Page 8 of Burning Heir

Then his gaze locked onto mine, and recognition hit me like a blow to the chest.

The man beside Saani—I knew him.

“That’s Archer Lynch,” I whispered, breathless. “He won the title the same year Klaus attended. I bet he killed him. That’s why he came that day to deliver the news of Klaus’s death.”

Father had sent him away with a slam of our iron door, nearly shattering the wards.

Knox met my eyes, his sharp chin dipping in a curt nod. “Don’t get too worked up, Sev. Someone like him will never know your name. But I’ve got to admit, the Night realm is pretty badass.”

“But why—” I shook my head, the words sticking in my throat. “He had no reason to know Klaus. I overheard Charles talking to Father after Klaus died. Archer was the last student to see him alive, Knox.”

Knox shrugged. “Klaus failed our family, Sev. I know that’s hard to accept.”

That Serpent had wormed his way into our home. His smile and voice lingered in the portrait plastered on the Serpent press for weeks after his crowning. I’d never seen Father so furious—never knew parchment could burn twice. Father fed the flames every time the mail arrived, bearing Archer’s icy grin.

I needed a distraction.

My reflection caught in the lanterns strung along the hall, their candle wax dripping down the metal beams. I couldn’t meet Archer’s eyes again. Not after they wilted me, like a beetroot left to rot in last season’s harvest.

Silence fell as a cloaked figure entered.

The man I assumed to be the headmaster strode forward, standing beside the six Serpents. He raised a curled fist, his cape billowing. Yellow eyes glinted like polished glass, sweeping over the new students. His mane of black curls framed his pale, nearly translucent skin, hard lines marking his expression.

Every eye turned toward him, including mine. But my focus frayed, torn between the headmaster and the storm of Archer’s gaze.

His voice rasped as he spoke. “The Serpent Academy welcomes you for another year to earn your title. I am Professor Mundair, and I shall be your headmaster as you embark on your journey to leadership.”

A hiss carried each word. “Six Serpents will mentor you. They’ll hand-pick you based on tests and trials over the next three days. A map will be placed in your dorms. There are aides to care for, cook, and mend you. When the lanterns turn on, it’s lights out. You may not enter other trails or realms without permission. Leave campus without it being a holiday, and you’ll be expelled. Now, I’ll introduce the Serpents who volunteered their time to mentor you. Do not disturb them unless they approach you.”

They were beasts in my eyes, untamed wild snakes, sensing blood and fear as all six flicked their gazes among us.

The headmaster gestured. “Monty Garcia, Serpent of Bright Day.” A male stepped forward, black hair slicked to show off his angular jaw. He waved with a smirk, bowing smugly.

Monty’s name was plastered in the papers every other week. Last year alone, three mistresses.

“Jenessa Link, Serpent of Winter.” My heart skipped as Jenessa stepped forward. Her dark complexion glinted in the lantern light, her skin as smooth as ice. She looked around Charles’s age, possibly the Serpent of Winborrow.

“Saani Kaur, Serpent of Summer.” Saani didn’t step forward, but brushed a pin-straight strand of black hair behind her ear, the tail end of her whip slashing the stone. She was draped in gold: hoops, bangles, and a golden cape that swayed with her slender frame.

“Tydon Braie, Serpent of Autumn.” A fire-headed male bowed, one hand behind him.

“Archer Lynch, Serpent of the last standing Night.” Archer furrowed his brow, a cocky grin forming on his lips. Dark hair shaved at the sides, with a wave swooping above his brow. Tall, fearsome, cruel—a man rarely seen in the press, even when we needed more cinder.

“Levisly Bloom, Serpent of Spring.” A pixie-like woman twirled forward, vines wrapping around her petite figure. Her fingers curled into a wave.

The headmaster let the room settle, waiting for the students to stop whispering about Archer and Monty. Even Knox’s lips parted in awe—hard to believe it came from him.

“Some of you may not survive your first night. Leaders are not born. Half of those who received letters will die or be sentenced to the Malvoria Institute before the year ends,” he continued. “So, I ask you all: Who does not wish to be here?”

The room stirred as students turned to watch for those brave enough to raise their hands.

Knox pinned my wrist down, eyes forward. “Don’t you dare think about raising your fucking hand,” he hissed.

A shuffle went through the crowd as a dozen raised their hands. A familiar voice cleared his throat, stepping out of the shadows.

“Malvoria welcomes you. You’ll all make great guards.” Charles stood beside a black column, his Malvoria suit pressed perfectly.

He didn’t fly us here out of kindness. He came to recruit the dropouts. He knew better than to glance our way. He knew all he’d see was the pulsing anger in his youngest sibling’s eyes. Perhaps he knew his vow of protection to the Continent was more than clipped words—it was entrapment.

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