Aiden was back in his room, a cold slab of meat lying across his face, and a cloth bundled with ice on his foot. Though he was still sniffling, the governor’s son was extremely contented in how things turned out – Meredith was currently in the Dean of Student’s office being scolded for what was seen as, “beating on another student” and “unladylike conduct”, while Aiden was going to be approached later for his “foul language” once his swelling had gone down.

But Aiden was pleased with his behavior. Like with Professor Duarte months earlier, he had escaped trouble with little repercussions against him. Minus his swollen face, he found the experience a complete success.

“Excuse me, I’m getting cold,” he called through the open door. Hastily, one of the nurses walked into the room with a basin of warm water and a washcloth, which she wetted and placed over Aiden’s forehead. He grinned.

“How’s the swelling?” she asked, gently picking up the raw meat. The swelling had indeed gone down, but was still extremely prominent on his cheek. Tissue cloths had been stuffed into his bleeding nostril, but Aiden had “accidentally” blown it out, which resulted in more blood oozing out of his nose and onto his pillow. “Oh, my,” the nurse whispered, and began cleaning the dried blood from Aiden’s face. Once done with that, she wrung out the washcloth, wetted it again, and placed it back onto Aiden’s forehead. “I’ll go tell the boiler man to raise the heat, all right?” Aiden nodded, his eyes big and innocent looking. “Is there anything else I could get for you?”

Aiden shook his head. “No, but thank you.” Smiling, the nurse departed from his room. Not soon after, Aiden broke out into a toothy grin and chuckled to himself. He raised up the meat and laughed, staring at it. “Why would you do that?” he mocked. “Seriously, where do I come up with this?” He placed the slab back onto his face, wincing in the pain. Aiden flipped over his pillow, having the bloodstained side facing down. Aiden reveled in its coolness once he had lain back down, which allowed him to fall asleep.

When he woke up, the room was even colder; the meat had fallen off his face and was against his bedpost. He sat up and walked into the mirror to find his swelling almost gone, just a ring of Meredith’s fist on his upper cheek. He smiled smugly and lightly brushed the rounded bruise; this was one of the ways his father told that him he was growing up. He would be proud when his son told him about the skirmish he’d been in, but Aiden decided to leave out the fact that it had been with a girl.

A knock came from the door. Aiden turned to see Mr. Andersen, the Dean of Students. If Aiden had known he was coming, he would’ve lied down and pretended to have been asleep. “How are you, Mr. Whitebell?” he asked, taking a seat on one of the leather-upholstered chairs. Aiden sat down on his bed and stared at the man. “I’ve already talked to Miss Meredith Hollway, and she’s told me her side of the story. Would you like to tell me yours?”

Aiden nodded slowly and began, “I sat down to eat. They came over and Meredith asked for my opinion about something. So, I told her what I thought. But then she played this…this terrible trick on me where she had the table leg fall on my foot. I got upset and went over to her to ask why she did that, and then she knocked me down twice and I got upset.” He sniffed and looked away, eyes closed.

Mr. Andersen’s expression remained blank, seemingly unmoved by Aiden’s act. “Mr. Whitebell, Meredith’s story paints you as the provoker, and, while you might have seen yourself as the victim, you must remember that your words have repercussions against you.” Dean Andersen adjusted the chair to face Aiden. “Aiden, you must remember that.” Aiden flinched; he felt that all the hired staff at school should addressed him formally, but in situations where he was being addressed by the deans were among the only exceptions to the rule.

“I understand,” said Aiden.

Mr. Andersen’s eyes narrowed. “Do you? This certainly isn’t the first time you’ve used foul language at school. In fact, it’s your fifth mark before the winter holidays. That’s twice as many as last year altogether.” Dean Andersen stood up and began walking over towards the bed. “So either you’re acting out for a specific reason, or you’re acting out for no reason whatsoever.”

“Or, people are just being rude to me?” Aiden offered as an alternate. “Why is it immediately my fault? Do you just, assume, that I like to misbehave?”

The Dean sighed. “No, Mr. Whitebell, it’s based on patterns. You’ve exhibited an even greater amount of hostility since you first arrived here. You must understand that, despite your position, you aren’t going to be treated any differently than every other student on school grounds.”

“So?” he asked, defensively.

