Page 21 of Vicious Kings
And at the center of it all, a palace that defies description. It's less a building and more a physical manifestation of the Fae's superiority complex. Towers twist skyward like frozen tornadoes. Walls shimmer between solid and translucent, revealing glimpses of gardens that seem to exist in their own pocket dimensions.
"Impressive, isn't it?" The male guard speaks this time, his tone suggesting he's used to humans having this reaction.
I want to tell him it's obscene. That while they live in this fairy tale wonderland, the less privileged humans scrape by on the scraps they deign to throw us. That every crystal spire is built on the bones of people like my mother.
Instead, I say nothing.
My silence speaks louder than words anyway.
The carriage winds through the city streets, and the excess only gets worse. Fae in clothing that defies physics stroll past, some accompanied by creatures I can't even begin to classify. A woman with butterfly wings larger than she is tall argues with a merchant whose lower body is that of a snake. Two children,or at least I think they're children, chase what looks like a miniature dragon down an alley.
And everywhere, the wealth. Shopfronts made of precious metals and gems. Fountains that spray liquid moonlight. Street lamps that burn with flames in every color imaginable.
My stomach turns. This is what they've built while humans huddle in their designated cities, grateful for the "protection" the Fae provide. This is what my mother died trying to destroy.
The carriage turns onto a tree-lined avenue, and the crowds thin out. Here, the excess takes on a more refined quality. Estates hide behind walls of living hedges, each one probably larger than the entire Moreau compound. The few Fae I see move with the kind of casual grace that comes from never having to worry about anything as mundane as survival.
We pull through gates made of wrought silver that open without anyone touching them, onto a circular drive that surrounds a fountain depicting... I don't even know what the fuck that's supposed to be. Some kind of Fae mythology, probably. The mansion beyond it looks like someone took every human idea of luxury and decided to mock it.
Three stories of pale stone that glows. Windows that reflect the sky in ways that make my brain hurt. Gardens that smell like every good memory I've ever had, which pisses me off because I don't want this place to be associated with anything positive.
The carriage stops in front of the mansion, and the guards exit first, flanking the door. The driver opens it with a flourish that makes me want to punch him in his perfect face.
"Welcome to the Assimilation Academy, Miss Moreau," he says, offering his hand to help me down.
I ignore it, climbing out on my own. My legs protest after the long ride, but I'll be damned if I show weakness here.
The front doors open before we reach them. A woman stands in the entrance, and my first thought is that she looks like she's made of ice.
She's tall, even for a Fae. Hair so white it's almost blue, pulled back in a style that looks painful. Features sharp enough to cut glass. She wears robes of deep purple that make her pale skin look like moonlight, and her eyes—violet, because apparently purple eyes are a common thing here—sweep over me with the kind of disdain usually reserved for something you scrape off your shoe.
"Miss Moreau," she says, and her voice matches her frigid appearance. "I am Madame Loriyne, headmistress of this institution."
I resist the urge to curtsy mockingly. "Charmed."
Her lips thin further, which I didn't think was possible. "Follow me."
She turns without waiting to see if I comply, gliding into the mansion with that inhuman grace all Fae seem to possess. The guards fall back, because apparently their job is done now that I've been delivered like a package.
The entrance hall is exactly as ridiculous as I expected. Ceilings so high I can barely see them, painted with scenes that seem to move when I'm not looking directly at them. A staircase that would make any human architect weep with envy curves up to the upper floors. Everything gleams with that subtle Fae magic.
Madame Loriyne stops in the center of the hall and turns to face me. "Before we proceed, there is a small matter to attend to."
She raises one hand, fingers moving in a pattern that makes the air shimmer. The collar around my neck grows warm, then hot, then settles back to its usual temperature. But something's changed. I feel it, like a shift in the invisible chains binding me.
"What did you just do?" I demand, bringing my hands to my throat.
"Updated your restrictions," she says, as casual as if she'd just told me the weather. "You are now bound to this estate rather than the hospital. Any attempt to leave the grounds without permission will be... discouraged."
Discouraged. Right. More like fried from the inside out, if the hospital was any indication.
First priority: get this fucking thing off.
"Now then," she continues, gesturing for me to follow her deeper into the mansion. "Let me explain your situation. This academy exists for special cases. Omegas who, for various reasons, were unable to attend traditional preparatory schools."
"Special cases," I repeat. "That's a nice way of saying problem children."
Her eyes narrow slightly. "If you prefer blunt terminology, yes. You are here because you are ignorant of even the most basic omega protocols. My task is to remedy that before you embarrass yourself—and by extension, the entire omega population—at Valemyre University."
