(Calista's POV)
The echoes of my speech had barely faded when the crowd surged forward, their whispers transforming into an avalanche of greetings and introductions.
The first wave came from the world of business. Suited men with sharp smiles and calculating eyes, women draped in diamonds whose hands shook mine with just a fraction too much pressure.
"Princess," one gray-haired tycoon murmured, bowing low. "Your words tonight carried… unexpected weight."
I tilted my head, letting my lips curl faintly. "Weight only matters when it's backed by steel."
He blinked, then laughed, genuinely startled. "Sharp tongue. Just like your father."
But as the conversation shifted, something changed. One man mentioned global markets, another spoke of cyber-security. They expected me to stand quietly, to smile and nod. Instead, I spoke.
I dismantled an argument about digital expansion. I countered projections with my own calculations. I quoted reports that hadn't even been published publicly yet. I even hinted—without saying too much—that my personal experience with computers ran deeper than most could imagine.
Their masks slipped. Shock flickered across their eyes. And when I ended with, "Business is war fought with numbers. I prefer to win my wars clean," even my father's brows arched slightly.
So she did learn more than I thought, his eyes seemed to say.
The politicians were next. Smooth voices, silver tongues, masks layered on masks. They tried to outwit me with subtle jabs, asking if a "young princess" could understand responsibility.
I smiled sweetly, then cut them to ribbons.
"Responsibility is not a burden," I said evenly. "It's a crown. If you can't bear the weight of yours, perhaps you should step aside before it crushes you." A ripple of silence spread, followed by careful laughter. But in their gazes, I saw something new—caution.
Then came the mafia lords. Men whose hands were stained with blood, women whose smiles dripped poison. They didn't bow—they measured. They didn't flatter—they tested.
One leaned close, voice like gravel. "Words are pretty, little queen. But words don't bleed. Can you?"
My smirk sharpened. "I prefer to make others do the bleeding."
His eyes glinted. "We'll see."
And my father, watching, stepped in smoothly."She'll prove herself soon enough. This weekend, she joins the basecamp."
My heart leapt, a thrill running through me. Training. Real training. Not classrooms, not etiquette. Blood and steel.
Finally.
For a moment, I found myself alone, tucked into a shadowed corner. A glass of crimson wine gleamed on a nearby tray, too far to reach.
Remember, Star's voice whispered in the back of my mind. You can do anything, if you only focus.
I narrowed my gaze on the glass. My pulse slowed. I reached—not with my hand, but with my will.
And the glass shivered.
A spark lit in my chest as it lifted, smooth and steady, and drifted across the space until it landed gently in my palm.
I smirked to myself, satisfaction humming through me. Not bad.
But I wasn't alone anymore.
The Seven had come.
One by one, they approached, forming a loose circle around me. Their eyes burned into me—not just with arrogance now, but with curiosity.
"So," drawled the one with the storm-gray eyes, his lips curving. "The princess isn't just sharp-tongued. She plays with wine glasses too."
The golden-haired one leaned closer, voice mocking but warm. "Tell me, do you always make objects fly to you… or is that just for show?"
Another chuckled. "Careful, brother. At this rate, she'll have us bowing to her before the night ends."
Their teasing wasn't cruel—it was testing. Prodding. Waiting to see how I'd bite back.
I sipped my wine, meeting their gazes one by one. "If I wanted you on your knees, I wouldn't need magic."
A low whistle. A ripple of laughter. And a flicker of something darker in their eyes.
Across the hall, I felt my father's gaze on me. He had seen the floating glass. He didn't look angry. Not even surprised. Just… watchful.
The word still echoed in the air when the group of seven boys finally closed in on me, each one with an expression that made it clear—they weren't used to being ignored.
One of them stepped forward first, tall and broad-shouldered, confidence dripping off him. "Since the Queen graced us with her presence, I suppose introductions are in order. I'm Rafael De La Cruz , captain of the academy's dueling division." His smirk was sharp, daring me to challenge him.
"Captain?" I arched a brow. "So… muscle first, brain second?"
The table nearby erupted in laughter, even his own friends snickering. Rafael's smirk twitched, but instead of snapping, he chuckled. "Sharp tongue. Fine. You win this round, Princess."
The next boy, slender and with silver-rimmed glasses, stepped forward with a cool, detached air. "** Hiroshi Takeda. Top scholar of the academy. And unlike Rafael, my brain comes first."
"Top scholar?" I tilted my head, lips curving. "Then you'll be useful. I always did like people who know how to solve puzzles I don't want to bother with."
Hiroshi blinked, as though no one had ever dared to treat him as anything but untouchable. A small smile tugged at his lips. "Interesting."
Before I could say more, a mischievous voice interrupted. "** Leonardo Moretti . Resident troublemaker. Class clown. Future heartbreaker." The boy winked so blatantly I nearly rolled my eyes. His golden hair practically glowed under the chandeliers.
I didn't hesitate. "Correction. Present annoyance."
Rafael barked a laugh, Leonardo clutched his chest dramatically, and a few onlookers nearly dropped their glasses.
