The Villainess is the Villainess [LitRPG]

Book 2: Chapter 13 - The Grand Library [Part 1]

Books must be read as deliberately and reservedly as they were written.

- Henry David Thoreau.

"Rashana," the fair-haired girl greeted, her voice oozing with practiced poise.

"Seraphina," came the olive-skinned girl's cool but cordial reply.

The blonde girl noticed that unlike her and her fellow first-year students, Rashana's sash around her robes at her waist was red to their blue. It was also a minor point of annoyance that the Academy uniform suited Rashana's taller, more slender physique better than hers.

Though their encounter brimmed with polite undercurrents, Seraphina felt an instinctive twinge of annoyance. Rashana was only a few months older, and on top of this, she had enrolled at the Academy early, placing Seraphina in the awkward position of having to show double the deference as her junior. It was all part of Aranthian custom—unpleasant, but necessary. She needed Rashana's family, specifically their vast wealth, to fund her various projects, and so she donned her most agreeable smile.

Rashana, no doubt, would milk this situation for as long as she could. The original Seraphina's memories informed her that she could be very petty like that. It was an affectation, a mental condition, that she had observed many, many times in the very rich and privileged.

Just then, the round-cheeked Michelié barreled forward with an irrepressible grin. "Oh, come here, Rashana!" she squeaked, throwing her arms around the taller girl.

Off to the side stood Galio Gravens, stoic as a marble statue, his broad shoulders and sharp features exuding a watchful authority that belied his age. Miriam, Seraphina's maid, hovered at the edge of the group, her anxious expression a constant these days. Meanwhile, Hughes—thin, timid, and looking hopelessly smitten with Seraphina—looked on with wide eyes, as though he wanted to speak but couldn't quite manage. His fingers twitched, playing with his sleeves, and a faint pink flush colored his cheeks whenever his gaze flickered to Seraphina.

Seraphina smiled awkwardly at Michelié's welcoming hug before turning her attention back to Rashana. "The robes of the Academy suit you. I trust my letters found you well?" she asked, arching one pale eyebrow with pointed expectation.

"Oh, indeed," Rashana answered. "My father is quite pleased with the way things are developing. In fact, so much so that he's planning to open a new branch in Sariens."

Seraphina nodded politely, inwardly cursing that she had to flatter the older girl so early in the day. "That's wonderful news. Our families have always had good relations," she said with practiced graciousness. "Now, as I understand it, Rashana, darling, you'll be our guide around the grounds—"

"Always so hasty, Seraphina," Rashana teased, a wry twist of her lips betraying her amusement. "Isn't she, Michelié?"

"Oh yes, Sera," Michelié chimed in with a happy squeak. "You really do need to relax more! You will get lines around your beautiful face. I do say, you have changed a lot!"

Before Seraphina could protest, Hughes cleared his throat, managing to force out a tremulous introduction. "I–I'm Hughes," he said, bowing his head. "It's an honor to meet you, Miss…?" He trailed off uncertainly, darting an apologetic glance at Seraphina.

Rashana's eyes danced with mischief. "Seraphina, you never told me about your new beau," she purred, her tone wickedly amused. "Whatever will your fiancé, Velens, think? You've been quite the talk around the capital."

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She could almost feel the rest of the class pretending they could not hear a thing. With friends like these, who needed enemies? Seraphina kept her forced smile in place while willing herself to an impassive calm. Hughes, who had already been pink in the face, flushed a deeper shade of red, his shoulders hunching in mortified confusion.

Rashana then turned her gaze upon Gravens, letting her eyes roam over him with a boldness that made Seraphina's hackles rise. "And this… He is quite the specimen. Wherever did you find him?"

Hughes' face fell at her remark, and Miriam gave a derisive snort, apparently sympathizing with the boy's embarrassment.

"Oh!" Michelié exclaimed, ever eager to clarify. "Gravens is one of Seraphina's Knights. He's rather dashing, isn't he?"

The young de Sariens drew a measured breath, quelling the urge to grind her teeth. "Thank you, Michelié," she said calmly, each word clipped. She could already imagine the gossip swirling through the corridors by midday.

"Galio Gravens serves my father," she went on with cool composure. "We decided that my studies at Meridian Academy provided an excellent opportunity to broaden the horizons of our vassals, too—like, for instance, my maid, Milly." She gestured toward the still-watchful girl. "The world is changing, after all. It is no longer enough for a Knight to simply ride a horse and skewer someone with a lance. This is the age of the more refined gentleman, don't you agree, Miriam?"

"Of course, milady," Miriam echoed dutifully, hands clasped before her.

Rashana smiled pleasantly enough, looking almost amused. "You've always had a way with words, Seraphina," she observed softly. "Though I've heard rumors you might be pursuing the more physical arts instead of the needlepoint. Is that altogether wise?"

Seraphina gave a tight smile. "In this day and age, I believe a woman should know how to defend herself. Strength doesn't make you less of a woman any more than lacking skill with a sword makes a man less of a man. We can't always rely on the men in our lives to be our only shield and sword, isn't that so Elo..." She paused, remembering that Eloise was in another class. Strange how the absence of her usual companion affected her so.

Why on earth was Hughes looking so visibly happy? she thought to herself irritably.

"We all have our little interests, though, don't we? But my learning how to swing a sharp stick is but a passing fancy to my love of music," she went on, schooling her tone into something breezy yet with an edge of firmness. "It's a shame that I could not apply for a place at the Bardic college." She paused while those around dramatically drew in their breath in faux shock. "But it is in the best interest of decorum not to trumpet our extra-curricular activities too loudly in public."

Rashana de Lehman acknowledged the hint of threat with a slight incline of her head and a playful grin. "Fair enough. Perhaps we can chatter about such curiosities on the way. Come along, everyone." With that, she swept her arm out in an elegant gesture and set off, taking the lead.

As the group of five emerged into the corridor, Seraphina's annoyance spiked anew. Further down the hallway stood Eloise and Desdemona, and apparently assigned as their second-year guides was Velens. The two girls were practically fawning at him, and when the blonde prince caught sight of her, he flashed her a brilliant, self-satisfied smile that made Seraphina's temper flare. She pointedly refused to acknowledge him, turning her chin away in disdain.

If the boy wanted to play silly games, he would win silly prizes. If he won anything at all, that was.

She sighed inwardly, feeling tensions coil in her stomach like knots of rope. Could this day possibly get any worse? she fumed silently. Yet, despite mentally shuddering at the thought that she had to spend three years in this place, Seraphina forced herself to maintain the composure of a good and proper lady—a façade, much to her chagrin, she would have to uphold day in and day out for the foreseeable future.

And so they pressed onward into Meridian Academy's echoing halls, the awkward group of five trailing behind Rashana's confident stride, nattering among themselves about the inconsequential things in life. Hughes kept on trying to engage Seraphina in conversation, but she kept her responses polite and in a curt tone that invited no further inroads.

The soft patter of their footsteps echoing off the stone walls, Rashana led them down a wide, vaulted corridor. The dark-haired upperclassman guided them with confident grace, every tilt of her head radiating the smug satisfaction of someone accustomed to having eyes follow her.