Chapter 11
1822 Words
I picked up my books and kept walking to my seat.
The rows of students whispered when I walked past.
I was still technically a princess.
But that didn’t mean anyone looked at me like one.
Or spoke about me like one either.
“Wolfless.”
“Doom-bringer.”
“Moon-cursed.”
Same old and unoriginal.
Someone once told me hell was empty and all the demons were walking among us.
They weren’t wrong.
I slid into my seat at the back, ignoring the stares.
A girl in front—Emily—shifted her desk farther, like it wasn't already far enough.
The other students gave me space, but not respect.
Space didn't cost them anything.
This was politics and war strategy class.
The war room reeked of ink, iron, and old parchment.
It wasn't an actual war room—just a windowless chamber with high ceilings and ancient maps carved into stone slabs. Still, the energy was real. Heavy and tense.
Like the ghosts of battles past plotted and predicted from the walls.
Professor Kallus entered in his usual stormcloud of cloak and impatience. He didn’t bother with greetings.
“Today’s lesson,” he barked, slamming a leather-bound tome onto the altar-like desk, “is the Fading Accord. And how not to lose everything a second time.”
Murmurs rippled through the room.
He waved his hand, and the center of the floor lit up—an illusionary map of the world sparked to life in glowing threads. Mountains. Rivers. The Veil.
And at its heart: Vargrheim, ringed by a pulsing silver line—the Moon-blessed barrier.
"You know the basics," he said. "Two hundred years ago, the fae allied with men. The vampires stayed neutral—at first. The witches and warlocks used our children's blood for spells. We stood alone. We bled alone. We survived. Alone."
He tapped the map once. The glowing threads flickered. Shifted. Zoomed in.
“But today, that war echoes again. Outreach cities near the northeast barrier report border skirmishes. Wild magic surges. And one name keeps showing up in every scout report.”
He turned to face the class fully.
“Vaeril Sera.”
A few students straightened.
Even the air even seemed to sharpen.
The illusion morphed to show a face.
Short blond hair. Green eyes. A boyish smile. He didn’t look older than eighteen. But that was the face of our enemy.
“A young fae general,” Kallus said flatly. “Charming. Brilliant. Devout. And hungry. His people love him. The Court fears him. And if you don’t learn from our past, you’ll die under his boots.”
He paused.
Maybe reassessing that not all of us in this room were the war-glory, flag-waving type.
Then he asked the question that made my spine stiffen.
“How would we win the war if it started tomorrow?”
We wouldn’t.
Joren raised his hand immediately. Eldest son of some mid-tier clan. All muscle. No mind.
“Rally the outer cities, summon the packs, go on the offensive before they cross the barrier.”
Ah. So just rush into our deaths and leave the capital unprotected. Smart.
Kallus grunted. “That would mean die first, then ask questions. What else?”
“Destroy the schools of magic,” said another. “Cripple their arcane flow.”
How? We'd have to actually reach them first.
“Negotiate an alliance with Erevar,” offered a quiet girl. “Trade military secrets for peace.”
Erevar. Vampires.
Never trust vampires.
They think they’re above wars. Above all of us. Faes included.
“Now you’re thinking,” Kallus said. “Still wrong, but thinking.”
Then his gaze snapped to me.
“Cinder Vargrheim. Your royal blood still counts. What’s your plan?”
Every head turned.
Even the map dimmed slightly, like it was listening too.
I stood. I didn’t want to imagine what they'd think.
I wasnt trying to impress.
“I’d let it happen.”
There were Gasps and a few quiet curses.
I continued, voice steady:
“If it was just the fae, we’d have a chance. We’re werewolves—feral, and we don’t die pretty. Sure, they have long pointy ears and clever minds, but we have animal instincts. We have packs.”
I paused.
“There’s a reason we retreated behind the barrier. It’s not just the fae. It’s the witches. The vampires. The lesser ones, too.”
I glanced at the professor. He was quiet. Watching.
“I don’t know what’s buried in this land that’s so damn valuable, but they keep pushing for it. And the barrier’s thinning. If I were them, I wouldn’t let this chance pass, either. I’d do it fast. Clean. Before the wolves find new magic to hide behind.”
“The werewolves would be wiped out with one precise calculation. Nothing we do would make a difference.”
I stepped forward slightly.
“Say we kill that boy general. He’s probably royalty. That would be the spark to ignite everything. That’s why we haven’t done it yet… right?”
The class held its breath.
“Let the cities fall. Let the fae stretch their lines too thin. Let the world see us bleed. We should pray, revisit ancient scrolls, and hope the Moon Goddess remembers us. There’s no Sovereign Alpha. He’s not coming. We should stop teaching children that fairy tale.”
