Page 101 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

We’re royalty ourselves, and I wouldn’t waste my efforts on those who won’t acknowledge my worth unless deemed valuable after a certain instance. It does intrigue me as to why they wish to meet us now, but we’ll find out the answers to those questions soon enough.

Though there’s obviously a hidden motive here.

From his position in a high-backed chair, Mortimer barely glances up from the ancient text in his lap. The book's pages are yellowed with age, their edges crumbling despite the preservation spells I can sense woven into the binding.

"The Headmaster's attention is not a right," he says calmly, turning a page with deliberate care. "It's a privilege few have earned in the academy's history."

Damien whirls on him, fangs flashing.

"Oh, really? And you would know, wouldn't you? How many times have you tried to gain an audience? How many years have you been shunned despite being one of their precious Seven?"

The words hit their mark. Mortimer's fingers still on the page, though his expression remains carefully neutral.

"The Headmaster is not merely an administrator," he says after a moment, his voice measured. "They are, for all intents and purposes, a god within these walls. The very force that keeps Wicked Academy thriving."

His pale eyes lift to meet Damien's glare.

"Your previous attempts to communicate were not insignificant, Damien. But to them..." He shrugs elegantly. "They simply weren't worthy of direct intervention."

"But this is?" Damien gestures wildly at our surroundings. "Some newbie shows up, manages to destroy those fucking slates, and suddenly we're summoned like pets to their master?"

His voice rises with each word, frustration and exhaustion evident in every syllable.

"Said newbie is currently unconscious," I point out, unable to keep the amusement from my tone.

My gaze drifts to where Gabriel ——Gwenivere—— slumps against Cassius's shoulder. Her glamour holds, maintaining the masculine facade, but there's a softness to her features in sleep that the magic can't quite hide.

Her chest rises and falls in the deep, steady rhythm of pure exhaustion. Dark circles shadow her eyes, and dried blood still stains the collar of her uniform. The trial has left its mark on all of us, but she bears the heaviest evidence of its toll.

"She won't wake even if the academy crumbles around us," I muse, studying the way Cassius's shadows curl protectively around her sleeping form.

The Duskwalker prince hasn't moved since we entered the chamber, his posture rigid but his touch gentle where it supports her weight. His silver eyes remain fixed on some distant point, but I notice how they flick to her face whenever she stirs.

"He,"Damien corrects sharply. "We're still maintaining that facade, remember? Unless you want to explain to the Headmaster why we're harboring a female student."

I arch an eyebrow at him.

"You think they don't already know? This is their domain, Damien. The walls themselves probably whisper our secrets directly to their ears."

"Then why the pretense?" he demands. "Why summon us at all if they know everything?"

"Because knowledge and understanding are not the same thing," Mortimer interjects, his attention returning to his book."The Headmaster may know what transpired, but perhaps they seek to understand the why of it all."

Damien scoffs, resuming his pacing.

"The why? Thewhyis that we got stuck with a crazy hybrid who decided to play hero. Nothing more to understand."

"Is that what you truly believe?" Mortimer's voice carries a note of challenge. "That destroying those slates, freeing those souls, was simply playing hero?"

The question hangs in the air, heavy with implication.

Damien's steps falter.

"Those slates..." he begins, then stops, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Fifty years. Fifty fucking years of students' souls trapped in those things. And she just... walked in and shattered them like they were nothing."

"Not nothing," I correct softly. "The cost was substantial."

My mind flashes to the moment we thought we'd lost her. The way her body had gone limp, her skin turning an ashen grey as the magic drained from her.

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