They called it a welcome.
Seraphina knew better the moment she stepped into the Grand Hall.
The space was breathtaking in a way that felt intentional—arched ceilings painted with celestial murals, crystal chandeliers spilling light like judgment, long banquet tables dressed in black and gold. Students filled the room in tailored uniforms and couture variations that blurred the line between academy and aristocracy.
Every eye turned toward her.
Whispers followed like a second shadow.
"That's her."
"The one from the Circle."
"She doesn't look special."
Lucien walked beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, distant enough to make it clear he wasn't there to shield her. His expression was unreadable, his posture immaculate.
Ownership without affection.
At the far end of the hall stood three raised seats—thrones masquerading as tradition. The heirs occupied them easily, like predators settling into familiar territory.
Cassian Roth. Pale, smiling too much.
Elijah Crowe. Sharp-eyed, bored, cruel in quiet ways.
And Marcus Valecrest—the golden heir, beautiful and empty, wearing charm like armor.
The Inner Circle's sons.
"Chosen girl," Cassian called lazily. "Come closer."
Lucien didn't stop her.
Seraphina moved forward alone.
Cassian's gaze lingered on the crest at her throat. "So this is what they picked," he mused. "Not what I expected."
"No," Seraphina said calmly. "I imagine disappointment is familiar to you."
A few gasps rippled through the crowd.
Cassian laughed. "Oh, I like her."
Marcus leaned forward. "Do you know the rules, little vow?"
"I know I didn't volunteer."
"That's not an answer," Elijah said coolly. "But don't worry. We'll teach you."
A silver goblet was placed before her, filled with dark liquid that reflected the chandeliers like fractured stars.
"Tradition," Marcus said. "You drink. We observe."
Seraphina's fingers curled slowly around the stem. "And if I refuse?"
Cassian's smile widened. "Then you prove you don't belong."
She felt the room pressing in—the expectation, the hunger for her failure. Somewhere behind her, she sensed Lucien watching, waiting.
Not intervening.
Seraphina lifted the goblet and drank.
The liquid burned—not poison, but something bitter and unforgiving. Her expression didn't change. She set the cup down carefully.
"I'm done."
Silence followed.
Then Elijah spoke. "Interesting."
Marcus clapped once. "Very interesting."
Cassian tilted his head. "You didn't flinch."
Seraphina met his gaze steadily. "I don't give people the satisfaction."
That was when laughter broke out—not mocking, but impressed.
Lucien moved then.
He stepped forward, placing himself just slightly ahead of her, a subtle shift that did not go unnoticed.
"She's under my authority," he said calmly. "You've had your entertainment."
Cassian raised a brow. "Already protective?"
Lucien's gaze sharpened. "Already finished."
The room buzzed with speculation as Lucien turned to Seraphina. "Leave."
She didn't argue.
As she walked away, she felt it—the shift. The balance disturbed. The game no longer clean.
Later, alone in the corridor, Lucien stopped her.
"That was reckless," he said.
"That was survival."
"You challenged them."
"They challenged me first."
His eyes searched her face, something restless beneath the surface. "You don't understand what you've stepped into."
She smiled faintly. "Neither did you."
For a moment, the silence stretched—thick, charged, dangerous.
"You should fear me," Lucien said quietly.
Seraphina held his gaze. "I think you're more afraid of me than you want to admit."
Something dark passed through his eyes.
"Careful," he warned.
"I am."
She walked away before he could stop her, heart pounding—not with fear, but with certainty.
They had wanted her broken.
Instead, she had been seen.
And the Ivory Circle never forgave disruptions to its order.
— End of Chapter Three