Chapter 43: _ Aren’t You Tobin?

"Right there! That’s the outlaw! Wardens, move!"

The five undercover wardens halted instantly as their gazes went to the elevated platform.

The glittering ballroom plunged into a dead silence. The floating glass chandeliers seemed to dim in unison as hundreds of aristocrats stopped partying, talking, and breathing to stare at me.

I didn’t care about the gasps. I didn’t care about the horrified stares. All I cared about was the fact that the degenerate who had hurt my friends, almost defiled me, and then harassed me minutes ago was now pretending to be royalty.

"He just threatened me outside!" I shouted, marching another step forward, ignoring the fact that my silk skirt was slightly rumpled from my recent, highly unprofessional wrestling match with a mad Fae prince.

"He changed his form to the one he stalked us with at the Sunken Arch, and now he’s sitting here playing dress-up! Are you all blind?! Arrest him!"

Not a single warden moved.

In fact, the lead warden took a step backward, staring at me as if I had just declared myself Queen of the Underworld.

Down on the floor, the noble initiates looked at me like I had lost every remaining marble in my skull. Whispers erupted like a swarm of angry hornets.

"Is she actually insane?"

"She’s pointing at Prince Ivar..."

"Did she just call the Wolf Prince an outlaw?"

"She’s going to be executed before midnight. I’m calling it."

I threw my hands in the air, spinning around to face the petrified crowd. "Why is no one doing anything?! He’s a criminal! He was literally just...!"

"Elira, shut up!" Bren hissed, grabbing my arm and yanking me backward so hard I nearly tripped over my own slippers. "That’s not Tobin!"

I blinked, dizzy from the whiplash. "What are you talking about? That’s him! The red hair, the face...!"

"No, it’s not!" Bren whispered frantically, pointing a finger toward a corner of the ballroom. "That’s Tobin over there!"

I whipped my head around. Flanked by two confused academy guards, was a small woodland boy with large, liquid hazel eyes, dark textured hair peppered with natural silver highlights, and ears that tapered into delicate points. He looked so thoroughly harmless he could have been mistaken for a stray rabbit.

Seeing him brought back an immediate wave of memories: the chill of the Sunken Arch, the way he had cornered us, trailed his filthy tongue in the crook of my neck before something mysterious forced him to stop.

That was Tobin. The real Tobin.

My brain stuttered to a grinding halt.

If that was Tobin... then who the hell had I just screamed at?

Slowly, I turned my head back toward the dais.

The red-haired stranger was still sitting on his throne. His striking red hair fell messily across his forehead, his jaw clenched so tightly a muscle ticked violently in his cheek. He looked like he was contemplating inventing a brand-new, highly painful execution method specifically for my lineage.

Oh.

Oh, sweet merciful gods above.

It started to click. Why he was sitting on that throne... the crest he dropped...

I hadn’t just insulted a random nobleman. I might have just publicly screamed at, pointed fingers at, and demanded the arrest of the most powerful, ruthless Wolf royal in the entire academy.

Beside me, Miriel grabbed my sleeve, whispering in awe: "Elira... I think he really is a knight in shining armor."

"Shut up, Miriel," I squeaked, hating my sore luck.

"That," Miriel whispered back, pointing a shaking finger at the throne, "is the Wolf Prince. Prince Ivar."

Before I could figure out whether I should throw myself out the nearest window or simply lie down on the floor and wait to be trampled, the Wolf Academy’s Headmaster stood up from his seat with a furious face.

"What is the meaning of this? Why is a dragonless, markless initiate demanding that armed wardens capture a sovereign Prince?"

The murmurs swelled into a deafening roar. Every eye in the room was fixed on me with contempt and malicious glee radiating from the nobility.

I opened my mouth, but my tongue felt like a dry piece of salted leather. No words came out. My brain was desperately flipping through options, none of which involved surviving the next five minutes.

I looked frantically at Bren for help. Bren just slowly closed her eyes, crossed her arms, and gave me a very clear, very universal look that translated to: You dug this grave, Elira, now lie in it.

Just as I prepared to accept my fate as a public sacrifice, the doors banged open once more.

"Pardon the interruption."

Commander Clement strode into the ballroom. His gaze went straight to the dais, then to me, before landing on the small Sylven boy standing by the entrance.

"Commander Clement," the Dragon Headmaster snapped, rising from his chair. "Explain why your undercover operatives are storming a royal gala and why this chaotic initiate is screaming at our princes."

Clement offered a calm bow. "My apologies to the High Rector and the faculty. There has been a slight operational mix-up on our end. We were tracking a suspect." Clement gestured to Tobin. "That Sylven was the target intended for questioning."

To my absolute shock, the Sylven immediately lost his composure.

"I didn’t do anything!" Tobin shrieked, his voice cracking as the wardens stepped forward to grab his arms.

He looked so terrified, tears welling in his eyes, that it was impossible to reconcile him with the terrifying core-stealer who had cornered us yesterday.

"It’s not me! I don’t know what you’re talking about! Please!"

"Take him outside," Clement ordered quietly.

"Wait!"

A group of students pushed forward from the Fae sections. A fairy, two elves, and several furious Sylvens threw themselves into the aisle.

"He’s innocent!" the fairy yelled, her wings buzzing angrily. "He didn’t do anything! Tobin is the quietest, most obedient student in our entire cohort! These Dragon thugs are framing him!"

"This is an outrage!" the Fae Headmistress stood up. "Commander Clement, explain why you are dragging innocent initiates into your crude investigations!"

"They are involved for operational reasons. A full brief will be delivered to the High Rector’s table by sunrise." Clement replied.

The Dragon and Fae headmasters immediately erupted into a shouting match over jurisdiction, protocol, and academy autonomy. The noise in the hall reached a deafening crescendo until...