Metheea was bone-deep, mind-numbingly exhausted. She wanted nothing more than to return to her room, bury herself in her bed, and will the rest of the day away but she wasn't finished.
Azrayel didn't talk to her anymore after that but she could feel his eyes on her.
And so her schedule dragged her into yet another class.
Embroidery.
When she stepped into the room, she was instantly surrounded by beauty. Girls in tailored academy uniforms, embroidered with their house crests, sat in perfectly arranged rows.
This was the class meant to polish future wives of power where refinement, grace, and obedience is taught.
She stood at the doorway for only a second before someone called out, "You there. What's your name?"
She offered a shallow curtsy. "Velistra Alwyn," she said smoothly. Giving the fake name they assigned to her.
A few girls in the corner surrounding a very beautiful woman with red fiery hair turned to each other, whispering.
"Alwyn?" one of them said louder. "Oh. I know that family."
They giggled together as if sharing a joke. Metheea almost rolled her eyes at them. She hated it when nobles does this when she was in Dythrid and more now that it is directed at her.
Girls in nobility are the same even in different kingdoms.
"From the North, right?" another chimed in. "Do northern nobility usually dress like peasants?"
She blinked, then looked down. Her boots were dusted, still faintly soiled from the training yard. She had forgotten to clean them in her hasty escape from Azrayel.
She straightened her back. "I hadn't noticed." She walked to an unoccupied chair and sat down.
"Well, we have," said the girl with the red hair as she stood. She walked to her with the same contempt then slammed her hand onto Metheea's desk the moment she sat down. "Baroness blood, I assume. Did your mother whore herself out just to get you here?"
Her lips twitched in quiet amusement.
If only they knew.
She smiled sweetly and tilted her head. "Do high nobles usually behave like tavern drunks? Just curious."
Gasps fluttered across the room.
The girl looked like she might lunge across the table, but before she could, a voice called out from the door.
"Teacher's coming!"
It was a girl with blonde standing by the entrance who had been silently observing the scene. The moment she shouted, the rest of the girls snapped their heads in her direction, eyes sharp with irritation.
Still, they scattered quickly, returning to their seats like nothing had happened, though their eyes were still burrowing daggers into her.
A tall woman in plum-colored robes stepped in. "I am Instructor Verentia," she said briskly. "Discipline is expected." Assistants handed out hoops and silks as the girls fell silent, heads bowed in focus.
Metheea took a deep breath and forced her focus on threading the needles.
She glanced sideways at the girl who had shouted from the doorway earlier. The blonde was now seated beside her, hands moving steadily through her hoop.
"Don't take it to heart," the girl muttered, eyes fixed on her stitches.
She continued, voice low, "Those girls only came at you because they heard the prince gave too much attention to a provincial girl during physical training."
She nodded toward the redhead who had slammed her desk earlier. "That's Resme. Count Resca's daughter. Be careful with her. She's already staked her claim on the prince."
Metheea's shoulders sagged. The weight of unwanted attention pressed on her because of Azrayel. And now she was a target too.
"The prince barely spoke a word to me," she muttered under her breath.
The girl beside her gave a half-shrug. "Doesn't matter. Resme's the jealous type. She's staked a claim, even if it's just in her head."
Metheea glanced at the redhead again. "Is she his mate?"
The girl snorted softly. "No. The prince hasn't announced a mate." She added, almost thoughtfully, "Dragons are lucky if they find theirs."
She didn't answer. Her gaze lingered on her needlework, fingers trembling slightly. The same dragon blood that ran in his veins ran in hers. She knows that mates are once in a lifetime but she also knew they can mate anyone they deem beneficial.
She cleared her throat. "What's your name?"
"Kalistra Revines. Fourth daughter of Baron Revines."
She gave a small nod. Her father was a rich merchant from the North who got awarded with a title of Baroncy. "Pleasure. I'm Velistra Alwyn."
Kalistra paused, studying her. "Strange I haven't heard of your name before. You said Alwyn?"
"I'm a bastard," Metheea said quietly.
That did the trick. Kalistra's face shifted, uncomfortable.
"Well." She cleared her throat. "Join me for tea later. I haven't made a single friend here yet, and I would like to learn more about your stitching technique."
"I'd like that," Metheea said, though her smile never quite reached her eyes.
After class, she walked the long halls of the academy, her shoes barely making a sound on the polished stone. A few girls passed by in pairs, their whispers barely concealed.
But she kept her head down and her pace steady.
By the time she reached her room, Lerima was already there, grimly waiting.
"Why didn't you come report after your meeting with the prince?" Lerima asked, her tone clipped.
She cocked her head. She didn't like the way she said it.
"Who am I?" she asked, voice even.
Lerima blinked, frowning. "Is that a trick question?"
Metheea turned to her sharply. "Tell me my name," she said, each word clipped and cold.
Lerima's expression faltered. Something in Metheea's tone finally reminded her who she was speaking to. She bowed her head quickly, spine stiff. "Princess Metheea Feylisse of Dythrid and Katarthan."
"I am your princess," she said coolly, "and you better tone down your voice."
Lerima bowed her head lower. "Apologies," she said, though her voice didn't carry the weight of it.
"Do not question me for I know what I am doing. I didn't want to appear shaken," Metheea said. "I went to my classes. The prince doesn't know who I am, and he'll only be here for three days."
"It's dangerous," Lerima said. "You know that."
"I know," Metheea snapped. "I'm not dumb enough to give him hints."
Lerima straightened. "I already informed the Queen."
Metheea sighed and sat on her chair. "Tell me more." She said sarcastically. Even far away from Dythrid, the queen still controls her every movement.
"She sent you a message."
Metheea opened the letter.
My dearest daughter,
Another new wolf was caught near your chamber. Be careful there. That wolf can eat a lamb when he knows it's a lamb.
Metheea sat down slowly.
She wasn't safe.
And tomorrow, she'll see him again.