Page 104 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

It's beautiful in its cruelty, each spike and curve designed to remind its bearer of the weight of power. It won't descend fully until I claim my birthright; until I take the throne that's been prophesied since my first breath.

If I survive long enough to claim it.

My eyes draw my attention last, and they perhaps show the greatest change. Gone is the carefully cultivated youth I present to the world.

These eyes are ancient, having seen centuries of court intrigue and battlefield gore. They hold the weight of decisions that have shaped realms and ended bloodlines.

The violet of my irises now swirls with gold, power barely contained behind pupils that have elongated like a cat's. These are the eyes of a being who could reshape reality with a thought, who could turn armies to ash with a gesture.

These are the eyes I've hidden from my friends for so long.

A bitter smile tugs at my lips as I think of Damien's reaction if he knew the truth. The vampire prince prides himself on his power, on his royal lineage. How would he handle knowing that his friend ——the one he teases and trades barbs with—— could probably erase him from existence with a word?

He'd never forgive me for the deception.

Cassius would understand better, I think.

The Duskwalker prince knows intimately the burden of power that others fear. He's lived with their prejudice, their hatred of abilities they don't understand. Perhaps that's why we've always had an easier rapport —— recognized kindredspirits hiding their true nature from a world that would rather destroy than understand.

My gaze returns to my hovering crown, its magic pulsing in time with the runes on my skin.

All my life, I've walked the knife's edge between power and acceptance. Every realm I've visited, every court I've graced, has offered the same choice:be feared or be loved, never both.

The Fae realms, for all their supposed perfection, are perhaps the cruelest in this regard.

They preach harmony and beauty while breeding generations of vipers, each one ready to strike at the first sign of weakness. I learned early that true power had to be hidden and contained if I wanted any hope of genuine connection.

The marks on my skin tell the story of that lesson —— each one a reminder of what happens when power is left unchecked.

The sister, whose jealousy led her to try drowning me in the moonlit pools.

The cousin, whose ambition drove him to challenge me before the entire court.

The uncle, whose schemes would have seen me bound in iron chains.

All of them defeated.

All of them dead…

All of them add to the weight of power that threatens to consume me.

The reflection shows me what others would see if I ever fully unleashed my power:a being of pure magic barely contained in physical form.The kind of creature that inspired the oldest and darkest of Fae legends.

The type of power that makes even gods pause.

And I hate it.

I hate the loneliness it brings, the way it sets me apart even from my own kind. I hate how it threatens every genuineconnection I've managed to forge. I hate knowing that someday, I'll have to stop hiding, to take my place among the highest ranks of Fae royalty.

And then I'll truly be alone.

The thought sends a sharp pain through my chest, and I force my gaze away from the mirror.

Being naive can be the greatest blessing and the deadliest curse…

The Headmaster continues their approach, each step adding to the pressure of power in the room.

Their magic calls to mine, recognizing a kindred force, but I maintain my restraint.

---