The shift in the room was instantaneous. The magical static that usually felt like a playful spark now felt like a sharpening blade.
Veronica's eyes, usually wide with mischief, had narrowed into dangerous slits. She knew Clara was lying- hated the possibility that she wasn't. But more than that, she was reeling. Her feelings for Nikolai, the Duke of the North, were a vault she had kept triple-locked. Not even the people close to her knew the depth of her obsession.
"You're playing a dangerous game, Clara Valeria," Veronica whispered, her voice a low, vibrating hum of mana. "Gossip is a flimsy shield against an Imperial executioner."
Clara didn't blink. In her head, a siren was screaming RED ALERT, but her customer-service mask was bolted on tight. She had spent years handling Karens; a heartbroken teenage Princess was just a boss fight with better outfits.
"Oh, it's not a shield, Your Highness," Clara said, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "It's a consultation. Honestly? If the Duke wants 'natural grace,' he's looking for a statue, not a woman. And between us? He's a bit… dull."
Veronica's jaw practically hit the floor. "Dull? Nikolai? The 'Iron Wall of the North' is dull?"
"He's a man who enjoys silence and cold weather," Clara said, shrugging as she moved toward the exit. "He has the personality of a very handsome rock. You're a circus, Veronica. You're fire and lightning and neon-pink hair. You'd be bored of him in a week."
Clara turned back, offering a pitying look that was pure bait.
"Instead of chasing a man who wants you to be 'natural'- which we both know is a lie, why don't you find someone new to entertain? Someone who actually appreciates the show."
Veronica was silent for a long beat. The murderous aura vanished, replaced by a look of intense, bewildered contemplation. She looked at her Solari-style slippers, then back at Clara.
"Someone new to entertain?" Veronica repeated. A slow, terrifyingly familiar smirk began to spread across her face.
The murderous aura didn't just vanish; it folded in on itself, leaving behind a sharp, clinical curiosity. Veronica hopped off the chaise longue, her Solari-style slippers clicking softly on the marble as she circled Clara like a shark considering whether a new species of fish was poisonous or just exotic.
"A handsome rock," Veronica repeated, testing the words on her tongue. She laughed, a short, genuine bark of amusement. "You're lucky you're useful, Clara. If anyone else called the future hero of the Empire a 'rock,' I'd have their tongue for a bookmark."
She stopped right in front of Clara, invading her personal space until Clara could smell the faint, expensive scent of jasmine and burnt ozone.
"But you're not wrong about the silence," the Princess mused, her eyes darting across Clara's face. "He is terribly quiet. I sent him a poem once-six stanzas, perfect meter-and he replied with a receipt for the delivery."
Clara couldn't help it; the retail worker in her felt a pang of genuine pity. "A receipt? That's not even a rejection. That's just… administrative cruelty."
"Right?!" Veronica's indignation flared, her hands flying up in a dramatic gesture that sent a few nearby pens rattling. "And yet, you think I should just find 'new entertainment'? As if men like Nikolai grow on trees?"
"They don't grow on trees, Your Highness. They're usually found in dark corners, brooding about their responsibilities," Clara countered, her posture relaxing just a fraction. "But the Empire is vast. Surely there's someone with a bit more… flavor. Someone who doesn't require you to act like a porcelain doll just to get a 'received' stamp on your letters."
Veronica narrowed her eyes, leaning in until their noses almost touched. For some odd reason, Clara´s heart skipped weirdly. "You speak with such authority for a tutor. Tell me, Tutor- if I'm the 'circus,' what does that make you? The ringmaster? Or just the person cleaning up after the elephants?"
"In this world? I'm the one trying to make sure the circus doesn't burn down the city," Clara replied with a dry, tired smirk.
Veronica stared at her for a long second, then suddenly broke into a wide, cat-like grin. She reached out and gave Clara's cheek a sharp, playful pinch.
"Fine. You've piqued my interest. I won't give up on my 'rock' just yet-I've invested too much stationery for that- but I'm curious to see what your 'instincts' consider a finer vintage. Show me these men who appreciate the 'show.' If nothing else, watching you fail to find someone better than Nikolai will be the best entertainment I've had all year."
She skipped back toward her seat, the heavy, dangerous mana in the room replaced by a lighter, almost conspiratorial air.
"Sit, Clara. If we're going to be 'friends' who talk about my tragic love life, you might as well finish that boring lecture while I think of ways to make your life difficult tomorrow."
Clara let out a breath she'd been holding since the beginning of the lesson. Friends? More like a captive audience, she thought, but she sat. But a captive audience is better than a headless one.
Though being friends doesn´t sound too bad. She always has this entertaining banter with the Princess that she can´t replicate with anyone else.