The notice appeared on the academy bulletin board on a cold Tuesday morning: "Ceremonial Dueling Tournament - First Round. All third-year students and above are invited to participate."
Priam read it twice, his blood running cold.
Oh no. The duel event. This is one of the critical plot points.
In the game, the duel tournament was where several important things happened: Seraphina would face off against a rival noble daughter, there would be a heated confrontation, and depending on the route, she would either demonstrate unsportsmanlike conduct or show unexpected mercy. It was a major character-defining moment.
But the game had been vague about which route led to which outcome.
"Priam!" Seraphina's voice snapped him from his thoughts. She was moving toward the board, her eyes already scanning the details. "I'm competing. Of course I'm competing."
"My lady—"
"Don't tell me to reconsider," she cut him off, her chin lifted with determination. "I've been trained in swordsmanship since childhood. This is an opportunity to demonstrate my abilities before the entire academy. Before the Prince."
Priam couldn't argue with her logic. In fact, this could work in their favor—showcasing her skills and discipline, proving she was more than just a pretty face seeking status.
The problem was that he had no idea who she'd be matched against.
The tournament bracket would be drawn by lot three days before the event. Three days to prepare, strategize, and pray that the story didn't throw another unexpected twist at them.
Those three days were frantic.
Priam arranged for additional weapons training—carefully vetted sparring partners who would help Seraphina refine her technique without risking injury. He reviewed combat strategies from the restricted section of the library, looking for both offensive tactics and defensive formations that might give her an edge.
But mostly, he worried.
The night before the bracket announcement, Seraphina couldn't sleep. Priam found her standing on the balcony of her quarters at midnight, staring out at the sleeping academy.
"Can't rest, my lady?" he asked gently.
"Too many thoughts," she replied without turning. "Tomorrow, the bracket is drawn. I could face anyone—Lady Isolde, with her family's military training. Lady Vivienne, who fights with intelligence and precision. Even lesser nobles who might be hungrier for victory."
"You're prepared for any of them."
"Am I?" Seraphina finally turned to him. In the moonlight, her face looked younger, more vulnerable. "What if I lose? What if I embarrass myself before the Prince?"
"Then you'll learn from it and move forward," Priam said simply. "But I don't think you'll lose."
"You have a lot of faith in me."
"I have faith in your capabilities, yes. You've trained for this. You're disciplined and strategic."
Seraphina stepped closer. "Is that all? Just... faith in my abilities?"
The question hung between them, loaded with implication. Priam understood what she was really asking—was this faith based solely on duty, or was there something more beneath it?
He should have deflected. Should have maintained the professional distance that kept them both safe.
Instead, he found himself being honest.
"No, my lady. It's more than that. I believe in you. Not just your skills or your potential, but you as a person. I think you're extraordinary."
Seraphina's breath caught slightly. She reached out, her fingers brushing his collar—a gesture that was definitely improper, definitely dangerous.
"Priam, I—"
The sound of footsteps in the corridor outside her quarters interrupted them.
Seraphina pulled back immediately, her expression snapping into perfect composure. "That will be Luxanna with my midnight tea. You should retire for the evening."
"Yes, my lady."
But as Priam left her quarters, he felt the weight of that almost-moment hanging over him like a sword suspended by a thread.
I'm losing objectivity. I need to be more careful.
The bracket was announced the next morning.
Seraphina's name was paired against... Lady Isolde Ravencrest.
Priam's stomach dropped. Of all possible opponents, Isolde was probably the most dangerous. She came from a military family, had been trained in combat since childhood, and fought with cold, calculated precision.
But as he watched Seraphina read the bracket, he saw something unexpected: relief.
"Isolde," Seraphina murmured, almost to herself. "I can work with this."
"My lady?" Priam ventured carefully.
"She's direct. No fancy techniques or psychological games. Just straight combat skill." Seraphina looked up, her violet eyes determined. "I can counter directness. It's the clever ones I have to worry about."
Over the next two days, Priam watched Seraphina prepare with absolute focus. She drilled her sword forms until her hands bled slightly at the calluses. She studied Isolde's known techniques, noting patterns and weaknesses. She meditated, centering herself mentally for the confrontation.
And she was absolutely, completely confident.
The tournament arena was set up on the academy's main grounds—a large circular space with protective barriers, surrounded by viewing stands where students and faculty gathered to watch. Priam stood with the other servants, though his attention was entirely on Seraphina as she emerged in combat gear—dark leather armor that allowed freedom of movement, her sword polished to mirror brightness.
Isolde entered from the opposite side. She was taller than Seraphina, with the lean, muscular build of someone who'd trained intensively. Her cold blue eyes—inherited from her noble line—showed no emotion as she took her stance.
Crown Prince Aldric sat in the honored seats, watching with the careful attention of someone who understood that combat revealed character.
