Beauty is a weapon; that was the first lesson my father ever taught me. He said it with the same detachment he used when instructing me in the arcane arts or when passing down the rituals of our blood. Our house wore elegance like armor. We smiled politely at nobles who would have turned away screaming if they ever saw us eat. In the halls of the Pale Palace, I learned how to sit straight, how to smile without letting my lips part too far, and how to hide the hunger that gnawed at my bones. We were the Sylverne, the rulers of Eryndel, descended from the Pale King himself. Our hair gleamed like platinum, our skin held the lustre of polished stone. Our eyes—when we chose to reveal them—were things that could unmake a person. "They call us divine because they've never seen us eat," my mother once whispered to me while brushing my hair so that it would fall perfectly over my face. In my family, truth was something shared in the soft spaces between our rituals.
I learned early that there were two worlds. In one, I was the delicate, refined heir who recited poetry and knew the names of ancient constellations. In the other, I was something else entirely. The first world was for servants and emissaries, for those who needed to believe their sovereigns were above blood and sweat. The second was the world in which we fed the hunger that marked our lineage. There, in secret rooms draped with velvet and gold, we devoured flesh, draining life into ourselves with a grace that belied the act. It is not that I did not feel fear or revulsion at first—I did. I was human enough in those early years to tremble. But fear is a flame that burns out if you keep feeding it. What remains is instinct. You learn the taste of lies and truth. You learn how to hide a predator's patience behind a smile. It was those lessons that I carried with me when the carriage doors closed and I left the Pale Palace behind.
The carriage journey to Veylan Dominion Academy took two days, long enough for the weight of what was ahead to sink in. The academy was where all the major houses sent their heirs. Alliances were forged there, rivalries sparked, and occasionally wars were prevented. In the academy's stone corridors, future kings and queens learned to navigate each other. It was also a place where everyone who mattered would be able to look at me. The thought that so many people would be near me—so many pulses humming, so many eyes watching—made the hunger stir. I sat with my back straight, my hair falling like a curtain over my face, and rehearsed my mask. My hands rested on my lap, fingers interlaced loosely to hide the calluses no one knew I had. Outside the window, mist rolled over the fields and forests like a living creature.
As we neared Veylan, the road narrowed, and the carriage wheels clattered over cobblestones. The city rose in tiers of white stone and gleaming metal, spires reaching toward the perpetually overcast sky. The Academy itself sat at the highest point, a complex of buildings carved from pale marble that seemed to glow even in the dull light of morning. Flags bearing the symbols of all the kingdoms fluttered above its massive gates. There were students and servants everywhere, some wearing the colors of their houses, others in the Academy's plain uniform. They stopped what they were doing when our carriage came into view. I knew they were looking at us, even though my hair ensured I didn't have to see their faces. From the way the noise dampened, the whispers, the gasps, I could tell they recognized the crest on our carriage: the silver crown wrapped by a two-headed serpent.
I felt my lips pull into the practiced smile I had worn in court for years. I kept my head turned slightly downward so that my hair concealed my eyes. Presenting my face to the world was an exercise in control. To the people waiting, I was the son of the Pale King, the heir to Eryndel. To myself, I was a predator stepping into a den of future prey. I listened to the sound of their blood pumping in their veins, the way their breathing hitched as the footman opened our carriage door. A servant of the Academy approached, announcing our arrival in a voice that carried. "Presenting His Highness, Prince Azrael Sylverne," she called, pronouncing the name with care, as if each syllable might cut her tongue if handled poorly.
I stepped down, letting the hem of my coat sweep behind me. The air here smelled of new stone and people and a hint of fear. It was almost intoxicating. For a heartbeat, the hunger flared as hundreds of heartbeats radiated around me. The trick was to take that sensation and bury it, fold it into the part of me that smiled. I felt someone watching me from a distance, someone whose gaze did not belong to the common students who stared. Looking through the curtain of my hair, I caught a glimpse of a girl with a mane of deep red hair tied back with a chain of golden links. Her eyes held mine for a breath before she dipped her chin in acknowledgment. Lira Vareth. I had been told she would be there. Somewhere else a tall, slender figure with eyes like chips of ice leaned casually against a pillar. Cael Mirianth. The cold prince. Both of them belonged to houses that knew the truth about mine. It was a comfort and a threat.
