Thankfully, the rest of the journey didn't involve me getting killed, hunted, or starved. No bears, no bullets, no divine punishments from the sky. Just three straight days of walking with almost no sleep and a right arm that itched under the skin like a nest of ants.
It didn't feel right. The reattached nerves were buzzing, my grip strength was off, and the whole limb felt like half of my left—except my left was already weaker, because I'm right-handed. Or, was. So… am I right-handed or left-handed now? Great. My body apparently decided the left was the dominant one.
Whatever. I could worry about identity crises later.
I crested a rise and finally saw it ahead: Aethermoor Academy. Or rather, the city wrapped around it. Father hadn't been exaggerating when he called it a hub. From here, it looked less like a school and more like a training fortress wrapped in a marketplace wrapped in a diplomatic fair. Banners from every human state and a few nonhuman enclaves flapped along the perimeter walls. High above, the academy's white spires stabbed into the sky like spears of light. Between me and those spires stretched the Convocation Gate—a broad, arched entrance warded by pale blue runes that shimmered like heat haze.
The sound hit me next. Wagon wheels. Carriage doors. Servants shouting. Hooves clacking. Laughter. Expensive laughter.
I stopped at the edge of the entrance plaza—Orientation Square, a wide cobblestone fan that fed right into the city. Guard posts lined the gate, but they weren't stopping anyone; they were organizing. At the far end, the Academy Emissaries in gray-and-white mantles directed arrivals toward registration pavilions.
I glanced down at myself.
Clothes, downgraded to "rug with armholes." Claw marks across the chest from the whole bear incident. Hair that had given up and become broccoli. A makeshift bag slung across one shoulder. And a smell that could knock a man off a horse.
I sniffed my sleeve and winced. I smelled worse than Philip's corpse had after a day in the woods. No bath for three days plus rain plus panic sweat equals… yeah. Perfume of the damned.
"Wonderful," I muttered, chewing the last corner of a ration bar that tasted like salted dust. "They're never going to let me in."
Around me, students—or future students—stepped down from carriages with family crests on the doors. Some had retinues. Servants carried trunks. Knights in light armor watched the crowds. I even saw a pair of horned traders from the Stonehorn Compact arguing with a snotty duke's steward about queue priority.
"Why is everyone arriving by carriage?" I whispered. "Wasn't the journey supposed to be solo and secret?"
Apparently not. The Royal Carriage Protocol was alive and well. Which meant I was very, very out of place.
Eyes landed on me. Lots of them. A few wrinkled noses. No one recognized me, thank the stars. Maybe beggars were allowed to enter, if they had the right token. Or maybe I'd be escorted away by a very polite man holding his breath.
I exhaled, stretched my aching shoulders, and tried not to scratch my right arm raw. The itch crawled under the skin, prickly and mean.
"Okay," I told myself softly. "Blend in. You're… scenery."
"Prince Agni."
The voice was soft, amused, and dangerously calm. The kind of voice that could smile and bite at the same time.
I turned.
She was tall. Taller than me by a lot—tall enough to stand eye-to-eye with Father, which was saying something. Jet-black hair fell straight down her back, simple and perfect. Her eyes were darker, so dark they felt like they absorbed light. And yet there was a glimmer in them, like polished obsidian catching sun.
A soft smile touched her lips. "It appears your journey was… quite difficult."
Lyralei Valen. The name flashed in my mind before I could stop it. The embroidered crest at her shoulder matched the 12th State. She was exactly as I remembered from the photograph—beautiful in an unadorned, terrifying way. Her presence pressed against the senses. Not loud. Not flashy. Just… decisive.
She extended a small folded cloth, palm steady. A handkerchief with a simple sun pattern—clean stitching, warm gold thread, fine cotton. The little sun had eight rays and a tiny knot at the center.
"For your hands," she said gently. "And perhaps your face. Let's get you cleaned up, then we can enter the academy together."
I accepted the cloth because refusing would have taken more courage than I had left. My fingers brushed hers for a second. Her skin was cool.
I looked into her eyes and, stupidly, thought of the Kodros Bear. Not the cub—the mother. That patient, implacable stare. Except this was worse. Sharper. Smarter. Hungrier.
Great. She's going to chew me alive.
I wiped my face and tried not to think about how I probably left a mud-blood-smoke abstract painting on her nice sun.
"Thank you," I said, clearing my throat. "I, uh… had a complicated week."
Her smile didn't change. "So I heard."
Her eyes slid over me once—bruises, cuts, frayed edges, one sleeve fuller than the other—and settled without pity. Just assessment. Like she was measuring a blade before buying it.
"Come," she said, stepping half a pace to the side with a subtle tilt of her head. "We'll freshen up first."
My feet moved before my brain could argue.
—
Some time ago.
