Page 103 of Vicious Kings
"Surprisingly, yeah." I flip to a different page in my textbook, this one about defensive ward construction. "It's actually... interesting."
Her eyebrows shoot up. "Interesting?Youthink something at this school is interesting?"
"Don't sound so shocked." I trace the diagram with my finger, committing the pattern to memory. "Combat theory, weapon enchantment, tactical magic, it's all stuff I should know. Stuff that could?—"
I cut myself off before I can say "help me complete my mission." But Olivia's not stupid. She fills in the blanks on her own.
"Stuff that could help you survive in a world full of supernaturals," she finishes diplomatically. "Even if you end up claimed by some Fae who keeps you locked in a tower somewhere."
"Exactly. Besides, I've only ever studied this stuff through a hunter's lens," I admit, turning the page. "It's interesting to see the Fae perspective. And the weapons are next level. Professor Thorbridge is bringing in a polearm enchanted with winter magic that—" I cut myself off when I realize Olivia is gawking.
"You're kind of geeking out right now." A smile tugs at her lips. "Oh my gods, this is like fashion for you, isn't it? All this weapons and magic stuff?"
I want to deny it, but she's not wrong. Every class with actual substance, actual skills I can use, makes me feel a little more like my old self, before all this omega bullshit. Like I'm not completely useless in this new skin and maybe being an omega doesn't mean I have to forget everything that made meme.
"Maybe," I admit grudgingly. "At least I'm learning something useful instead of just seventeen different ways to arrange throw pillows."
"Hey, nesting is an art form." She points her pen at me accusingly. "And you're getting better at it, by the way. Madame Silvaine actually smiled at our last attempt."
"She has resting bitch face. That could have been a grimace."
"It was definitely a smile." Olivia goes back to her notes, but I catch the pleased expression on her face. "You're adjusting. In your own stabby, violent way, but you're adjusting."
Adjusting. The word doesn't sit quite right. Because adjusting means accepting, and accepting means giving up on going home. On being who I was before all this omega bullshit ripped my life apart.
But I have to believe all this bullshit has a purpose beyond just surviving another day in this gilded cage.
Otherwise, what the fuck am I even doing here?
We study in silence for another hour, the café slowly emptying as students head off to afternoon classes or whatever the hell they do with their free time.
Isabella and her crew finally leave, but not before shooting us looks that promise this pheromone-fueled cold war is far from over.
"Want to grab ice cream before we head back?" Olivia asks, packing up her books. "There's a cart in the main courtyard that does these ridiculous sundaes with edible gold leaf and?—"
"You had me at ice cream. Don't need the sales pitch."
She grins, and it's genuine enough to make me wonder if I've somehow, accidentally, made a friend in this frilly hell hole. Huh.
The thought immediately makes me think of Vera back home, and I feel a pang of conflicted guilt and longing. Both are tempered by the memory of how she looked at me at my Unmasking.
Even if I go back home victorious, will she ever be able to see me the same? Will any of them?
That's a problem for future Billie to worry about, I decide. The only way I'm going to survive let alone succeed at my mission is by taking this one moment at a time.
The courtyard is packed with students enjoying the unseasonably warm afternoon. Fae lounge on grass that's too green to be natural, their melodic laughter carrying across the space. Shifters rough-house near the fountain, their competitive snarls making several omegas clutch their pearls.
And everywhere, the collared humans trying desperately to fit into a world that will never truly accept them as anything more than decorations.
The ice cream cart is exactly as ridiculous as advertised. A Fae vendor with purple hair creates elaborate confections with a flick of his wrist, each one more absurd than the last.
Olivia orders something with three different types of chocolate and something called edible diamonds—whatever the hell that even is—as a topping.
I get salted caramel because I'm not ready to eat gemstones no matter how supposedly edible they are, thanks.
We find a spot on a stone bench overlooking the gardens, and I have to admit, the ice cream is incredible. It's creamy and cold and probably made with magic, but I don't care. For five minutes, I'm just a girl eating ice cream with her roommate, watching the campus go by.
Almost normal. If you ignore the floating architecture and the students with wings.
