It took Klein another three minutes to navigate the labyrinthine streets surrounding The Leaking Tankard, finally emerging onto a wider avenue that felt slightly cleaner, slightly less likely to result in a mugging.
He patted the pouch tucked inside his jacket—heavy now, reassuringly jingling with more gold than he'd ever held in his life. The six coins Lucien had given him had blossomed into nearly forty. Enough to buy new clothes, a decent room for the night, and maybe a few things an aspirant shouldn't be caught carrying.
Paros spun excitedly just behind his eyes. "Forty gold pieces, kid! You're a financial menace! We should open a casino and call it 'The Paros House of Inevitable Victory.'"
"And get arrested by the city guard before lunch? No, thanks." Klein shook his head, crimson hair swaying slightly. "That's the risk budget for the next three months, not a starting capital."
"Risk budget," Paros scoffed. "You say that like you haven't just committed fraud using me."
"I merely exploited a statistical anomaly," Klein corrected, his grin easy. He turned down a quieter side street, heading generally in the direction of the towering academy gates visible in the distance. He had five hours. Enough time to get a feel for the local atmosphere before locking himself away in the exam halls.
"Speaking of anomalies," Paros mused, "that purple-haired girl. Did you notice the stitching on her clothes? That wasn't just fine pink leather. It was custom fine pink leather. And the way that mercenary crowd parted for her? She wasn't carrying a weapon, but she didn't need one. Her authority was visible."
"I noticed," Klein said softly. He'd seen the look in her amethyst eyes—the kind of look that came from being raised knowing everyone else was a few steps below you. It wasn't arrogance, not entirely. It was simply a fact of her life.
"And she looked like she could cut your head off and not spill her tea," Paros added helpfully.
"Duly noted."
He was still pondering the unusual elegance of her fighting gear when he spotted her again.
She wasn't on the grand avenue. She was standing beneath a shabby awning across from what appeared to be an established, if highly illegal, map vendor. The vendor was whispering urgently, pointing at a scrap of faded linen spread across his rickety table. Aurelia's attention was focused, her perfect posture suggesting she was listening to a priest, not a shady street merchant.
Klein paused and leaned against the grimy wall of a jeweler's shop. Curious. A noblewoman like her, dressed in such fine materials, had no business talking to a man who looked like he hadn't bathed since the last King's Coronation.
He pushed off the wall and crossed the street toward them.
Aurelia finally looked up, her expression immediately tightening back into the cool, aloof mask he'd seen earlier. She gave a subtle nod, dismissing the map vendor, who scrambled away like a frightened mouse.
"Did you run out of easy marks, Red Hair?" she asked, her voice sharp as glass.
Klein stepped closer, his hands tucked casually in his pockets. "And here I thought I was following my lucky star. What are you doing? Looking to buy a new kingdom on the black market?"
Her amethyst eyes narrowed. "Watch your tongue, commoner. You are overstepping."
"Am I?" Klein tilted his head. "We're standing in a back alley talking to a criminal. I'd say we're both a long way from the etiquette hall. You were the one who approached me in the tavern and accused me of cheating. Now I'm approaching you, and I'm just curious. What's wrong with that?"
Aurelia exhaled slowly, her patience clearly wearing thin, but she didn't lash out. That controlled reaction was more revealing than any shout.
"My business is my own," she stated. "But since you insist on inserting yourself into places you don't belong—a common failing, I understand—allow me to clarify. I am Lady Aurelia of the Duchy of Lysandra. Our lands border Avalor to the south, and my success here is directly tied to my family's continued political security."
She paused, letting the name sink in. Klein recognized it—a minor territory, often pushed around by Avalorian expansionists. High rank, low power. High risk.
"I am here to achieve Prefect status, securing a political and military alliance for my house. That means I cannot afford distractions, and I certainly cannot afford to be associated with someone who cheats his way to a meal."
Klein studied her: the perfect clothes, the desperate pride, the hidden transaction in the alley. It all added up to someone gambling on a far grander scale than he was.
"Cheating is such an ugly word," he repeated, echoing her previous dismissal in the tavern. "I prefer calculated risk in pursuit of a necessary objective. And if you think a little gold changes my worth, you're mistaken, Duchess."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "You're chasing a title to save your land. I'm chasing a title because I was handed six gold coins and told to survive. We're both just looking for leverage, Lady Lysandra. The only difference is the size of the debt."
A flicker of respect—genuine, unmasked respect—finally crossed her face. Her lips twitched, fighting back an unwilling smile.
"That," she admitted, her voice grudgingly low, "was actually well-stated, commoner. For a gambler."
"For a gambler and a future knight," Klein corrected, his eyes holding hers. "If you need a second for that political duel you're planning, look me up. I'm good at making things fall my way."
Aurelia's head tilted, just like his had earlier. "I might need a strategist who specializes in lunacy. We shall see, Red Hair. Try not to get arrested before the exams."
"You too, Duchess. Try not to break any laws of Avalor while you're saving your father's duchy."
He gave her a quick, casual two-fingered salute and walked away, not looking back. He heard the faint rustle of her fine pink leather as she turned to leave, her stride now quicker, more purposeful.
Paros zipped through his mind. "I take it back. We are definitely doomed. She's powerful, she's rich, and she hates you. That's a recipe for entanglement."
Klein didn't reply, just letting the excitement settle in his gut. The city was finally showing its teeth, and the students of the Avalorian School of Arcane Blades were already proving far more interesting than any garrison training exercise.