Chapter 50: _ See The Sylven

Clement let out a rich laugh that rattled the teacups on his desk.

"Let’s hope it doesn’t get to that, Initiate No-One."

Leaning back in his chair, "Though, speaking strictly out of bounds as a disciplinary figure, I suppose I should mention that the Wolf Prince has a rather legendary reputation for his various... extracurricular romances. You’re a striking girl. He might just pardon your public execution if you bat your eyelashes right," he teased.

Miriel bolted upright in her chair. "Excuse me? He danced with me yesterday. He stalked us through the dark because he was hopelessly captivated by me."

Clement blinked, his smirk sliding off his face. "Pardon? Did you just say Prince Ivar was stalking you?"

Bren rested her elbows on the desk. "Oh, absolutely. Elira kept insisting someone was trailing us. Then he literally materialized out of thin air right after the incident. He was definitely using invisibility magic to track us."

Clement went dead silent. The teasing warmth vanished from his expression as he rubbed his jaw.

"That is highly irregular," Clement murmured, half to himself. "Prince Ivar is notoriously arrogant. He wouldn’t waste two seconds shadowing low-born first-years unless..."

"Two lowborns and one former aristocrat, thank you very much," Miriel interrupted sharply, lifting her chin. "My family line–"

I drove my fingernails directly into Miriel’s arm under the desk. Miriel yelped, snapping her mouth shut with a glare.

"Listen to me very carefully, all three of you. Constantly riding the spotlight in Last Bastion without power or political allies is the fastest way to get yourself killed. The academy eats naive girls alive."

Bren narrowed her eyes. "Right. And how exactly are a dragonless nobody, a disgraced former noble whose family lost everything, and a girl whose family digs up coal in the lower districts of Redmere supposed to buy allies in this godforsaken place?"

"Usually?" Clement sighed, standing up and towering over the desk. "For young women in your position, it involves sucking up to powerful noble female initiates, or catching the eye of a powerful male initiate who can shield you from the vultures."

All three of us visibly gagged in unison.

Clement chuckled dryly, rounding the desk. "I thought that might be your reaction. My official advice? Forget the nobles. Focus on getting stronger, sharpening your wits, and surviving. The right allies will find you when you prove you aren’t easy prey."

He gestured toward the door, signaling the end of the audience. We all rose to our feet.

Just as we turned for the exit, Clement’s voice stopped us cold.

"Wait. There’s one more thing," Clement said, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. "Prince Ivar loitering near a crime scene isn’t quite enough justification for you to publicly scream at a royal, Elira. Be honest with me. Why really accuse him in front of the entire gallery?"

Panic seized my windpipe. Stonewick winters had nothing on the petrifying terror of realizing my own tangled memories were about to unravel completely.

My mouth opened, but my brain scrambled for a lifeline. I couldn’t tell him about my dream... where I kissed the Wolf Prince who transformed into Tobin.

Ugh... that was way too ridiculous a reason to publicly accuse a royal Prince. Why on earth did I even let a silly dream control me?

If only I could just remember what happened that night! But I didn’t... yet.

So, I did what any desperate, cornered idiot would do: I improvised a panic-fueled half-truth.

"Someone... someone scared Tobin away right before we were rescued," I stammered. "I don’t remember everything clearly—everything was a blur—but I thought I saw him there in the dark. I panicked and assumed Tobin had used a stolen shapeshifting trick to take the Wolf Prince’s form!"

Clement stopped dead. "You thought a core-stealer impersonated the Wolf Prince to attack you?"

"Or that the Wolf Prince was somehow involved!" I squeaked, digging my fingernails into my palms. "Look, my brain was scrambled, okay?"

Clement pinched the bridge of his nose, looking ten years older than he had ten minutes ago. "Prince Ivar saving first-years is bizarre enough on its own, but if he was genuinely present during an assault... I suppose I’ll have to find a polite way to invite a royal prince down for questioning. It should help with the investigation."

He groaned softly. "Gods preserve my department. Come on, girls. Time to see the Sylven."

We stepped back out into the corridor, where two heavily armored security wardens materialized from the shadows to escort us down toward the holding cells.

As we walked, Clement fell into step beside us. "Listen closely. When we step into that holding block, do not show fear. Tobin is a predator, but right now, he’s cornered. Keep your eyes open, listen for any slips of the tongue, and help us pull anything out of him that advances this investigation."

Miriel puffed out her chest, adjusting her ruffled gown with a dramatic huff. "Oh, don’t worry about me, Commander. Once I get in that cell, I’m going to personally fry his miserable hair off with my dragonfire."

Bren snorted loudly, rolling her eyes. "With what fire, Miriel? Your last attempt produced about as much heat as a damp matchstick."

"It was a warning shot!" Miriel hissed, spinning around to glare at her. "At least my power is majestic, unlike your party-trick multiplication act! You’re basically a walking photocopy machine!"

"A photocopy machine that could kick your aristocratic ass," Bren shot back, effortlessly matching Miriel’s glare step-for-step.

Clement threw his head back and laughed, the booming sound effortlessly breaking the suffocating tension as we marched deeper underground.

Beside them, I kept my mouth shut.

While Miriel and Bren bickered like squabbling children, my blood ran thick and cold in my veins. My stomach churned violently, every step bringing us closer to the heavy iron doors of the holding block.

I didn’t care about the investigation. I didn’t care about Clement’s clever tips.

All I could think about was that behind those heavy iron bars sat the monster who had cornered me in the dark, threatened me, and tried to strip away whatever dignity I had left.

The thought of stepping back into that room... of seeing his face, hearing his voice, and standing inches away from the man who had nearly destroyed me, made my knees shake so violently I could barely force my boots to move forward.

We rounded the final stone pillar, and towering ahead of us was the iron-barred door of Holding Cell Four...