"Dante Castillo," another said curtly. He had dark hair, a scar over his eyebrow, and an aura that screamed danger. His tone was clipped, military-like. "Combat specialist. That's all you need to know."
"Cold one," I muttered under my breath. His piercing eyes narrowed just slightly—enough for me to know he'd heard.
"Adrian Volkov," the fifth introduced himself smoothly, bowing like a noble. "Politics and strategy. I like to know where power lies… and how to control it."
"And here I thought politicians were only in the outside world," I replied dryly.
The sixth leaned casually against the pillar, black hair falling in soft waves over his forehead. "** Kaiden Romanov. Musician. Poet. And…" his voice lowered just slightly, "…observer."
Something about the way his eyes held mine made it clear—he had already observed far too much.
Finally, the last one, with an easy smile and warm demeanor, spoke. "**Ethan Blackwood. Healer. Mediator. The one who keeps these idiots alive."
"Good. I'll remember that when they inevitably get themselves killed."
The group fell into laughter again, though this time, it wasn't mocking—it was approving. For the first time, I felt their gazes soften. Not entirely friendly, but… intrigued.
But even as the laughter filled the air, I felt it. That shift in the atmosphere. The sharp sting of eyes that weren't friendly.
I straightened, scanning the ballroom. Behind the glimmer of chandeliers and clinking glasses, there was a shadow at the balcony. Watching. Measuring. Waiting.
For a single heartbeat, our gazes locked—though I couldn't see the face. Only the cold, burning intent.
And then, as if the figure knew I had noticed, they vanished into the night.
I clenched my jaw. Enemies. Here. Already.
The rest of the night passed in a blur of stares, whispers, and envy. Every girl in the hall glared daggers at me, but none dared speak. Every boy looked at me with hunger, but none dared touch.
Because beneath the cloak, the crown, and the smile—something in me glowed with a light not entirely human.
And everyone could feel it.
Tonight, they had seen the Princess.But they had also seen something far more dangerous.
The Queen.
But when it ended, and the cars were waiting, my father leaned down as we walked out together, his voice low enough for only me to hear.
"You saw them too."
I froze. "…Yes."
His expression was unreadable, but his hand briefly pressed against my shoulder. "Good. Never ignore the shadows, Calista. Tonight was the beginning. The world is watching you now."
I looked back one last time at the grand ballroom, still glowing with lights and envy. And I knew—this wasn't just politics. This was a battlefield.
And I had just declared war.
The ride home was quiet at first, the hum of the engine filling the silence. My father's gaze was fixed out the window, but I knew his mind was elsewhere—calculating, strategizing. Always.
Finally, he broke the silence. "Tomorrow, you'll be shifting into your dorm."
I turned my head sharply. "Already?"
"Yes." His tone was final, leaving no room for argument. "You'll stay under their protection, as well as the academy's. That is the safest place for you now."
I folded my arms, the memory of that cold, sharp stare from the balcony burning in my mind. "…They were watching me tonight. Why didn't they attack?"
"They will," he said simply, voice like steel. "But not yet. Tonight was not the time. They were measuring you, weighing you. Testing how far you've grown." He paused, then added, "The shadows will keep watching, and when they strike—you must be ready."
A slow smile tugged at my lips. "Good. Let them watch. After all… I am the Shadow Queen. And shadows belong to me."
From across the seat, my brothers groaned. "Oh no," Adrian drawled, "not another dramatic title."
Damian snickered, leaning forward. "Shadow Queen, huh? Should we all bow now, or later?"
"Later," I said sweetly, shooting him a razor-sharp glance. "Preferably when I make you kneel."
Their laughter filled the car, but the moment was short-lived as another thought sparked in my mind. "Speaking of kneeling… I want a bike."
The car jolted slightly as the driver nearly choked. My father didn't even flinch, but my brothers exploded.
"A bike?!" one shouted."You?!" another barked out, nearly doubled over.
"Yes, me," I shot back, glaring at them all. "What's wrong with a bike? I'm tired of being carted around like some fragile doll. I want speed, control, freedom."
"Freedom that ends with you crashing into a wall," Damian muttered.
I narrowed my eyes. "I won't crash."
My father finally spoke, his voice calm, deliberate. "A bike… with a bodyguard riding behind you."
I opened my mouth to argue, then stopped. A compromise. Not perfect, but acceptable. "Fine. But I pick the bike."
My brothers exchanged looks, clearly plotting a thousand ways to tease me about this later. But for once, I didn't care.
When we arrived home, I retreated to my room. The maids had already laid out my nightclothes, but I ignored them for a moment, sinking onto the edge of the bed.
My thoughts swirled—about the Seven Stars, about the hidden enemies, about the way my father's eyes had lingered just a second too long, as if he carried truths he wasn't ready to share.
And yet… I couldn't deny it. The academy wasn't boring. For once in my life, I had subjects that made me curious. Computers. Combat. History. Magic.
Four worlds colliding into one.
And maybe, just maybe, I was ready to conquer them all.
With that thought, I slipped beneath the covers, letting sleep claim me.
Tomorrow, the shadows would follow me into the dorm.And I was ready.