Chapter 159: What’s Happening to Me? [10]
Alaric moved to the other chair and sat down. "So why tell me this?"
"Because our engagement puts you in the middle of it whether you want to be or not." Verelia leaned forward slightly. "If my father goes down... I want to take over his position as the new Duchess."
Alaric raised a brow.
Verelia continued. "I have two older brothers. But both are incompetent. One spends his time gambling, the other is more interested in hunting parties than governance." Her voice was cold, matter-of-fact. "If my father falls, they’ll fight over the title like dogs over scraps. The eastern territories will destabilize. Lords will pick sides. Trade will suffer."
"And you think you’d be better."
"I know I would be." She said without any hesitation.
"I’ve been managing the duchy’s affairs for years."
Alaric leaned back, crossed one leg over the other. "What do you want from me?"
"Your support when the time comes. Publicly backing my claim."
"And why," he said slowly, "do you think I’d agree to that?"
Verelia’s fingers tapped once against her knee. "Because as my husband, you’d become Duke Consort. We’ll both have authority over the eastern territories."
Alaric almost laughed. "My house is a baronial house. We don’t have much political influence for a ducal succession."
"Your house alone, no. But—"
"But nothing." Alaric cut her off. "You’re asking for something I can’t do. And even if I could, why would I? What’s actually in it for me beyond a fancy title?"
Verelia’s face remained carefully neutral. "Power. Resources. Military strength—"
"That I’d have to share with you. And constantly defend from your brothers, the other eastern lords, and whoever else decides they deserve the duchy more." He shook his head. "That’s not power. That’s a target painted on my back."
"So you’d rather stay a baron’s heir?"
"What makes you think I care about titles?" Alaric tilted his head.
Verelia’s expression shifted to something like exasperation. "Most men care about—"
"I’m not most men."
Her jaw twitched. She took a breath, "Then what will make you agree to this?"
Alaric leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing. "Why are you so fixated on me specifically? There are others too, you know."
"Because you’re my fiancé."
Alaric raised a brow but said nothing.
The silence stretched between them. Verelia’s fingers drummed against her leg once, twice.
Then she sighed.
"Because you’re different from the others," she said finally. "You don’t care about me. Don’t try to impress me. Don’t even pretend to play the part of an eager fiancé."
She gestured vaguely towards him. "Most men in your position would be courting me right now. Trying to exploit their soon-to-be husband rights. Using the engagement as leverage for favors. And you’ve done none of that. You barely acknowledge the engagement exists."
Alaric’s lips curved into a slight smile. "So what does you have to offer this good fiancée of you yours then?"
Verelia’s eyes narrowed at his tone, but she didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she shook her head and sighed. "Fine."
She stood up and moved to the window, then turned back to face him.
"You can use my father’s name. As a privilege of being the Duke’s son-in-law."
Alaric nodded slowly, leaning back in his chair. "Hmm. That’s reasonable." He tilted his head. "What else?"
Verelia stared at him. He just smiled back.
Her eyes narrowed further. "You’re just playing with me."
He shook his head. "No."
The air in the room grew cold. Two icicle spears materialized in the air beside Verelia’s head, sharp and gleaming and shot forward, faster than Alaric could track.
Drewing two lines across his cheek. Warm blood trickled down his face.
He blinked.
Huh?
His hand came up automatically, fingers touching the shallow cuts. Blood smeared across his fingertips. His eyes snapped to her. She stood by the window, expression completely calm, one hand still raised slightly.
How strong is she?
System, scan her.
Then the cyan window popped up.
[ERROR: Target rank exceeds user capability]
[Scanner function unavailable for this target]
Aalric’s eyes widened.
What the fuck?
How high was her rank? B? A?
He was C-rank. She shouldn’t be that far above him. Not at her age—
"Stop daydreaming."
Verelia’s voice cut through his thoughts. She lowered her hand, the frost on the window already beginning to melt.
"I’m serious," she continued, her tone flat. "This isn’t some negotiation where you get to sit there and asking for more like I’m a merchant haggling over fruit prices."
Alaric touched his cheek again and wiped the blood away.
Then composed himself, forcing his expression back to neutral.
"Why do you want your father to fall so badly?"
Verelia’s expression went deadpan.
"I don’t want him to fall. I’m being practical. Thinking about all the possibilities." Her voice carried an edge now. "If he’s arrested, if he’s executed, if he’s simply removed from power, I need to be ready. My brothers won’t be. They’ll tear the duchy apart fighting over scraps while everything our family built collapses."