Servants moved to collect my luggage. They were quick, efficient, eager to please. One of them stood out. She was not in the usual servant's gray but wore the academy's uniform with a silver pin that marked her as assigned to a noble's service. Her hair was black, so dark it seemed to drink the light. It fell in a cascade of waves down her back. Her eyes, when they met mine, widened slightly. There was intelligence there, and something like fear. I could smell it like a spice. She stepped forward and curtseyed perfectly. "Welcome to Veylan, Your Highness," she said. "My name is Eris Valenor. I have been assigned as your attendant while you reside here."
She said her name in a tone that suggested she understood its insignificance. Valenor was a lesser house. They were known for their loyalty to Vareth, not to us. That alone made her presence interesting. I watched her as she straightened. Her posture was excellent, chin high, hands folded before her. The sunlight caught the sheen of her hair and made it gleam almost as brightly as mine. The hunger stirred again, not because of what she was but because of what she represented: an unknown variable within my sphere. I smiled, as I always did, and inclined my head by a degree. "Eris," I repeated, letting her name sit on my tongue. "I am honored to have your service."
Behind the courtesy, I was already cataloguing details. Her hands were steady. Her breathing remained even, though her heart rate had spiked when I looked at her. She had been trained well. It meant someone had invested time in making her presentable for me. That someone likely expected to benefit from her placement. I wondered if she knew the rumors that swirled about my family. People whispered about our obsession with beauty, about the way no servant in the Palace ever seemed to age. They never whispered about hunger. Those that knew that part never lived long enough to speak.
"Please, Your Highness," she said and extended her hand toward the path that led into the academy. "Let me show you to your rooms."
I allowed her to lead. The path took us through the main courtyard, where ancient statues of past monarchs and heroes stood watch. Students milled around, casting furtive glances. Some bowed, some whispered. I recognized a few of them from portraits I'd been shown in preparation for this year. There was the son of a desert emperor, skin bronze and eyes lined in kohl, leaning against a column as if he owned the courtyard. A pair of Lunari siblings walked past, their pale blue skin glowing faintly even in daylight. They glanced at me and then away, quick as fish. Tavren warriors, massive and furred, sat at the edge of a fountain, their golden eyes following me with a predator's interest. Among all these, humans dominated, their faces a wash of curiosity and caution. I wondered which of them would become allies and which would become meals.
We entered a long hall where banners hung from vaulted ceilings. Each banner bore the crest of a noble house, woven in silk. The Sylverne banner was displayed near the far end: a silver crown entwined with a serpent. Under it, a space was prepared for me. My luggage had already arrived. The room was large and opulent by student standards: high ceilings, tall windows, a bed draped in linen, and a desk carved from dark wood. Books lay neatly stacked. There was even a vase of flowers—white lilies—that had been placed with care. The lilies' scent was cloying, and it competed with the more alluring scent of blood that permeated the building. I turned to Eris. She had closed the door behind us and stood waiting, hands clasped. She looked like she wanted to speak but held her tongue.
I closed the distance between us slowly, deliberately. She tilted her head back slightly to keep her eyes on my face. Without the audience outside, I let my smile soften into something real—something that no one had ever seen, something dangerous. My teeth were perfect, white, with fangs that were almost invisible until you were close. I watched the moment her gaze flicked to my mouth and back up, the way her pulse beat under the smooth skin of her neck. "You are to be my attendant," I said quietly, making my voice gentle. "Do you understand what that means?"
Eris's throat bobbed as she swallowed. "It means I will help you with whatever you need, my prince," she replied, and her voice did not tremble. She was brave. That made what I was about to do necessary. I reached out and touched the tip of her chin with my finger. Her skin was warm. I lifted her head until her face tilted into the light. My hair shifted slightly, enough that she could see a sliver of the dark, mirrored depths of one eye. It was only a glimpse, a fraction of a second, but it was enough. I saw the change in her as recognition cracked through the practiced veneer. Her breath hitched. Her pupils contracted. She saw what lay beneath the platinum and marble. She saw the demon in the blood.
"You will keep my secrets," I said, my voice still soft. "You will make sure I do not want for anything. You will never speak of what you see. If you betray me, there is nowhere you can hide, and no one who will save you. Do you understand, Eris?"
She was frozen for a heartbeat. Then she nodded, quickly, as if breaking free from ice. "Yes, Your Highness," she whispered. Her voice had lost its earlier steadiness. I smiled again, letting the threat fade from my features. I did not need to scare her constantly; I just needed her to know where she stood. I let my hand drop and stepped back.
