Page 131 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

And deep down, I know the reality of Wicked Academy makes this feel like a fairytale in comparison.

The calm before the storm.

22

THE LOOPED REALITY OF THE WICKED PART I

~GWENIVERE~

The dining table gleams with fresh polish, thoroughly sanitized after activities that had nothing to do with proper dining etiquette.

I shift in my seat, trying not to wince —or blush— at the pleasant ache radiating through my body.

Should have stretched first.

But really, how was I supposed to prepare for being thoroughly claimed by a Fae prince before my morning coffee?

My attempts to maintain a casual demeanor probably aren't fooling anyone, especially since the sound of flesh meeting flesh and increasingly desperate moans probably echoed through half the building.

Mortimer has relocated to the kitchen island, pointedly avoiding the "defiled" dining table.

His expression suggests he's trying very hard to pretend he didn't hear every detail of our passionate encounter, though the slight flush to his usually pale complexion betrays him.

The thought of him and Cassius bearing witness to our orchestra of pleasure makes me smirk despite myself.

Though to be fair, Nikolai hadn't exactly encouraged quiet dignity with his talented hands and that wicked tongue?—

A steaming cup of coffee appears before me, interrupting that dangerous train of thought. Cassius sets it down with careful precision, his shadows curling around the mug like protective tendrils.

"Thank you," I beam up at him, genuinely grateful for the caffeine offering.

My stomach growls audibly as he follows the coffee with a plate piled high with food — eggs (not purple-flamed), bacon, toast, and what appears to be perfectly caramelized home fries.

The sight reminds me that I've barely eaten since arriving at the academy, too caught up in survival and supernatural politics to maintain basic nutrition.

"You need to eat like a normal person," Cassius states matter-of-factly. "Being a hybrid doesn't mean you can survive on blood alone."

His concern touches me, especially given the complicated dynamics at play.

Here he is, making sure I'm fed properly, mere moments after I thoroughly enjoyed his fellow prince against various kitchen surfaces. We've been bonded for what — less than twenty-four hours?

Though when I try to calculate the time since our own passionate encounter, that too seems to fall within a similar timeframe.

"How does time actually work here?" I ask, genuinely curious. "I've read mentions of accelerated temporal flow within Wicked Academy due to the magical domains, but whenever I tried to research deeper, I hit dead ends."

Mortimer perks up at the academic question, his embarrassment forgotten in favor of sharing knowledge.

"The temporal mechanics of Wicked Academy are fascinating," he begins, clearly in his element. "The magical barriers that protect and define this space also create unique chronological patterns. Time moves differently here than in other realms, including the mundane world."

"That's why we've technically lived for 'centuries,'" he continues, warming to his subject. "The academy's temporal flow is significantly accelerated compared to outside realities. A day here might equal mere minutes elsewhere, though the ratio isn't always consistent."

I lean forward, intrigued by the implications, but Nikolai's voice cuts through my academic curiosity.

"She can learn the theoretical details after she's eaten," he declares, appearing at my side with a glass of orange juice. "We can't risk having Gabriel faint in the training fields when classes begin."

The use of my male alias reminds me of the complexities still ahead. I may have moments of being purely Gwenivere in private, but to the rest of the academy, I need to maintain my masculine facade.

My stomach growls again, louder this time, making the decision for me. I pick up my fork, trying not to seem too eager as I dig into the perfectly prepared breakfast.

---