Chapter 2
Ayla took a sip of lemonade and entered the building with Damian. The cooling magic hadn’t been activated yet inside the Caelum building, so the windows were open.
“Ayla. Where do you want to sit?”
A whisper rode in on the breeze. Ayla flinched and stopped walking. The tickling breath heated her ear.
“Ayla?”
She felt Damian’s puzzled gaze. To cool the strange heat swirling inside her, Ayla chugged her lemonade. The sudden coldness gave her brain freeze, but she didn’t care much.
“Why are you acting weird all of a sudden?”
“…It’s just a little hot.”
Damian’s gaze remained suspicious. Hot? In this breeze? But before he could say anything, Ayla was already walking briskly ahead. He looked down at his now heavy right hand. Only ice remained in the cup she had handed him. A clear message: You throw away the trash.
Without a word, Damian made the cup vanish with a flick of his hand, then followed after her.
The quiet reading room had plenty of empty seats, unlike exam periods. Ayla chose a seat by the window where the breeze flowed in. Damian sat across from her. Just the two of them at the wide table.
Ayla placed the book she brought on the desk. It was the Classical Literature History book where she’d gotten three questions wrong on the midterms. She held out her hand to Damian. He looked at her, confused. Then, as if he had a sudden realization, he snapped his fingers. A cup of lemonade appeared in her hand.
Ayla gave him a frosty glare and whispered:
“…What are you doing?”
“Huh? Didn’t you want that?”
“Your notebook.”
“Oh. I didn’t bring it.”
“……”
Ayla seriously considered dumping the lemonade on Damian’s head. But thinking about the years they’d known each other, she held back. Still, the boiling irritation couldn’t be helped. She chugged the lemonade again. Once the empty cup was carefully set down, she asked,
“Then why did you come here?”
“Because you won’t hang out with me.”
“……”
How on earth is this guy always top of the class? And here I am, studying like crazy, stuck as second. Unbelievable. So annoying.
“Then get lost.”
“You’re so mean.”
Damian’s eyes drooped like a puppy in the rain. Anyone else might have felt sorry, but Ayla, who had known him for ten years, was unfazed. She remained firm. Without his notes, Damian was useless.
She turned her focus to her book. The questions she’d gotten wrong started surfacing in her mind one by one. The model student Ayla quickly forgot Damian and immersed herself in studying. Damian rested his chin in his hand and silently watched her.
Her honey-colored hair, glistening in the sunlight, fluttered in the breeze through the window. Damian clenched his hand, as if stopping himself from reaching out. Ayla. Her name sounded like music. He mouthed it quietly.
Ayla. Ayla. My childhood friend. My…
How much longer until she can finally call his name in that way? How much more patience must he have in this dragging situation?
Ayla. You’ll never know how much I regret the things I did when we were young.
How much time had passed? When the wind turned slightly cooler, Ayla lifted her head from the book. Her neck and shoulders were stiff. Her eyes felt dry. She closed them and rolled her shoulders to relax the tension. Massaging her stiff neck seemed to help, and when she opened her eyes, she was met with dazzling white light. She was momentarily captivated. Her hand reached out involuntarily—but she quickly pulled it back.
Damian was fast asleep, head on the desk. There wasn’t a single book near him, clearly showing he never intended to study.
Ayla let out a breathy laugh. If he was going to do this, he could’ve just played alone or invited someone else. Why drag her along?
Damian always had people around him. As the crown prince of this country, people flocked to him even without him trying. Ayla was the only one he approached first. Maybe because they were childhood friends or something like that.
But honestly, she didn’t really want to call him a friend. He was just an annoying guy now. If she had to define their relationship, it’d be something like enemies-who-are-friends. ‘Bad friend’ sounded about right.
Friend. That word. Ayla wondered. Even though she ignored him and treated him roughly, the crown prince still dared to consider her a friend. Should she be grateful? For this so-called friendship without formality?
How long could they keep this up?
Next year was their final year at the academy. After that, graduation. If she maintained her grades, she’d graduate as second in class and get special employment as a royal government official. She’d become a low-ranking civil servant and would no longer see Damian as often as she did now. How often does a lowly official meet the crown prince?
As their lives diverged, the chances to ask how the other was doing would dwindle. Especially once Damian got married. No wife would like her husband having a female friend of over ten years hanging around.
