The Extra's Rise

"Arthur!"

Rachel's voice rang out the moment Alastor and I stepped back into the hall. Before I could even process her movement, she had latched onto my arm, curling around it like some sort of overly affectionate, glaring barnacle.

Her eyes—currently radiating enough protective fury to make a dragon think twice—were fixed squarely on her father. "He didn't scare you or anything, right?" she asked, her grip tightening as if she were personally prepared to throw hands with Alastor Creighton, one of the most powerful mages alive.

Alastor sighed the long, suffering sigh of a man who had long since resigned himself to fatherhood-induced exasperation. He pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, "You used to be such a sweet little girl. Always running around, 'Daddy, Daddy!'" He shook his head, looking thoroughly betrayed by time itself. "And now, the moment a boy enters the picture, this happens."

His gaze flicked to me, sharp and distinctly unamused.

Rachel, already blushing furiously, practically vibrated with indignation. "Father, don't talk about that!"

Alastor merely sighed again, the weight of paternal disappointment heavy upon his regal shoulders, and turned away, muttering something about the fleeting innocence of youth.

I, meanwhile, was doing my best not to laugh.

Because no matter how terrifying he was as a mage, as a King, and as a general force of nature, Alastor Creighton was also, at the end of the day… a dad. And his daughter was currently wrapped around my arm like an overenthusiastic koala, thoroughly ignoring whatever reputation for refined elegance she was supposed to have as a princess.

"I'm fine, Rach," I said, reaching up to pat her head before I even realized what I was doing.

Rachel blinked up at me.

I froze.

"Sorry," I said quickly, already bracing myself.

"Do it more," she declared, eyes practically sparkling as she nuzzled closer, looking way too pleased with herself.

"Rach," I started, feeling the stares of the surrounding nobles drilling into my back, "you're being a bit too—"

"Sorry," she interrupted, utterly unrepentant. Her voice dropped slightly as she whispered near my ear, "I won't do that again in front of everyone, since you don't want people to see that… right?"

I stiffened.

Rachel smiled.

Somewhere in the background, I could feel Alastor's judgment.

It seemed that no matter how powerful I became, there were still some battles I simply wasn't equipped to win.

"You are so cute," Rachel giggled, finally peeling herself away from me—though not entirely, because that would require an unacceptable level of personal space. Our arms remained firmly linked, like she was afraid I might suddenly vanish into the void if she let go.

I sighed, though there wasn't much exasperation in it. "Glad you think so."

The rest of the birthday ball went by in a blur of music, laughter, and the ever-present, polite suffocation that came with noble gatherings. Rachel, of course, was the center of it all—smiling, twirling, making rounds like the effortlessly charming princess she was. But every now and then, her eyes would flick to me, as if checking to make sure I was still there, still watching.

And I was.

By the time the ball wound down, guests were beginning to drift away in private carriages, skyships humming as they departed into the night. The grand halls of the Creighton estate, once bursting with light and sound, slowly settled into something quieter. More intimate.

It was my last night here.

Tomorrow, I'd be returning to Avalon.

I retired to my room, sinking onto the bed with a deep breath. The day had been… eventful. Between Alastor, Isolde, and Rachel being, well, Rachel, my brain felt like it had been through a high-speed crash course in Creighton family dynamics.

I let my eyes drift closed.

Knock knock.

I sighed.

Because, of course.

The déjà vu hit before I even turned my head.

There was only one person who knocked at my door at this hour.

I pushed myself up, ran a hand through my hair, and—knowing full well what I was getting into—opened the door.

Rachel stood there, barefoot, in a loose nightgown that did absolutely nothing to hide the fact that she had zero respect for personal boundaries. Her golden hair cascaded over her shoulders, a few strands falling into her eyes.

"Hey," she whispered, as if we were doing something forbidden.

I leaned against the doorframe. "Rach, do you ever sleep at a normal hour?"

She grinned. "Not when I have more important things to do."

I raised a brow. "And those would be?"

Rachel shrugged, stepping past me without waiting for an invitation—because of course she did. "Spending my last night with you before you leave," she said, flopping onto my bed like she owned it.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "You do have your own room, you know."

She stretched her arms above her head, completely ignoring me. "And yet, here I am."

I sighed again, closing the door behind her.

It seemed my last night at the Creighton estate was going to be interesting.

