Chapter 242: Study?

She didn’t need to attend a tea party to know that the Duke of the Western Marches was secretly bankrupt.

She already had a duck sitting on top of his hidden ledgers. She knew the Empress’s latest spy ring was communicating via hollowed-out chess pieces.

She knew the Minister of Agriculture was having an affair with his head chef.

She had more blackmail material stored in her eidetic memory than the Emperor’s entire secret police force.

But Seraphina was quickly realizing a fundamental flaw in her operation.

’Information is only power if you can weaponize it,’ Seraphina calculated, her dark eyes narrowing as she chewed her muffin. ’Right now, I’m just hoarding gossip. If I want to secure a permanent, untouchable foothold in this Capital, I need to monetize this intel. I need to sell it to the highest bidders, manipulate the markets, and build a shadow syndicate.’

Financially, she was set. Kaelus gave her an "allowance" that rivaled the GDP of a small province.

She had a chest in her room filled with solid gold coins that he had casually handed her "for incidentals."

’The capital is there. The product is there,’ Seraphina strategized, ignoring Alistair’s continued whining about etiquette classes. ’The problem is the front. I am but a six years old shorty. I cannot walk into the Underground Information Guild, slam a bag of gold on the table, and demand to buy real estate. I need a proxy. I need a face for the operation. Someone respectable, someone untraceable, and someone Papa Duke won’t immediately assassinate if he catches them talking to me. I need to create an Information Guild so famous that no one can touch me!’

She pondered her options.

’Sir Boris? No, he’s too recognizable, and he’d probably just intimidate the clients by accident. Alistair? Absolutely not, he’d faint at the first sign of illegal activity. Uncle Leo? Too loud, he’d brag about my syndicate at a banquet.’

Flick!

A sharp, sudden, and stinging sensation snapped against the center of her forehead.

"Oww!"

Seraphina yelped, her hands flying up to cover her brow. She blinked, yanked out of her complex underworld corporate structuring.

Leaning over her, a piece of chalk twirling casually between his long, elegant fingers, was Professor Roan.

"Earth to the Sovereign," Roan drawled, his pitch-black eyes dancing with wicked, unrestrained amusement.

He pushed his silver-wire glasses up the bridge of his nose, looking down at her with a smirk that practically screamed I know you are plotting something illegal. "As fascinating as the blank wall behind me undoubtedly is, we are currently discussing the spatial mechanics of teleportation wards. Unless you plan on teleporting that muffin into my ear, I suggest you return your terrifying intellect to the chalkboard."

Seraphina puffed her cheeks out, glaring up at the handsome Archmage.

It had been a week since Roan had infiltrated the estate under the guise of a tutor. And surprisingly, Seraphina found herself thoroughly enjoying his classes.

Roan was not a normal teacher.

He didn’t lecture her on boring dates or demand she memorize archaic poems. He recognized her advanced intellect instantly and treated her not as a child, but as an eccentric, pint-sized academic peer.

He explained complex magical theory with a dry, sarcastic wit, completely willing to go off on wildly entertaining tangents about how to properly explode a potion to maximize property damage.

He acted as though he had centuries of experience wrangling chaotic, overpowered children.

"I wasn’t staring at the wall, Mr. Balcony Ghost," Seraphina huffed, rubbing her forehead. "I was contemplating on fiscal policy. It’s very advanced. You wouldn’t understand."

"Of course not," Roan chuckled, leaning his hip against the edge of her desk. "I am but a humble, traveling scholar. My tiny brain cannot possibly comprehend the complexities of whatever shadow-empire you are currently constructing in your head."

Seraphina narrowed her eyes.

He was too sharp. He saw right through her toddler act.

But, she had to admit, she was hopelessly biased.

Because he was just so incredibly, undeniably handsome.

When he smiled, the strict, professional facade cracked, revealing a chaotic, roguish charm that made her inner soul swoon just a little bit.

’He is prime proxy material,’ Seraphina mused, eyeing him appraisingly. ’He’s mysterious, he’s charming, and he’s clearly hiding a massive amount of magical power. But can I trust him? He’s looking for a woman named Cecil. He’s a wild card.’

"If you flick me again, I am going to tell Papa Duke you looked at my muffin aggressively," Seraphina threatened, though she was smiling.

Roan let out a dramatic, terrified gasp, placing a hand over his heart. "Oh my god! Please, spare me! The Archduke would undoubtedly freeze my internal organs and use me as a coat rack! I yield to the little Sovereign!"

***

The dynamic in the Nacht Estate was currently providing endless, premium-quality entertainment for Sebastian.

The scarred, veteran Head Butler had dedicated his life to stoicism and discipline, but even he found it impossible to maintain a straight face given the circus unfolding in the training pavilions and the study rooms.

It was mid-afternoon. Sebastian was standing in the doorway of the secondary study, holding a silver tray with a pot of fresh tea, quietly observing the wreckage of Archduke Leonidas Valen’s matchmaking dreams.

Leonidas and Lysandra were visiting the estate again, having brought their sons, Castor and Pollux, to "socialize" with Seraphina.

Kaelus had begrudgingly allowed the twins to join Seraphina’s afternoon lessons with Roan, assuming that the presence of the older boys would finally give his daughter some normal, age-appropriate peers to interact with.

It had backfired spectacularly.

At the chalkboard, Roan had written out a highly complex, multi-variable equation regarding the arcane conductivity of mythril under extreme thermal pressure.

"Now," Roan said, tapping the board with his chalk. "Who can isolate the variable for the ambient mana density?"

Castor, the twelve-year-old fiery prodigy of the Valen line, stared at the chalkboard as if it were written in an ancient, dead alien language.