Elira barely had time to admire the breathtaking spires of the Royal Academy before trouble found her.
She was still marveling at the stained-glass windows, the way they filtered morning light into hues of violet and gold across the polished marble floor, when silence descended upon the corridor.
Students parted like waves before a ship.
At the center stood a girl so beautiful, she looked carved from moonlight. Her hair shimmered silver, cascading like liquid light over her shoulders. Her uniform, though identical in design to the others, seemed somehow more refined—tailored perfectly to her lithe frame. But it was her eyes that made Elira stop breathing.
Cold, metallic silver. Empty, sharp, and far too observant.
The girl walked with regal indifference, a predator among lambs. Her gaze flicked over Elira once—and then she stopped.
"Elira Veremelle," she said. Her voice was smooth, low, and cool as untouched snow.
Elira tried to stand straighter, but her corset made that difficult. "Yes?" she managed, hoping she sounded calm.
"I see the rumors were true. You've returned."
"I… suppose I have."
The girl stepped closer, and the scent of her perfume enveloped Elira—faintly floral, tinged with something dark and strange. The kind of smell that lingered long after the person had gone.
"I am Celestienne Raventelle. Grand Duke Raventelle's daughter. We were once… acquaintances."
Celestienne.
Elira's brain scrambled through her fragmented memories. A name surfaced—Celestienne Raventelle. Cold. Untouchable. Brilliant. Dangerous. And very, very rich.
"Ah… yes," Elira said. "I think I remember."
Celestienne's lips quirked upward. "Is that so?"
Elira was pretty sure she was bluffing terribly, but Celestienne didn't call her out.
"You've changed," the noble girl murmured. Her fingers lifted, reaching gently toward Elira's hair. "You used to wear braids. Now you look… fragile. Like porcelain."
Elira froze as those fingers brushed her cheek.
Why is she touching me?
"Perhaps the coma softened me," she said, trying to keep things light.
Celestienne didn't laugh. She only stared deeper, her gaze scanning every line of Elira's face like a cartographer memorizing a map.
"You will sit with me for lunch," she said, turning on her heel without waiting for a reply.
Elira blinked. "Wait, what?"
"You heard me."
"I don't think—"
But Celestienne looked back. "You don't need to think, Elira. Simply follow."
Elira was swept along like a paper boat in a current. Students stepped out of their way. No one dared interfere.
Inside the dining hall, things were worse. The moment Elira entered with Celestienne, a storm of whispers erupted. Curious stares. Jealous ones. Confused ones.
Celestienne led her to the head table, ignoring everyone. A maid pulled back a chair for Elira, and she sat stiffly, clutching her skirt.
"I feel like a deer in a wolf den," she muttered.
"Perhaps," Celestienne said, pouring her tea with delicate hands. "But even deer can grow fangs.
That didn't make her feel any better.
As dishes were served—soups, roasted meats, pastries—Elira tried to act normal. But she could feel Celestienne's gaze on her constantly. It was like being observed, measured, studied.
"So," Elira said, trying to fill the silence. "What do you… study here?"
"Magic theory. Aristocratic law. Tactical warfare. All the essentials."
That wasn't what Elira meant.
"Oh. I see."
"You're very bad at lying," Celestienne said, sipping her tea.
Elira nearly choked. "What?"
"You don't remember me. Not really."
Elira stayed quiet.
Celestienne's smile returned, this time sharper. "That's fine. I don't mind reminding you."
A shiver crawled down Elira's spine.
Before she could speak again, a new voice rang out.
"Lady Elira Veremelle?" a silky, amused voice purred.
Another girl approached—tall, red-haired, eyes like ruby embers. She walked with the swagger of someone who owned the room and knew it.
"Elira," she said again, eyes gleaming. "You've returned. And already caught the attention of Lady Iceberg herself? Impressive."
Celestienne's expression frosted instantly.
"Elira," the new girl said, ignoring Celestienne entirely, "I'm Isolde Virellith. Enchanted to meet you… again."
Another name. Another memory.
Daughter of a foreign noble house. Scandalous. Charming. Dangerous in a different way. Like a rose—beautiful, but riddled with thorns.
Elira managed a polite nod. "Pleased to see you."
"Oh no," Isolde said, leaning forward. "You'll do more than see me, darling. We'll be spending plenty of time together."
Celestienne's silver eyes narrowed.
"Elira is sitting with me," she said coolly.
"And?" Isolde smiled. "It's not a cage, is it? Or are you the jealous type?"
"Elira doesn't need distractions."
"Oh, I'm the best kind of distraction."
Their eyes clashed like blades. The tension was sharp, electric.
And Elira?
She was stuck in the middle.
"I'm just here to graduate quietly," she mumbled into her teacup.
Neither of them heard her.