She paused and for a second. "And it doesn’t concern you what I think or don’t think about my father."
Alaric nodded slowly. Fair enough.
He opened his mouth to respond—
"One more thing," Verelia said, cutting him off before he could speak. "I’m running for Student Council President."
Alaric paused. "What?"
"The elections will happen after the first evaluation tests next month." She watched his reaction carefully. "And you’re going to support me."
It wasn’t a question. Wasn’t even really a request.
"I don’t give a shit about student politics."
"It shouldn’t be hard to stand next to me and nod when required." Her ice-blue eyes were cold, calculating. "Show up to a few events. Be seen supporting your fiancée. That’s all."
Alaric stood. "And if I refuse?"
"Then our deal’s off. No using the Duke’s name. No political alliance. And I’ll make sure everyone in this academy knows you’re an unreliable partner who can’t even be bothered to support his own fiancée in a simple student election."
The threat was clear. She’d damage his reputation before it even had a chance to build.
Smart. Ruthless.
He like that, even if it annoyed him.
He wiped the last of the blood from his face with his sleeve and asked, "Anything else you want to add to this deal?" His tone was dry. "Maybe I should carry your books between classes? Polish your shoes?"
"Don’t be petty. It’s beneath you."
"Apparently attacking your fiancé with ice spears isn’t beneath you."
"You were being insufferable." She glanced at him. "Consider it a reminder that I’m not some helpless noblewoman you can manipulate."
Alaric stood and stretched his arms over his head, feeling his shoulders pop. "Fine. I’ll show up. Play the supportive fiancé or whatever." He rolled his neck. "But that’s it. Don’t expect speeches or grand gestures."
"I don’t." Verelia’s voice was matter-of-fact.
He moved toward the door, hand reaching for the handle and paused as he heard her call from behind.
"Once I have enough influence and the means I need for succession, you can break the engagement if you want."
He blinked and turned his head to look at her.
Verelia was still by the window, her expression unreadable in the fading light. "I know you don’t love me. I know you have nothing to gain from actually marrying me in long-term." She crossed her arms. "So once I’m secure—once I have the political backing and resources to stand on my own—you can end it."
Alaric turned fully to face her now. "Why?"
"Because I’m not interested in trapping someone in a marriage neither of us wants." Her tone stayed level, practical. "I need you now. For appearances, for political leverage, for the duke consort position if my father falls. But after that?" She shrugged. "I don’t need a husband who resents being tied to me.
She met his eyes. "Even if we stay married, I’ll hold the power. Run the duchy. You can do whatever the hell you want outside of that... pursue your own goals, disappear for months if you feel like it. I don’t care."
Alaric studied her face. She meant it. Actually meant it.
"And if I break it off?"
"Then we remain allies." Verelia’s expression was completely serious now. "I’ll still back you when you need it. Just without the formal tie."
"That’s..." Alaric trailed off, trying to find the right word. "Unusually reasonable."
"It’s practical." She corrected. "I don’t gain anything from forcing you to stay in a marriage you hate. Better to give you an out and keep you as a useful ally than trap you and make an enemy."
Silence settled between them.
Alaric turned the offer over in his mind.
She got what she needed now, the appearance of stability, the political leverage of an engaged couple, someone competent at her side. And later, when she was secure, she’d either have a cooperative husband or a freed ally.
Win-win for her, really.
And for him... it was freedom. The engagement wouldn’t be a permanent chain around his neck. Just a temporary inconvenience with an expiration date.
"Alright," he said finally.
"Deal."
They stared at each other for a moment.
Alaric almost laughed. This was possibly the most honest conversation he’d had about marriage in either of his lives.
"You’re a strange woman, Verelia."
"And you’re an infuriating man, Alaric." She moved back to the window. "Now get out. I have actual studying to do."
He pulled the door open. Paused. "For what it’s worth... that’s not a terrible offer."
"I know."
And he left.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Verelia stood alone in the study, staring out at the darkening grounds. A small smile played at her lips.
She’d gambled. Offered him freedom instead of chains. And he’d taken it.
Most men would’ve been insulted. Would’ve demanded a "proper" marriage with control and authority and all the trappings of traditional nobility.
But Alaric wasn’t most men.
And that was exactly why she’d chosen him.