"Your father may genuinely kill me," I said, because some things needed to be acknowledged out loud.

Rachel, as expected, did not care.

"I won't let him," she said, as if this was a matter of sheer stubbornness and not the will of one of the most powerful men in existence. "I like you too much."

She patted the bed beside her, smiling like this was all perfectly reasonable behavior. "Come sit next to me."

I hesitated for exactly half a second before doing as she asked, keeping my eyes firmly forward in an attempt at self-preservation.

"I didn't tell you why I cried last night, did I?" Rachel asked.

That caught me off guard. I blinked, then shook my head.

She exhaled, leaning back slightly, eyes drifting somewhere far beyond the walls of the room. "When I was about five years old, my mother went… insane," she said, the word heavy with something unsaid. "She started hurting me. Physically. And there was nothing I could do to stop her."

I didn't speak. I simply listened.

"My father and sister weren't home. It was just me. And my mother was strong—a mage beyond anything I could have resisted. She used me as a hostage, and no one could do anything about it."

A pause. A quiet inhale.

"My father tried to come back, but the North was in chaos. If he had abandoned the frontlines completely, the entire region would have collapsed. He wanted to return. But he couldn't. Not yet."

And then—softly—

"When he did come back, he sealed my mother. And that was the end of it."

I waited. Because she wasn't finished.

Rachel turned to me, her expression unreadable. "It happened on my birthday."

I felt something tighten in my chest.

"This is a Creighton family secret," she said quietly. "I'm telling you because that's how much I trust you, Arthur. Because I love you."

The words landed between us, weighty in a way that had nothing to do with simple affection.

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"You will never, ever hurt me," she continued, certainty ringing in every syllable. "I know that. So tell me—do you love me?"

"I do," I said.

Simple. Honest.

I loved Rachel.

Just as I loved Rose. And Seraphina. And Cecilia.

Once, the world had been grey. Dull.

Now, it was alive with colour.

Rachel studied me for a moment, then smiled, a touch wry. "But you love them too, don't you?"

"Yes," I admitted.

She sighed dramatically. "Quite the ambition, making a harem of princesses and a Count's daughter," she teased, shaking her head like I was some sort of hopeless case.

Before I could reply, she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around me and pulling me against her in a tight embrace. My face met her shoulder, her warmth seeping into my skin.

"Shhh," she murmured, pressing closer, "let me do this. For revenge."

"For—" I started, only to be thoroughly ignored.

Rachel rested her chin on my shoulder. "I love you so much, Arthur, that even sharing you… I don't mind that much."

My breath caught.

"So I'll wait," she continued. "For you to confess properly."

And then, before I could process any of that, she leaned in and kissed me.

Soft. Warm. Certain.

When she finally pulled away, she smiled—smug, fond, victorious.

"Let's sleep together," she said.

My brain short-circuited.

Rachel, realizing what she had just said, promptly turned scarlet.

"You pervert," she huffed, crossing her arms. "I didn't mean that kind of sleeping!"

"If we did do that now, my father would kill you."

"I wasn't thinking of that!" I shot back, feeling my own face heat up.

"Liar," Rachel said, unimpressed. "At least try to keep your eyes up."

I sighed, shaking my head, but resistance was a lost cause. Rachel had made up her mind, and when Rachel made up her mind, the rest of the world simply had to deal with it.

She gave me exactly half a second to brace myself before pushing me down onto the bed with the authority of someone who had decided she was in charge of the situation. Which, to be fair, she absolutely was.

Without hesitation, she curled up beside me, snuggling in with all the determination of a particularly clingy cat. One arm draped over me. Her forehead rested lightly against my shoulder. She fit into my side like she'd always belonged there, which was—honestly—a little terrifying.

"Good night, Arthur," she murmured, voice already soft with sleep.

I exhaled, letting my body relax, though my brain was still flailing in the background, trying to process the sheer absurdity of my life.

"Good night, Rach," I said, my voice quieter than I expected.

And just like that, the warmth of her presence, the steady rhythm of her breathing, the sheer reality of it all settled over me.

Tomorrow, I'd return to Avalon. Tomorrow, everything would continue—challenges, responsibilities, an uncertain future.

But for now—just for tonight—Rachel was here, curled against me, and that was all that mattered.

Sleep came easier than I expected.