The spiraling thoughts made Ayla’s chest sting.
“…You’re such a mess, Ayla Dürmann.”
She muttered to herself with a bitter laugh and reached out. Damian’s fine silver hair slipped through her fingers like it might dissolve. Her moon always hung beautifully in the dark sky. She had tried so hard to reach that moon. How long had it taken her to realize that a mere human couldn’t reach it?
Foolish, stupid Ayla.
She withdrew her hand. Truthfully, she knew he stayed up late studying in the dorms, that he practiced swordsmanship to avoid relying solely on magic. He was walking his own path. She had always just followed behind him.
Ayla stood with her book in hand. The scraping of her chair echoed through the quiet library. The setting sun cast a red glow—only the two of them remained. Ayla left behind a single note and exited the library.
I’m heading out first.
“Ayla, you’re so mean. How could you do that to me?”
First period the next morning: Modern Literary Authors class. Damian plopped down next to her and whined. Ayla ignored him entirely, closed her eyes, and began meditating. It was a practice from the Eastern Continent that had recently become popular for mental clarity—Eileen had taught it to her. And added in her letter: Please, can you stop writing about that guy already? Ayla had clicked her tongue at the letter. Cheeky Eileen. When your older sister talks, you say “yes.”
“Ayla, are you seriously going to be like this?”
“Yes, I seriously am, Your Highness.”
Damian’s expression soured. Ayla had used the one title he hated most. His voice grew cold.
“I told you not to call me that.”
Ayla opened her eyes. Damian’s sulky face greeted her. Ah, crap. He’s really upset this time. Ayla wanted to smack her own mouth. Why couldn’t she ever keep it shut? She could have ignored him. That would’ve been easier on her. But ten years of knowing him stabbed at her conscience. She caved again. What would she have to sacrifice this time to make up for his sulking?
She wasn’t the least bit sorry, but she decided to apologize anyway.
“…Okay, I’m sorry. I was wrong.”
“What did you do wrong?”
“Huh?”
“I said, what exactly did you do wrong?”
“……”
What is this, an interrogation? It felt like when a guilty lover apologizes without even knowing what they did wrong, and their partner keeps pressing for details. Am I the guilty lover here? Ayla, baffled, answered as best she could.
“For calling you that name.”
“What else?”
“What else?”
“Yeah. What else?”
“……”
If there was something else, she had no idea. But she couldn’t admit that, so she just threw something out.
“Leaving you behind at the library…?”
“Yeah, that. That was really wrong, wasn’t it?”
“…Yeah. It was.”
Wow, I’ve done something really terrible, huh… Ayla was getting tired. He hadn’t been like this before. Why was he getting so clingy? Still, his expression brightened at her apology. She let out a subtle sigh of relief.
That’s when it happened. A familiar scent tickled her nose. Faint, but to her, it was vivid—engraved in her memory.
Ayla turned toward the direction the scent came from. A student was climbing the steps of the two-tiered lecture hall. His back was exactly like the boy she had seen yesterday—broad shoulders, dark hair. If he was in this class, that meant he was in the same major.
“Ayla? What are you looking at?”
“Damian. Do you know who that is?”
At her question, Damian turned to look where her eyes were fixed—at the male student.
“…Why?”
His voice lowered slightly, but Ayla didn’t notice.
“Oh, I just bumped into him yesterday, and he was wearing this really unique cologne. It stuck in my memory.”
“…It stuck in your memory?”
Damian’s voice dropped even further. There was a faint grinding sound. Ayla still didn’t notice.
“Yeah. It smelled like herbs or something.”
“Herbs?”
That was odd. A literature major who smelled like herbs? It’s not like he was from the Department of Medicinal Studies. Ayla might not know her classmates well even in her senior year, but Damian knew them all. And he knew the student Ayla pointed at was a commoner.
Perfume, once exclusive to nobles, was now more affordable, but still expensive for commoners. And herb-scented ones were particularly rare. Damian’s instincts were tingling.
“It was a very distinct herbal scent.”
Damian etched her words into his mind.
It was worth investigating.
“Alright, time for roll call.”
The professor entered and began taking attendance. Damian quietly stared at the back of the boy.
A small build, brown hair.
The student’s name was Gillota.
