Elaria's POV
I woke to the familiar sound of silence.
Not the comforting kind, the kind that hugs you when you are alone.
No. This silence was heavier. It carried expectation. It carried judgment. It carried the quiet weight of perfection.
I sat up slowly. My sheets were neatly tucked, my uniform folded on the chair. My hair fell perfectly over my shoulders, just as my mother liked it.
I glanced at the clock. 6:15 a.m.
Time to begin another day in Edelweiss.
I sighed, tugging my uniform over my head. Rank I pin on the collar, polished. Perfect. Shining. Just like the title whispered to everyone: The Queen.
I stared at myself in the mirror.
People would look at me today and see brilliance. They would see the ideal student. The girl who never falters. The girl who always wins.
But they wouldn't see me.
Downstairs, the maid set a tray with breakfast outside my door.
"Miss Montclair, your schedule is ready," she said, bowing slightly.
"Thank you," I murmured, taking the tray.
She smiled faintly, but I knew the weight behind her eyes. Everyone in this house, this school, carried weight. Some of it came from their own lives. Some of it came from me.
The courtyard outside was alive, in its own quiet way.
Students walked in lines, their steps soft, controlled. Conversations murmured but never too loud. Their eyes flicked toward me instinctively. Some with admiration. Some with fear.
I hated that look.
But I wore my mask anyway.
"Good morning, Lady Elaria!" one of the girls called, voice too bright.
I smiled faintly. "Good morning."
She bowed quickly and hurried past.
I walked slowly, taking in the courtyard. Mist hovered over the white flowers. Marble statues gleamed faintly in the sunlight. Edelweiss always looked like a dream. Or a painting.
But I didn't feel like I was in a painting. I felt like a prisoner in one.
Inside the main hall, my advisor approached. His smile was practiced, polite, but I knew better.
"Miss Montclair, your father arranged a meeting with the Headmaster this evening. Be on time."
I nodded. Of course he did. Everything here was arranged. My father arranged it. The administration enforced it. And I? I obeyed.
"Yes, sir."
He glanced at a list in his hands. "There's a new scholar arriving today. Be mindful, please. The administration values… diversity, even if not everyone fits our usual standards."
I blinked. The phrase lingered. Not everyone fits our usual standards.
I didn't know who it was. I didn't care yet.
But something inside me stirred. Curiosity. A warning.
Classes passed in their usual rhythm. I answered questions perfectly, walked through the halls gracefully, smiled when appropriate. All the while, my mind wandered.
Who is this new student?
I had seen them arrive, briefly, this morning. A boy. Plain uniform. Nervous. Clutching his bag like it might disappear if he let go.
I didn't approach him. Not yet.
Something about him… tugged at me. Strange. Unfamiliar.
I shook it off. Focus on yourself. That was my rule. Always.
Later, during lunch, I sat with my usual circle of friends — top-ranking students, all smiles and whispers.
"Did you see him?" one asked.
I raised an eyebrow. "Who?"
"The scholarship boy. The one they just admitted. #013, I think."
I nodded faintly. "I noticed him."
"Looks… ordinary," another said.
I frowned slightly. Ordinary? That word felt wrong.
"Yes," I said slowly. "Ordinary, for now."
No one asked why I said that. They never did.
The afternoon brought the usual exercises. Etiquette, strategy, academics, everything carefully measured. Everyone watched everyone else. The hierarchy was subtle, invisible to most. But I could feel it. Every glance, every step, every whispered word carried meaning.
And he — the boy — was in the lower ranks. Provisional. #013.
I didn't know why the number stuck in my mind. I didn't understand why I kept glancing at him when I thought no one would notice.
Curiosity is dangerous, I reminded myself.
Evening came. I retreated to my favorite balcony overlooking the western courtyard. From here, I could see the gates, the stone paths, the white flowers below, glowing faintly under the fading light.
And then I saw him again.
Standing by the fountain, alone. Holding his bag close. Looking around, uncertain, almost lost.
I felt a strange pull. Something familiar I couldn't place.
I turned away. Quickly.
A classmate called me. "Lari! Don't forget the council meeting!"
"Yes," I said, my voice clipped, hiding the thought lingering in my chest.
Before I left, a gust of wind blew a single white petal across the balcony. I caught it in my hand.
It was delicate. Perfect. But it felt… like a warning.
And somewhere deep inside, I knew.
He was not just another student.
He was different.
And I would see him again.