Adolfo strode through the academy corridor, his dark coat flowing behind him, his expression as unreadable as ever. Beside him walked Roiselin, his ever-loyal yet insufferably perceptive attendant.
"You seem livelier these days, my lord," Roiselin mused, a knowing smirk on his face. "Could it be because a certain lady has arrived in Athens?"
Adolfo shot him a sharp look. "Keep talking, and I'll send you to Albania to assist Devrien. I hear he could use an extra pair of hands in the magic tower."
Roiselin feigned a gasp. "So cruel, my lord. But I'd rather stay and witness the great Count Adolfo, the terror of the academy's alchemical circles, act out of character over a mere lady."
Adolfo sighed but said nothing, though Roiselin, ever bold, continued whispering his teases under his breath.