“So if you do decide to follow your father into his position as governor, – ” Aiden had already planned on doing just that. “ – someone of your stature must be a well-rounded individual. You must be, and please excuse me for this, schooled, to become someone who is likable in politics.”

Dean Andersen now stood over Aiden, overshadowing him. “Aiden, I - ”

“Dean Andersen, I’m afraid I have to cut our time together a little short. I’m feeling a little woozy and I must lie down for rest. You know, because I’ve been injured?” He gestured to the almost-healed bruise on his face and began to lie down.

Dean Andersen nodded and headed towards the door. He turned back to the boy and said, “If this happens again, you’re going home this winter holiday with a letter about your behavior.” And with that, Dean Andersen left the room.

Aiden was alone in his room again; he suddenly could feel the encroaching cold entering. He crawled under the sheets of his bed to find them cold as well, the heat stripped bare from his nap some time earlier.

But at that moment, a late lunch was served to the “ailing” boy, a pleasant, warming meal of poached eggs and chicken breast covered in a sweet and tangy red sauce. He almost swallowed the plates and cutlery; Aiden demanded something sweet to tide him over for the time being. So the nurses fetched him fresh fruit with a chocolate paste for dipping. At first, he found the chocolate paste very delectable, but eventually found it very bland, even when dipping the fruit; it reminded him of his mother. He ate what he could stomach before falling asleep for the night.

Aiden awoke the next morning and decided to grace the world with his presence. His bruise was still prominent but it had begun to fade; he wore it with pride.

The snow hadn’t let up.

He left his dormitory at half hour past the first set of bells. Aiden had missed the entirety of his first lecture and strutted extremely late into his second lecture; he almost regretted it when he’d discovered the in-class reading test that was in process.

Aiden knew, right then and there, that he had failed it.

The snow continued falling, but what made the day worse was the wind. It whipped the snow around, creating almost blizzard-like conditions. There was nothing enjoyed for the rest of the day for everyone, for the thought lingered that they’d inevitably have to walk through the snow.

The students’ safe haven was the Gold Hall. A large fire burned in the ornate fireplace, its heat creeping out slowly and enveloping the students sitting in the large room. But the room was made even more appealing based around the round tables, which also provided a place to study for those who didn’t want to return to their dormitories. Indeed, the Gold Hall was also used as a study area before and after meals, but when the weather worsened, the room was used as both simultaneously.

Aiden entered the room and sat down at a vacant table. He ordered the “holiday special” and simply watched his fellow students pass by and move on with their day. He sighed before being approached by three of his followers, who asked enthusiastically about the bruise across his face. Aiden promptly exaggerated the story to the point where Aiden had become a defenseless bystander and Meredith was transformed into a seven-foot tall, angry giant with oversized muscles who saw Aiden studying and decided to pick on him without reason.

As they ‘oo’d and ‘ah’d over Aiden’s heroism, an attendant approached from the front hall and handed two of the boys and Aiden wireless messages, most likely from relatives dealing with holiday plans of transport back to their respective homes. One of the boys read that his parents had planned for him to sail back on one of the family’s company airships, while another had simply canceled their winter plans short notice, leaving him at school.

“My parents would never do that,” Aiden told him.

The boy shrugged and said, “It’s all right. I was actually planning on going to one of my friend's estates in Greenspring. This is actually perfect.”

Greenspring was the metropolis southeast of the school, existing in warmer climates and hugely popular with the world’s aristocracy in winter months. Despite being so close to the mainland, the city existed just outside the grasp of the Arcadian Empire and the Mainland kingdoms, but just a stone throws away from one of the Empire’s outposts. Many of the student’s families owned estates in or on the outskirts of Greenspring to escape from the oppressive cold of the empire’s winters, when time and business allowed them to leave.

“Is it on the fashionable side?” Aiden asked.

“Yes, of course. We weren’t born yesterday.”

“Can I come?” he asked.

“I just need to talk it over with my friend.”

“Aren’t you going to look at yours?” asked the second boy.

“Why? It’s probably my mother wishing for my safe return back to the capital. As soon as I’m done here, I’ll send her a wireless message saying how my plans have changed. It’s no problem whatsoever.”

After eating, Aiden pulled on his jacket and finally unfolded the fourth wireless message.