The academy buzzed before dinner the next day.
Girls whispered in huddled groups but this time their talks are not about her and Azrayel but of the beheading that just happened.
Metheea heard the first whisper from a girl brushing her hair by the window.
"They were beheaded," the girl whispered. "The Headmaster and twelve of the senior staff. Some nobles are also locked in the palace."
"Well it's their fault. If only they tried to use peaceful ways than killing people in the capital," someone added, her voice louder than the others.
"Hey, people are killed. The prince is too much."
Metheea sat at the dinner table, still and unreadable. Kalistra looked at her curiously but didn't ask more.
After dinner, a palace courier arrived.
He wore the red-and-black livery of the Skarthan court, with polished boots and a blank face. In his hands were small black boxes, each tied with crimson ribbon.
Before him is a teacher. They stepped to the front of the hall.
"In celebration of the Skarthan palace's swift victory against traitorous elements within our empire," she announced, "His Highness has extended an invitation to twenty students from this academy. Those chosen will attend a week-long gathering at the palace, where they will witness the fruits of order restored."
The room erupted in gasps and claps. Girls whispered excitedly, hands clasped together in hope.
"I hope I'm chosen!" one girl from the next table beamed. "I can see the prince again!"
Metheea stared at the girl, cold. "Yeah," she thought. "They forgot he was the one who ordered the executions in the first place."
Names were announced from a long scroll, one by one.
Each time a name was called, another squeal echoed through the hall. Girls clapped, even some of the boys joining in, as if they were receiving a royal favor instead of walking into a trap.
Kalistra received hers halfway through the list. She turned to Metheea and whispered, "I knew I'd get one. My father made too many donations to be ignored."
Metheea received hers last. She held the box without opening it. The ribbon had already come undone.
Inside: a small black velvet pouch.
She already knew what it would contain.
The girl beside her gasped and yanked open her pouch. She pulled out a ring. But unlike the others, her ring carried a different marking an insignia carved into the face of the metal: the letter 'A'.
Metheea noticed it instantly. A for Azrayel. Not just a token, then. A message.
Across the room, a sharp voice cut through the excited chatter.
"Oh wow. The prince's whore got her invitation."
Metheea looked up slowly to see Resme standing with her usual group, arms folded and smirking.
Kalistra turned in her seat. "Stop."
Resme arched a brow at her. "Shut up. You've got peasant blood, and no amount of gold can cover that stench. Just like her," she added, jabbing a finger toward Metheea.
She then took a step closer, her face twisting in furry. "Give me the ring."
One of the girls beside Resme lunged and snatched it from her hand but Metheea didn't even flinch. Let them have it.
"Don't go," Resme sneered. "Or you'll find out what I do to girls like you."
Metheea just stared at her. She didn't want to go to Skarthan anyway. She looked at them directly, unblinking. "Your desperation is stenching up the whole hall."
Resme's smirk vanished. Metheea looked at her unsmiling, reminding her of what she knows. Then, red-faced, she stormed away.
Kalistra leaned toward her. "I can message my father. He can get you another invitation."
Metheea swished her hand dismissively. "I don't have the intention of going, so it's good they took it."
Her voice was calm, but the meaning behind it sat heavy in her chest.
After what happened between them, space wasn't just needed, it was essential.
She was standing in enemy territory and to step into Skarthan. That would be more than reckless.
That night, Lerima lost her composure.
She shut the door with more force than necessary, the wood rattling in its frame. She turned to Metheea, eyes sharp.
"You're not hiding anymore," she said, voice tight with restrained panic. "You're drawing attention."
Metheea sat on the edge of her bed, pulling pins from her hair. Calm. Unbothered.
Lerima took a breath and stepped forward. "The Queen sent me to protect you. But you're making it impossible. If you keep moving like this, keep letting yourself be seen, then I won't be able to save you. I'll be returning your body in a box."
Metheea cocked her eyebrow. "Save me?"
Lerima's mouth clamped shut, as if she'd gone too far. "You need to stop speaking with your brother."
"I would," Metheea said flatly, standing to face her. "But it seems blood is thicker than water, isn't it? He seems to sense me wherever I go."
"I'll message the Queen about this."
"Do so," she said, voice cool. "I've got nothing to hide."
But as the door shut behind Lerima, Metheea sat still, her chest tightening.
She was changing and not for the better. The longer she stayed in this place, the more twisted her reflection became. Her thoughts weren't her own anymore. Her reactions, colder. Her instincts sharper, darker. She felt like a blade being honed for something she didn't choose.
She needed to escape.
Soon.
But she couldn't. Not yet. Not while Lerima watched her every step. Not while the noose of the royal family slowly tightened around her throat.
The next morning, Carts lined the courtyard, each bearing the ornate crest of Skarthan, and students bustled with nervous excitement. The invited nobles twenty in total were already lining up in their finest cloaks and gloves, their suitcases handed off to servants. Other students watched with envy and awe, whispering eagerly.
She stood by the archway near the garden path, arms folded. Kalistra approached her, holding a fur-lined shawl.
"Are you sure you don't want to go? I think Resme has your ring." Kalistra said.
Metheea smiled. "I'm sure. Go and have fun."
"But the prince—" Kalistra began in a whisper.
"The prince won't be looking for me," Metheea said calmly.
She watched as Kalistra hesitated, then nodded and walked away.
One by one, the carriages began to roll out, wheels crunching over the stone path as the procession departed. The watching students waved and cheered, swept up in the idea of grandeur.
Metheea turned and walked toward the main hall, her footsteps quieter than the celebration behind her.
Not thirty minutes later, horns blasted across the academy grounds, sharp and urgent.
A hush fell over the dining hall. Every head turned toward the towering windows as a familiar emblem came into view, the golden dragon of the Skarthan royal family, emblazoned on the side of a large, ornate carriage.
Students rushed toward the windows. Another horn sounded, sharper this time, silencing the crowd.
A soldier in black-and-crimson stepped forward, unrolling a scroll as another carriage door opened behind him.
"By order of His Highness, the Crown Prince Azrayel of Skarthan," the soldier announced, voice echoing with clipped precision, "we are here to escort Velista Alwyn to the palace grounds."
Gasps broke across the room like shattering glass.
Chairs scraped back. Eyes turned. Every neck craned toward the corner of the room where she stood, stiff as stone.
Metheea groaned under her breath. "Oh heavens," she muttered, shoulders tightening.
She could already feel Lerima's fury like a storm gathering behind a closed door. But worse were the stares. Curious. Awed. Envious. Accusing.
She straightened her spine, chin high. If they wanted a show, she'd give them one worth remembering.