Non-Heir (The Black Mage 0.5)(27)

The idiot lowborn was everywhere. She had to be the clumsiest fool in the Academy.

She reached out a pale, freckled arm to help, but Darren snatched the scroll out of her reach. He was not about to entertain any notion of friendship with the likes of her.

“Your grace,” she stammered. “I want to apologize for earlier.”

Your grace? It was ‘your highness’ but she couldn’t even manage the correct greeting. He bit down on his tongue. He had more pressing concerns than the likes of her.

Darren glared, but the girl kept rambling on. “It wasn’t right. You deserve a chance just as much as anyone else, especially since you are not the heir—”

Enough was enough. “Thanks,” Darren bit off, “but I don’t need some backcountry peasant asserting what I can or can’t do.”

Gray eyes flashed angrily. “I didn’t mean—”

“Look,” the prince spat, “I didn’t come here to socialize with commoners and learn about their feelings, I came here to be a mage.” Especially inept ones like her. “I’ve got more pressing affairs than listening to you apologize for your own incompetence.”

Darren didn’t bother to stick around. He saw her face flush red as he shoved his way past. For a second, he contemplated the fact that he had been a bit too cold, but it didn’t matter. The girl was friends with Ella and had no problem making assumptions about what he could or couldn’t do. Her attempt at an apology had come a little too late, and if there was one thing Darren had learned, it was to never look weak.

The girl wouldn’t last the year. Girls like her were soft and easy to break. Lowborns always wanted glory until they realized the hard work it entailed. Darren had worked hard for everything, and a girl who tried to take that away? Well, she wasn’t worth very much.



The rest of his lessons went exactly as planned.

It started with a bit of fire. The knight master in charge of physical conditioning wanted a demonstration on the importance of casting and endurance. Darren was only too happy to oblige, and if the hushed whispers and looks of awe were any indication, he had surpassed even Sir Piers’s expectation.

Conditioning… Darren wanted to laugh. All of those highborns preparing for the Academy had failed to invest the time to train outside of a library. Most couldn’t run five miles without choking. And the lowborns, while better than expected when it came time for endurance, failed miserably at weapons. They didn’t even know how to hold a staff.

Meditation was a bit more enlightening. He still did well, exceedingly well in comparison to the hundred or so first-years practicing the same, but Darren was a bit jealous of Eve. The girl had a patience he would never master, and it was the one thing in which she would always have him beat. Perhaps swordplay as well, but the years had been good to him, and he towered over her most days.

Three-quarters of the prince’s year were halfwits. By the end of the day, he could see there were perhaps ten true contenders for the faction of Combat. The students wouldn’t be picking their factions for another two months, but even so, it wasn’t hard to hear the rumors as he passed.

“Next Black Mage.” Darren heard it almost as often as his name.

“Pick another faction. Don’t stand a chance now that he’s after Combat.”

“Wish I were him.”

“Wish I were her.” That was most often directed at Eve and Priscilla. Both had stood out—Priscilla in physical trials, and Eve in meditation and study. They were easily the best females of their year.

Jake and William suffered a bit during study, but overall they were miles above the rest.

The five of them were the best of their year. Even in their weakest lesson, they had never underperformed the top quarter of their class.

When they took dinner, Darren made it a point to sit with the best of the best. Or rather, he was the best, and he sent away anyone—highborn or lowborn—who was not worthy of his rank. It was a common rule in his life: surround yourself with those you admire, never those beneath you. And now that Darren was finally pursuing his dream, he wasn’t going to waste time with lazy courtiers’ children or peasants that couldn’t perform.

“Some brawny lowborn tried to flirt with me in training,” Priscilla drawled. She had spoken rather loudly; Darren expected she had done it to pique his interest. Too bad for her, he couldn’t care less about whatever fool thought he had a chance with the cold-hearted beauty. “But he could barely run. He won’t last the week.”

“Perhaps you could offer him lessons,” Darren remarked dryly.

She scrunched up her nose. “I heard he’s the redhead’s brother. You know, the girl with Ella.”

And that was the end of the conversation. Darren stood up, finding the meal suddenly lacking. “I’m going to wash up. Let’s meet up for study later in the library?”

The others agreed.

Darren exited the hall, not bothering to look back. Something told him, if he did, he would see her somewhere in the crowd. He wasn’t sure why it mattered.

But it did, and he just couldn’t figure out why.



The next night, Darren waited until the servants had performed their final check. He could hear the groans as the boys staggered back to their beds, disgruntled as they dimmed their mage light and the sconces lining the walls.