The principal’s voice carried through the Grand Hall, steady and deliberate, each name a thread woven into the fabric of noble society. The graduates of the Royal Academy stepped forward one by one, each movement measured, rehearsed, perfected.
A necessity as everyone here, student, teacher, parent, was judging them with sharp, intense eyes. They received their diplomas, some scoring accolades, the routine became predictable—an acknowledgement, a scroll, a murmured exchange of pleasantries, and a bow before the king, then a polite applause.
After the first count was called, whispers stirred among the students, growing bolder with each passing name. Even Ravina found herself exhaling softly, and soon enough even Ravina herself exhaled softly.
She tilted her head toward her partner, the man so stiff he was sweating by just standing there.
"Having fun?" She teased
Earl swallowed, shifting nervously from one side to the next. Looking around rigidly before seemingly deciding he was allowed to answer at the very least. "I think I prefer ours."
Ravina hummed, a "This is a noble event," she mused, watching as another student accepted their scroll with a practiced bow. "It’s about being seen and acknowledged.”
Another polite clapping, at this point, who cared, all the interesting ones had already gone, James William, Elica Samwells, both children of dukes. Then a countless counts and then… barons…
Ravina’s fingers grazed the fine embroidery of her gown, barons. Over a count. The principle would be cremated, yet it was continuing, the king sat back doing nothing and the queen was obviously board, practically asleep as she stood.
Yet the prince… he caught her eye. A smile on his face. Predatory. Knowing. A chill fell down her spin. Something was going on.
Something planned. Did he know about her deal with the principal? Then why would he tell her to come? She spent the rest of the ceremony running though countless what if scenarios and ideas. None make sense.
Ravenshild wasn't just any count, he was the count of the north. As powerful as a duke, and with more pull with their name.
“What's his plan?” Ravina muttered.
“What?” Earl seemed to recover now that barons would be called. He didn't notice, didn't know who she was. She was looking forward to that.
"And now," the principal’s voice rang through the hall, steady but carrying a particular weight, "we honor a most remarkable graduate—Angelia."
Angelia stepped forward, her movements timid and her posture was tense. She was clearly nervous but above all, she didn't have a last name.
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A commoner.
“Don't do anything.” She warned him.
He gave her a curious look but Ravina had a bad feeling.
“As you know our school is graced with the first saint in over 300 years. And we have had the honor of hosting her at our prestigious academy!”
Then the crown prince stepped forward, addressing the crowd smoothly, his eyes upturned with joy, staring at Ravina.
“Not only has Angelia been a fantastic example of nobility despite her origin, she has gained honor and respect in these two years that not even the highest noble houses could hope for.” Again, he looked at her. It was a brief passing glance but it was enough.
Something was happening as he continued.
"A guiding light, blessed not by birth, but by divine favor. A woman of grace and unmatched virtue. it is my honor," the Crown Prince continued, his voice dripping with warmth, "to announce my intention to take Angelia Verran as my wife. And reunite the royal family blood line with the divine"
Whispers practically screamed all around them. Their reactions were mixed, but it was the king that made this all telling. Ravina narrowed her eyes as she saw the kind man's face fall, his reaction was quickly fixed, forcing himself to maintain a cold steady expression. Anger burned in his eyes as he looked at his son.
But the prince was not done. His smile faded. The warmth in his voice cooled into something far heavier, far more deliberate.
"Of course," he continued, his tone measured, "for some this news is shocking, for others, it may be difficult to accept."
He let the words linger. Then, his gaze hardened, his expression darkening, though his lips remained curved ever so slightly, as if savoring the moment. Then he continued
"But what is truly unacceptable," he said, his voice was cold, inhuman almost, "is cruelty."
The murmurs stopped. The air itself seemed to thin.
"What is truly intolerable," the prince pressed on, his words deliberate, his gaze scanning the crowd, "is the arrogance that compels those who should lead by example to demean the weak. To strike down those who cannot fight back. To bully, simply because one cannot stand to see another shine brighter than them."
The weight of his words crashed upon the room, forcing nobles who had been whispering moments before to fall silent, their carefully crafted expressions of neutrality faltering.
The accusation was clear.
Angelia, the saint. Mistreated. Bullied.
The prince raised a hand, and an attendant gave him a scroll, but he didn't need to look at it to read the name “Ravina Rose Ravenshield.” he said coldly. “Please come to the stage.”
The whispers died down, leaving only the faint hum of enchanted lanterns floating above. The tension in the air was thick, pressing down on the nobles as they shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking around, searching for someone.
But they wouldn’t find Ravina Ravenshield.
They knew her name, but not her face.
To them, she was just another title on paper. She went to the school only on the first few days. No more. She left because of… that's right.
Yet she understood, between the Crown Prince, his smile sharp, calculated. The Principal, lips curled in a smug smirk. The so-called Saint, shrinking away, gaze lowered. Then, the King—his expression dark, burning with fury, but his shoulders heavy with the burden of the throne. Unable to move against the only crown prince of his kingdom.
It was why he chose this moment, it allowed him to move freely, to act alone, attack her but why. What did he stand to gain from this?