Chapter 13 - New kind of hell

  It was late. The moonlight pooled across her chamber floor, silver against the marble.

  Ariel sat on the edge of her bed, hands trembling faintly as she tried again, whispering the words of prayer, willing something, anything to answer.

  Nothing did.

  The air was still, heavy, as if even the gods were holding their breath. The faint shimmer that once lingered at her fingertips faded, leaving only the cold.

  Her throat tightened. She tried once more, the words coming out as a whisper.

  Silence.

  Her hands fell to her lap, fingers curling into the fabric of her gown.

  “Why, Mother…” Her voice cracked, soft and trembling. “Why isn’t it working?”

  The silence that followed felt louder than any storm.

  ***

  Ryn’s first few classes accompanying Ariel went worse than anyone could have imagined.

  He had thought, at the very least, that his grasp of formal speech was decent. He’d been wrong. Painfully wrong. Today, he learned words he hadn’t even known belonged to the same language, let alone how to write or read them.

  His etiquette and conversation lessons fared no better. Apparently, he’d been eating food “wrong” his entire life, though how one could eat bread the wrong way was beyond him. Worse still, when he tried bringing up aberrations and their rankings as a suitable topic of conversation, surely one of the most important concerns for any noble, his pedantic teacher all but snapped at him.

  “Conversations about such creatures are… repulsive,” the instructor scolded, voice clipped.

  Ryn frowned. Repulsive? They’re the biggest threats humans face.

  The teacher pressed on, clearly irritated.

  “It is also best if you avoid topics concerning the gods. Especially blessings, internal domains, vows, trials, et cetera.”

  He straightened his cuffs before continuing in a dry tone.

  “If such matters must be mentioned, limit discussion to the Nine Celestials or the recognized Majors. Only rarely should you go on about the hundreds of lesser or greater deities. And never, never, speak of the forgotten gods, nor those beneath them. To do so is to invite accusations of heresy… or, at best, the reputation of a fool.”

  Ryn glanced toward Ariel. She nodded as if all of this was perfectly natural. He, on the other hand, felt even more lost than before. What’s wrong with mentioning gods? Wouldn’t nobles want to brag about their blessed or their people's victories in trials?

  His hand twitched upward to ask, but the look in the teacher’s eyes stopped him cold. Slowly, Ryn lowered it back to his lap.

  Ryn’s dance class was by far the worst of them all.

  He had heard it said many times, mostly by people like Kael, that swordsmanship was like a dance. Ryn considered himself a decent swordsman, so naturally, he expected his skill to carry over.

  That expectation was shattered within minutes.

  One misstep, and he managed to trip over the instructor’s foot, collapsing to the floor and dragging her down with him. The thud echoed through the hall like the fall of a toppled statue.

  Ariel, witnessing her “valiant knight” sprawled on the ground, broke into laughter so sudden she nearly doubled over.

  For the first time since picking up a sword, Ryn felt genuine frustration at learning something. With the blade, progress had always come through discipline and repetition. Here, no amount of focus seemed to help. Ariel, meanwhile, twirled effortlessly with the teacher, free and graceful, as if born for the dance. Ryn remained stiff, awkward, and painfully aware of every step.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  The instructor, who had begun the lesson with patience and smiles, wore only a pinched frown by the end. She thanked Ariel politely and swept from the room without so much as a glance in Ryn’s direction.

  Ariel patted his shoulder as she passed, still laughing.

  “There, there, Sir Knight. You’ll only get better from here… “

  “...I hope.”

  Her laughter lingered in the air even after she was gone, leaving Ryn alone in the vast dance hall, staring at the polished floor and wondering where exactly his life had gone wrong.

  ***

  Ryn collapsed onto his bed, utterly exhausted, body heavy, mind numb. He had forgotten what it felt like to be drained of every ounce of strength, as if even the act of breathing cost more than he had left to give. His vision blurred at the edges, sleep pulling him under almost instantly, until a faint knock sounded against his door.

