Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
A laire hugged herself as she walked through the brisk air, regretting not wearing another layer. Shivering, her footsteps echoed faintly on the stone steps leading to Eclat Castle.
“Off to see the headmaster, are we?” barked one of the gargoyles. Its weathered stone face cracked into a toothy grin.
Another, perched lower on a turret, drew its thick stony brows together. “Trouble brewing, I’d say,” it muttered.
Alaire didn’t have time to indulge the campus gossip mill, not when she’d been summoned to Headmaster Carth’s office. She quickened her pace before she was trapped in a never-ending tale of who was dating whom.
Although she’d been preparing for this moment since revealing her true lineage, a ball of nerves bounced around her stomach.
The Consortium wants me under its thumb.
She walked through the familiar corridors, careful to avoid any new passages, until she reached the headmaster’s office.
A stern-faced attendant sat at their desk, head bent low over parchment. Their bald head snapped up at the sound of her footsteps.
“Go in. They’re expecting you,” the attendant said before diving back into their work.
They’re?
The dark, imposing doors of weathered oak, adorned with intricate gold filigree, loomed gargantuan against her size. She pulled on the handle.
“ Here goes nothing ,” she shot down the bond toward Solflara.
“ Shall it not go as intended , I will simply pluck their eyeballs from their skulls . Nothing to stress about , I assure you .”
“ We can’t go around shamelessly killing everyone , as intriguing as that sometimes sounds . Otherwise , we’d be no better than them .”
“ Fine .”
“ I thought you were supposed to be the sage one .”
“ I am . Do try not to stab anyone , then .”
Despite everything, Alaire fought back a smile. As much as she’d love to cut down anyone who stood in her way, she had to play the long game.
The doors opened with a creak that echoed down the stone hallway.
Headmaster Carth’s office was austere: dark mahogany furniture carved as intricately as the doors, dim light filtering through a tall stained-glass window, casting colorful patterns on the floor. The air carried the mingled scent of melting wax and earthy mustiness.
Headmaster Carth sat behind his desk, hands splayed over neat stacks of parchment.
“Alaire,” he greeted smoothly. “Please, have a seat.”
Alaire didn’t move. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement in the shadows. They weren’t alone.
Standing by the window was the smooth-tongued advisor to House Aetheris. He looked as revolting as she remembered —white hair, smarmy smile, bowl cut, a hooked nose. Victory gleamed in his beady black eyes.
Caius’s father. Dexter Vale.
This is going to be so much worse than I thought.
With a slight nod, she sat in one of the leather chairs before the desk. She forced her shoulders down and back, masking the tension coiled in her chest.
“Headmaster,” she said evenly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Dexter turned toward her, dark eyes pinning her with distate. “We have matters to discuss, Ms. Aerendyl—or rather, Ms. Vallorian, I should say.”
She bristled. The bastard knew damn well what her name was. Using Aerendyl was nothing but a power play, denying her the respect of her actual name and the status that came with it.
Alaire tilted her head in feigned innocence. “Matters? I thought everything had already been smoothed over.”
“I apologize if there is some confusion—” Headmaster Carth began.
“Nothing has been smoothed over,” Dexter snapped, voice slicing through the room, cracking his polished facade. She hadn’t even said anything yet.
Desperation rolled off him.
Perhaps this won’t be so bad after all.
He leered over Headmaster Carth’s shoulder. “Did you think you could declare yourself heir to the lost Vallorian line and there would be no questions? That you could continue your studies at Aeris Academy without the Consortium seeking answers?”
She bit her tongue to keep from smiling. He’d played right into her hands.
“And?” She flicked her fingers as though his questions bored her.
Headmaster Carth’s gaze darted nervously between them.
He cleared his throat. “The Consortium feels your return poses a threat. You’ve lived undetected in Cielore for over ten years.
You have a wealth of information about our politics, strategies, and customs—information our enemy would pay handsomely for… ”
Alaire’s head snapped back. “I’m no more a threat than the other heirs under Aeris Academy’s tutelage.
Once again, it all comes down to bloodlines.
I’m half human, so you consider me unpredictable.
As for my throne—there’s nothing left to claim.
Aurelia is gone. My parents are dead.” She leaned forward, eyes blazing.
“And if you ever insinuate that I’d trade information to my parents’ killers for any price, I will gut you from end to end. ”
“How convenient,” Dexter said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Your struggles during the first trial also raised concerns. Barely managing what comes naturally to every other student hardly inspires confidence in your capabilities.”
