Calista Shows-off

Delphia adjusted the collar of her dress as she stepped into the academy's grand hall, where the classes took place thrice a week for her. Today's topic: political diplomacy, an essential subject for high-ranking individuals to navigate the treacherous waters of aristocratic society.

She took her seat near the back, keen on maintaining her low profile, but her eyes never stopped scanning the room.

At the center of attention, as always, was Calista Faremont. Her sky-blue hair shimmered under the soft light filtering through the hall's grand windows, and her green eyes gleamed as she exchanged pleasantries with Alaric Aramore. Standing beside her, his blond hair immaculate, his blue eyes filled with an admiration he didn't bother to hide. As Delphia watched the two interact, it was obvious to anyone observing that Alaric's affection for Calista was growing stronger, though she sensed something almost strategic in the way Calista responded to him. It wasn't the wide-eyed innocence of the naïve heroine from the novel.

No, Calista was charming, yes—but there was calculation behind her smiles, behind the light touch of her hand on Alaric's arm.

As the class began, the instructor, an elderly nobleman known for his tact in courtly politics, introduced a scenario. "Imagine a foreign ambassador arrives at court, seeking an alliance. They offer rich resources but demand the support of a Noble House in return. How do you proceed?" There was a quick ripple of mummers through the students as some discussed in pairs any key points.

Alaric stood tall, his voice clear and confident as he addressed the gathered students, "In any situation where our resources are called upon, the Kingdom's priorities must always come first. Ensuring stability and maintaining the strength of our alliances is paramount. I would offer support, of course, but only when it aligns with the best interests of Pendravia."

There was a quiet murmur of approval from the others as Alaric continued, his tone smooth, as though the answer was rehearsed but polished through years of grooming. "Diplomacy requires balance, after all. We can't act impulsively—we must be measured and deliberate in all decisions, especially when it comes to matters of national importance." He glanced around the room, his blue eyes sweeping across the audience, as if daring anyone to challenge the Crown Prince's response.

But then, Calista spoke, her voice calm and measured.

"Rather than promise immediate support, I would seek to create a situation where the ambassador needs us more than we need them. Perhaps through a subtle show of our own wealth and power, I would ensure the negotiations remain in our favor without directly offering anything until their desperation becomes clear." The room fell quiet as the other Noble children processed her words. Even the instructor seemed taken aback by her response, nodding in approval.

Delphia narrowed her eyes slightly. This was not the response of a naïve girl thrust into Nobility. This was someone who understood the deeper game being played.

As the lesson continued, Delphia noticed how the other young nobles—Lucian included—began to look at Calista differently. Trenton Mooresbane, the heir of House Mooresbane and Sybil's own brother, leaned in to whisper something to a nearby Noble. Even Third Prince Lysander Aramore, who usually remained stoically detached from the affairs of others, appeared to take note of her subtle competence.

Sybil Mooresbane, however, was not impressed. Sitting across from Calista, her lips twisted in a barely concealed sneer. Delphia caught the venom in her gaze but said nothing. Sybil's attempts to undermine Calista were growing more desperate, but it was clear they were starting to backfire.

Sybil's own reputation was suffering as a result.

***

Two days later, Delphia found herself in the academy's grand lecture hall for a session on magical theory.

The room was bathed in soft winter light streaming through tall arched windows, illuminating rows of wooden desks arranged in tiered levels. Students murmured among themselves as the instructor—a tall, sharp-featured man with graying hair—prepared his notes at the front of the class. Today's focus was on noble bloodlines and the hereditary nature of magic—a topic both delicate and politically charged.

The atmosphere was thick with anticipation. Discussions of noble magic often carried undertones of pride, rivalry, and the subtle jostling for status. Delphia sat midway up the tiered seating, content to observe. Around her, the other students—heirs and scions of prominent families—settled into their seats with a mix of eagerness and wariness.

"Let us begin," the instructor announced, his voice firm and resonant. "As you are all aware, the strength of magic often correlates with the purity and history of one's bloodline. But does anyone care to elaborate on why this is the case?"

A hand shot up immediately. Calista Faremont, sitting at the front row with a perfectly poised demeanor, spoke with confidence when called upon. "Magic is a product of both inheritance and cultivation. Noble bloodlines with consistent magical aptitude ensure the stability of mana channels passed down through generations. This allows for greater refinement of power."

