My Ruin to You - Chapter 14

Valen placed her hand on his thigh, kneading it greedily, and answered nonchalantly.

“How should I know? But your lips are still a bit swollen. Does it hurt?”

Flustered, Roseline prodded at her lips, asking just how swollen they were. He laughed, satisfied, then added that it wasn’t bad enough to warrant using magic.

Whether Roseline liked it or not, they sat close like affectionate lovers, whispering nonsense until the Academy came into view.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

She had planned to get off earlier, somewhere nearby—since stepping out of the same carriage as Valen would only invite sharp stares. But she’d gotten swept up in his presence, his constant closeness reminding her of last night, and now here they were.

“Looks like today’s going to be another damn unlucky day.”

Roseline muttered to herself as she stepped out of the carriage. Thankfully, the universe hadn’t decided to completely screw her over—the horrific scene she’d expected didn’t unfold. There was no grand welcoming party for the Grand Duke, no swarm of faculty and students crowding the gates. In fact, the campus was eerily empty. Not a single soul in sight.

Weird.

Last time Valen had visited officially, it had been like greeting an emperor—banners, fanfare, the whole Academy practically tripping over themselves to welcome him. Compared to that spectacle, today’s deserted grounds were an extreme contrast.

“What’s wrong?”

Valen’s voice cut through her thoughts. The question was vague—was he asking why she kept looking around, or why she was walking half a step behind him? Roseline shook her head. “Nothing.”

He extended his arm, as if expecting her to loop hers through it.

“I’m cold.”

The autumn breeze was crisp, but it wasn’t cold. Even she knew it was a flimsy excuse. The corner of his mouth curved in amusement. Roseline huffed and eyed him.

“You wouldn’t be cold if you wore your jacket properly.”

His navy-blue jacket was draped over his shoulders like a cape—a common enough style among noblemen, but the gold buttons and embroidered embellishments lent it an undeniable authority. Or maybe it was just the sharpness of his features that made even a ridiculous excuse sound deliberate.

“Should I just throw it away, then?”

He tilted his head, gesturing to his arm again. As if he’d actually discard a perfectly good jacket just because she wouldn’t take his arm. Still, Roseline gave in, gingerly slipping her hand into=the crook of his elbow—just enough to maintain the illusion that she could pull away at any moment.

Valen glanced down at her barely-there grip, then, in one swift motion, laced his fingers through hers. When she shot him a glare, he smirked.

“My hands are cold.”

Roseline said nothing. His grip was warm, but the autumn wind still bit at her skin.

“May the Light of Glory be with you. We are honored by your presence, Your Grace, Grand Duke of Haudemer.”

It wasn’t until they entered the main hall that the atmosphere shifted. The Academy Head and faculty stood with their backs bent like shrimp, and behind them, the lobby was unnaturally staged. Students lingered at a distance, pretending not to stare—but their stiff postures gave them away. It was clear now, the lack of fanfare was by Valen’s order.

And it didn’t take long for another realization to settle in.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Roseline, who had been inching away under the excuse of preparing for class, froze when Valen caught her wrist. The Academy Head smiled benevolently, as if he’d been waiting for this moment.

“It would be best if Miss Celodienne attended as well.”

“This meant that the reason Valen had been summoned today was closely tied to Roseline.”

“Do as you wish. If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to.”

He whispered, placing the choice in her hands. His fingers, brushing back a stray lock of her hair, were almost tender. If he was going to be like this, why stop her in the first place? It would’ve been easier if she hadn’t known—but now that she did, she couldn’t just walk away. The conversation would inevitably revolve around that incident, and Valen’s reaction was painfully predictable.

This was the man who, when asked if he could burn down the Academy, had responded with encouragement. There was no chance he’d stay uninvolved—and that was the last thing Roseline wanted.

“I’ll go. But if this is about Vermouth’s second son, then he should attend too. That would be fair.”

She didn’t actually care about fairness. That potato-faced bastard’s presence wouldn’t change anything. But skipping class alone would only invite accusations of favoritism—better to cut off unnecessary arguments before they started.

The Academy Head’s gaze flicked to Valen. After a brief glance at Roseline, Valen gave a slight nod, and the Head’s permission followed.

Who’s even the Academy Head here?

As she burned the image of living authority into her mind, another thought crossed hers—Had Valen truly not known the purpose of this meeting?

The answer was already leaning.