CHAPTER 8 : WHEN SILENCE SCREAMS
1816 Words
Belle POV :
The hum of the carriage was low and constant, like a lullaby made of wheels and stone. Belle sat near the window, her face turned toward the blur of trees and cottages flashing past the glass. Her fingers curled around the letter folded in her coat pocket, the edges soft from how often she had held it over the past few days.
She hadn’t shown it to Lira. Not because she didn’t trust her, but because some truths felt too big to speak aloud.
The ink of her mother’s writing haunted her.
"I loved someone, once, before all this. Not your father. A man named Noctharis."
Her mother's words felt like a key to a locked door inside her—one she wasn’t ready to open. Not yet.
I decided to go first to the academy because, apparently, my sisters tell me that they have the privilege to go to school whether they want. So I texted Lira to pick me up so we could go to school together. Lira, seated beside me, had been chatting about the festival performance and some girl who fainted during the fireworks. But I barely heard her. My mind floated elsewhere—to the letter, to my mother, to the way Orion walked with me to go home.
“Are you okay?” Lira finally asked, tugging gently on my sleeve.
I blinked back into focus. She forced a small nod. “Yeah. Just tired.”
Lira didn’t believe her, but she let it go.
The academy welcomed them back with its usual chill. Sunlight streamed through stained-glass windows, casting colored patterns on the stone floors. But everything else had returned to its normal rhythm—strict rules, formal etiquette, and stares that always lingered a little too long. Classes resumed, and students whispered more about their time outside the walls than about the lessons.
By the second day, the buzz shifted.
“Group activity,” Professor Callum announced as he strode into the Imperial History classroom. Partnered presentations. Your topic: historical noble alliances and their political significance. I expect depth. Intelligence. Discipline. You will submit your first draft in order to see your progress and i can check if there's something to add or not."
The class collectively groaned.
Belle sat quietly beside Lira, tracing the edge of her notebook.
“Names will be drawn at random. Final. No swapping.”
He began reading from his scroll.
“Mia and Vale. Lira and Celine.”
Lira let out a small whimper beside Belle. “I swear, it’s always Celine.”
“And lastly,” Callum said, lifting his head slowly. “Belle and Orion.”
The classroom rippled with quiet gasps. Belle froze.
She turned slightly, just enough to see Orion across the room. His silver gaze was already on her, unreadable.
“What are the odds,” Lira whispered.
Belle didn’t answer. Her chest had tightened, and it wasn’t just nerves. It was something else—like an invisible string had just pulled her into a story she didn’t understand.
They were scheduled to meet the following afternoon in the eastern study hall.
Belle arrived ten minutes early. The hall was tall and sunlit, with high-arched windows that spilled gold over the polished stone floor. Dust floated in the light like drifting memories. Shelves lined with leather-bound books towered to the ceiling, and the faint scent of old parchment lingered in the air. She paced quietly between rows of cushioned benches, clutching her notes. She’d tied her hair differently today—more neatly than usual, though she’d never admit she cared. She glanced at the ticking wall clock. Still early.
The door creaked open. Belle turned quickly. Orion stepped in, the light catching the silver detail of his cloak as it swung behind him. His steps were quiet, but confident, like he was used to owning whatever room he entered. His eyes, pale and unreadable as ever, landed on her with subtle amusement.
“You came early,” he said, his voice smooth with a faint edge.
Belle’s grip on her notes tightened. “Habit.”
Orion raised a brow, clearly amused by her curt tone, and settled onto the bench across from her. He pulled out parchment, a fountain pen, and a folded syllabus with a lazy elegance.
“Let’s get this over with.”
They began with the noble alliances of the Third Era—House Velren’s betrayal, the Southern Reunification Treaty, the war that followed. Belle focused on outlining events chronologically while Orion filled in sharp, precise notes. Their pace was unexpectedly fluid. Their minds clicked even when their personalities didn’t.
Orion wrote silently for a moment before glancing up. “You’re not terrible at this.”
Belle blinked. “...Thanks?”
“That’s high praise, by the way,” he added, scribbling something she couldn’t see. “Coming from me.”
"I gave him a dry look "Duly noted."
He smirked. “You’re also more expressive when you’re annoyed. Fascinating.”
Belle froze mid-sentence. “Excuse me?”
“You don’t talk much in class. I figured you were the shy, agreeable type.” He tilted his head slightly, pen tapping against his parchment. “But you glare. A lot.”
