The moment Vaelorian sauntered back into their shared room after his workout, the air shifted. His tall, effortless figure moved with a relaxed confidence, but his sharp eyes took in the chaos sprawled across the space. Clothes tossed carelessly, books knocked over, and the remnants of damage that only a cute and mischievous mind like Riven's could conjure.
His lips curled into a smirk—calm, unbothered, as if the disorder was nothing more than a harmless prank.
"Ah, Riven," Vaelorian drawled softly, voice smooth as silk, "what have we here?" He didn't raise his voice, but the subtle amusement in his tone made it clear he was entertained, not annoyed.
His gaze flicked over the mess with a lazy elegance, yet beneath that veneer, there was a glint of something more playful—perhaps satisfaction.
This means the younger boy was thinking about him.
He called for Eryndor, his ever-faithful confidant, giving him a quick, but polite instruction. "Please, have someone take care of this," he said, voice steady and composed, "and ensure everything is back to order before Riven gets back." Without waiting for a response, Vaelorian slipped into the bathroom, the door closing softly behind him.
Meanwhile, Sir Eryndor's eyes widened in shock at the state of Vaelorian's belongings. Clothes strewn across the floor, jewelry tangled in chaos, and a few of his precious items broken. He hesitated, glancing nervously at the damage, then quietly tiptoed out of the room, convinced it was better to bring in the expats.
After Vaelorian's bath, Sir Eryndor was already back in the room with people to take care of the mess. He was obviously having a hard time after seeing the Prince's belongings like that. But Vaelorian, ever composed, assured him with a gentle smile.
"It's fine, Eryndor. I'm fine," he said, his tone reassuring and strangely cheerful.
Eryndor blinked, puzzled and a little worried—had the prince lost his mind? Why was he smiling about this mess? Didn't he care about what the younger boy did? But after seeing Vaelorian's calm demeanor and cheerful mood, he decided it was better to leave him to his devices.
So, they to tidy up, restoring the room to its pristine state.
Later, Riven returned after dinner, a smirk playing on his lips, expecting to see Vaelorian fuming over the chaos he'd caused. Instead, he was greeted with a room so spotless it looked untouched—no sign of his rebellion. His brow furrowed, irritation creeping into his expression.
"Really, Riven?" Vaelorian's voice was silk, smooth and mocking, as he rested his head casually against the bedframe. "Was that all you've got? That was the fire you claimed I was playing with—your grand revenge?"
Riven's eyes flashed with annoyance as he clenched his fists, trembling slightly but holding his ground. "I know what you're doing," he shot back sharply. "You're trying to make me do something I'll regret. You wanna get me kicked out of camp, is that it? Is that what this tantrum is about?"
Vaelorian chuckled softly, standing up and stepping closer, his gaze unwavering. He looked at Riven with a mischievous gleam in his eyes, almost as if he relished the game they were playing.
"A tantrum, huh? How adorable," Vaelorian murmured, voice velvet and teasing. "You think that's what's going on here?"
Riven scowled, crossing his arms. "What else could it be?" he demanded. "You're acting out because I messed with you a few times. Like I said—tantrum."
Vaelorian's smile widened, a hint of sadistic amusement curling his lips. "Should I applaud you for figuring out absolutely nothing? You put in a lot of effort into trashing my belongings. Nice work, really. But honestly, I expected more from you. I thought you'd at least try to destroy something valuable." His voice was casual, but his eyes danced with a dangerous light.
Riven's jaw tightened, anger simmering beneath his skin. "Don't think this means I'm done. I'm coming for you, Vaelorian. Don't say I didn't warn you."
The older boy's smile grew even more sinister, almost predatory. "Oh, I'm sure you will," he whispered, voice low and tempting. "And I'm looking forward to it. But let's get one thing straight—whatever you plan, it won't make me angry. Trust me. Besides, my caretakers have been pestering me to let them clean up after me. So, by trashing my things, you're just giving them a reason to do some actual work. Isn't that adorable?"
Riven's eyes flickered with a mixture of rage and stubborn resolve. "And why should I care about what you say? I'm warning you—I'm not some puppet you can toy with. I'm sick of your games."
Vaelorian leaned in slightly, voice low, teasing, as if savoring every word. "Sick already? Hmm. You're all bark and no bite, aren't you, Riven? I was just about to get to start taking this seriously. Such a shame, really." He brushed past Riven with a fluid grace, the faint scent of his cologne lingering as he headed for the door.
