Claimed By The King(s) Of Kings

Aina

Three upperclassmen strolled into the room with unearned swagger, their hips swaying and lips curled into sharp, arrogant grins. They were third-year students, evident by the distinct, gilded crimson ties wrapped loosely around their collars. These weren’t ordinary students; they were the Prince’s Foot Soldiers, the infamous trio of wealthy lackeys who handled all the dirty work the royal brothers deemed beneath them.

Each of them carried stacked wooden crates overflowing with thick, parchment envelopes sealed in gold wax.

Suddenly, upbeat tavern music blared from a portable acoustic caster held by the guy in the lead. The three third-years burst into an absurd, synchronized, ego-fueled dance routine, kicking their feet and sliding across the hardwood floor like circus performers.

"Step aside, commoners! Clear the way!" the leader shouted, striking a dramatic pose as he burst into an over-the-top intro. "My name is Dax!"

"I am Max!" the second sang out, sliding on his knees and throwing his arms into the air. "And I’m Jax!" the third finished, executing a terrible backflip that nearly smashed into a bookshelf.

Jax slammed a hand-held magic popper, sending a shower of sparkling crimson and silver confetti exploding over the astonished literature club.

"The wait is officially over!" Dax announced, using a rolled-up scroll as a megaphone. "The invitations for the annual Iron Fang Ball are officially out!" A collective gasp echoed across the room. The Iron Fang Ball was the most exclusive event on campus—a legendary, decadent night hosted by the royal princes where only the elite, the powerful, or the exceptionally lucky were allowed entry.

"Max, hand out the golden tickets," Dax ordered with a flourish of his hand. Instantly, the hall dissolved into utter chaos. Girls began squealing, clasping their hands in frantic prayer, while guys sat up straight, desperately trying to look important.

"Oh goddess, please, please," a girl near the front whimpered, bouncing in her seat. "I’ve bought three different dresses just in case! Pick me!"

"Please, Dax! Over here!" another pleaded.

Aina, on the other hand, immediately slid lower into her wooden chair. She pulled her collar up around her chin, ducking her head and sending up massive, desperate prayers to the moon goddess. Goddess above, if you are listening, make me invisible. Skip my desk. Pretend I do not exist. I don’t want a single thing to do with those royal psychos. If she didn’t slap one of the men hosting the party perhaps she also would have been dying to get an invitation but that is not the case.

Max began casually weaving through the rows, handing out letters with agonizing slowness, savoring the groans of disappointment and squeals of delight that followed in his wake.

He stopped directly in front of Savannah, a stunning, high-society lady, who also happened to sit at the head of the literature club. Savannah was well known across campus as Prince Malric’s on-and-off girlfriend.

"For you, my lady," Max said smoothly, dropping an envelope with a dark blue wax seal onto her desk. "Directly from Prince Malric himself."

"Oh, you sweet talker," Savannah giggled, tossing her silky hair over her shoulder as the surrounding girls burst into envious sighs and chorus after chorus of compliments.

Watching the exchange, Aina felt a fleeting wave of sheer perplexity. How on earth does a toxic, arrogant brute like Malric manage to keep a girl as polished and perfect as Savannah hooked? She shook her head. Then again, look at me, I’m a sham of an Alpha but still princess Molly chose me out of everyone to fake date. . The royals are just a collective hive of weirdos.

A sharp, firm tap suddenly landed on Aina’s shoulder.

She froze, her stomach sinking to her boots.

"Invitation for you, ’Travis,’" Max’s voice drawled from right beside her ear. He slid a thick, thin envelope onto her desk with a smirk. "Prince Malric specifically told me to make sure this one got directly into your little hands."

Aina groaned internally, closing her eyes in absolute defeat. I take back every single prayer I just sent to the Goddess. She clearly isn’t on shift today. Forcing a weak, pitifully fragile expression onto her face, Aina looked up at Max and offered a faint cough. "You know... I’m actually feeling quite sick today. Terrible fever. I really don’t think I’ll be able to go."

