Page 12 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

"You think this can hold me?"she purrs, and her voice carries echoes of something vast and terrible."I've danced with death since the day I was born. Your shadows are nothing but old friends."

The creature's multiple eyes blink in what might be surprise.

In all my years serving as the princes’ "pet" Reaper, I've never seen anyone treat a Duskwalker's power with such casual disdain.

Even Cassius himself seems taken aback; his customary silence is charged with something that might be of interest to him.

The school's magic pulses stronger around her now, resonating with her challenge.

Those threads of power I noticed earlier are practically singing, harmonizing with her own abilities in ways that shouldn't be possible. It's as if the very foundations of Wicked Academy recognize something in her blood, something that calls to the ancient magic woven into these stones.

Something that was meant to be here.

"We need to calm her down,"Nikolai grits out, his vines creaking as Damien renews his struggles. "Before these two tear the place apart!"

I watch as Gwenivere flexes against the shadow creature's hold, testing its limits with analytical precision even in her feral state. The blood still dripping from her nose has started to float, suspended in the air around her like rubies caught in spider silk.

The raw power rolling off her makes the air itself feel heavy, the atmosphere thickly charged with possibilities.

"No," I say softly, earning sharp looks from both Nikolai and Cassius. "We need to let this play out."

There’s more to this. More to unravel with this unexpected crossing of paths.

"Have you lost your mind?" Nikolai demands, outraged by my sudden urge to show sympathy for this woman.At least, I’m sure that’s what they’re thinking all of this is."They'll kill each other!"

I shake my head, never taking my eyes off the tableau before us.

"Look closer. Really look. The school's magic...it's not fighting her. It's embracing her. In five hundred years, I've never seen anything like it."

The shadow creature shivers, its many mouths twisting in patterns that speak of curiosity rather than threat now. Even Cassius steps forward, head tilted slightly as he studies our captive with new intensity.

He feels it too.

The way the ancient magics are responding to her presence.

"She's not just any hybrid," I continue, watching as Gwenivere and Damien lock eyes across the room, their standoff crackling with potential energy. "She's something we haven't seen in centuries. Something that was supposed to be impossible."

The first rays of dawn begin to paint the horizon in shades of fire.

Time is running out.

But as I watch her challenge death itself with a sinister smile, I can't help but wonder if we're the ones who will be making the right decision in this maddening change in circumstances.

Perhaps Wicked Academy has already decided her fate.

After allevery kingdom needs its queen…but why has it chosen this moment in time for her arrival and impending rise?

To my utter disbelief, the shadow creature – an entity of pure darkness and terror that had reduced seasoned warriors to gibbering wrecks – slowly lowers Gwenivere to the ground. More shocking still, it retreats, coiling back around Cassius like a chastised pet.

I've never seen anything quite like the expression on Cassius's face.

In all our years together, the Duskwalker prince has maintained an air of controlled detachment, as if the world itself was beneath his notice.

But now... his mouth hangs slightly open, shadows writhing around him in patterns that speak of confusion and –dare I say it?– fascination.

A sharp hiss splits the air as Nikolai's concentration wavers. The magical vines holding Damien aloft begin to unravel, emerald light flickering like dying fireflies. The vampire prince drops to the ground with predatory grace, fangs fully extended, eyes blazing with bloodlust and challenge.

Gwenivere answers his hiss with one of her own, the sound carrying harmonics that shouldn't be possible from a human throat. The tension in the room builds to a fever pitch as they lock eyes across the space between them.

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