Forbidden Desires: Conquering Kingdoms And Women In a Fantasy World!

"Can we sit here?" I asked Neliel as we approached her table, gesturing to the empty chairs across from her.

Neliel raised her gaze from her plate slowly, her gold eyes taking in both Alicia and myself with what appeared to be mild resignation rather than any particular enthusiasm. The silence stretched for several heartbeats, during which I could practically feel Alicia's nervousness radiating off her in waves.

Finally, Neliel offered a small shrug of her shoulders. "Yeah, if you want." Her tone was neither welcoming nor dismissive—simply neutral, as if our presence was a matter of complete indifference to her.

"T…thank you," Alicia stammered as we settled into our seats across from her.

It was only after I'd made myself comfortable that I realized my oversight. "Oh, I forgot to get my meal," I said, running a hand through my hair in mild annoyance. The confrontation with Borin had driven all thoughts of food from my mind.

"I took a portion for you as well, Harold... if you want?" Alicia's voice was hesitant, almost apologetic, as she indicated her plate. Looking more closely, I could indeed see that she'd arranged enough food for two people, despite her own modest appetite.

Her thoughtfulness struck me once again. In the short time I'd known her, Alicia had consistently demonstrated a level of consideration and attention to detail that was remarkable for someone supposedly sheltered from the world. Perhaps there was more to her upbringing than I'd initially assumed.

"Thank you, Lady Alicia. As always, you are very kind," I said, selecting a piece of warm bread from the assortment she'd gathered. The bread was excellent—clearly the academy's reputation for fine cuisine was well-deserved. "By the way, this is Neliel," I added, gesturing toward our table companion.

"Neliel... it's an honor to meet you," Alicia said with genuine warmth, offering one of her rare, unguarded smiles. It was the kind of expression that could light up a room, though she seemed completely unaware of its effect.

Neliel's reaction was immediate and puzzling. "Honor? Do you know me?" Her tone carried a note of something—surprise? Suspicion? It was difficult to read her expression, but there was definitely more going on beneath the surface than her casual demeanor suggested.

Alicia shook her head quickly, clearly flustered by the question. "No, I... I was just being polite..."

"Then you'll regret it quickly," Neliel said flatly. "You'd better not hang around me." The words were delivered without malice, but with the kind of weary certainty that spoke of repeated disappointment.

Alicia's confusion was evident in her expression. "Why would you say that?"

"I'm curious about that myself," I interjected, genuinely intrigued by this unexpected glimpse into Neliel's circumstances.

Instead of answering, Neliel abruptly pushed back from the table and stood. Without another word or even a backward glance, she gathered her things and walked away, leaving Alicia staring after her in bewildered silence.

"Did I ask something wrong?" Alicia's voice was small, tinged with guilt that was entirely misplaced. Her face had fallen, and I could see her retreating into herself the way she did whenever she felt she'd made a social misstep.

It was becoming increasingly clear that Alicia's sheltered upbringing had left her woefully unprepared for the complexities of normal social interaction. She seemed to interpret every neutral or negative response as a personal failing, which would make her an easy target for the less scrupulous students at the academy.

"No, don't worry," I assured her. "She just didn't want to discuss it, so she chose to leave rather than say no directly. It's a way of saying 'don't pry into my life' without having to be explicitly rude."

"I see..." Alicia nodded slowly, though I could tell she was still processing the interaction. "Regardless, I shouldn't have asked such personal questions."

"Actually, she might tell you about it if you befriend her," I suggested, watching Alicia's reaction carefully.

"Befriend her?" The surprise in her voice was genuine. Clearly, the concept hadn't occurred to her.

"Why not? She doesn't seem like a bad person, and you appeared fairly comfortable talking with her, didn't you?" I'd noticed how Alicia's usual nervous tension had seemed to ease slightly in Neliel's presence, possibly because Neliel's reserved nature felt less threatening than the more aggressive sociability of other students.

There was something about Neliel's straightforward manner that seemed to put Alicia at ease. Perhaps it was because Neliel didn't appear to have any hidden agendas or social games—what you saw was apparently what you got, which would be refreshing for someone as anxious about social dynamics as Alicia clearly was.