A rocking chair creaked in rhythm with a soft hum. Lyralei sat by the window in a quiet guest manor off the plaza, fingers moving with tidy precision. Black thread pulled, looped, tucked. She was finishing a crochet border around a little square—white cotton with a simple sun pattern in gold.
She tied off the last knot, held the cloth up to the light, and hummed once, satisfied.
"Flawless as usual, Lady Lyralei," said a lilting voice.
Lyralei didn't look up immediately. When she did, her gaze slid to the woman leaning against the doorframe—pink hair cut to her jaw, black eyes bright and teasing. Lilly. Her longest-serving attendant. Loyal, shameless, and very good at making tea and trouble.
"Has the prince arrived, Lilly?" Lyralei asked.
Lilly sighed dramatically. "Patience, queen. What's the rush? Your most difficult path is already cleared."
"That is precisely why impatience bubbles," Lyralei murmured.
Her hand drifted to the iron pins in the little tray beside her chair. She picked up two between slender fingers, squeezed idly. The sharp points bit her skin. Lilly winced. Lyralei didn't. The metal bent. Then powdered. The dust fell like gray snow into her palm.
"Indeed," she said softly. "Indeed, Lilly."
The throne—what everyone else called a dream—was a long dinner to her. Multiple courses. Work. Heat. The pleasure was in cooking it herself, in seasoning each dish with her own struggle. Now the emperor had sent the meal out cold, plated by his own hand.
A marriage proposal straight from the emperor for the prince. In royal law, you didn't send proposals to be politely refused. You sent edicts with ribbons. Ironclad. Fixed. A rope around both necks, tied with gold.
"He moves early," Lyralei said, voice mild as milk. "Instinct. Tie the dog before it turns wolf."
Lilly's smile tilted. "You're no dog."
"No," Lyralei agreed, unblinking. "But he thinks I can be leashed."
She flicked the dust from her palm. It sparkled briefly in the sunlight.
"Besides," Lilly went on, pouring tea, "the prince you saw last year? Complete pushover. Bastard didn't even look your way. He was asleep in the sun."
"I am very patient, Lilly," Lyralei said. And she was. She had waited through rain and drought alike. She would wait a lifetime for what was worth taking. But it was galling when the mountain decided to lie down and roll into your lap.
The door clicked. Another woman stepped in, a little breathless. Green hair braided over one shoulder, blue eyes clear as river glass, freckles across her nose like a constellation. Vera, newly assigned this season—earnest, nervous, efficient.
"My lady," Vera said, lowering her voice. "I think the prince has arrived. Should… should Lady Lyralei confirm?"
Lilly arched a brow. "You think, or you are sure? What kind of report is that?"
Lyralei stood, stretching her arms, expression still calm. "It should be obvious how a prince arrives."
She walked to the window and drew back the lace curtain with two fingers.
"A royal carriage pulled by five white horses," she said lightly. "A boy of gold, wearing more weight than his bones, stepping down to applause. A perfect doll for my shelf."
Vera made a small noise that might have been a laugh. "Right."
The three of them left the room and descended to the street level where the guest manor opened onto Orientation Square.
There was no royal carriage. There were plenty of carriages—dozens, with white horses and black and brown ones too, all polished to a shine—but not the one she had expected. Lyralei inhaled slowly, eyes narrowing as she scanned the crowds.
"Am I seeing things?" she asked, almost politely.
Vera pointed. "There. Far right. By the column."
A boy of small height stood just outside the crowd's flow, wearing clothes that had survived a fight and a storm in the same week. His hair… no, that was not hair so much as a rebellious shrub. His bag was a rough affair. His scent hit them a moment later.
Lilly pinched her nose. "It stinks. Why are beggars at the academy? I thought they kept commoners till last."
Lyralei flicked Lilly's forehead without looking at her. "That is the prince."
"Disgusting little idiot," she added under her breath, annoyance cracking through the calm, perfect shell. "What is he doing?"
Lilly's eyes went wide. "Seriously?"
Vera swallowed. "My lady… are you going to greet him? Or… what?"
"How dare he," Lyralei whispered, and for a heartbeat the air cooled.
Her jaw set. Teeth met. Then the expression was gone, replaced by a soft, harmless smile. She picked up the sun-pattern handkerchief from her sleeve as if it had always been there.
"Oh, I'm going to greet him," she said pleasantly.
She walked through the crowd without seeming to touch it, attention following her like tide follows the moon.
—
Back in the present, Lyralei's smile didn't slip. "This way," she murmured to me again.
I nodded, trying to look like someone who hadn't spent the last week losing a horse, three pints of blood, and parts of my dignity. The handkerchief's thread caught the light—a tiny sun in a gray day. For some reason, it made my chest feel too tight.
I followed her toward the waiting pavilions, one step behind and exactly where she wanted me