The imperial dining hall was a grand chamber of golden chandeliers, polished marble floors, and towering windows that bathed the long dining table in a soft morning glow. The room’s regal beauty, however, was no match for the cold tension simmering beneath the surface of the conversation.

  Ravenna casually lifted a teacup to her lips, her expression unreadable as she prepared for the inevitable verbal sparring that came with every family meal.

  Predictably, it was William who struck first. With a mocking smirk, her older brother sliced a piece of steak with his knife, then spoke, his voice dripping with feigned curiosity.

  “So, sister, how is life scraping fish or whatever it is you do in the barren, sun-scorched wasteland of Jola?”

  others watched with thinly veiled interest. Ravenna didn’t so much as blink. Instead, she gently set down her tea and leaned back in her chair, her lips curling into a mocking smile.

  “Ah, quite quaint, actually, thanks to the blessed absence of a certain barking weasel.” Ravenna replied.

  William’s smirk faltered for half a second before he let out a soft chuckle, clearly entertained by her sharp retort. He tilted his head slightly, his fork still in hand.

  “Is that so? I certainly hope that weasel’s generous donation of thirty mana coins was put to good use. After all, I recall the great Raven coming to beg for it.”

  The veiled insult was clear—he was reminding everyone at the table of the time Ravenna had sought financial aid before leaving for Jola.

  But Ravenna? She remained unbothered.

  Calmly lifting her teacup once more, she took a slow sip, savoring the moment before responding.

  “Hmmm… That’s strange. I remember it quite differently, dear brother. Wasn’t the weasel the one who so graciously donated those mere thirty mana coins? In the name of Solious?”

  William narrowed his eyes slightly, as a new conversation was unfolding further down the table.

  Marie sat quietly, absorbing the charged atmosphere around her. She was seated further down, away from the direct verbal crossfire of the imperial contenders, but she was still watching, learning.

  Beside her sat Gracie Solarius, daughter of Prince Landon Solarius.

  Unlike the adults, whose positions at the table were dictated by rank, the younger members were seated by age, to ensure they weren’t drawn too deeply into the storm of courtly politics.

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  Still, that didn’t mean they weren’t paying attention.

  Gracie turned to Marie and studied her with open curiosity before finally speaking.

  “So, you’re Aunt Ravenna’s disciple?” she asked, taking a bite of her toasted bread.

  Marie straightened slightly, remembering her etiquette lessons, and replied with a polite nod.

  “Yes, Your Highness Gracie.”

  She didn’t elaborate. She simply continued eating, maintaining her composed demeanor.

  But just as she thought the questioning would end there, another voice joined in.

  Sitting next to Gracie was her younger brother, Benric Solarius. He, too, was observing Marie with keen interest.

  “So, what does Aunt Ravenna have you studying?” he asked, swirling his spoon through his porridge. “I imagine she’s not easily satisfied with anything below average... She has quite the temper, to say the least.”

  There was an undeniable wariness in his tone, one Marie recognized immediately.

  Gracie and Benric weren’t just asking questions out of idle curiosity. They were assessing her.

  After all, Ravenna’s name carried weight. She was known as the "Unruly Princess," a ruthless, cunning figure in the imperial court—someone not to be crossed lightly.

  And now, Marie was her disciple.

  What kind of person would the Unruly Princess choose to mentor?

  Taking a careful breath, Marie placed her utensils down before responding.

  “I study a range of subjects, Your Highness Benric,” she began evenly, “Mathematics, Imperial History, Etiquette, Theology, Administration, and… some combat training.”

  Her answer was not too revealing, yet enough to satisfy polite conversation.

  Benric raised an eyebrow. “Combat training? Of what kind?”

  At the same time, Gracie tilted her head slightly, her curiosity sharpening.

  “And why etiquette lessons? At our age, those are usually long mastered, aren’t they?”

  Marie felt her heart skip slightly, but she didn’t let it show. She was keenly aware of the trap hidden within Gracie’s words.

  A normal noble-born girl would already be fluent in etiquette by now, yet Marie was still studying it daily since she was not a noble but a slave.

  Marie’s mind worked quickly, finding the best way to deflect without raising suspicion of her non-noble origins.

  Finally, she gave a small, plain smile and replied,

  “Ah… I’m afraid I’m a bit unruly, as they say.” She glanced briefly toward Ravenna. “Just like Master.”

  Gracie and Benric exchanged a look at her carefully chosen words.

  It was a clever answer. Instead of making an excuse, Marie had embraced her master’s unruly nature—turning it into her own shield.

  Benric let out a soft chuckle. Gracie, while still skeptical, seemed satisfied enough for now.

  Still, Benric wasn’t quite done.

  “And the combat training?” he pressed.

  Marie took a small sip of her tea, allowing herself a brief moment to compose her next words.

  “I’ve only just begun,” she admitted, “but I’ve been training in long-range weapons—bows and crossbows, to be specific, Your Highness Benric.”

  She set her cup down gently and exhaled slightly. That was enough information.

  Not too much, not too little. A perfectly polished answer.

  Benric hummed thoughtfully. Finally, Gracie spoke once more. “Interesting.”

  She then took another bite of her bread, her expression unreadable.

  But Marie could tell—she had passed their little test.

  As the verbal duels between the adults continued at one end of the table, the subtle battle of perception among the younger members had quietly reached its conclusion.

  Marie, though still new to this world of political games and imperial mind play, had successfully navigated her first challenge.

  She glanced briefly at Ravenna. Her master was still engaged in a war of words with William, effortlessly parrying insults with wit and poise. Marie felt a small sense of admiration.

  "One day," she thought, "I’ll have to be just as sharp."