The news of Serenil's engagement spread beyond idle gossip. Now it echoed through noble households, stirred behind velvet curtains, and crept through the academy halls like a cold wind.
As Serenil entered the Grand Atrium for morning lectures, all eyes turned to him. Some nodded in respectful acknowledgment. Others whispered behind closed fans or clenched fists.
He was no longer just Serenil Aetheryn, child prodigy of the Academy.
He was the boy betrothed to the Beastkin Princess.
After class, a voice called out—measured, dripping with condescension.
"Well, if it isn't Faeloria's golden son," said Adrian Velmort, a third-year noble from House Velmort. He was tall for his age, with curled golden hair and eyes like polished obsidian. He wore his family's blue and silver uniform like a second skin. "Tell me, Prince Serenil, what's it like to be auctioned off like a treaty's afterthought?"
A few chuckles followed.
Serenil turned calmly. "Aren't you House Velmort's fourth son? Your father was trying to marry you off to the pig merchant's daughter just last season, if I recall."
Adrian's smirk twitched. "My match wasn't with a Beastkin savage."
Serenil's expression chilled. "Then I suppose I'll marry first—and to someone far nobler in heart than most humans I've met."
Before things could escalate, Peter Arkwell stepped from the shadows, arms folded. "Insult Serenil again, Velmort… and you'll find your family's library rearranged into kindling. In alphabetical order."
Adrian paled slightly. "You think your threats mean something, half-breed?"
Behind him, Robert Siltharion growled low and deep, his wolf ears perked, yellow eyes burning. "You're barking up the wrong tree, rich boy."
And from the far side of the hall, Ned Myrkwyn walked over slowly, regal and silent as a blade drawn under moonlight. He didn't say a word. Just stared.
Adrian swallowed. "Tch. This isn't over."
He turned, storming off with his hangers-on.
Jon joined moments later, dusting off his robes. "And so it begins."