"I... I don't know how to go about making friends," Alicia admitted, her cheeks coloring slightly with embarrassment.

She was very cute.

In my past life I had always been surrounded by women with ambition and status so I was a bit caught off guard by women truly innocent like Alicia. It made my wolfish instincts awaken dangerously.

"Well, how about you start by greeting her whenever you see her? That would be a good beginning," I suggested. It was basic advice, but sometimes the most fundamental approaches were the most effective.

The truth was, I had practical reasons for encouraging this potential friendship beyond mere kindness. I'd accepted the responsibility of looking after Alicia, but there would inevitably be times when I couldn't be with her—particularly during specialized magic classes. She had wind magic while I had water magic, which meant we'd be separated during those sessions. Having other friends she could rely on would make my job considerably easier and, more importantly, would help ensure her safety and well-being when I wasn't around.

I should also speak with Rumia about befriending Alicia. I forgot to ask her earlier.

"Okay..." Alicia nodded with the kind of serious determination that suggested she was committing to a major undertaking rather than simply greeting a classmate.

As I watched her process this advice, my mind was already turning to other matters. The incident with Borin Ironroot had reminded me of something crucial: in an environment like this, information was power. Knowledge about the other students—their backgrounds, their capabilities, their weaknesses, their connections—could mean the difference between success and catastrophic failure.

Information had been the cornerstone of my success in my previous life. It was how I'd managed to claw my way up from being an abandoned orphan on the streets to becoming a multi-billionaire business magnate. Every deal, every investment, every strategic decision had been based on having better information than my competitors. The same principles would apply here, just in a different context.

The challenge, of course, was that detailed information about the academy's students wouldn't be easy to obtain. Such sensitive data would likely be restricted to the headmaster and senior faculty members. Any attempt to access it through conventional channels would be futile, and getting caught trying to steal it would result in immediate expulsion.

That left me with one viable option: I needed to bring a teacher onto my side. Someone with legitimate access to student records who could be persuaded—or coerced—into sharing that information with me.

The question was which teacher would be the most suitable target.

My homeroom teacher, Professor Kristina Bluenote, was the obvious choice. She was undeniably beautiful, with the kind of elegant sophistication that would make any man take notice. Under different circumstances, I wouldn't mind having her under my influence in more ways than one. However, my experience with reading people told me that she would be an extremely difficult target.

Kristina Bluenote had the bearing of someone who'd survived and thrived in academic politics for years. She was intelligent, cautious, and almost certainly had extensive experience dealing with manipulative men. Trying to compromise her would be like a novice swordsman challenging a master—theoretically possible, but practically suicidal without extensive preparation and the right leverage.

I needed to find a different target. Someone with access to the information I needed but with weaker defenses. Someone who could be approached, influenced, or compromised without triggering the kind of institutional response that would end my academic career before it truly began.

"Wait for me here, Alicia," I said, pushing back from the table with casual nonchalance. "I'm just going to take a look at the other food options."

"Oh, okay," Alicia nodded. She seemed relieved to have a moment to process everything that had happened, and I suspected she could use the time to collect herself.

I made my way through the dining hall with apparent aimlessness, but my eyes were sharp and focused. I'd noticed several faculty members heading toward what appeared to be a separate dining area reserved for staff. If I could locate the teachers' dining hall and observe who came and went, I might be able to identify potential targets for my information-gathering operation.

"Oh... found it," I murmured to myself with satisfaction.

As an elegant middle-aged woman pushed through the heavy oak doors, I caught a tantalizing glimpse of the faculty dining area. It was clearly designed to reinforce the hierarchy that placed teachers firmly above their students in both status and comfort.

The water fountain near it provided the perfect cover for my reconnaissance. I approached it casually, filling a glass while positioning myself to maximize my view of the faculty entrance. The sound of conversations drifted from within—muffled but potentially valuable if I could get closer.

Closing my eyes, I focused on my Sound Magic abilities, trying to filter and amplify the voices from within the faculty dining room. The skill required concentration and proximity, neither of which I had in abundance at the moment. The conversations remained frustratingly indistinct, fragments of words about lesson plans, student evaluations, and administrative matters.

I needed to get closer.

