Chapter 26: More Than a Prince

Astrid

I walked into the common area to find Xander and Reed already mid-argument, the smell of burnt toast still hanging faintly in the air from whatever breakfast attempt had gone sideways earlier, though it took me half a second to realize it wasn’t actually serious.

"You have twelve identical black shirts," Xander was saying, holding one up like evidence in a trial.

"They’re not identical," Reed said, not even looking up from whatever he was reading.

I glanced between them. "They look identical."

Reed looked at me. "Thank you."

Xander pointed at me, betrayed. "You’re supposed to be on my side."

"I don’t remember agreeing to join your side," I said, dropping onto the couch.

It struck me a beat later, quiet and easy, how comfortable I’d gotten with this. A few weeks ago, walking into a room with the two of them would have made every muscle in my body tense. Now I’d joined their argument without even thinking about it.

I didn’t let myself dwell on that for long.

At school, Ivy dragged me toward the student activity board, pointing out flyers for various clubs and events pinned haphazardly across the corkboard.

"There’s an astronomy club," she said, tapping one flyer. "You’d probably like that, given how much time you spent staring at those old maps in the observatory."

I considered it, actually considered it, which surprised me more than the suggestion itself.

"You know," Ivy said, watching my face, "you could actually enjoy yourself here."

"I’m trying," I admitted.

She smiled. "Good."

Nearby, a group of seniors were setting up materials for some upcoming academy event, and Reed stood among them in his council capacity, directing the effort with quiet authority. Xander was technically helping too, though he seemed to be putting in the absolute minimum required.

"I’ve contributed," he announced when Reed shot him a look.

"You moved three chairs."

"Four."

I laughed despite myself, and for a moment everything felt wonderfully, blessedly ordinary.

I found Xander alone later that afternoon, sitting somewhere quiet, staring at a formal notice with none of his usual energy. No teasing grin. No performance for an audience.

"You’re unusually quiet," I said.

He glanced up. "Enjoy it while it lasts."

I smiled, but something in his expression stopped me. "What’s wrong?"

"Nothing," he said, too fast.

I recognized that lie instantly, mostly because I used it constantly myself. "You don’t have to tell me."

That made him look at me properly, like he hadn’t expected that response.

He was quiet for a long moment before he actually spoke.

"Everyone thinks they know me," he said.

I didn’t interrupt.

"I’m the one who jokes. Reed’s the serious one. I’m supposed to make everything easier for everyone else." He paused, turning the notice over in his hands without really looking at it. "Sometimes I wonder if anyone would actually want me around if I stopped being entertaining."

That landed somewhere I understood far too well. I knew exactly what it felt like to be reduced to one single thing people thought they understood about you.

"I don’t think you’re entertaining," I said.

He looked genuinely offended. "Wow."

I almost smiled. "I think you’re annoying."

He laughed, some of the tension breaking.

Then I let myself be serious. "But I don’t think you’re fake."

That mattered. I could see it land, something shifting behind his eyes.

"You really don’t care that I’m a prince, do you?" he asked.

"Not particularly."

"That’s probably why I like talking to you."

My heart gave an uncomfortable little jump that I refused to examine too closely.

"Don’t get sentimental on me," I said instead.

He grinned. "Too late."

For the first time, I saw something underneath all his humor, something quieter and more real than the version of him everyone else got to see.

Reed found us a few minutes later, glancing between us with that quiet, observant look I was used to by now.

"There you are," he said to Xander.

"We were talking," Xander said, standing.

"About?"

Xander smiled, back to his usual self. "Your personality."

Reed’s expression went completely flat. "Then I don’t want to know."

I laughed, though I caught Reed’s eyes linger on me a moment longer than the joke required, like he’d noticed something in my expression he wasn’t going to ask about in front of his brother.

The academy called an assembly later that afternoon, and I assumed it would be routine, another announcement about clubs or upcoming exams. Headmaster Aldric stepped onto the platform instead, his tone carrying more weight than usual.

"Before the semester progresses further," he said, "Moonshade Academy will once again hold its annual Wild Moon Trial."

The reaction was immediate. Seniors cheered. First-years groaned loudly enough to drown out half his next sentence.

I looked at Ivy, confused. "What is that?"

She whispered, "Oh, no."

"What?"

"You’ve never heard of it?"

Before she could explain, the Headmaster continued. "Every student, regardless of year, will participate."

The room erupted again.

"For the duration of the trial," he added, "personal phones and electronic devices will not be permitted."

The first-years around me practically combusted.

"WHAT?"

"No phones?!"

"For how long?"

Someone shouted, "Are we going back to the Stone Age?"

Another voice answered, "Might as well give us spears!"

A senior near me muttered, "First-years are so spoiled," while his friend replied, "It’s going to be a long three days."

I couldn’t help smiling. I had no idea why everyone found this so horrifying. I hadn’t owned a phone for most of my life.

The Headmaster explained further, something about survival, teamwork, navigation, and traditional wolf life woven into the trial’s structure. My stomach tightened slightly at the mention of wolves.

Everyone around me was already complaining about sleeping outdoors.

"We’re going to suffer," Ivy whispered.

I glanced toward the twins. Xander looked genuinely horrified.

"Three days without a phone?" he said.

"You’ll survive," Reed told him.

"That’s what people say before disasters."

I laughed, and then something occurred to me, quiet and strange. For once, I wasn’t the one at a disadvantage. Everyone else dreaded losing their technology, their comforts, their easy lives.

I’d already lived without any of it.

I didn’t know yet whether that would actually help me out there, or whether the absence of a wolf would make the wilderness trial the worst thing I’d faced since arriving at Moonshade. Three days in the woods without a phone sounded almost peaceful compared to some of what I’d already survived. It was the wolf part that worried me.