There was a knock at the door. Eris startled, and her eyes flicked to me before she moved to answer it. She seemed smaller now, her confidence trimmed away. That was good. I wanted her to feel safe and terrified in equal measure. A messenger stood on the threshold with a summons from the headmaster. Orientation was beginning, and all students were required to attend. I thanked the messenger with the practiced nobility that had been drilled into me. Eris watched this exchange with the same blank expression she had worn when she first addressed me, but I could see the tension in her shoulders. The mask was back, but cracks had been introduced.
The orientation hall was a vast chamber with rows of benches facing a raised platform. Hundreds of students filed in, taking seats according to some unseen hierarchy that placed royal heirs in the first rows and lesser nobles behind them. The commoners and scholarship students filled the rest. I took my seat between Lira Vareth and Cael Mirianth. Lira's hair glinted like molten copper in the torchlight. She leaned slightly toward me, a smile curving her lips. "Welcome to Veylan, Pale Prince," she murmured so that only I could hear. Her voice was warm, teasing. Her eyes said: I know what you are.
"Lady Vareth," I replied with equal softness. "It's good to see you outside of court."
On my other side, Cael sat with his hands folded neatly, his long pale fingers interlaced. His eyes were a pale gray, almost white. He did not smile. He inclined his head in the barest of acknowledgments. "Prince Sylverne," he said. His voice was smooth and cold, like ice sliding over stone. There was no warmth there, but no hostility either. Of all the heirs, Cael was the one who understood the necessity of control. The Mirianth secrets were not unlike ours. We were an alliance of necessity bound by common knowledge.
The headmaster took the podium and began to speak. His voice boomed, filling the hall without magic. He welcomed us to Veylan, spoke of excellence and honor, of alliances and competition. He reminded us that we were the future. I heard the words, but my attention drifted. I listened instead to the heartbeats around me. They pulsed like drums, each with its own cadence. Some raced with excitement, others thudded slowly with boredom. It was a symphony that only I heard. The hunger rose, as it always did when I was surrounded by so much life. I closed my eyes behind my curtain of hair and took a slow breath. I thought about the cool rooms back home, the way the walls had muffled the sound of screaming. I thought about the throne room, with its polished floors and gilded mirrors, and how every reflection had always shown me as the perfect prince.
"Beauty is law," my father's voice echoed in my mind. "Silence is loyalty." He had smiled as he said it, the same way he smiled when he tore the beating heart from someone who dared defy him. I opened my eyes. My smile mirrored his. The headmaster continued to speak about rules and curfews, about the consequences of breaking them. I wondered briefly what the academy would do if they discovered my habits. Would they attempt to discipline me? Would they even believe what they saw? I doubted it.
When orientation ended, the mass of students stood as one. Some moved toward each other, already forming groups. Others hovered uncertainly. I rose gracefully, Lira and Cael flanking me. We stood together for a moment, not speaking. It was a show of unity that only those in the know would recognize. The rest of the hall saw three heirs, beautiful and aloof, standing side by side. I caught the scent of fear among the curiosity. It made me hungry.
As the crowd dispersed, a human boy with brown hair and earnest eyes approached us. He wore the colors of the Eryn kingdom, a land known for its devotion to light. He bowed. "Your Highness, Prince Azrael," he said. "My name is Finnian, son of Lord Eres. It's an honor to meet you." He glanced at Lira and Cael and added, "And you, Lady Vareth. Lord Mirianth." His deference was perfect. His heart beat a steady, confident rhythm. He had been taught to be brave. I liked brave. Brave made interesting sounds when it broke.
"Lord Finnian," I said. I extended my hand, and he clasped it firmly. His grip was warm, human. I smiled. "I hope your journey was pleasant."
"Long," he said with a rueful laugh. "But worth it to be here." His eyes gleamed. He believed in ideals. He believed in the goodness of people. He would be disappointed. Lira asked him a question about his family's vineyards. Cael commented on the Eryn kingdom's recent trade agreements. On the surface, it was all polite conversation. Underneath, there was a different game. We measured him even as he spoke. He tried to measure us. He found nothing but what we chose to reveal.
When Finnian left, drawn away by a wave from another friend, Cael turned to me. "He has no idea what he's in the room with," he said quietly, his eyes following the human. There was a hint of disdain in his tone.
"Most of them don't," I replied. I watched Finnian disappear into the crowd. "It's better that way."
