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Manon wrapped her coat tightly around her body, cursing the Rifthold cold just as she had done every single day since she had first moved to the Adarlan capital. No snow covered the ground – none ever did in Rifthold – but the biting chill wasn’t any less ruthless. Especially to Manon Blackbeak, whose blood ran as warm as her country’s arid skies.
She absolutely hated it. Hated that it was so far from home, hated that it was always cold but never enough for her to finally become acquainted with snow, and she hated it because it was the first place where she had finally started truly feeling like herself.
How such a place could’ve been the same city where Dorian Havilliard had been born and raised was a mystery to Manon, but she tried not to think too much about it. About him. Even if she failed most times than not.
She was on her third year of college and, on all accounts, she had made it (much to the Blackbeak’s Matron delight). She was top of almost every class; an amazing internship awaited her; and she had just recently started sitting in some of the most important meetings that took place in her family’s company. She was ready to be the leader she’d been born to be. A true Blackbeak – a legacy that went beyond borders. And she could feel it in the stares of her colleagues, how they gave her wide berth whenever she was around; how they avoided her gaze or her presence overall. Manon didn’t mind – if she had a reputation, it was because she and her family had done well to earn it.
So, of course the fact the Havilliard heir seemed to completely disregard such legacy had become something of an intriguing feature that Manon couldn’t help but admire. Even if she tried to.
She was well aware of the fact everyone in Rifthold seemed to bow down to the Havilliard name. Their company had built the city, had turned it into what it was today: the sparkling capital of the Adarlan Country. But Dorian’s confidence went beyond that. It went beyond his family’s name; beyond the fact he had bested her in two classes (mainly considering he loved to ignore the other three where she had bested him) and beyond the fact he was the only student that could match her in a debate. No, it was something that glinted in his sapphire eyes whenever they locked on Manon; it was something warm and sticky that seemed to cover her entire body whenever he smirked her way.
It was something that would definitely send her grandmother to an early grave.
Manon shook her head, trying to push her wayward thoughts away just as she reached the building of her next class. It was also the only class that she didn’t share with Havilliard, which made his presence just inches away from the door all the more surprising. The warmth greeted her immediately as the wooden door closed behind her with a heavy thud, and so did the jarring sound of giggles and sugary praises. Manon took off her coat as she tried her best not to roll her eyes to the back of her head.
She didn’t even need to look to know exactly what she would find: Dorian Havilliard – the man of the hour – leaning against the stone wall with a grace that irked her. A smirk would taint his full lips, fooling anyone who didn’t pay attention to think of him as the golden boy everyone had so lovingly named him.
But Manon knew better: she recognised the wicked gleam that shined in his sapphire eyes, the speed and wit with which he would easily disarm anyone he would ever consider a threat. Those people would never need to worry, they were of no competition to Dorian Havilliard.
But Manon Blackbeak was aware of just how aware the golden boy was of her. She had yet to decide if she felt annoyed or flattered by his attention.
A zing rushed through her body, her skin prickling as her stomach rolled on itself. She knew he had seen her, felt it in her skin as his eyes trailed down her body.
Annoyed. She was definitely annoyed by it, she thought as she rushed through the corridor, ignoring the side glances people sent her way and definitely ignoring the giggles and swoons coming from her left. It was none of her business if Havilliard preferred to spend his time with brainless-
“Blackbeak.” A smooth voice called out, and Manon blamed the temperature change for the shiver that ran down her spine. She kept walking, not slowing down her pace even as she heard his footsteps against the green carpet, already in rhythm with hers.
“Havilliard.” She said in return, never looking his way. And she didn’t have to – she knew he’d be wearing his usual black coat and dark pressed-on slacks that complimented his long legs perfectly. His raven curls would be falling down his forehead, making her feel a way that ought to annoy her. Not to mention the stupid smirk on his handsome face that seemed to follow her even when he wasn’t around – she knew exactly what she wanted to do to it, and it was entirely too early for that. “Is the company you keep so dull you prefer to follow me around like a lost puppy?” She asked, the shocked gasps coming from his friends the only proof she needed they had listened to her every word. She could see Dorian shake his head from the corner of her eyes, and she refused the smile that threatened to break free at his amusement.
