Page 69 of Vicious Kings
The question is who. And why.
I dress in what passes for functional clothing here—a deep blue skirt that at least allows me to move without tripping, paired with a black blouse that doesn't make me look like I'm auditioning for a Victorian funeral. The fabric is still too soft, too expensive, but it's the best I've got.
Olivia watches me with concern. "Are you sure about this?"
"Nope." I grab my bag, shoving the notice inside. "But when has that ever stopped me?"
The walk across campus is different this morning. Word of the shimmer party has spread like wildfire. I catch fragments of whispered conversations as I pass.
"I heard she actuallyrejectedPrince Corvinus."
"—must be insane?—"
"Isabella is going to destroy her."
Perfect. Just what I needed. More enemies.
Brittlespire Tower looms at the eastern edge of campus, adorned in narrow windows that look more like arrow slits than architectural features. It's older than the other buildings, left over from the original fortress, back when this place actually served a purpose beyond teaching omegas how to curtsy.
The entrance hall is sparse compared to the rest of campus. No crystal chandeliers, no floating furniture, no ambient music. Just stone and iron and the faint smell of blood that never quite washes out of old battlefields.
I follow the sound of voices up a spiral staircase that's definitely not up to modern safety codes. The steps are worn smooth by centuries of feet, some stained with what I really hope is rust.
Room 147 is at the top, a circular space with a domed ceiling that shows the sky outside.Realsky, not enchanted bullshit. The walls are lined with weapons. Swords, axes, spears, things I don't have names for but would definitely love to get my hands on.
And the students.
All alphas.
Every single one of them.
Fae males in various states of arrogance, their beauty sharp and dangerous. A handful of shifters, easy to spot by the way they move, fluid and predatory. What might be a vampire in the corner, pale enough to be translucent. And scattered among them, a few creatures I can't classify.
Not a single omega in sight, just like Olivia warned.
Fuck. Maybe this was a bad idea.
Every head turns when I enter. Conversations die mid-sentence. The air gets thick with pheromones, all of them pulsing with the same unspoken command.
Submit.
My body wants to. I can feel it, the omega instincts trying to take over, trying to make me lower my eyes and bare my throat.But twenty years of hunter training is stronger than a few weeks of biology. I meet their stares with my own, daring any of them to comment.
Submit to THIS, fuckers.
"Well, well." A Fae near the front with silver hair and cruel beauty smirks. "Looks like someone made a wrong turn."
"Room 189?" I check the paper again, though I know what it says. "Advanced Combat Theory?"
"That's correct." The voice comes from the front of the room, and my blood turns to ice water.
Professor Locke Drakiss stands at the podium, those obsidian eyes fixed on me with a heat that makes my skin crawl. He's wearing what I'm starting to recognize as his standard outfit of black pants and a black shirt, everything tailored to emphasize his robust form.
"Miss Moreau," he says, and my name sounds like a curse in his mouth. "How delightful. Please, take a seat."
I scan the room, looking for the least threatening option. Every seat is flanked by alphas who look like they're deciding whether I'm prey or property. Neither option appeals.
Then I see them.
