiliated.

And now here she was at the Academy.

“Ah.” The master’s gaze flit from the prince to the girl. “Him. What about this him?”

Ella stood, and Darren’s nails dug into the wood. “The Council’s Treaty states no heir of the kingdom can undertake training as a mage. T-to prevent the Crown from interfering with matters of magic.”

Not only was Ella there, but she was also trying to get rid of him. A prince. The future Black Mage. And she did it all with the audacity of a snake, except now she couldn’t even meet his eyes.

“True,” the master agreed, and Darren’s fingers gripped the wood so hard they hurt. “But the doctrine was alluding to first-born children who would be inheriting the throne. Prince Darren is not.”

“But we’ve never had a prince before—”

“You’ve never had one before because nobody was good enough!” Darren snarled.

The lowborn, at least, had the audacity to wince. Ella just stared at her hands.

Master Barclae laughed harshly. “Ah, my dears, you are so young to have already made an unpleasant impression with a member of the royal family.”

Unpleasant? Darren’s eyes burned crimson fire. Those two had just earned his permanent wrath. And for a moment, when he had first realized it was Ella, he had thought… no, it didn’t matter what he thought. That girl was not worth his time. And that lowborn, that stuttering redhead that continued to find herself in his way, he didn’t know who she was, but she would regret the day she ever questioned a prince.

They both would. And he would be laughing all the way.



“What happened at that dance?”

Darren shot Eve a look that stated clearly the earlier event was not up for discussion.

Priscilla looked pleased. Of course she would. The only girl she had ever deemed as competition was not on good terms with her prince.

“That lowborn,” Priscilla declared, “that one that was with Ella, she’s the one that smelled like manure last night in our barracks. I could hardly stomach the stench.”

“And yet somehow you managed.” Eve’s remark was quiet but dry. She, of all people, harbored the best intentions toward the lowborns in the Academy. Darren supposed it was because her father, Commander Audric, had once been a lowborn at the School, and squires were just as competitive.

Darren didn’t care for lowborns any more than highborns. Each had their own way of ruining his day. The less he dealt with either, the better.

“At least she was polite,” Eve added. “Not everyone can afford to stop at every inn along the way for a lavender oil bath.”

“Doesn’t look like much,” William grunted.

Jake nodded along. “In the lessons, she was quite slow.”

The girl wasn’t the only one who was slow, but Darren didn’t have the energy to critique the brutes. He was too busy concentrating on the rest of the day’s events. After lunch they transitioned from book learning to casting.

It would be his chance to make an impression, and he wanted to make sure it was something the others wouldn’t forget. After all, like the masters said, the more first-years they discouraged, the better.

And he knew of two first-years he wanted to leave.



As he was turning the corner, someone collided into him, knocking the contents from his arms and stuttering an apology. It took Darren of all two seconds to recognize the culprit.

Darren ground his teeth as he knelt to the ground.

Scattered parchment and books he had painstakingly arranged for his study were littered across the marble tile.

It was her. Again.

The gods had a cruel sense of irony.

“I’m so…” The lowborn’s apology faded away as she realized exactly who she had hit. He heard her hitched intake of breath.