Meddie stared blankly at Tristan, trying to reconcile with this, because wasn’t Tristan meant to be in the holy magic course? That was like… the whole thing in the plot. He was the easiest to romance because he had the most encounters, so if you fucked up one encounter, there were a bunch more that you couldn’t fuck up if you tried. Really, Tristan was extremely easy.

Meddie decided to ignore him as he started his morning stretches. He had brushed up on the swordsmanship of the Holy Empire, so he knew all the basic forms, but he was still a little unstable with it. Tristan approached him and sat down across from him to stretch out, and Meddie ignored him as he popped his back and rolled out his neck.

“You missed the banquet,” Tristan said, and Meddie ignored him as he worked out his shoulder muscles. “Are you alright to be in class today?”

“You’re really stubborn, you know that?” Meddie asked bluntly, and Tristan smiled at him easily.

“I know!” he replied cheerfully, and Meddie set his jaw. This was annoying. He had enough genre awareness to recognize he was the main character now, but this was still impossible to deal with.

“I told you I don’t need you to be familiar with me,” Meddie said as he bent in half over his legs and counted out his stretching seconds.

“And I’ve elected to ignore that,” Tristan said, and Meddie inhaled slowly, breathing out through the stretch, a hold over from his years of doing yoga.

“Well, it’s annoying,” Meddie said, and Tristan grinned at him.

“Do I get under your skin?”

“No.”

“I don’t know why you’re so hellbent on not making friends,” Tristan said airily, and Meddie crossed one leg over the other and twisted with his arm braced on his leg. “It’ll be a lonely three years.”

“Your Highness,” Meddie said bluntly and stood. “I think you forget our positions here. I am a prince of an enemy nation. You are the Crown Prince of this empire. Please stop associating with me.”

With that, he turned and walked away to his water, Ada and Gladys twisting over his shoulders to stare at Tristan as he walked away. He took a big swig of water, wondering if he shouldn’t have just gone in the general education course instead, and Tristan walked up behind him, sliding his hand around his lower back. Meddie stiffened up, and Tristan leaned in to murmur in his ear.

“I want to be your friend,” he whispered, and Meddie pursed his lips and took another swig of water. “And it’s a dangerous game to keep telling me no.”

“You’re insane,” Meddie said bluntly, even as shivers traveled up his spine, and walked away to pick up his sword and start going through his forms. He couldn’t wait to get out of here, and oh, look, now Isilda was approaching him.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” she said, and Meddie stared at her blankly. “I’m glad we’re in the same course.”

“... Good morning,” Meddie replied after a pause, and she tilted her head and studied him. She was the same height as him, and it was making him feel a little dysphoric.

“Would you like to pair up for sparring later?” she asked, and Meddie stared at her blankly.

An arm wrapped around his shoulders, and Tristan hung off of him.

“Unfortunately, Meduso will be sparring with me,” he said cheerfully, and Meddie vaguely felt like a piece of meat caught between the jaws of two wolves.

“I’m not sparring with either one of you,” Meddie said bluntly, shrugged off his arm, and walked away.

Goddammit. He was trapped. It was going to be a very long three years.

….

Meddie walked through the halls of the academy in silence, dirty from falling on the ground after he ended up paired against the instructor. He had just enough time to get changed and cleaned up before he had to take his next class after lunch, and his stomach was growling. Tristan and Isilda were nowhere to be seen, and he was grateful for that, but…

He had no idea what lunch would spell for him.

He missed the spicy food of the Demonias Empire, he thought. Maybe he could cook something in the kitchen. In the past two years, he had prepared all of his own food as a safety precaution, and it did a lot to soothe out the ragged edges of his anxiety. Now, he was having food prepared for him again, and he was not looking forward to dealing with the constant anxiety of his food being potentially poisoned.

He thought when he reached the Holy Empire, he would feel safe for the first time in his life. He did not feel safe. If anything, his anxiety was jacked up to eleven, and he was not coping well. He had been attacked on his first day, and he was nervous and scared. He had no idea what had happened with Justin Emory, and he wasn’t looking forward to finding out. He probably had not been expelled. Maybe given a demerit or something.

There was a servant waiting for him at the door of his room, and he paused at the sight of him. He had a tray with a letter on it, and Meddie stared at it in silence.

“Hello,” he said, and the servant bowed.

“Your Highness, I have a letter to be delivered,” he said, and Meddie picked up the letter and flipped it over. The handwriting was his father’s familiar hand, and he pursed his lips in silence.

“Alright,” he said and opened the door to his room. “Thank you.”

He tossed the letter on his desk and stripped off his training clothes as he kicked the door shut with his heel. His pants were dropped, and he walked into his bathroom and wet a cloth to wipe down his face and clean the dirt out from under his nails. That accomplished, he walked into his bedroom and got changed into his regular uniform for his afternoon classes.

He stared at himself in the mirror. He thought of his witch father, often, every time he saw his eyes, and he couldn’t help but wonder why the man didn’t steal him away and raise him. He had two deadbeat dads, and he didn’t even know that was even possible. And a deadbeat mother. That, too.

Really, he was nothing but a cautionary tale of adults abandoning him. His father, the emperor, had fed him, housed him, but Meddie never once got a birthday party. He had an allowance, but that was it. He just…

A quiet sigh escaped his lips, and he wrapped his hands around the edges of the vanity and dropped his head. He didn’t want to go to the cafeteria. But, he had skipped breakfast, so he really should.

With a groan, he pushed himself off the vanity and headed for the door. He opened it, snuck out into the hall, and closed it behind himself before he fumbled for his key and locked the door. That accomplished, he headed down the hallway towards the cafeteria. He was going to be beset by all sides by Tristan and Isilda, and he didn’t want to be in the middle of their pissing fest. Tristan wanted to humiliate him, and Isilda… Isilda wanted much, much more. Things he wasn’t comfortable giving her.

