SAINT-VÉRAN

THE FIGHT

By Monday morning, the story about the midnight initiation had already become a legend.

At Saint-Véran, apparently, nothing remained a secret for more than twelve hours.

By breakfast, people knew I’d been taken downstairs.

By first period, they’d decided I’d cried.

By second period, someone had apparently told half the rugby team that Lucien had carried me back to the dormitory.

He hadn’t.

I had walked.

But correcting rumors at Saint-Véran was like trying to stop rain with your hands.

It wasn’t worth the effort.

So I kept my head down.

Again.

That had become my preferred strategy.

Look down.

Walk quickly.

Don’t react.

Don’t give anyone anything they could use against me.

Unfortunately, Lucien seemed determined to ruin that strategy.

He was waiting outside our classroom.

“You’re late.”

I looked at the clock.

“I have three minutes.”

“You’re still late.”

“I wasn’t aware you were my mother.”

His eyebrows lifted.

I hadn’t meant to say that.

For one terrifying second, I thought I’d gone too far.

Then his mouth twitched.

“She’s worse.”

I smiled before I could stop myself.

He noticed.

Of course he did.

His eyes stayed on me for a second longer than necessary.

Then the bell rang.

We went inside.

The morning passed without incident.

For Saint-Véran, that should have made me suspicious.

By lunch, I was beginning to relax.

That was my mistake.

I was carrying my tray toward an empty table when someone stepped into my path.

Matthias König.

Again.

He was leaning against one of the pillars near the dining hall entrance, surrounded by three other boys.

“Morel.”

I stopped.

“Hi.”

He smiled.

“You’ve become popular.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Everyone’s talking about you.”

I glanced around.

“That’s not necessarily a good thing.”

“No.”

His smile widened.

“It isn’t.”

I shifted my tray.

“Can I get past?”

“Sure.”

He moved aside.

I took one step.

Then he said:

“How does it feel?”

I stopped.

“What?”

“Being everyone’s little charity case.”

My fingers tightened around the tray.

I said nothing.

One of his friends laughed.

Matthias continued.

“Do you ever get embarrassed?”

I looked down.

“Please move.”

“Please?”

He laughed.

“That’s all you ever say.”

I tried to walk around him.

He stepped into my path again.

“Maybe you should be grateful.”

“For what?”

“For people like Valmont.”

My stomach tightened.

“What about him?”

Matthias leaned closer.

“You really think he likes you?”

I didn’t answer.

He smiled.

“He’s playing with you.”

I knew that wasn’t true.

At least, I wanted to believe it wasn’t.

“You don’t know him,” I said quietly.

Matthias laughed.

“Neither do you.”

I looked away.

“Can I go now?”

He moved aside.

This time, I stepped around him.

Then his hand closed around my wrist.

I stopped.

My tray tilted.

A glass nearly fell.

“Not so fast.”

My entire body went cold.

“Let go.”

He didn’t.

“What’s the matter, Scholar?”

I pulled my arm.

“Let go.”

He laughed.

“You’re shaking.”

I was.

I hated that he noticed.

I looked around.

Students were watching.

Nobody intervened.

Of course they didn’t.

This was Saint-Véran.

People watched everything.

They simply preferred watching from a safe distance.

“Let him go.”

The voice came from behind us.

Matthias’s hand loosened.

I turned.

Lucien stood several meters away.

His expression was blank.

Too blank.

He was still wearing his school uniform, but his blazer was open and his tie was slightly loose.

I had never been so relieved to see someone.

“Lucien.”

He didn’t look at me.

His eyes remained on Matthias.

“I said let him go.”

Matthias released my wrist.

“Relax.”

Lucien walked toward us.

Slowly.

“You heard him.”

“I let him go.”

“Good.”

Matthias smiled.

“I was just joking.”

Lucien stopped in front of him.

“That wasn’t funny.”

Something in the room changed.

Conversations died.

Forks stopped clattering.

Even people who hadn’t been watching us were now watching.

Matthias folded his arms.

“You can’t control everything, Valmont.”

“No.”

Lucien’s voice was quiet.

“But I can control what happens next.”

Matthias scoffed.

“Is that a threat?”

“No.”

Lucien looked at him.

“It’s a warning.”

I could feel the tension spreading through the dining hall.

I wanted to leave.

I wanted all of this to stop.

“Lucien,” I said quietly.

He finally looked at me.

His expression softened for half a second.

“Go sit down.”

“But- ”

“Go.”

I hesitated.

He looked back at Matthias.

I knew that look.

I didn’t like it.

I took my tray and walked away.

I made it halfway across the dining hall before I heard the sound of a chair scraping against the floor.

Then shouting.

I turned.

Matthias had shoved Lucien.

The room erupted.

Lucien barely moved.

Matthias shoved him again.

This time Lucien caught his wrist.

Everything happened quickly after that.

A punch.

A stumble.

Someone shouted.

A table overturned.

Students scattered.

I stood frozen.

Lucien moved with frightening precision.

He wasn’t wild.

He wasn’t angry in the way ordinary people were angry.

