Page 115 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

"If we need to find the throne for your assignment, we may have to group up together to hit two birds with one stone," he suggests, with practical focus replacing philosophical discussion with a smooth transition that nonetheless leaves the previous question hanging unresolved. "But we're going to need Mortimer, who's waiting up ahead."

Atticus snarls audibly, discomfort from my kick apparently forgotten in the face of new irritation.

"How the hell does he know Mortimer?"

Cassius's expression suggests a similar question though voiced with more restraint, silver eyes narrowing slightly as he reassesses Zeke with increased wariness.

"They can communicate somehow because they're both familiars, in a way," I explain, sharing understanding gained through previous conversations without revealing specifics that might violate Zeke's confidences.

"Mortimer is a dragon shifter," Cassius counters immediately, shadows shifting with slight agitation that suggests genuine confusion rather than mere contradiction. "Not a familiar."

"Dragons need riders to reach their full capacity of strength and dominance in any aspect of their life," Zeke calls back without turning, voice carrying easily despite increasing distance as he continues leading us forward. "Meaning they need a master, a rider, a being that gives them purpose. Why do you think most dragons live in the depths of kingdoms? It’s because their masters are rulers that give them purpose."

This explanation lands with a surprising impact, a paradigm shift regarding Mortimer's true nature and position within the academy hierarchy requiring mental adjustment from all of us.

Atticus's expression suggests thoughtful recalculation rather than dismissal, crimson eyes narrowing slightly as he intertwines his fingers with mine, guiding me forward as he and Cassius move to follow Zeke's lead.

The rearrangement places me between them, surrounded by protectiveness that feels simultaneously comforting and slightly stifling given the recent independence experienced during their absence.

"Is that why your group calls him a pet?" Atticus asks after several moments of silent progress, the question directed primarily at Cassius despite ostensibly addressing both of us.

Cassius sighs, shadows shifting in what I've come to recognize as an expression of discomfort with the topic that triggers genuine regret rather than mere social awkwardness.

"Not really," he admits, honesty apparently valued above self-justification or revisionist explanation. "We used it more as a term to taunt him because we were just being asses and hated our predicament. We weren't really acknowledging his potential feelings or the association of him being a familiar."

The admission carries weight of genuine remorse, Cassius's growth since our first meeting is evident in his willingness to acknowledge past failings without defensive rationalization. The change reinforces the connection between us, the bond mark at my neck warming slightly with appreciation for this evidence of evolving character.

"Where's Nikolai?" I ask, suddenly realizing that our group remains incomplete despite the unexpected reunion with two bond mates.

Cassius's expression shifts to something more complicated, shadows coiling more tightly around his shoulders in response to evident discomfort with the question.

"We sent him ahead," he explains after a brief hesitation that suggests reluctance rather than deliberate withholding. "He's obviously the only Fae in our group that can locate where the throne is because it should call only to royalty, but..."

"What's wrong?" I prompt when he trails off, concern immediately given unusual reticence from a normally forthright Duskwalker prince.

Cassius glances toward Atticus, some silent communication passing between them that further heightens my curiosity about whatever they're reluctant to share.

Atticus rolls his eyes dramatically, exasperation evident in an expressive gesture that somehow manages to combine aristocratic disdain with street-level impatience.

"He was getting bullied earlier by other Fae," he mutters, reluctance suggesting information shared only because withholding it has become more troublesome than revelation."Many Fae really seem to dislike Nikolai, but we can't grasp why."

The statement carries implications beyond mere social difficulties, suggesting deeper issues within Fae hierarchy that potentially connect to Nikolai's transformation and strange reception within the Faerie realm. Rather than speculating without sufficient information, I turn to the most knowledgeable source available.

"Zeke?" I call, question embedded within a simple address requiring no elaboration between us given the growing understanding that has developed through our interactions.

He stops, turning to face our approaching group with an expression that suggests comprehension of unspoken inquiry.

His extraordinary eyes meet mine directly, assessment apparently confirming his decision to share knowledge that might otherwise remain carefully guarded.

"Some royals are born destined to become grand beings of authority," he begins the explanation carrying a cadence of ancient understanding rather than a mere personal perspective. "Those are individuals for whom the world itself will shift in their favor if it means them claiming the throne they're destined to sit upon."

He pauses, head shaking slowly in a gesture that communicates both regret and resignation regarding what follows.

"And then there are those who steal what is not meant to be theirs, conceal the truth to dwell in lies, and are forced to carry the consequences until they're willing to confess their sins and obtain redemption," he continues, assessment carrying the weight of judgment without personal malice. "Until then, let them carry their cross."

"Indeed," a familiar scholarly voice confirms from ahead, Mortimer's unexpected appearance completing our expandinggroup. His expression carries troubled gravity that suggests developments beyond mere academic concern. "We have more grave problems."

The announcement lands with ominous weight, Mortimer's typically composed demeanor showing subtle cracks that hint at genuinely concerning developments rather than merely challenging academic circumstances.

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