He walked through the halls, joining the stream of students headed for the cafeteria, and came out into the massive room. Really, this academy had gone overboard on the stained glass windows, he thought darkly as he got a tray and fell into line. He slid through the line, the other students giving him a wide berth, knowing he stuck out like a sore thumb in this sea of humans. He got his food for the day and made his way to the back of the hall, sitting down at an empty table, and then he stared down at his food.

He didn’t want to eat it, he thought sourly. He wanted the spice of his homeland. All the food here was herbaceous, but not the same. With a quiet sigh, he cut into his chicken, and a tray clattered onto his table. He looked up, blinking in shock as Michael DuPont took a seat, and Michael stared at him with steely blue eyes.

“Your Highness,” he said, and Meduso studied him with suspicion.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, and Michael cut his own chicken and took a bite.

“Acting as a deterrent,” he said, and Meddie pursed his lips and looked down at his food. Of course. Well, at least Michael wasn’t going to act like a fool around him---

Tristan sat down next to Meddie, and he stiffened up.

“Hello, Meduso,” Tristan said as Isilda took her seat, and he looked around for someone to save him. No one was there, and he swallowed down his bite of chicken.

“You’re not doing a very good job of being a deterrent,” Meddie said to Michael, and he tilted his head.

“My apologies, are the Duchess of Treemont and the Crown Prince bullying you?” he asked mildly, and Meduso sighed and stared down at his food.

“It would be easier if they would,” he muttered, even though he knew that would only end in getting put to death, and Michael tilted his head.

“What does that mean?” he asked bluntly, and Meddie took a bite of the green beans.

“Never mind,” he said, and Tristan grinned.

“Meduso doesn’t want to be friends with me,” he told Michael conspiratorially, and Meddie chewed on the green beans and swallowed.

“Ah,” Michael said. “Well, in his position, I wouldn’t wish to be friends with you, either. Why are you pressing the issue?”

“Do I have to limit myself?” Tristan asked curiously, and Meddie took another quiet bite of green beans.

“You should. It would not look good in the tabloids if you harassing the fourth prince of the Demonias Empire to be… friends… got out,” Michael said, and Tristan smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes, and Meddie felt a chill roll down his spine.

“Let them talk. We’re meant to be encouraging cooperation between our empires,” he said, and Meddie swallowed, despite not having any food in his mouth.

“I don’t think you need to go so far to encourage cooperation,” Michael said, and a tense silence spilled out. “It’s clear Meduso is uncomfortable.”

“Is he?” the prince asked slyly, and Meddie cleared his throat.

“Yes. I am,” he said bluntly, and the prince’s arm brushed against his.

“Pity,” he said, and tilted his head. “I like the look of you when you’re uncomfortable.”

Meddie wasn’t sure he knew where this was going, but he was 90% sure if he continued to hijack the plot like this, it was going to end in his death. Why couldn’t the prince just meet Tatiana already and get obsessed with her---

Another tray landed on their table, and Corina took a seat.

“Ah! Sister! How kind of you to join us,” Tristan said, and Corina stared at him.

“Everyone can tell Meduso wants to run,” she said bluntly, and Meddie became suddenly aware of the fact that there were a lot of eyes on him in this cafeteria. Everyone was staring, and his flesh pricked under his collar.

“I think I’ve lost my appetite,” he said and stood, heading for the door with his tray to toss his food, but someone stepped in front of him.

Justin Emory.

So, he wasn’t expelled for attacking another student, and he was staring Meddie down.

“Meduso,” he sneered. “You can cozy up to the Crown Prince all you want, but everyone---”

“He’s not cozying up to me,” Tristan called lazily, and Justin cut himself off. “I’m cozying up to him.”

Justin’s face twisted, and he turned on the prince.

“Do you have no pride for your own empire?” he demanded, and Tristan sat back and studied him in silence. “Your Highness, this is---”

“I’m sorry, I thought the exchange of the prince was meant to encourage cooperation,” Tristan said loudly, and the dining room was quiet as everyone desperately tried to listen in. “And it’s honestly none of your business who I make friends with. Know your place, Justin Emory.”

Justin fell silent, angry, and then he turned to Meddie.

“Don’t think the Crown Prince will protect you forever,” he hissed, and Meddie blinked before he smiled at Justin.

“I think I can protect myself,” he cooed, and then he walked away. Justin was left behind, and Meddie dumped his food and left his tray out to be collected.

Justin was trembling, as though he wanted to let off another shot, and Meddie wondered how long Tristan was going to use the propaganda definition to justify this. It wasn’t a good look. It wasn’t a good look at all, and he didn’t know why he was doing it. He was giving absolutely no thought to his position as Crown Prince, and it was…

It was frustrating. Meddie was the only one here behaving with any sense. All of them were acting like idiots. Meddie was not going to be the prince’s fucking mistress to humiliate himself, because he could now see that was what Tristan was angling for. He wanted Meddie trapped, beneath him and entangled in him, and Meddie wasn’t going to entertain it.

He was not going to entertain it.

And Isilda…

Meddie had dealt with chasers in his past life. He had dealt with them, and he had admittedly had low enough self esteem to overlook it. It had destroyed his self confidence, his willpower, his sense of self. He had fucked them, and he had paid for it, dearly. He always felt dirty and disgusting when he was done, and he hated it.

He wasn’t going to be doing that this time.

He was not going to be doing that this time.

Meddie strode out of the cafeteria, everyone staring after him, and swallowed down the emotion in his throat.

He hated this. He actually hated this.

Why couldn’t Tatiana stay the main character?