Page 68 of Vicious Kings
Caelyx's handiwork. The bastard did exactly what he said he'd do.
Part of me is grateful. The last thing I need is Olivia knowing I tried to commit mass murder. But why? What's his angle? Why help me and then threaten me in the same breath?
"Are you even listening?" Olivia's voice cuts through my thoughts.
"Sorry. Still waking up."
She rolls her eyes. "I said, you should probably get ready. Classes start in an hour."
Right. Classes. Another day of learning how to be a proper omega while plotting regicide on the side. Just another fucking day at Valemyre University.
I stumble toward the bathroom, catching sight of myself in Olivia's vanity mirror. Dark circles under my eyes despite sleeping for nearly ten hours. Hair that looks like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket. The collar around my neck catching the morning light, a constant reminder of what I am now.
What I have to pretend to be.
The shower helps. Hot water sluicing over my skin, washing away the sweat and fear and frustration of the past few days. I let myself stand under the spray longer than necessary, counting the tiles on the wall. Five rows of five. Twenty-five total. The familiar pattern grounds me, pulls me back from the edge of whatever breakdown I'm teetering on.
Get your shit together, Moreau. You've got a prince to kill.
When I emerge, wrapped in a towel that's probably made of a unicorn's ass hair, there's something on my bed that wasn't there before.
An envelope. Not black like Tallon's invitation, but cream-colored, sealed with wax that shimmers between silver and blue. The university crest pressed into it makes it official.
"What's that?" Olivia asks, finally looking away from her reflection.
"No idea." I pick it up carefully, half-expecting it to explode.
The seal breaks with a soft pop, and the parchment inside unfolds itself. Because of course it does. Can't have anything be simple in this place.
The text is in that flowing Fae script that makes my brain itch, but it transforms to English the moment I focus on it.
Miss Wilhelmina Moreau,
Due to administrative oversight, your course schedule has been adjusted effective immediately.
Please report to your new first period class: Advanced Combat Theory and Application, Room 189, Brittlespire Tower.
- Headmaster Alistair Valemyre
I read it three times, convinced I'm hallucinating.
Advanced Combat Theory?
That's… not an omega class.
"Let me see." Olivia snatches the paper from my hands before I can stop her. Her eyes go wide. "Advanced Combat Theory? But that's... that's for alphas. They don't put omegas in alpha classes."
"Apparently they do now."
She looks at me like I've grown a second head. "This has to be a mistake. You need to go to the registrar's office and?—"
"I'm not going back to that bureaucratic nightmare." The words come out harsher than intended. "If they want to put me in combat classes, fine. At least it'll be more interesting than learning seventeen different ways to arrange throw pillows."
Olivia's mouth opens and closes like a fish. "You're insane. Do you know what this means? You'll be in a room full of alphas. Alone. Without any other omegas to?—"
"To what? Protect me?" I laugh, and it sounds bitter even to my own ears. "I think I'll manage."
I don't mention the real concern gnawing at my gut. This could be a mistake, but the Fae don't make mistakes, not in their precious bureaucracy. Someone changed my schedule. Someone wants me in that class.
