The morning light spilled across the stone floor of Valeria’s room, dancing across the polished surfaces in golden streaks. Her room was silent save for the occasional rustle of parchment as she shifted uncomfortably in the corner chair near the window. A scroll lay open in her lap, filled with the ancient script of their magical theory assignment, but her eyes barely skimmed the lines.
Suddenly, the door slammed open and Tristan barged in without warning. The heavy door banged against the wall, his boots striking the floor with loud, unapologetic steps. His presence took up all the space in the room.
Valeria looked up, the fog in her thoughts evaporating in an instant. Her lips curled with annoyance. "Didn’t your parents teach you how to knock? Or is that an advanced skill for werewolves?"
Tristan didn’t pause. He stood in front of her now, hands at his sides, jaw tight. “Time for the assignment,” he said, his tone clipped and direct. “Let’s get it done.”
She stared at him, unmoved. “I’m not ready.”
He didn’t blink. “Then I’ll report you to Professor Cyrene and have you kicked out.”
Her eyes sharpened instantly. The crimson hue in her gaze deepened like a flash of heat through glass. “You wouldn’t dare.”
He met her stare evenly. “Try me.”
A charged silence stretched between them, thick as smoke. Neither moved. The tension coiled in the space like a drawn bow.
“Fine,” she muttered, rising with a fluid grace that still managed to show her displeasure. Her cloak swept behind her, the silver embroidery catching the sunlight. “Let’s just get it over with.”
Tristan turned toward the door. “We’ll use my room.”
“No,” she snapped, following close behind. “Open space. Somewhere public. I don’t trust you in closed quarters.”
His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Whatever you say, Princess.”
They stepped into the hallway just as the Academy’s population began to shift. A wave of students surged through the corridor, voices clashing, shoes clacking, wings fluttering, and books clutched in their arms.
Tristan moved quickly, slipping through a cluster of fae girls and ducking around a tall student with horns. He turned, expecting Valeria at his side, but she wasn’t there.
She was behind, her tall frame now caught in the press of bodies. Her face was unreadable, her jaw clenched as she struggled to push forward.
He extended a hand across the gap. “Valeria—”
She saw him but didn’t take it.
Instead, she moved forward on her own. Her boot caught the edge of the step as she tried to descend from the porch. Her balance shifted. She lurched.
In a blink, Tristan was there.
His arms caught her around the waist, locking her to him before gravity could win. Her hands instinctively gripped his shoulders. Time stalled. The students, the noise, the movement all blurred into nothing.
He looked down.
Her eyes were wide, her chest rising in sharp breaths. Her hair fell around her face like a curtain of ink. He studied her features; the softness of her jaw, the slope of her nose, the rich hue of her lips, pink and trembling.
His heart pounded harder than it should have and his wolf growled within him.
A sharp and intentional cough snapped their heads toward the sound.
A figure approached with a confident stride, pale and poised. He looked polished in every sense, his black attire crisp, a family crest pinned to his chest.
He stopped a foot away, eyes flicking between them. “I heard you were the Vampire Pincess, I’m Lucien. A royalty like, a Vampire Prince.”
He offered a hand to Valeria. She didn’t take it. She gave him a short, disinterested nod and moved around him without a word.
Tristan hesitated, then followed.
They found a quiet bench under the drooping limbs of a willow tree in the garden courtyard. Scrolls were unrolled, ink and quills set between them, but neither spoke.
Minutes stretched. Birds sang somewhere overhead, ignored.
Tristan finally spoke, voice low. “Do you hate me because of the myth?”
Valeria didn’t look up.
“The one that says we’re supposed to destroy each other. That vampires and werewolves are destined to be enemies.”
Silence.
He watched her. “It’s not true. If it were, the Academia wouldn’t exist. This place was built to end that narrative. To teach us to live and lead together.”
Still no answer.
But something flickered behind her eyes. A crack in the armor. She wanted to believe him. But then she heard it, her father’s voice, his warnings not whispered, but drilled into her skull. Lessons carved with caution, fear, and pride.
She stood abruptly. “You’re not ready to work. I’m leaving.”
Tristan started to rise, but she turned, and her heel caught the thick root embedded in the grass.
She stumbled again, and once more, Tristan caught her. Their bodies met with a soft thud. Her fingers clutched at his tunic as she found her footing.
Their eyes locked, and his breath slowed. Her gaze flicked to his lips, and his lowered to hers.
He leaned in, inch by inch, and her breath shook as her mind screamed her father’s words again and again. Quickly, she shoved Tristan away, harder this time. Then, she turned and fled, not trusting herself to look back.