The instructor nodded approvingly. "An excellent observation, Lady Faremont. And how does House Faremont's earth magic benefit from such hereditary advantages?"

Calista didn't hesitate. "Our family's magic is inherently tied to the land. By focusing on nurturing the earth and its resources, our power grows stronger with each generation. However, it is not simply a matter of birthright—it requires careful cultivation and dedication." Her response drew murmurs of approval. Alaric, seated beside her, smiled faintly, clearly impressed. Lucian nodded along, his expression neutral but attentive. Trenton Mooresbane, seated a few rows back, leaned toward a classmate, whispering something that made the other boy smirk.

The instructor turned to the rest of the room. "And what of the limitations of hereditary magic? Can someone offer an example?" The question hung in the air for a moment before Delphia, reluctant but not content to let the silence linger, raised her hand. She caught the instructor's eye, and he gestured for her to speak.

"Noble bloodlines may strengthen magical potential, but they can also impose restrictions," Delphia said evenly. "For instance, elemental affinities are often locked within families, limiting the ability to adapt to external magical influences. While a fire-aligned bloodline like Royal House Aramore's might excel in combat magic, they may struggle with restoration spells or water-based manipulation."

A ripple of surprise passed through the room. Delphia's tone was measured, her explanation concise, and her peers exchanged glances, clearly caught off guard by her insight. The instructor arched a brow, impressed. "An astute point, Lady Vosswell. It seems you've been paying close attention."

Delphia gave a small nod, returning her focus to her notes as the instructor continued. The discussion grew livelier as more students chimed in, sharing examples from their own houses. Sybil Mooresbane, however, remained notably silent. Her expression grew darker as Calista continued to draw the spotlight, her answers flawless and her demeanor effortlessly charming.

The instructor eventually shifted to a practical demonstration, displaying an intricate diagram of mana flows on the board. "Now," he said, turning to the class, "let us discuss how these principles apply to the distribution of magical inheritance within families. Lady Mooresbane, perhaps you could offer an example?" Sybil's jaw tightened, but she stood, her voice steady as she gave a brief explanation of House Mooresbane's water magic. While her answer was correct, it lacked the polish and confidence that Calista consistently displayed.

The instructor nodded politely before moving on. "Lady Faremont, do you have anything to add?"

Calista rose gracefully, her green eyes alight with enthusiasm. "While House Mooresbane's water magic is undeniably formidable, it is worth noting how regional environments also play a role in magical inheritance. For example, proximity to fertile land enhances House Faremont's connection to earth magic, reinforcing our affinity across generations. This interplay between environment and lineage is crucial to understanding the nuances of magical strength."

The room hummed with approval. Alaric leaned slightly closer to Calista, his expression one of admiration. "You've certainly done your research," he remarked quietly.

"Only what is necessary," Calista replied, her voice soft but confident. "A deep understanding of magic is vital for effective leadership."

The pair's growing connection was palpable, and Delphia couldn't help but notice the way their interaction fueled the whispers around them. "They're practically a matched pair," one girl murmured to her friend. "A Crown Prince and a newly discovered noble heiress? It's like something out of a fairytale," the friend replied with a wistful sigh.

Meanwhile, Sybil's resentment was practically radiating off her. As the instructor wrapped up his lecture, she seized her moment. "I wonder, Lady Faremont," Sybil said, her voice cutting through the chatter, "how much of your power is truly inherent and how much is… borrowed from those around you?" Her words dripped with venom, a thinly veiled insult that questioned Calista's legitimacy as a noble.

The room fell silent, all eyes turning to Calista. But if Sybil expected her words to rattle the heiress, she was sorely mistaken. Calista turned to Sybil with a sweet, almost condescending smile. "Power, Lady Mooresbane, is only as strong as the foundation it rests upon. Fortunately, my foundation is quite solid." A ripple of quiet laughter spread through the hall, and Sybil's face darkened further. Her fists clenched at her sides, but she said nothing more.

Delphia watched the exchange with a detached curiosity. Calista's composure was unshakable, her charm and wit weaving an image that the nobility couldn't help but admire. Meanwhile, Sybil's desperation was becoming all too apparent, her attempts to undermine Calista backfiring spectacularly.

