Adolfo strode through the academy corridor, his dark coat flowing behind him, his expression as unreadable as ever. Beside him walked Roiselin, his ever-loyal yet insufferably perceptive attendant, who had taken it upon himself to be a menace today.
"You seem livelier these days, my liege," Roiselin mused, his smirk brimming with mischief. "Could it be because a certain lady has arrived in Athens?"
Adolfo didn't even glance at him. "Keep talking, and I'll personally arrange your transfer to Albania to assist Devrien. I hear he's been looking for an experimental subject—I mean, an assistant—in the magic tower."
Roiselin clutched his chest in mock horror. "So cruel, my liege. Though I must admit, the thought of being at the mercy of Devrien's unstable potions is terrifying. Almost as terrifying as the great Count Adolfo—Athens' Phantom Magus—being utterly undone by a lady's mere presence."
Adolfo sighed. "You truly don't value your life, do you?"
