Arcane Heir: History's Strongest Mage

"So?" Michael said, one leg crossed over the other as he fixed his gaze on Melody, seated across from him. His voice was calm — almost too calm, given the circumstances.

For the past three years, he had been little more than a passive bystander, forced to move in lockstep with the Winterbornes' plans. At first, he had told himself it was a mutually beneficial arrangement, something he could justify as a fair trade.

But now, here at the academy — dropped into what felt like a political minefield—the balance seemed tipped entirely against him. The dangers outweighed any possible gain. And judging by Melody's guarded demeanor, she knew far more than she'd ever let on.

"Care to explain yourself? Why is it that nearly every teenager our age is vying for your hand?" Michael asked evenly. "Who is Magnus? And why did he call you 'cousin'? Is he tied to the royal family?"

Each question was deliberate, stripped of any wasted words, drilling straight to the point. Melody flinched at every one, her small frame seeming to shrink under the weight of his tone.

She looked almost fragile, like a small animal cornered by a predator.

But Michael didn't buy it—not anymore. If he hadn't spent three years as her butler, if he hadn't seen the real Melody beneath the cultivated charm, he might have fallen for the act.

"So many questions…" she murmured, clicking her tongue. Her sapphire eyes lifted to meet his, shimmering with that familiar spark of defiance.

"Yeah," Michael replied flatly, "and you're going to answer every one of them."

She let out a quiet harrumph and turned her head away. "This isn't an interrogation. You entered our contract knowing full well these were part of your duties. Just because it's difficult doesn't mean you can back out n—"

"Enough."

The single word, low and cutting, halted her mid-sentence.

Melody froze. In three years, he had never spoken to her like that.

Irritation simmered in Michael's chest. How long was he supposed to play the Winterbornes' pawn? He knew noble politics were a ruthless game of moving pieces, but some naïve part of him had hoped he meant more than that to her.

Hell, he had even grown to enjoy their banter—the back-and-forth that bridged the gap between noble and servant. He'd imagined they could carry that dynamic into the academy, maybe even strengthen it. But the moment they'd stepped through the gates, everything had shifted.

Here, his true purpose had been laid bare. Fiancé was nothing more than another title, another piece on the board. And by wearing it, he had stepped into a battlefield without armor, without allies, and without a clue. Who knew how many silent enemies he'd already made just by standing at her side?

"You owe me an explanation, Melody," he said, leaning forward slightly. "How can I be your shield when I don't even know what I'm shielding you from? Do you expect me to throw myself in harm's way every time someone approaches you, without question—like some mindless bodyguard?"

His voice sharpened. "I'm a person, not a pawn you and your family can move as you please."

The words hit her like a physical blow. Her earlier defiance crumbled, her head lowering once more. The pitiful expression returned—but this time, it felt different.

"You think I want to do this?" Melody's voice was soft, delicate—almost fragile.

The vulnerability caught Michael off guard, if only for a moment.

"What makes you think I'm any less of a pawn than you?" she continued, her fists curling tightly in her lap. She kept her gaze lowered, as though holding herself together by sheer will. "You don't know what it's like to be a noble…"

Michael didn't respond. Of course she was wrong, but this wasn't the time to reveal it. Still, he couldn't deny there was a kernel of truth in her words.

Back when he'd been a noble of the Aurelius household, he had been too insignificant to be anyone's political pawn. That came with its own share of hardships, but at least it meant he'd never been worth scheming over—never valuable enough to trade for alliances.

"So according to you, we're both pawns," Michael said evenly, letting any trace of sympathy drain from his tone. "But there's still one key difference between us, Melody—you at least know the game we're playing. I don't even know the rules."

He spread his arms wide, exasperation breaking through his calm. "I don't even know what's going on!"

The words came out raw, unfiltered. He needed to get through to her. Every moment left in the dark was like wading through quicksand—one wrong step and he could vanish beneath the surface.

"Even if you knew," Melody whispered, "you wouldn't be able to change anything."

Michael rose from his chair in a single motion, crossing the space between them. He took her hand—small and warm in his own—and she flinched at the sudden contact.

"If you're truly just another pawn, then we're not so different," he said quietly but firmly. "Which means we need to stick together. Have each other's backs. But that only works if we trust each other completely."

Their eyes met—her sapphire blue locked with his deep emerald green. Michael could feel the hesitation radiating from her, the unease in her posture. The playful, teasing mask she always wore had slipped away, revealing something more real.

"There hasn't been a day in the past three years we haven't been together, Melody," he pressed. "So tell me—do you trust me?"

"I…"

Her answer never came.

The door to their shared space burst open, making both of them jolt like guilty children caught in the act.

Rudy staggered into view, one hand clamped over his mouth, moving as though propelled by desperation alone. He nearly tripped over the armchair before vanishing into the bathroom. A second later, the sounds of violent retching filled the air.

Michael and Melody exchanged a single, mutual look of disgust.

When Rudy reemerged moments later, still half-asleep and wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he muttered, "Ate too much…" before retreating to his room and closing the door behind him.

"How about we pretend that never happened?" Michael suggested dryly, his gaze fixed on the door.

Melody nodded, a faint smile ghosting her lips. The interruption had shattered the moment, but oddly enough, she seemed more at ease now.

"I trust you, Michael," she said quietly. "And I'm sorry. I was told not to reveal anything until you passed the examination…"

That Lord Winterborne… he's as cunning as ever, Michael thought bitterly.

If he hadn't passed the exam, there would have been no point in telling him anything—no need for him to accompany Melody to the academy. Worse, he'd already been seen escorting her to the entrance, which meant the noble families had marked him. Trouble would follow him even if he tried to join another academy.

I've truly been a pawn this whole time, he thought grimly.

But even pawns could reach the other side of the board.

And when they did… they could promote.