It did not take long before we became the subject of public scrutiny.
The academy was not so vast a place as to conceal one's habits. The same corridors were traversed each day, the same lecture halls filled with the same familiar faces, and a quiet exchange overheard in a corner often found its way into the conversations of the entire building.
At first, I attempted to disregard it.
But one morning on the academy grounds, as I made my way towards the lecture hall, I overheard two students speaking not far from me.
They made no effort to lower their voices.
"Did you see her again yesterday?"
"Who?"
"Lady Armand."
I halted, though I had not truly intended to.
"In whose company this time?" the other enquired.
"Not one of our own," the first student replied with a low laugh. "A student of mathematics."
I knew they spoke of me even before they uttered my name.
"Mr Laurent."
There was something in the way they said it-neither with malice, nor with admiration. It was more akin to someone discovering something that felt... out of place.
I continued on my way without looking back.
Yet, from that moment on, I began to realise just how frequently we were observed.
When Élisabeth sat near me in the library. When we spoke in the corridor after a class. When we walked together through the academy gardens.
Those small, lingering glances began to appear everywhere. Some were merely curious. Others felt significantly sharper.
One afternoon, as I waited in the small garden near the astronomy building, Élisabeth arrived as she usually did.
However, this time, she was not alone.
A man walked beside her.
He wore a mantle far more costly than those of most other students, and the manner in which he walked betrayed the habit of someone who, since childhood, had never needed to doubt his station in the world.
As they drew near, Élisabeth quickened her pace slightly.
"Mr Laurent," she said with her familiar smile.
The man surveyed me from head to toe. "So, this is the one," he remarked
.
His tone was not coarse, yet it was clear he was appraising something.
Élisabeth gave a small sigh.
"Adrian, this is Lord Henri Beaumont."
She uttered my name without a title for the first time. I was not certain if it were intentional.
The man-Henri Beaumont-offered a slight nod.
"We have heard your name quite frequently of late."
I knew not if it were intended as a compliment. "Perhaps it is merely a coincidence."
Henri offered a thin smile. "I think not." He turned to Élisabeth. "Your family has been rather concerned of late."
Élisabeth looked at him with a gaze that had suddenly grown significantly colder. "Concerned about what?"
Henri did not answer immediately.
Instead, he looked at me again with an expression that was difficult to define.
"Lady Armand has always been one to draw a great deal of attention," he said softly.
"Yet of late, it seems she prefers attention that is... unusual."
A brief silence fell between us. I could sense the implication of his words without the need for further explanation.
Élisabeth finally spoke, her tone far more resolute than usual.
"I thank you for your concern, Lord Beaumont. However, I believe I am quite capable of choosing with whom I converse."
Henri gave a small shrug, as though the conversation were of little consequence to him. "Quite so."
He offered a brief bow before walking away, leaving us alone in the garden.
For several moments, we merely stood there without speaking. The autumn wind moved softly amongst the leaves that had begun to turn.
Finally, I said, "He is right."
Élisabeth turned to me. "Right about what?"
"That such attention... is unusual."
She gazed at me for several seconds. Then, she spoke in a much softer tone. "Does it trouble you?"
I did not answer immediately. For the true answer was far more complex than a simple yes or no.
Finally, I said, "I merely do not wish to be the reason people speak ill of you."
Élisabeth observed me for a long while. Then, she said something that left me momentarily speechless.
"Adrian."
It was the first time she had used my name with no formality whatsoever.
"People always speak."
She looked towards the empty garden path.
"If I were to cease doing anything every time someone else held an opinion on the matter, I should never accomplish a single thing."
I understood her meaning. Yet, for that very reason, my heart grew heavier.
For to Élisabeth Armand, the talk of others might be but a minor annoyance. But to me...
it was a constant reminder of something I could never truly ignore.
Of the distance that lay between us.
A distance not forged by sentiment.
But by the names we have carried since birth.