She arched one light brown brow. “You mean when I prioritized saving one of the few trained fliers over completing an arbitrary trial? I would’ve thought the Consortium valued protecting their assets against the vampires.
” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in the chair.
“Unless, of course, you’d prefer I had left her there.
I’m sure Lyra’s Premiere Lord would be delighted to hear that. ”
The creak of the door snapped Alaire’s gaze toward the sound. In strode an all too familiar fae.
What was he doing here?
Her treacherous heartbeat ricocheted up a notch.
Stop it. He made it clear—strictly partners.
“ Sureeee ,” Solflara crooned down the bond.
“Your Royal Highness, thank you for joining us.” Headmaster Carth preened, greeting his beloved prince. So this was what it meant to be royal—to wield so much power and influence that even the headmaster bowed to your whims.
“You requested my presence?” Dawson asked.
Headmaster Carth gestured to the empty seat beside Alaire. “Please.”
Dawson moved with the effortless grace of a feline, though his eyes assessed the room with quiet precision. He smiled when he noticed Dexter.
Dexter circled the desk, giving Alaire a wide berth before clasping a hand on Dawson’s back. He spoke just low enough that Alaire had to strain to hear. “You look well. Headmaster Carth has kept me updated on your progress. Your mother is proud.”
Dawson’s jaw locked at the mention of his mother. “Thank you,” he said flatly.
Dexter leaned on the desk in front of Dawson, forming a grim semicircle with the headmaster.
Dawson sat, crossing one leg over the other—the picture of detachment, the aloof warrior. It was hard to forget what he felt like pressed against her: warm, solid?—
She shifted in her seat. Think of porcupine needles, garbage, the monsters of Cassiopeia Forest…
Dawson arched a brow. Alaire could’ve sworn his lips twitched.
She crossed a leg over her knee, mimicking his posture.
“Is Caius coming?” Dawson asked.
“No. This matter is quite particular in nature. The headmaster has informed me you’ve been paired with Ms. Vallorian in Professor Leslie’s class.”
“You mean Her Majesty .”
“Pardon?” Dexter’s lips flattened.
“Alaire is the last of the Vallorian line. Her title is Her Majesty, just as yours is Chief Advisor.”
Dexter balked.
Holy shit. She wanted to pump her fist. She didn’t care about titles, but watching Dawson put creepy Dexter in his place was as satisfying as the academy’s endless desserts.
Dexter straightened. “You’re correct, of course. I apologize for not addressing you properly.”
“As am I,” Alaire said sweetly. “But since it’s just us, dropping the formalities seems appropriate.”
“Agreed.” Dexter swung back to Dawson. “As I was saying—you’ve been partnered with Alaire. It is peculiar that the two of you were paired together.”
Dawson shrugged, nonchalant. “I asked Professor Leslie to partner me with Alaire.”
What? Her brows shot up.
“Excuse me?” she choked out.
“You were the first human admitted to Aeris Academy. I figured the easiest way to assess any potential threats was to get close.” His eyes darkened.
Alaire’s swallow was audible in the quiet room. He’d detested her on sight, despised being her partner even more. Was he lying to Dexter? Or had he been deceiving her from the start?
“Of course you did, my prince. Your intelligence and strategic thinking knows no bounds.” Dexter stroked the stubble along his jaw, smug as ever. “What were you able to learn?”
Dawson leaned back, hands clenching briefly before he forced them to relax.
“There’s a fire inside her.” Dawson’s jaw clenched, as though the words were fighting their way out. “It disguises the guilt and sorrow she carries. Beneath that is something…” He stopped, swallowing hard. “Something remarkable.”
His hand moved to his throat; Alaire noticed the way his fingers pressed against the pulse point. “She’s relentless. Determined to protect those she cares about, no matter the cost.” His neck muscles strained. “She never gives up. Ever. Even when she’s outmatched.”
When he finally looked up, Alaire caught something raw and unguarded in his eyes, but he shuttered it away like slamming a door.
“She has yet to summon more than a flame of aether successfully. But she hasn’t needed it.
She’s relied on her wit, mind, and friendships,” Dawson stated, as if he didn’t see exactly who she was.
Alaire’s eyes widened. She sat frozen, never having expected such honesty. The words hung between them. Somehow, he’d managed to see her—not as the human, the queen, or the broken girl, but as the sum of all her parts: formidable, resilient, unyielding.
Swallowing hard, she fought to keep her composure, all too aware that Dexter was scrutinizing the pair of them.