  “R-Ryn… It’s me, Lilia.”

  With that thought, Ryn almost considered smashing his head against the wall, anything to put an end to the torment of his classes. In the haze of exhaustion, he had completely forgotten about Lilia’s promised private tutoring.

  “Coming,” he muttered, dragging himself up at the sound of her voice.

  When he opened the door, he loomed over her like some half-dead wraith.

  “R-Ryn… are you okay?” Lilia stammered her satchel to her side, her eyes widening. She instinctively took a step back, as if half-convinced he had been struck by some dreadful illness.

  “Yeah, I’m alright,” Ryn muttered, yawning as he rubbed a hand over his face. “Is there a problem?”

  “Uh,n-no,” Lilia stammered, quickly regaining her composure as she straightened her uniform and clasped her hands neatly in front of her. “May I… come in?”

  “Sure,” Ryn said, stepping aside and motioning her in with a weary wave.

  As Lilia stepped inside and glanced around, her pale brows knit together. A look of quiet distress crossed her face.

  “Y-your room… It’s a mess! This is almost as bad as Lady Ariel’s…!” she blurted, pressing a hand to her face.

  Ryn blinked, following her gaze. A few shirts scattered on the floor, some discarded boots, and an empty tray from earlier in the day. Nothing worth fretting over.

  “What about it?” he mumbled. “I only use this place to sleep.”

  “Th-that’s exactly the problem!” Lilia fussed, wringing her hands before stepping further in. “P-please, Ryn… let me clean this for you. I-I can’t leave it like this…”

  Ryn, far too drained to argue, just waved a tired hand. “Do what you want.”

  And so he sat back, watching through half-lidded eyes as Lilia moved with surprising speed. Every fold, every scrap, every speck, she tended to it all. In mere minutes, the room was spotless, looking neater than it ever had since Ryn moved in.

  ‘I guess she isn’t a palace maid for nothing,’ Ryn thought, watching the last of his clutter vanish.

  With the room in order, their “unofficial lessons” began and dragged on well into the night. Lilia tested him on language, etiquette, and forms of address, her neat handwriting filling page after page of notes. To Ryn, however, it felt like being bludgeoned with words he could barely pronounce.

  By the end, even Lilia seemed shaken, her worst fears all but confirmed. She pressed her fingers to her temple, sighing.

  “This… is going to be harder than I thought…”

  Ryn had already collapsed face-first onto the silver-white desk, eyes glazed, mouth half open as if he were foaming.

  Gathering her notebooks, Lilia made her way toward the door. Just before stepping out, she glanced back.

  “O-oh… before I forget,” she murmured, her voice catching a little. “It seems someone’s… spreading rumours in the palace. Th-they’re saying a lowborn guard wormed his way to the King just to get close to the Princess… and that he’s…apparently a danger.”

  She hesitated, wringing the strap of her satchel. “It probably isn’t a big deal… b-but I thought you should know.”

  Ryn did not move. He lay slumped over the desk, utterly motionless, either too tired or already unconscious. The rumours, at least for tonight, could rage on without him.

  A few more days of classes dragged by, each one bleeding into the next. Every morning began with Ryn already weary, and every night ended the same, the weight of lessons pressing down until even sleep felt like another drill.

  One morning, however, as Ryn dragged himself down the hallway, he felt a shift immediately.

  Where once the guards and maids had hardly spared him a glance, now every pair of eyes seemed fixed on him. Whispers trailed behind his back like smoke. Some stared openly, others hid their mouths behind their hands, but none looked away.

  Ryn rubbed at his face. Too tired to care, he trudged forward.

  At least, until a figure stepped into his path.

  A knight, older by a few years and broad-shouldered, barred the way with a stiff posture and a look that carried more accusation than words. Conversations hushed, whispers thinning into silence as eyes turned toward them.

  Ryn let out a long, weary sigh, shoulders sagging.

  The weight of déjà vu pressed down on him. His current situation felt all too familiar: another challenge, another blockade of armor.