He was controlled.

Every movement deliberate.

Matthias swung at him.

Lucien ducked.

A second later, Matthias was on the floor.

The headmaster’s assistant appeared at the entrance.

“ENOUGH!”

The fight stopped.

Lucien released Matthias.

His knuckles were bleeding.

A thin line of blood ran from the corner of his mouth.

He didn’t look at me.

Not once.

The dining hall fell silent.

Then the assistant ordered both boys to report to the disciplinary office.

Lucien glanced toward me as he passed.

His eyes met mine.

For a second, I saw something there.

Not anger.

Something closer to concern.

Then he walked away.

I couldn’t concentrate for the rest of the afternoon.

By five o’clock, I had convinced myself that Lucien would be fine.

By six, I knew I was lying to myself.

At seven, I found him.

He was sitting alone behind the old gymnasium.

There was a first-aid kit beside him.

His blazer had been removed.

His white shirt was stained near the collar.

The cut on his lip had dried.

His knuckles were swollen.

I stopped.

He looked up.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you.”

“Why?”

I stared at his hands.

“You got hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

He looked down.

“Oh.”

I couldn’t believe him.

“You’re impossible.”

He smiled faintly.

“You’ve said that before.”

I sat beside him.

Not too close.

Just close enough.

I opened the first-aid kit.

He watched me.

“What are you doing?”

“Cleaning your hand.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

I took the antiseptic.

He winced when it touched his knuckles.

“That hurt.”

“Good.”

He looked amused.

“You enjoy this?”

“No.”

I carefully cleaned the blood from his skin.

His hand was much larger than mine.

There were small cuts across his knuckles.

I tried not to think about how much damage those hands could do.

Or how gentle they were when he wasn’t fighting.

“What happened?” I asked.

“You saw.”

“I mean before.”

He didn’t answer.

I looked at him.

“Why did you fight him?”

“He touched you.”

I frowned.

“He was holding my wrist.”

“I know.”

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

Lucien looked toward the sports field.

The sun was beginning to disappear behind the mountains.

The academy windows glowed gold in the distance.

“He shouldn’t have touched you.”

I stopped cleaning.

“Why?”

Lucien said nothing.

I waited.

“Lucien.”

Still nothing.

“Why do you care?”

His jaw tightened.

He looked at me.

For a second, I thought he might answer.

Instead, he looked away.

“I just do.”

That wasn’t enough.

Not anymore.

I wrapped the bandage around his hand.

My fingers brushed his palm.

He went still.

So did I.

I pulled away.

“You’re going to get suspended.”

“Probably.”

“Your father will be furious.”

“Probably.”

“You could lose your position on the rugby team.”

“I know.”

“You could have avoided the whole thing.”

“Yes.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

He looked at me.

There was something almost painful in his expression.

“Because I couldn’t.”

I didn’t understand.

I wanted to.

For weeks, I’d been trying to understand Lucien.

The coldness.

The teasing.

The way he always appeared when someone bothered me.

The way he watched me when he thought I wasn’t looking.

The way he remembered things I couldn’t.

The silver medal.

The lake.

The childhood memory I still couldn’t fully reach.

And now this.

He had risked his reputation because someone had grabbed my wrist.

That wasn’t normal.

Not even for a friend.

And we weren’t friends.

Not exactly.

At least, I didn’t think we were.

I packed the first-aid kit.

“Thank you.”

Lucien looked at me.

“For what?”

“For defending me.”

He shook his head.

“I shouldn’t have hit him.”

“No.”

He looked surprised.

I smiled faintly.

“You shouldn’t have.”

A quiet laugh escaped him.

It was so rare that I almost forgot what I had been saying.

Then I remembered.

“You still shouldn’t have.”

“I know.”

We sat quietly.

The evening air smelled like wet grass.

Somewhere across the field, the rugby team was finishing practice.

I looked at his bandaged hand.

“Does it always happen?”

“What?”

“People fighting you.”

“Sometimes.”

“Why?”

He shrugged.

“People want to prove something.”

“What?”

“That they aren’t afraid of me.”

I looked at him.

“Are they?”

“Usually.”

I hesitated.

“Should I be?”

Lucien turned toward me.

“No.”

His answer was immediate.

Certain.

“You shouldn’t be afraid of me.”

Something in my chest tightened.

I looked away.

“I don’t think I am.”

His voice softened.

“Good.”

We sat there until the sky turned dark.

When we finally returned to the dormitory, neither of us mentioned the fight again.

But that night, lying in bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

I had spent the past few weeks believing Lucien’s attention was a kind of cruelty.

The stolen books.

The constant teasing.

The way he deliberately sat beside me.

The way he appeared whenever I was alone.

I’d thought he enjoyed making me uncomfortable.

Maybe I had been wrong.

Maybe his cruelty had never been cruelty at all.

Maybe it was the only way he knew how to get close.

And that possibility frightened me more than the fight.

Because if that was true, then I had no idea what Lucien Valmont was trying to tell me.

And I was beginning to suspect I wasn’t sure I wanted him to stop.