Taking a calculated risk, I moved several steps toward the entrance, still maintaining the pretense of seeking refreshment. My attention was so focused on the magical surveillance that I failed to notice the figure emerging from the side until it was too late.

The collision was inevitable.

"Haa!" Came a startled feminine exclamation as I bumped directly into someone, my glass of water flying from my hand to splash across white fabric.

I found myself face to face with a beautiful woman. She was clearly faculty, judging by her professional attire—a crisp white blouse tucked into a matching white skirt that emphasized her graceful figure. Her blonde hair was arranged in an intricate side braid that complemented her intelligent green eyes, which were framed by delicate wire-rimmed glasses that gave her an air of scholarly authority.

The water I'd been carrying had soaked into her skirt, creating an embarrassing stain across the pristine white fabric.

"I'm sorry, Professor," I said immediatel. The last thing I needed was to antagonize a faculty member, especially when I was already engaged in questionable reconnaissance activities.

Before the woman could respond, a thunderous voice boomed from behind her.

"You! How dare you! Don't you know how to look where you're walking? How did someone like you even get into this prestigious academy!"

The source of this verbal assault was a mountain of a man who looked more like a professional strongman than an academic. He was tall and imposing with the kind of muscular bulk that suggested he spent more time lifting weights than grading papers. His face was flushed with outrage, and his eyes glared at me with genuine venom.

"Please don't yell at this poor student, Professor Brendan," the blonde woman interjected. She stepped slightly between us, creating a buffer that immediately defused some of the tension.

The transformation in the large man was remarkable and immediate. "B…but Professor Elara," he stammered, his aggressive demeanor melting away like ice in summer sun, "we have to be strict with students, otherwise they'll never learn proper respect in this academy."

His entire body language shifted from threatening to almost pleading, and I realized I was witnessing something fascinating. This mountain of a man was clearly in love with Professor Elara, and her disapproval had completely undermined his authority.

"Being strict doesn't require yelling, does it?" Professor Elara asked, offering a gentle smile that could have melted steel. The expression was radiant, transforming her already attractive features into something approaching ethereal beauty.

I found myself momentarily stunned by that smile, and I could see that Professor Brendan was experiencing the same reaction. For a moment, the large man simply stood there, frozen in admiration, his mouth slightly agape.

She was genuinely beautiful when she smiled like that, with a warmth that seemed to emanate from within rather than being merely superficial.

When she turned that same gentle expression toward me, I felt a different kind of calculation begin in my mind.

"What's your name, student?" She asked gently.

"Harold. I'm a first-year," I replied, matching her polite demeanor.

"Harold." She tested the name, nodding slightly. "I apologize—it was partially my fault for not noticing you there. But please be more careful next time, alright?"

"I will," I assured her with a smile.

Now this woman had truly caught my interest. Her handling of the situation revealed several important characteristics: she was diplomatic, kind-hearted enough to defend a student, and clearly wielded significant influence over her colleagues—at least over Professor Brendan.

Before she could leave, I decided to press my luck. "Are you a teacher as well, Professor Elara?"

The question earned me another venomous glare from Professor Brendan, who was clearly unhappy with my continued interaction with the object of his affections. I pointedly ignored his hostility, keeping my attention focused on Professor Elara.

"Indeed I am," she replied with a soft giggle. "I teach Herbology, which means I'll be your instructor as well, Harold."

Herbology.

That was promising…

"Then I'll look forward to your classes," I said hiding my smirk.

Professor Elara smiled again—that same radiant expression that seemed to light up the corridor—before taking her leave. Professor Brendan followed closely behind her like an oversized, lovesick puppy, still shooting occasional glares in my direction.

As I watched them disappear around the corner, my sharp eyes and years of experience reading people told me everything I needed and without having to overheard on the other teachers.

My target was Brendan.

I didn't miss the predatory undertone I'd detected in how he looked at her when he thought no one was watching.

The man was a scumbag hiding behind a facade of academic authority.

But that assessment only made my growing interest in Professor Elara more intriguing. She was beautiful, intelligent, kind-hearted, and would soon be my instructor in a subject that would provide regular opportunities for interaction.

I mean who hadn't once wanted to bed his Herbology teacher?

"I might be able to kill two birds with one stone," I murmured to myself as a plan began to form in my mind.