“Paying attention to me, are you, witch?” He teased, and it was all Manon could do not to roll her eyes at the nickname. She had been graced many nicknames – none nearly as loving as the ones Havilliard had received – but witch just had to be her favourite. How original it was.
She refrained from snapping though – if there was anything Dorian Havilliard enjoyed, it was riling her up, and Manon refused to give him the satisfaction.
“Can I help you with something, Havilliard?” She asked instead, her voice as cold as ice as she turned the corner, just feet away from the classroom.
Not that it stopped Dorian. It never did.
“You can start by looking at me.” He drawled, his long legs easily keeping up with her rushed pace.
“And why, exactly, would I do that?” She furrowed her brows, looking at the watch around her wrist. She was already 5 minutes late to class. If her grandma found out she wouldn’t hear the end of it.
“You’re infuriating.” He grumbled, his words lacking any heat. Manon bit her chapped lip to keep from showing her amusement. “Will you just stop?” He groaned, but Manon shook her head.
“I’m late to class, Havilliard-”
“Manon.” He said softly, and her name on his lips was enough to nearly send her tripping. He had never called her anything other than Blackbeak or witch, but her name on his lips sounded good. Too good. She turned around, panting slightly. Had she been running? She hadn’t even realised.
Dorian raised his brows, looking at her with a mix of amusement and annoyance – their speciality, really. In his hand – both his hands – there was a white cup, the liquid warm enough that steam danced in the air above it. He stretched an arm, a hesitant look on his face.
Manon frowned. “What is this?”
He sighed. “I thought you were smart, Blackbeak, do you really need me to spell it out?”
He looked exasperated, and Manon would be lying if she said it wasn’t a good look on him. A sickeningly sweet odour filled the air between them, and she couldn’t help but feel her stomach flip as she stared at his offering.
“You bought me hot chocolate?” She asked reluctantly.
“Ah, the prodigy lives after all.” He smirked, but Manon didn’t miss the way his cheeks seemed to darken under the fluorescent lights.
She grabbed the warm cup, a shiver running up her arm as warmth spread through her fingers. She tilted her head, squinting her eyes slightly. “Is it poisoned?”
“So I could get expelled?” He raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “I wouldn’t risk my place in the university for you, witch. You’re not that special.” He drawled, putting his now free hand inside the pocket of his pants. He looked so effortlessly casual it made her want to throttle him.
Manon hummed. “And yet you bought me hot chocolate.”
“And yet I did.” Dorian shrugged, an easy smile on his face as he watched her expression. Manon ignored the way her cheeks seemed to heat under the glare of his blue eyes and prayed that Havilliard would ignore it too.
If only she were so lucky.
“Witch, are you blushing?” He asked, a smirk tilting his lips upwards.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She scoffed, forcing herself out of the haze that was Dorian Havilliard. She wasn’t blushing. Absolutely not. “It’s just cold.”
Dorian hummed, eyeing her with a victorious gleam in his eyes. And even as she started walking away again, Manon could feel his eyes on her body, trailing down her form as she walked to class. She rolled her eyes as she stood in front of door, refusing to acknowledge the fact she felt more alive than she had ever felt.
“Witch?” He called as she was about to enter her classroom, making Manon stop and raise an eyebrow as she turned to him once again. He seemed to blush under her gaze, but his cocky demeanour never faltered. “Are we still on for tonight?”
Manon tilted her head, enjoying the way he seemed to grow more restless with every second that passed where she remained silent.
On all accounts, going out with Dorian Havilliard was a terrible idea. He was her competition – now and in the future when both took over rivalling companies –,and everything her grandma despised – everything she had been taught to loathe, to steer clear of.
And yet, he was the only person who could make her heart race; the only person who set her blood on fire with his stupid arguments and easy smiles.
How could she ever reject him?
But Manon simply smirked, never one to soothe a nervous Dorian Havilliard. “We’ll see.”