“And if the enemy succeeds—then we strike. Not with teeth. Not with claws.”
“With marriage. With infiltration. With bloodlines.”
“Corrupt the Court from within. Break them without touching a sword.”
“Because a corpse can be buried,” I said, “but a hybrid? That changes a kingdom. Forever.”
Silence.
Professor Kallus stared at me for a long moment.
“Ruthless observation,” he finally said.
“But true,” I answered. My brother was the dreamer. I just did math. That trip to Erevar wouldn't change anything. Not how the world viewed us.
He gave the faintest nod.
“Mark your scrolls. We’ll push this topic to another day.”
I sat back down, throat dry, heart hammering.
In front of me, someone whispered:
“Moon-cursed.”
But this time... it almost sounded impressed.
!! !! !! !! !! !! !!
The bell signalling the end of school rang.
I had to face Malcom in the Hollowed Arena.
But I wasn’t stupid.
I kept walking.
Walking to the gates. Walking to the metaphorical tower I was forever imprisoned in before marriage.
Sigh.
I didn’t care about pride or proving anything. I cared about walking, breathing, and not bleeding out the ground for the entertainment of a few frothing wolves with nothing better to do.
I walked through the side gates. Past the training yard. Past the statue of the first Luna Queen—who, fun fact, was mostly known for her devout temperament and nothing else.
I saw the main gates right in front of me but then I heard boots.
Two sets.
Clicking sharp and fast across the cobblestones behind me.
I didn’t turn until one of them grabbed my arm.
Two she-wolves. Uniforms sharp. Hair in twin braids.
Malcom’s cheerleaders, more or less.
“Look at her,” one said, eyes glittering. “Trying to run home.”
“I wasn’t running,” I said coolly. “I was walking. Big difference there.”
“Oh,” the taller one said, yanking me back toward the campus gates. “My mistake.”
I clenched my teeth,"You two on ther other hand look out of breath. " I dug my heels in and twisted.
“Let go,” I snapped.
They didn’t.
I tried to rip my arm out of her grip.
Then something slammed into my gut—fast, brutal and air-stealing.
I staggered.
The other girl followed it up with a clean right hook to my face.
I tasted blood.
It ran down my lips like shame.
“She’ll be just fine,” one of them murmured as they dragged me forward, half-carrying, half-yanking me down the gravel slope toward the Arena.
The Hollowed Arena was empty except for Malcom, standing dead center with his sleeves rolled up and his smirk already c****d.
It. Was. Empty.
That couldn't be good.
The moment he saw me—bleeding, held by the two girls—his grin grew.
“Wasn’t planning on running away, were you?” he asked, voice like gravel.
His s**t eyes dragged over the red across my cheek. “Tch. They roughened you up a bit.”
He took a step closer. “But you should still be able to fight.”
His face was too close.
I could smell the salt on his skin. The arrogance in his breath. He leaned in too close. So close that I could see the pores on his face.
So I leaned in too—
—and bit his nose.
Hard.
Blood burst across my tongue like copper lightning.
I held on tight. Malcom was howling.
I let go when one of the girls gave me an elbow to the gut.
Malcom reeled back, still howling.
“You feral b***h!”
I spat his blood at his feet.
He came at me swinging.
!! !! !! !! !!
The fight wasn’t fair.
Malcom was bigger... and had a wolf. He was too strong.
His hits landed like heavy stones—blow after blow slamming into my ribs, my jaw, my shoulder.
I managed to duck once, then twice, even caught him in the shin with a knee. But it wasn’t enough.
He knocked me down.
Twice.
Three times.
I could barely breathe.
I bit my lips till they spilled blood to muffle my screams of pain.
I kept pumping myself up I my mind.
But every time I tried to rise, I swore the sky got a little darker.
Then a voice cut through the haze.
“What are you doing?”
It wasn't even a shout.
I blinked through my blood and eye bruises and saw him.
Kael.
Elio’s second.
His uniform still pressed. His lips pressed in a hard line.
He stood at the doors to the arena with a some other students who'd come in when i didn't realise.
“Step away from her,” he said.
Malcom growled. “It’s just a friendly fight.”
Kael's eyes were ice. “Get away from her. And I’ve heard enough.”
He walked down, every step loud against the cracked stone.
Malcom backed off—but not without a final glare at me. His bleeding nose had already started to heal.
I fought back frustrated tears as I held my ribs and wondering which ones were cracked.
Kael crouched next to me. “Can you stand?”
“Define ‘stand,’” I croaked.
He offered a hand. I didn’t take it.
But I let him help me up.
- Writer
