Dragonless, Not Undesired: Bonded To Four Royals

I blinked and the silver eyes with red slits were gone.

I straightened, staring toward the spot behind the archway where I’d seen them.

There was nothing save for sunlight and a stream of students moving across the Concourse.

My skin tingled.

No. Maybe I’d imagined it.

Of course I’d imagined it. There was no way those eyes could belong to...

I stopped myself.

Don’t.

That boy was dead to me.

I exhaled and turned back toward the dais. The white-haired boy beside me glanced sideways and I shook my head.

"What a load of absolute garbage. If that silver-haired dragon brat broke a rule, they’d give her a medal, but if I breathe too loud, they’ll lock me in a cell."

"You really don’t believe in the system, do you?"

"I believe the system is built to keep people like me on the floor," I snapped quietly. "And I don’t intend to stay on the floor. In fact, the second I find a tear in those perimeter wards, I’m out of here."

The High Rector raised her hand, silencing the faint whispers of the crowd.

"For centuries," she continued, "the Academies have stood as monuments to an ancient defense. We have taught you that our founders built these halls to prepare for a darkness foretold in the oldest prophecies—a Dark Lord in Hell, a war that would span realms, an army of ’The Borrowed’."

A faint murmur rustled through the noble ranks.

"Over generations, many among you have come to view these prophecies as mere folklore. Bedtime stories to frighten children. A justification for tradition."

"Because they are bedtime stories," I muttered to my companion. "Imagine dedicating an entire realm to academies because some old man had a bad dream ten thousand years ago. It’s embarrassing."

The boy’s jaw tightened slightly. He didn’t look at me this time. His eyes were fixed straight ahead on the dais.

"However, recent events have reminded us why vigilance is mandatory. Three days ago, a high-ranking initiate of the Fae Academy committed a grave violation of realm law. He breached the wards, attacked three senior wardens, and attempted to break into the lower vaults."

The crowd gasped. Breaching the vaults was treason.

"His justification?" The Rector’s eyes narrowed. "He claimed his roommate was no longer himself. He claimed the boy’s soul had been stolen by a Hell-bound agent, citing the ancient prophecy as his proof. A theory that is entirely unverified, dangerous, and reckless."

I nearly choked on my own spit. I turned to the dirty boy beside me, my eyes wide with hilarious disbelief.

"See?!" I whispered. "What did I tell you?! Complete nutjobs! The whole lot of them!"

He didn’t answer. He just stared rigidly at the stage.

"The boy probably just got sick or caught a stomach bug," I whispered, barely containing my laughter. "And now this lunatic roommate thinks he’s a possessed agent of Hell! Whoever wasted their time breaking into vaults over some bedtime story deserves to be incinerated."

A single muscle twitched in his jaw. "You think he should be incinerated?"

"One hundred percent."

On the dais, the High Rector’s cold blue eyes slowly swept across the hundreds of faces in the Concourse.

And then... they stopped.

Directly. On. Us.

More specifically, directly on the archway where I was standing.

A rather deafening silence fell over the entire plaza. Hundreds of heads turned, following the direction of the Rector’s gaze.

My smile slowly vanished.

Why is she looking over here? I was whispering! There’s no way she heard me!

"To demonstrate the severity with which the Council handles such misguided recklessness," the High Rector announced, "the student responsible for this outrage has been stripped of his rank, placed under containment, and brought before you today to serve his public penance."

She extended a pale, elegant hand toward the base of the dais.

"Step forward..." she commanded. "...my son."

My blood went instantly, completely, bone-chillingly cold.

Her son?

The High Rector’s son?

The lunatic who broke into the vaults?!

I slowly, agonizingly turned my head to look at the young man standing next to me.

The dirty clothes. The rumpled shirt. The dried blood on his cuff. The absurdly perfect Fae features beneath the mud. The luminous, silver-violet eyes that were currently looking down at me with a gaze that promises retribution.

Oh.

Oh, gods.

Oh, no.

He was the High Rector’s son.

I’d spent the last ten minutes insulting the Academy, mocking its prophecy, calling the High Rector a bureaucrat, and declaring her son deserved to be incinerated.

To. His. Face.

He paused at the edge of the archway. He turned his head back toward me, eyes gleaming in the sunlight. A breathtaking, utterly lethal smile spread across his dirt-streaked face.

On the dais, the High Rector’s icy gaze locked onto my frozen form.

"Was there something you wished to add to the lesson, young lady? You seemed quite eager to share your thoughts a moment ago."

"..."

My brain screamed at me to run. It screamed at me to apologize. It screamed at me to drop to my knees and beg for mercy.

Instead, because my mouth had a fatal, incurable disconnect from my survival instincts, I straightened my spine, swallowed the lump of sheer terror in my throat, and looked the most powerful woman in the realm dead in the eye.

"No, Your Grace," I paused. "... Absolutely nothing."

The Fae lunatic let out a dark chuckle that sent a shiver straight down my spine. He leaned back toward me just an inch, whispering for my ears alone.

"That’s a shame. I was really enjoying your opinion."

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