The duel was over.
The Crown Prince had stood victorious, his blade gleaming over Lucian's throat, the crowd roaring in triumph. By all official accounts, the wolf had been defeated, humbled by the lion's might.
But the silence that lingered afterward told a different story.
Whispers rippled through the noble students gathered in the hall. They had seen the tremor in the prince's arm, the flash of strain in his golden eyes, the moment where Lucian—on his knees—had looked up at royalty without fear.
He should have cowered.He should have begged.Why didn't he break?
Instead, the wolf had smiled.
The Walk Through Shadows
Lucian left the hall with his head unbowed, every step slow, deliberate. The nobles who lined the walls parted before him, uncertain whether to sneer or stay silent. Some spat under their breath; others watched with narrowed eyes, calculating.
Kael caught up to him near the doorway, clapping him on the shoulder with a grin too wide for the occasion. "You're insane, Lucian. Absolutely bloody insane. Do you know how many jaws hit the floor when you nearly had his throat?"
Lucian didn't answer immediately. His gaze remained forward, calm, almost detached. "Nearly is not enough," he said at last.
Kael laughed. "Not enough? Hells, you made the Crown Prince stumble. That's worth more than any victory."
Seren joined them a moment later, her face pale. "Kael's right. What you did tonight… it's going to spread. The nobles won't forget." She glanced around warily, lowering her voice. "Neither will the prince."
Lucian allowed himself a faint smile. "Good."
That word unsettled Seren more than any wound.
By dawn, the story had already taken on a life of its own.
Servants carried it from chamber to chamber, instructors debated it behind closed doors, and students whispered it across every courtyard. Each retelling twisted, sharpened, grew.
"He forced the prince onto his back foot.""The wolf had him on his knees.""No, the prince won—but barely.""They say the prince lost his temper. In public."
Nobles tried to spin the tale, praising Darius' decisive victory, his unmatched strength. But the cracks remained. For every voice declaring the lion's supremacy, another murmured of the wolf's defiance.
And rumors, Lucian knew, were a more dangerous blade than steel.
A Summons in the Morning
The next day, Lucian was summoned to the Headmaster's study.
The chamber was old stone, shelves lined with scrolls and tomes, the air thick with the scent of parchment and ink. Headmaster Veyren sat behind his desk, a man of sharp eyes and sharper silences.
"You caused quite the spectacle," Veyren said, folding his hands.
Lucian bowed slightly. "The spectacle was not mine to cause. His Highness chose to duel."
Veyren's mouth twitched faintly. "A duel you lost. Yet somehow, your name is on every tongue this morning." His eyes narrowed. "You've painted yourself as a rival to the Crown Prince. Do you understand the danger in that?"
Lucian met his gaze evenly. "A wolf cannot survive by hiding from lions, Headmaster. Better to bare fangs and be remembered than vanish unnoticed."
The headmaster studied him for a long moment before chuckling softly. "Ambition. Dangerous… but not without merit." He leaned forward. "Tread carefully, Ardelion. You've drawn the prince's gaze. That is both a curse and an opportunity."
Lucian bowed again, masking his satisfaction. Exactly as planned.
The Noble Response
By the week's end, letters began arriving.
Sealed in wax, bearing crests of noble houses, they came one after another. Some dripped with false courtesy:
House Velthorne congratulates your spirited display before His Highness. Should you require guidance to better serve the Empire, our halls are open.
Others were threats dressed in poetry:
The lion is patient, wolf. Stray too near his pride, and you will be torn apart.
Lucian read each carefully, filed them in silence.
Kael sprawled across his bed, reading one upside-down. "Half of these want to kill you, half want to recruit you. Must feel nice being the academy's favorite scandal."
"It means," Lucian murmured, "they no longer see me as invisible."
Seren frowned. "It also means you're surrounded by enemies. You can't trust any of them."
Lucian's smirk was faint but sharp. "Trust is not what I need from them."
Seeds of Division
At meals, Lucian felt the shift.
Where once nobles ignored him, now they watched. Some with open contempt, others with cautious curiosity. A few, daring, even approached.
A boy from House Merrow leaned across the table, eyes glittering. "Clever trick in the duel, Ardelion. My house has little love for lions. Perhaps we should talk."
A girl of House Fenric whispered in passing, "If you ever need allies, some of us prefer wolves to tyrants."
But just as many spat insults louder than before, desperate to reassert dominance.
"Know your place, cur.""Enjoy your fleeting fame.""The prince lets you live only out of mercy."
Lucian endured it all, his expression calm. Each word—praise or scorn—was proof of his growing shadow.
That night, Seren confronted him in the training yard. Moonlight washed over her pale hair, her sword drawn and resting on her shoulder.
"Why are you smiling?" she demanded. "You lost, Lucian. You should be furious. Instead, you look as if everything went according to plan."
Lucian tilted his head. "Because it did."
Her grip tightened on the hilt. "You're playing with fire. The Crown Prince is not an opponent you can toy with."
"I didn't toy with him," Lucian replied softly. "I showed him something no one else dared to: that he can be rattled. That his throne is not unshakable."
Seren shook her head. "And when he comes for you again? When he decides to erase you for good?"
Lucian stepped closer, his voice low. "Then I'll make him bleed pride again. Every time. Until the lion fears the wolf's shadow."
Her breath caught. For a heartbeat, she saw not a student, but something darker—something relentless.
"You're mad," she whispered.
Lucian's smile was calm, sharp as a blade. "Perhaps. But madness frightens lions."
The Court's Reaction
Far beyond the academy's walls, the story spread to the capital.
In the imperial court, nobles debated in hushed voices.
"The wolf defied the prince.""And the prince let him live.""Some say the wolf made him lose his composure."
Each retelling planted more seeds of doubt. For the first time in years, whispers questioned the Crown Prince's perfection.
Darius himself heard the murmurs. In his private chambers, he shattered a goblet against the wall, golden eyes blazing.
"Lucian Ardelion," he hissed. "I will make you kneel."
Alone in his chamber, Lucian stared at the parchment where he tracked names, houses, threads of influence. He dipped his quill and added another line beneath the prince's name:
Victory is perception. The lion won the duel. But the wolf won the story.
The candle flickered. His hand stilled, then moved again.
In defeat, I rise. In whispers, I reign.
Lucian leaned back, closing his eyes. The taste of ash lingered in his mouth, but beneath it, fire burned.
They could declare him defeated. They could mock, threaten, scheme.
But the empire had seen the Crownless Wolf bare his fangs.
And once seen, a shadow could never be unseen.