An official called for them to begin.
What followed was not the brutal, emotional clash Priam had feared. It was something far more elegant—a dance of skill and strategy.
Isolde came in strong, her sword technique impeccable. But Seraphina didn't meet force with force. Instead, she used angles, timing, and careful positioning to turn Isolde's strength into a liability. Every aggressive move was redirected, every powerful strike was evaded with minimal energy expenditure.
It was beautiful and terrifying to watch.
Isolde grew increasingly frustrated as her direct tactics failed to land. She started taking more risks, pressing harder, leaving herself more exposed. And that's when Seraphina moved.
It was a clean disarming technique—a perfectly executed maneuver that sent Isolde's sword flying across the arena. The match ended in seconds after that, with Isolde disarmed and yielding.
The crowd erupted in cheers and applause.
Seraphina helped Isolde to her feet, offering a gracious hand that the other lady accepted with a grudging nod of respect. The two embraced briefly—a formal gesture between warriors—before departing the arena.
Priam felt his breath release in relief.
She did it. She won without violence, without cruelty, without triggering any dark flags. She showed skill, discipline, and sportsmanship.
But as he watched, he noticed Crown Prince Aldric was no longer simply observing with academic interest. The Prince was watching Seraphina with genuine admiration.
That was when things began to change.
Over the following week, the Prince's attention toward Seraphina intensified markedly. What had been occasional private meetings became regular scheduled events. He began seeking her out in the academy corridors. He arranged for her to sit near him at formal dinners.
And more significantly, he began treating her like a genuine equal—discussing matters of state, seeking her opinions on governance, treating her as a potential future queen rather than simply another noble daughter seeking his attention.
It was exactly what Seraphina had always wanted.
So why did Priam feel increasingly uneasy?
The answer came to him one evening as he was organizing her study materials. He found a letter from Duke Ashcroft, written in response to Seraphina's own updates about her time at the academy.
The Duke was extraordinarily pleased. More than pleased—he was actively planning their family's position in the future royal court. He mentioned financial investments in preparations for a royal engagement. He referenced potential new titles and holdings they might receive when Seraphina became Crown Princess.
It was all so... certain. So inevitable in his mind.
That's the problem, Priam realized. I've changed the story too successfully. Instead of Seraphina destroying herself through obsessive, crude schemes, she's genuinely connecting with the Prince. And now everyone—her father, the court, probably even Aldric himself—is assuming they're heading toward betrothal.
Which meant the story had simply found a different path to the same tragic end.
Because in the game, Seraphina never ended up with the Prince. Not in any route. The game's entire premise was that she was fundamentally incompatible with him, that her obsession was self-destructive, that she was doomed no matter what she did.
Priam had changed how she pursued him, but he hadn't changed the fundamental incompatibility. And now all the political machinery was moving toward an ending that would devastate not just Seraphina, but her entire family.
What have I done?
That night, Priam sat alone in the library for hours, staring at the histories of noble houses without really reading them. He was caught between two terrible possibilities:
He could do nothing and watch as Seraphina's relationship with the Prince developed toward an ending that would ultimately reject her—but now with the added devastation of her family's expectations and investments.
He could engineer a separation between Seraphina and the Prince now, while the connection was still manageable—but that would require deliberately causing her pain.
There was no winning solution. There was only choosing which tragedy to allow.
He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice someone approaching until a familiar voice spoke from the darkness.
"You look troubled, Ashford."
Priam looked up to find Vivienne Nightshade watching him with her characteristic expression of amused calculation.
"Just reviewing historical records, my lady," he said, not bothering to stand.
"For your lady? Or for yourself?" Vivienne moved closer, settling into a chair across from him. "I've been watching you, you know. Very curious behavior for a servant. The way you strategize, the way you manipulate events so subtly that no one notices."
"I serve my lady's interests."
"Do you? Or do you serve something else entirely?" Vivienne tilted her head. "I have a theory about you, Ashford. I think you know something about how this story plays out. I think you're trying to rewrite it."
Priam's heart stopped. "I don't know what you mean."
"Of course you don't," Vivienne said softly. "But let me offer you some advice: whether or not my theory is correct, you should be careful about changing too much. Fate is stubborn, Ashford. When you push against it in one direction, it finds new paths."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a warning from someone who finds your project... interesting." Vivienne stood. "Also, you should know that the Crown Prince met with his father today. The King wants them to marry strategically, not for love. He's concerned about Seraphina's 'unpredictable nature' and is pushing for an engagement to House Silvercrest instead."
She left before Priam could respond, leaving him sitting in the darkness with the weight of her revelation crushing down on him.
The Prince was being pressured into a politically advantageous marriage.
Seraphina was going to be devastated.
And Priam had no idea how to prevent it without breaking her heart in the process.