Several students turned to gawk at her in utter disbelief. "Are you insane?" a girl named Riley hissed from two rows over. "You don’t get to just decline a royal invitation!"

Max leaned down, resting his forearms on Aina’s desk until his face was only inches from hers. His playful grin melted into something far more sinister.

"Oh, little boy, you don’t have much of a choice," Max whispered, his tone dropping to a dark, amused tone. "Malric told me to give you a personal message if you tried to back out. He said if you don’t show up, he will personally drag you to the old academy cemetery behind the chapel... and bury you alive." Aina blinked, her jaw dropping slightly. "Wait... the school has a cemetery?"

Max leaned in even closer, his teeth flashing in a chilling smile. "Yeah. It does. And people don’t usually come back out when they go in there."

A wave of cold dread washed down Aina’s spine, but she quickly pulled her signature nonchalant mask back into place. Sliding the envelope toward herself, she forced a tight, brilliant smile and let out a light, nervous laugh. "Ah! You know what? What a miracle! I’m actually feeling so much better now," Aina said brightly, clutching the letter. "I think I can definitely make it!"

"Good lad," Max patted her head like a stray dog before turning back to his wooden crate.

The moment his back was turned, Aina dropped her smile, letting out a long, exhausted sigh. She crumpled the heavy wax seal in her palm and shoved the formal invitation deep into the pocket of her blazer.

Glancing around the room, the scene was pure mayhem. Two girls near the back were actively sobbing into their sleeves because they had been passed over, while a couple of the few guys in the club were grumbling in bitter annoyance. "This is utter bullshit, man!" one of the guys muttered, throwing his pen down. "How the hell does a tiny, irrelevant weakling like Travis get an invitation when I’ve been on the varsity track team for two years?"

Riley turned in her seat and snickered. "Well, for starters, ’Travis’ is hot. You are not." The guy snapped, leaning across the aisle with a scowl. "I promise you, I will jump right over this table and tackle you right now, Riley!"

The room dissolved back into laughter and chatter, the atmosphere alive with excitement. But surrounded by the joy, Aina sat in stony silence, her mind racing. This is going to end in absolute flames, she thought, rubbing her temples. There is zero chance this party ends well for me.

"Oh my gosh!" Savannah’s high-pitched voice rang out as she broke her wax seal and pulled out a gold-embossed card. "Look at the dress code! It’s masquerade-themed! We get to wear gorgeous ornate masks and ballgowns!"

"A masquerade?" another girl sighed wistfully. "Oh, I wish I was going even more now!"

Aina paused. Her fingers halted inside her pocket where the crumpled invitation rested.

A masquerade? Slowly, the dark cloud over her head began to lift. A sharp, calculated spark ignited behind her eyes.

If it was a masquerade party, that meant masks. That meant heavy cloaks, shaded corners, and disguises. She wouldn’t have to be instantly recognizable. She wouldn’t have to stand out in the middle of a brightly lit ballroom like a target waiting for an arrow.

The gears in her head began to turn rapidly, connecting the dots in the exact same frantic, brilliant way she had when she first hatched the scheme to steal her half brother’s acceptance letter and steal his identity.

Wait a minute... I might actually get out of this alive, Aina mused, a slow, dangerous smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

She knew precisely why she had been invited. Malric was still nursing a bruised ego and a swollen jaw from the moment she had slapped him across the face in front of his peers. He was planning something big, a public humiliation, a trap to put the "little Whitelock rat" back in his place. He thought he was luring her into a corner where he held all the power.

He thinks he’s so clever, Aina thought, leaning back in her chair as the rest of the room squealed over dress designs. He thinks he’s setting a trap for a helpless mouse. But he forgets who he’s dealing with. I am smarter than that arrogant little brat, and I am going to turn his little masquerade upside down.

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