"For now," Lira added, her smile sharp. "Secrets don't stay secret forever. Not here." Her gaze flicked to Eris, who stood in the doorway with my cloak draped over her arm. Eris's eyes met mine for a second before she looked away. She had regained some of her composure, but I could see the memory of what she had seen flicker behind her eyes. Good. Fear made people cautious. Caution kept secrets.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of introductions and tours. I learned the layout of the Academy and the schedules of classes. I learned which courtyards would be empty after dark, which corridors offered the most shadows. I observed the way students moved, who clumped together and who drifted alone. I filed away names and faces. There was a boy from the Vyriths who could make stone sing. A Lunari girl who had a voice like wind over water. Tavren twins who sparred together and laughed at everything. I listened to the gossip that flowed around me like a stream. No one said my name and the word "demon" in the same breath, but the shadow of it hung in the air. It thrilled me. It meant my work had been done well.
By evening, I had a sense of how this place breathed. I could tell when the guards shifted at the outer walls. I knew how many paces it took to reach the library from my room and how many steps led up to the observatory. Knowledge was power. Power kept you alive. As the sky darkened, a bell tolled, low and somber, calling students to their dormitories. I returned to my rooms with Eris a few steps behind. We passed clusters of students whispering, some falling quiet as we approached. Lira peeled off toward her own wing, throwing me a look that said, Be careful. Cael disappeared down another corridor, a phantom in white.
Inside my room, I lit a candle. The flame threw shadows against the walls. Eris moved to set my cloak in a wardrobe, her movements efficient. She had not spoken since earlier. I removed my gloves and placed them carefully on the desk. My fingers were pale, long, elegant. I flexed them, feeling the itch under my skin. "Close the door," I said.
Eris obeyed. The latch clicked into place. She turned, her back pressed against the wood. I could see the tension coiled in her shoulders. The mask she wore was cracking. We were alone. There was no court, no other students, no servants. There was only me and my hunger and the girl whose loyalty I had to secure.
"Come here," I said quietly.
She pushed away from the door and walked toward me. Her hands were clasped together so tightly her knuckles were white. She stopped an arm's length away. Her eyes flickered up toward my hair, then down, as if she were fighting the urge to look at what she should not see.
"You saw something earlier," I said. "You saw a truth most people don't live to witness. Tell me what you think you saw."
Eris hesitated. "I saw…" She faltered and took a breath. "I saw eyes that were not human," she whispered. "I saw darkness."
"And what do you think that means?" I asked.
Her throat worked. "That you are not what you seem," she said. Her voice was barely audible. "That the stories are true."
I smiled, not to reassure her but because her answer pleased me. "Some of them," I said. "Others are lies spread by those who fear what they cannot control. I tell you this because you will hear many things. If you ever have a question about me, you come to me. You do not whisper in hallways or ask someone else. You come to me. Understood?"
"Yes, Your Highness," she murmured.
I stepped forward and, before she could flinch, placed my hand against her chest. Not hard, just enough to feel the thud of her heart. It pounded against my palm, strong and fast. A rush of heat curled through me. My smile widened, though I doubted she saw it. "This heart," I said softly, almost intimately. "It belongs to me now. Remember that."
For a moment, she did not breathe. Then she exhaled slowly. Her eyes met mine, and in them I saw fear and something else: resolve. She would not run. She could not. That was the moment she understood fully what it meant to serve me. I let my hand drop and stepped back.
"You may go," I said. "Return at dawn." She curtsied, lower than before, and left the room without looking up again. The door closed behind her with a soft click. I stood alone in the darkening room, listening to her footsteps fade away down the corridor. When I could no longer hear her, I let my smile fade. My jaw ached from holding it for so long. I ran a hand through my hair, pushing it back briefly. In the polished metal of a decorative shield hanging on the wall, I saw my reflection. For a heartbeat, my eyes were visible: twin black suns ringed with faint runes, ancient and terrible. They stared back at me from a stranger's face—beautiful, pale, inhuman. I dropped my hair back into place.
The day had been long. The hunger was louder now, fed by the proximity to so many heartbeats. I could taste the air and the coppery tang hidden within it. My stomach clenched in anticipation. Soon, I promised myself. The Academy had rules about when we could leave our rooms. I planned to test them. There were always cracks in walls. Always shadows. Always some place to feed. The memory of Eris's heartbeat lingered against my palm, a phantom thud. It made my own pulse quicken.
In the silence of my chamber, I whispered a line my father had said often, a truth that had settled into me like a prayer: "We are loved because they do not know what we are." I let the words hang in the air. Then I smiled again, wide and perfect, practicing the mask I would need for tomorrow. Outside, somewhere down the corridor, I heard a student laugh. Somewhere else, someone cried. All of it was music. All of it was mine.