Before stepping out, he paused, turning back with a smirk. "Oh, and by the way—training continues tomorrow at the usual time," he said over his shoulder, voice dripping with authority. "Don't be late."
Riven's fists clenched tight, fists trembling with frustration. "Argh!!!" he yelled, punching the air, kicking wildly in a burst of fury.
"Fuck Vaelorian," he muttered under his breath, voice thick with venom. "Fuck his stupid handsome face and perfect life." His fists hammered at nothing but air, rage bubbling over.
He clenched his jaw and swore to himself—he'd get him back. Oh, yes, he would. Vaelorian's reign of terror wouldn't last forever. The fire of revenge was igniting within him, burning brighter with every passing second.
That night, Riven went to bed with nothing but that singular thought—how to strike back, how to make Vaelorian regret ever crossing him. Sleep was restless, filled with visions of schemes and payback, each more daring than the last.
---
The next morning, Riven awoke to an unsettling silence—Vaelorian was gone again. The room was eerily peaceful, the chaos replaced by calm. He went through his usual routine, attending classes with a distracted mind. He even met Mira Lune to start their history project, trying to shake off the lingering frustration.
But as the day wore on, a shadow of dread loomed over him. After lunch, he prepared himself for the inevitable—that moment when he'd face Vaelorian again.
And sure enough, when he stepped into the old training room, there he was—Vaelorian, smiling, relaxed, as if they hadn't shared any of the chaos or conflict from the day before. The prince's face was serene, his posture perfect, with no hint of ill intentions. It was almost as if everything had reset to normal.
Vaelorian simply got into position, ready to train, and Riven braced himself for the usual onslaught of relentless drills.
But Riven wasn't ready to throw in the towel yet, because thirty minutes into the training a mischievous idea popped into his head as Vaelorian knocked him down again, Riven got up quickly, a sly grin spreading across his face. Instead of falling into his usual stance, he approached Vaelorian with a playful glint in his eyes.
"Hey, Your Highness," Riven said casually, leaning on a training dummy, "I've been thinking. About activating my second gift. I've got a few things I want to test out."
Vaelorian raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Oh? And what might those be?"
Riven stepped closer, smirking wider. "Well, I was thinking—since kicking my ass doesn't seem to be doing the trick—maybe we should try something else. How about we find another way to sweat? You know, spice things up a bit?"
Vaelorian tilted his head, studying him with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. "Where are you going with this, Riven?"
Riven's grin deepened as he leaned in, voice lowering to a teasing whisper. "I've got a few ideas I'd be willing to share, if you're interested."
The amusement flickered in Vaelorian's eyes, but his face remained composed. "That's very helpful of you, Riven. I like that you're taking the initiative."
Riven's confidence swelled. He just needed to push a little more, and he'll have Vaelorian exactly where he wants him.
"So," Riven said casually, "I'm not trying to do anything impressive like you, of course. I just want to see if you can handle a little game. Call it a playful competition. And hey—" he paused, eyes twinkling "—you can even use your handsomeness as a bargaining chip."
He let the words hang, waiting for Vaelorian to bite. But Vaelorian, ever the master of turning things around, he stepped closer, a slow smile curling on his lips.
"Oh, Riven," he said huskily, voice thick with amusement, "you're playing a dangerous game. Flirting with me isn't exactly the smartest way to get back at me. I can help you with that, though. Just ask nicely, and I might consider helping you."
Caught off guard, Riven's cheeks flushed. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to be in control, dammit!
"H-hey," he stammered, "I'm just saying— it's not like I really think you're handsome or anything…"
Vaelorian chuckled, cutting him off smoothly. "Trust me, I have a pretty good idea of what you think about me. But that's not important right now. What I want to hear is your new plan to activate your second gift. Hopefully, it's better than your attempt at flirting."
Riven's face was a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. "Forget it! I don't think you're ready to hear my plan yet."
Vaelorian's smile turned almost predatory, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he walked closer to Riven. "Nice try," he whispered, "better luck next time." With that, he stalked away, leaving Riven to grit his teeth and get into a fighting stance—still ready for the next round.
How did he figure out what Riven was trying to do?
Damn him, Riven thought. Damn him to hell. But deep down, a flicker of determination ignited. Vaelorian might think he had won this round, but Riven had plenty more tricks up his sleeve. And very soon, the tides would turn.