Page 1 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

Prologue: Year Two Begins

~ATTICUS~

"Ready, my Queen of Spades?" I ask softly, watching her eyes reflect the dancing flames that surround us.

The lava landscape stretches endlessly in all directions, pillars of fire reaching toward an impossibly dark sky. Floating water slates defy gravity, suspended in mid-air like forgotten dreams.

The message still burns before us, its golden letters casting eerie shadows across her face:

"Seven will rise. Two will fall. A path awaits in burning carnage and drowning depths of infinite glory. Proceed to the check-in point to start your next trial."

I fight the burning smirk threatening to taunt my very lips when reading the next set of words that confirm my hidden suspicions.

"Welcome to Year Two... where monsters rise from the ashes of mercy, and survival demands a heart of ice."

Gwenivere takes my hand, and I feel her pulse quicken beneath my fingertips. The power flows between us, dark andfamiliar – nothing like the bonds she shares with those princes who watched her suffer without lifting a finger to help.

Complete jokes in masculinity.

"Let's show them what wickedness really means," I whisper with confidence, knowing damn well the implications being woven with every second spent here.

I don't hesitate to press my lips to hers once more, a silent vow that I will remain at her side through whatever comes next. If she needs to burn this entire academy to the ground to seek her vengeance, I'll gladly provide the match.

A promise sealed in blood and fire.

She pulls back, swallowing hard as our eyes meet.

"Your blood worked," she says quietly, the realization settling in her gaze. "That means..."

I say nothing, instead running my hand along the elegant curve of her neck. My fingers find the collar of her white dress shirt, gently spreading the fabric to reveal what I already knew I'd find there.

Spanning her collarbones like branches of a midnight tree, the marking pulses with dark energy. Spider lilies blossom along the intricate lines, their petals the exact shade of freshly spilled blood. The design seems alive, responding to my touch with subtle movement, as if the flowers are stirring in some ethereal breeze.

She stares down at it, speechless as she witnesses the physical manifestation of our bond. I trace the lines with reverent fingers, feeling the power that courses through them –through us– binding us together in ways that transcend mere magical connection.

This isn't the work of fate or destiny.

This is choice.

Sacrifice. Vengeance.

This is ours.

A smirk curves my lips as I admire my handiwork.

"It's huge," she protests, though I catch the wonder in her voice. "You're really screwed now. Stuck with me forever."

I wink, tilting her chin further upward with gentle pressure. My tongue traces the outline of her lips before I lean down to trail it along the very mark we were admiring. She shivers beneath my touch as I seal our covenant with this intimate gesture.

"Until death do us part, Queen of Spades," I whisper against her skin, feeling the mark pulse beneath my lips.

Our eyes meet again, and I can see the darkness and light battling within her – the part that still wants to believe in goodness and mercy warring with the part that understands sometimes vengeance is the only path to healing.

I take her hand, entwining our fingers.

"Our next trial awaits," I remind her. "If we want any shot at surviving Year Two."

She doesn't move toward the check-in point.

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