As the class ended and students began to file out, Delphia lingered for a moment, her thoughts racing. Calista's rise was no accident—it was a carefully orchestrated performance, and one that was proving dangerously effective. The narrative of The Rose of Avalon was slipping further and further from its original path, and Delphia could only wonder how much further it would deviate.

***

As the days slipped by in a flurry of lavish banquets, grand balls, and intimate gatherings, Delphia found herself drawn into the complex theater of high society out of noble obligation. Even if she wanted to, she couldn't avoid them—so she decided to show up, stay for a bit, then leave once everyone saw that she was in attendance.

Each event was a stage upon which the drama of nobility played out, and at the heart of it all were Calista and Alaric. At one particular soirée hosted by a minor noble house striving for greater recognition, Delphia lingered at the edges of the room, content to observe the swirling tide of conversations and shifting alliances. The air buzzed with whispers and laughter, the clinking of glasses punctuating the symphony of chatter.

Calista, as always, commanded attention. She stood near Alaric, her laughter light and musical, a stark contrast to the serious undertones of the prince's typically composed demeanor.

"Your Highness," Calista said, her tone playful but deferential, "you must tell us how you managed to outmaneuver Duke Mooresbane during the last council meeting. I hear even he was at a loss for words."

Alaric smirked, clearly pleased by the attention. "The Duke's opposition wasn't unexpected. One only needs to present the right incentives to ensure a cooperation they want."

"A masterstroke," Calista said in deep flattery, her green eyes sparkling with admiration. "Truly, the kingdom is fortunate to have such a capable heir."

Nearby nobles, drawn to the conversation like moths to a flame, murmured among themselves.

"Do you see how she flatters him so effortlessly?" One noblewoman whispered to her companion, her voice tinged with envy. "She's barely been in society for a month, and she already has the Crown Prince eating out of her hand."

"She's clever," another replied, watching Calista with a mix of awe and wariness. "Mark my words, she'll be the next Crown Princess if this keeps up."

Delphia took in the scene with quiet detachment, noting how Calista's every movement seemed designed to enhance the whispers swirling around her. The subtle glances she cast toward Alaric, the soft flush that graced her cheeks when he spoke—every detail added fuel to the fire of speculation. Not far from the lively group, Sybil stood at the fringes, her usual poise replaced by a brittle tension. Her gaze darted toward Calista and Alaric, her lips pressed into a thin line. Delphia didn't need to be close to hear the quiet snickers from the nobles nearby.

"Sybil's antics have grown tiresome," one lord muttered under his breath. "Did you see her attempt to outshine Lady Faremont at the last gathering? It was laughable."

"She's lost all sense of subtlety," another noblewoman added with a derisive chuckle. "Desperation doesn't suit her."

"I used to admire her wit," a third said, shaking her head. "Now she's little more than a cautionary tale."

Delphia watched as Sybil's fists clenched at her sides, her attempts to maintain her composure faltering under the weight of the whispered condemnations. The auburn-haired noblewoman's attempts to undermine Calista had backfired spectacularly, leaving her isolated and scorned. Despite herself, Delphia felt a pang of something akin to sympathy. Sybil's descent was as much a product of Calista's calculated rise as it was of her own missteps.

But this was the game of high society—only the clever and composed could survive its treacherous currents.

As the evening wore on, Delphia allowed herself to fade further into the background, her mind churning with observations. The narrative had deviated significantly from The Rose of Avalon, leading her to believe that book was written with an unreliable narrator, and the butterfly effects of her own choices were becoming increasingly apparent.

A pair of young nobles passed by, their voices low but audible. "It's strange, isn't it?" One said to the other. "Lady Vosswell seems so… different lately. I hardly recognize her."

"I heard she's been spending time studying," the other replied. "Perhaps she's finally decided to focus on her academic career. Though I wouldn't have expected her to keep such a low profile."

Delphia suppressed a wry smile at their remarks.

Let them speculate; She had no intention of stepping into the spotlight again. She would watch, learn, and plan from the shadows. Despite her best efforts to remain detached, she couldn't deny the allure of the unfolding drama; Each conversation, every glance and whispered remark, added a new thread to the intricate web of courtly politics. And whether she liked it or not, she was now a part of it.