Page 139 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

Horror creeps through me as I look between them, finally turning to Mortimer, silently pleading for him to say they're joking.

His sad smile and slight nod only confirms it.

"The Fae are exceptionally strict about their lines of power and perfection," he explains carefully, glancing at Nikolai with something like sympathy. "Those who are..." he pauses, measuring his words, "more defiant to family rules and requests are usually sent here as punishment, in hopes they'll survive long enough to be retrieved."

I stare at Nikolai, pieces clicking into place.

"So when you say you've lived for centuries, you're not joking. How long have you been here?"

Nikolai's expression turns thoughtful.

"I can't remember, to be fair," he admits. "I arrived around the same time as Cassius. We just adapted to Wicked Academy, hoping for an opportunity to leave. Since we weren't officially enrolled in the curriculum, we didn't face the constant trials."

The memory of Lord Bartholomew's disdain suddenly makes more sense. They weren't just troublesome princes — they were essentially squatters, using the academy as refuge without fully committing to its system.

"But when you return," I ask slowly, "won't you age?"

Cassius shakes his head, shadows rippling.

"Our paranormal cells are slowed exponentially here," he explains. "We don't really age much, even over extended periods."

"So you voluntarily remained here without enrolling," I say, connecting the dots. "That's why Lord Bartholomew said this was your final chance. Either properly enroll or face becoming outcasts, doing the walk of shame because they won't let you benefit from the academy anymore without participating."

"Checkmate," Nikolai confirms, looking pleased at my deduction.

His smile carries a hint of pride, but I can see the weight behind it —— centuries of avoiding arranged marriages and family expectations, using this place as both prison and sanctuary.

"But isn't it bad for you to stay here too long?"

Nikolai chuckles, the sound dark and bitter.

"That's part of the punishment," he explains. "They chose me, the one with the most potential to be heir, to send here. After my rather vocal disapproval of all potential suitors, what better way to get even?"

I process this, pieces clicking into place.

"So you stayed here," I whisper, "using the excuse that you'd enroll 'when the timing was right.' Centuries passed out there while only years went by in here, leaving your kingdom without an heir because they're too strict to break their own rules." My eyes widen as understanding dawns. "They can't put someone else on the throne because you're still alive and technicallyattending the academy they sent you to. Until you return, they can't do anything."

"Bingo," he confirms with a smirk. "Savage, don't you think?"

"Wickedly savage," I admit, unable to suppress my smile. "Wow. You're bad."

"A menace to society," he agrees proudly.

I turn to Cassius, catching his eye.

He holds my gaze for a moment before speaking.

"I didn't enroll because I had nothing to return to," he admits quietly. "My kingdom... they don't particularly like me. I'm an odd Duskwalker, not like the usual heartless ones." His shadows writhe with subtle agitation. "No one likes difference or change, so I'd rather deal with being an outcast here than return before finishing enrollment."

He pauses, then adds, "When we complete the program, we receive special documentation allowing us to travel between realms. Like a paranormal passport."

"Is that what you want to do?" I ask softly. "Travel the realms and learn about different species in our world?"

"Yeah," he mutters, looking away. "Seems fun."

The admission feels precious like he's sharing a secret dream he's never voiced aloud before. I can't help but smile, touched by this glimpse of vulnerability.

My attention shifts to Mortimer, wondering if he shares a similar story despite his position among the Seven.

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