“I do not glare.”
“Right now, you are.” His voice was deceptively mild, but his smirk betrayed him. “Should I be worried?”
Belle crossed her arms. “Should I be worried you’ve never met someone who tells you when you’re being irritating?”
He chuckled, low and warm. “There it is again." The glare.”
Belle turned back to her notes with an exaggerated sigh, refusing to give him more fuel. Her cheeks were growing warm, much to her frustration.
Orion watched her with quiet curiosity. She could feel it, his eyes tracing her face, not in the way the boys looked when they flirted, but as if he was dissecting her piece by piece—measuring how far she could bend before she snapped.
“What?” she finally muttered without looking up.
“I’m trying to figure you out,” he said simply.
“There’s nothing to figure out.”
“See, that’s what makes you interesting.”
Belle turned to him now, brows raised. “Is this how you usually act around people?”
“Yes,” he said, without missing a beat. “It’s why most of them stay out of my way.”
“Then why are you here? Doing this project with me?”
Orion tapped his pen on the table. “Because the professor assigned it.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s all I’ll admit.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re infuriating.”
“And yet, here we are,” he said, relaxed as ever.
Belle looked away, returning to her notes. But her pulse was quick now, her writing just slightly crooked.
They continued in silence for a while, only the scratching of pens filling the air. Belle tried to focus on dates and names, but Orion’s earlier words kept echoing in her mind. He was so composed, so frustratingly calm—and yet something about the way he looked at her made her feel exposed, like he could see far more than she wanted him to.
“I’m curious,” he said after a while. “Do you always follow rules so carefully?”
Belle stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re meticulous. Predictable. You don’t seem like the type to take risks.”
“And you do?” she snapped.
He smiled faintly. “Every day.”
Belle stared at him. “Why are you like this?”
He paused. “Because it’s easier than pretending to be someone I’m not.”
For a brief second, there was something almost sincere in his tone—quiet, honest, almost tired.
Then he stood, stretching slightly. “Break time?”
Belle didn’t answer, too caught off guard by the sudden shift.
Orion walked toward the window, glancing out toward the training fields. “Do you ever wonder what it’s like... not to care what anyone thinks?”
She looked at him, then at the half-finished notes on their table.
“I try,” she said softly. “But I can’t afford that luxury.”
Orion turned to look at her, and for a moment, something in his expression changed. His eyes weren’t mocking now. They were quiet. Calculating. Almost... haunted.
Belle quickly stood, gathering her notes. “We should finish this tomorrow.”
He nodded once. “Same time?”
She hesitated. “Fine.”
As she turned to leave, Orion’s voice drifted after her.
“You’re more interesting than you let on, Lumi.”
She didn’t stop walking, but the way he said her name—slow and deliberate—sent an unsteady feeling through her chest.
She didn’t answer.
But the twist in her stomach returned. Stronger this time.
Professor Callum narrowed his eyes as she entered.
“Miss Vonder,” he said sharply.
“How generous of you to grace us with your presence.”
She lowered her head, moving to her seat.
“Perhaps you imagine your name alone entitles you to tardiness.”
A snicker rose from somewhere behind her. Her hands clenched in her lap.
Callum continued, “Your partner, Lord Leonhart, has already submitted his first draft. I wonder what exactly you’ve contributed—besides silence.”
The room was painfully still.
Belle felt her throat burn.
“If mediocrity had a title,” he added, “it would bear your name.”
That did it.
Chairs shifted. Someone whispered.
And then—a voice broke the room.
“Enough.”
It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.
Everyone turned.
Orion stood slowly, his eyes locked on the professor.
“Your point is made. There’s no need to humiliate her further.”
Callum stiffened. “Excuse me, Lord Leonhart?”
“Your methods are clear,” Orion said coldly. “But so is your bias.”
The class sat frozen.
Belle could barely breathe.
The professor’s face twitched, but he said nothing more.
When class ended, the tension still lingered in the air. Belle tried to slip out quietly, but Orion caught up with her outside.
“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice softer now.
She nodded, eyes still downcast. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I did.”
She looked up. And then, out of nowhere, he asked:
“Is your full name really Belle Mayne Vonder?”
She blinked. “Yes." Why?”
His expression shifted. A shadow crossed his eyes.
But he didn’t answer. He just looked at her—like he was seeing someone he had heard of in a dream.
Then he walked away, leaving Belle alone in the fading light.
- Writer
