Rin’s New Problem is Royal, Fast, and Deeply Concerning

If there was one thing Rin had learned since coming to this school, it was this:

Never. Ever. Accidentally impress an ancient elf warrior-child with violent tendencies.

Ever since the duel, Lirien Val’Aris had become Rin’s personal satellite.

She followed her everywhere.

Class? There.

Cafeteria? Sitting across from Rin, drinking tea with freakish elegance.

Training yard? Floating upside-down for “perspective.”

Bathroom? She once knocked before Rin locked the stall and whispered, “A rematch can occur anywhere, Rin.”

Every time Rin turned a corner:

> “Rematch time?”

“How’s your punch today?”

“I brought lemon balm for bruises.”

Rin once woke up from a nap on the campus lawn to find Lirien staring at her.

“I could feel your aura shift in sleep. Fascinating.”

“Please get a hobby.”

“You are my hobby.”

---

It wasn’t long before Rin’s luck dipped again.

While walking through the academy gardens, admiring how nothing was on fire for once, a tall student in gold-trimmed robes walked directly into her.

“Watch where you’re going, peasant,” he sneered.

Rin raised an eyebrow. “You walked into me.”

He sniffed. “That’s not how this works. Kneel and apologize, as is proper.”

Before Rin could respond with her usual eloquence (read: sarcasm and threats), a gust of wind shot between them.

Lirien appeared out of nowhere, eyes sparkling with dangerous delight.

“Oh? A confrontation?” she said cheerfully. “Do continue.”

The noble turned pale. “You—you’re the Wind Fang of Highmoon Grove...”

Lirien tilted her head. “Did you just try to harass my duel partner?”

Rin blinked. “Duel part—wait, that’s what you’re calling me now?”

The noble backed away. “I didn’t mean any—”

He was gone before Rin even saw Lirien move.

---

Rin sat with Lirien afterward under a giant mushroom tree near the east field.

“So, Wind Fang? What’s that about?” Rin asked, sipping juice.

“Oh, it’s just one of my many titles,” Lirien said nonchalantly. “Also: Princess of Highmoon, 7th in line, Slayer of the Bone Vulture, Champion of the Summer Clash, and National Bramble-Knitting Silver Medalist.”

Rin choked. “You’re a what now?”

“Princess,” Lirien said, twirling a flower. “It’s mostly paperwork and ceremonial screaming.”

“...You never thought to mention this before?”

“I wanted you to like me for me. The me who really, really enjoys being hit hard during battle.”

“…Excuse me?”

Lirien turned to her with sparkly, slightly unhinged eyes. “I am what they call… battle-masochistic. Every bruise from our duel was a gift. My ribs sang lullabies of joy.”

Rin scooted away an inch.

“Don’t be shy,” Lirien said with a soft giggle. “You hurt me so beautifully.”

“Okay,” Rin said, standing up. “Nope. We’re done here. This is above my danger level. I am leaving.”

“Wait—do you want to punch me again? J

ust a little?”

“No.”

“I made cookies…”

Rin froze.

“…Fine. Five more minutes.”