The Academy stood at the heart of all kingdoms — a neutral ground where nobles, royals, and heirs from every realm gathered to study. With its marble towers, enchanted courtyards, and libraries said to contain the history of civilizations long gone, it was a place where lineage mattered as much as intellect.
Students from every corner of the continent filled the vast stone courtyards, dressed in the navy and silver of the Academy's uniform. Yet when the crimson crest of House Altaire appeared through the gates, silence rippled like a wave.
Seraphina d'Altaire stepped forward, her gait graceful yet commanding. The morning sunlight glinted off her silver hair, cascading over her shoulders like threads of frost. Her expression was calm — not cold, merely unbothered. She did not glance at the stares, nor at the faint murmurs that followed in her wake.
"That's her…"
"The Duke's daughter…"
"She broke her engagement with the Crown Prince, didn't she?"
Whispers trailed behind her, faint but impossible to ignore.
Lucien d'Altaire walked beside her, hands tucked into his pockets, posture relaxed but eyes sharp. His smirk carried quiet arrogance — the kind that came from knowing no one dared to challenge him.
"Still amusing," he murmured. "Even here, they can't help but gossip. You'd think they'd have learned from their parents."
Seraphina's gaze remained forward. "Let them talk. It changes nothing."
"They seem to think it does."
"They mistake interest for power," she replied simply. "They'll learn."
The fountain at the center of the courtyard shimmered under the light, the Academy emblem etched into its marble base. Around it, groups of nobles pretended to study or chat, but their eyes flicked constantly toward the siblings. It wasn't just curiosity anymore — it was caution.
Everyone knew Duke Cedric's wrath was not something the Kingdom could afford to provoke again. Even here, in neutral ground, the name Altaire held weight.
Across the courtyard, Crown Prince Adrian de Valmont stood in his usual spot near the training field. His once-proud bearing seemed dimmed — not broken, but subdued. The glint of arrogance that had always marked him had softened into something quieter, more self-aware.
Lady Elara Fontaine stood beside him, her golden hair gently catching the breeze. She spoke softly, her words carrying a gentleness that contrasted the sharp, disciplined world around them.
"Adrian," she said, her tone careful, "you don't have to look so grave. People will think the world has ended."
He exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. "It feels that way. I've done nothing but replay that moment in my head. What I said to Seraphina… how blind I was."
Elara's eyes softened. "You were misled. That doesn't make you cruel."
"Doesn't it?" Adrian's voice was low. "A man who condemns without truth is no better than a fool on the throne. I nearly dragged her name through the mud for a lie."
She hesitated, then smiled faintly. "Then be better. That's what matters now."
The prince's amber eyes flicked to her. "You make it sound easy."
"It isn't," Elara said simply. "But it's possible."
From across the courtyard, Seraphina and Lucien paused as their eyes caught the two.
Lucien's smirk widened. "So, the golden prince has found comfort in a softer voice."
Seraphina's eyes, calm and unreadable, lingered on Adrian for a moment longer. "He's learning. Perhaps humiliation was what he needed."
Lucien chuckled lowly. "Maybe he'll surprise us yet."
The bell rang, deep and resonant, signaling the start of classes. The crowd scattered, the courtyard emptying into corridors lined with enchanted glass and polished marble. The Altaire siblings made their way toward the northern hall — their steps synchronized, unhurried, deliberate.
They belonged here.
Not as outsiders. Not as exiles.
But as predators among lambs.
Inside the training hall, even the instructors stiffened at their entrance. The sparring partners avoided their gaze, and whispered conversations died mid-sentence. It wasn't fear of rank alone — it was instinct.
Seraphina's calm presence demanded respect. Lucien's quiet smile promised ruin to anyone who tested it.
Across the room, Adrian looked up from his conversation with Elara. His eyes met Seraphina's briefly — a fleeting second of tension, regret, and unspoken recognition. She did not sneer nor avert her gaze. She merely inclined her head faintly before taking her place at the far side of the hall.
No malice. No hostility. Only indifference — and that stung far more than hatred.
As the lesson began, swords clashed and magic flared, the usual rhythm of the Academy resuming. But beneath the surface, tension simmered quietly — between the fallen prince, the untouchable heiress, and the noble lines that watched them all.
The game of the Academy had only begun.
And already, the balance of power was shifting.