Page 122 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

"Destined to what?" Gwenivere demands, her silver eyes narrowing with the determined focus I've come to both admire and occasionally fear. "What aren't you telling me?"

I step closer to her, instinctively protective despite knowing she's perfectly capable of handling whatever revelation might follow.

"No matter the implications…," I state with quiet certainty, "it changes our immediate priorities."

Zeke nods, attention shifting back to the glowing "peach" with evident concern.

"We need to integrate the essence back into the throne before attempting activation," he confirms. "And we need to complete the bonds first to ensure we all advance together."

"How exactly does this bonding process work?" Cassius inquires, practical considerations clearly taking precedence over theoretical implications.

"Blood exchange," I explain, knowing this territory better than anyone present. "Direct consumption rather than mere contact. The intent matters as much as the physical act…a deliberate choice to form connection rather than accidental transfer."

Gwenivere straightens, determination replacing momentary confusion. "Then let's do this properly," she states withcharacteristic decisiveness. "Zeke first, then Mortimer if he's willing."

She turns to the cat-boy with an expression I recognize as her "no arguments" face — the one that somehow transforms her relatively diminutive stature into an imposing presence even hardened criminals would hesitate to challenge.

"Are you ready?" she asks him, the question carrying weight beyond mere inquiry into immediate preparedness.

She's giving him a final opportunity to refuse. To choose a different path than service to another after apparent abandonment by a previous master.

Zeke's extraordinary eyes widen slightly, apparent surprise at being offered choice rather than commanded despite her obvious determination. The reaction confirms my suspicion that his previous "service" involved considerably less autonomy than Gwenivere naturally offers those in her orbit.

"I am," he responds with a quiet dignity that reluctantly elevates my assessment of his character despite lingering territorial irritation at his presence. "Though I should warn you…familiar bonds differ slightly from traditional blood exchanges."

Gwenivere's expression shifts to curiosity.

"How so?"

"The transfer is...reciprocal," he explains, choosing words with evident care. "You'll gain certain awareness of my condition, location, and general emotional state. In return, I'll experience a similar connection to you, though with additional service obligations that manifest instinctively rather than through conscious command."

Service obligations. Interesting terminology for what most would simply call servitude.

"Are you comfortable with that arrangement?" Gwenivere asks, characteristically more concerned with his consent than the potential advantages the connection might provide her.

Zeke's smile carries genuine warmth that transforms his features from merely interesting to undeniably appealing. The observation irritates me beyond reason, though I maintain careful neutrality in my expression.

"More than comfortable," he assures her. "Honored, if I'm being honest."

Gwenivere nods, turning toward me with an expression that clearly seeks approval despite her determination to proceed regardless. The consideration touches something ancient within me — the recognition that she values my opinion even when her course is already decided.

My Queen of Spades always surprises me with small kindnesses even amid world-altering decisions.

"Do what you must," I tell her, making peace with the inevitability of expanding our unusual bond network. "We'll need every advantage to escape this system. Just before we go, we’re gonna have to ‘talk’.”

Her smile carries gratitude beyond mere acknowledgment of permission that was never truly required, and she nods, confirming that we will speak before we dive into this maddening chaos.

I’m sure she’s probably assuming it’s something quick or preventative.

We’d have to make it quick because we don’t really have time otherwise.

She turns back to Zeke, who has already extended his wrist with practiced precision that suggests familiarity with the required ritual.

"How much do you need?" he asks, practical concerns apparently taking precedence over ceremony or hesitation.

"Just enough to form the connection," she responds, her fangs descending with delicate precision rather than predatory display. "I'll be careful."

I watch with complex emotions as she takes his slender wrist in gentle hands. The care with which she approaches the exchange speaks volumes about her character — even in necessary feeding, she maintains consideration that most vampires abandon in their fixation on the blood itself.

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