Chapter 85

Chapter 85: Chapter 85

The abandoned classroom on the east wing had become their unofficial meeting place. It was dark, forgotten, and far enough from the main corridors that no one ever wandered past. A single candle flickered on the teacher’s desk, casting long shadows across the cracked walls. Three figures stood around it, their faces illuminated in the dim orange glow.

Nikolai held the letter in his scarred hands, his cold eyes scanning the words for the third time. The seal was unmistakable—the silver wolf of the Astrlyn pack, broken and resealed with precision. Lord Varek’s handwriting was sharp and angular, each letter carved into the parchment like a blade.

"He’s growing impatient," Nikolai said, his voice flat. "The showcase is in three days. The King will arrive the day after tomorrow. Varek wants the plan set in motion before the pageantry begins."

Xavier leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, his easy smile nowhere to be seen. "What exactly does he expect us to do? We’ve tried poison. We’ve tried the Mistwood. Thorne has survived everything we’ve thrown at him. He’s protected by the Sword Sovereign, the Eldritch heir, and half the academy at this point."

"Then we need to be smarter." Nikolai folded the letter and tucked it into his pocket. "The plan is already in motion. Varek’s instructions are clear. We wait until the showcase ball—when the academy is packed with dignitaries and the guards are spread thin. In the chaos, no one will notice a single death."

"And if they do?"

"They won’t. Not until it’s too late." Nikolai turned to Killian, who had been silent throughout the exchange. "You’ve been quiet. What’s the status of your part?"

Killian’s dark eyes flickered. "Everything is ready. Draven knows what to do. I’ve made sure of it."

"Good. Because this time, there can be no failure." Nikolai stepped closer, his scarred face inches from Killian’s. "Varek has made it clear. If Thorne Astrlyn survives the showcase, we won’t survive the aftermath. Do you understand?"

Killian’s jaw tightened. "I understand."

"Then make sure it’s done. No mistakes. No hesitation. No mercy."

"I don’t need a lecture on mercy." Killian’s voice was cold. "I’ve been waiting for this moment for months. Thorne Astrlyn will die at the showcase. And when he does, Corvin will finally see me."

Xavier exchanged a glance with Nikolai but said nothing.

"See that he does," Nikolai said. "We meet again the night before the showcase. Until then, stay out of sight. Don’t draw attention. And Killian—" He paused. "Keep your pet under control. Draven is useful, but he’s also a liability. If he talks—"

"He won’t talk. I’ve made sure of it."

"Good."

Nikolai extinguished the candle with a sharp breath, plunging the room into darkness. The three figures slipped out of the abandoned classroom one by one, their footsteps silent on the cold stone. The plan was in motion. The pieces were moving.

And somewhere in the shadows, Killian smiled.

Killian found Draven in the old training hall on the east side—the same dusty, forgotten room where they had met so many times before. Draven was sharpening his axe by the light of a single lantern, his broad shoulders hunched, his expression focused. He looked up when Killian entered, and his face split into a grin.

"You got my message," Draven said.

"I always get your messages." Killian crossed the room and pulled Draven into a rough kiss. It was not affection. It was control. It was the assurance of loyalty, the reminder of who held the leash. "We need to talk. The plan is moving forward."

"I know. Nikolai told me."

"Nikolai told you the broad strokes. I’m going to tell you the details." Killian pulled back and fixed Draven with his dark eyes. "The showcase ball. The pageantry. That’s when it happens. When everyone is distracted by the King and the dancing and the pageantry. No one will be watching Thorne."

"And what do I do?"

"You’ll know when the time comes. I’ll give you the signal." Killian reached up and cupped Draven’s jaw, his touch almost gentle. "You’ve been loyal to me, Draven. More loyal than anyone. When this is over—when Thorne is dead and Corvin is finally mine—I won’t forget what you’ve done for me."

Draven’s eyes shone with something that might have been love. "I’d do anything for you. You know that."

"I know." Killian kissed him again, deeper this time. "And soon, everyone else will know too."

They sank onto the dusty mats together, and the old training hall filled with the sounds of their mingled breathing. The lantern flickered. The shadows danced. And the plan crept closer to its execution.

The council chamber was packed.

Proctor Kane sat at the head of the long oak table, his iron-gray hair immaculate, his ceremonial robes pressed and formal. Around him sat the senior staff of Shadowmoon Academy—instructors, lecturers, combat masters, and administrative officials. Lady Isolde sat to his right, her silver hair gleaming, her expression serene. Senior Lecturer Marrow sat to his left, his weathered face grim.

"The showcase is three days away," Kane began, his voice carrying across the silent chamber. "The Silvermoon delegation has been integrated into our training schedule. The pageantry rehearsals are proceeding as planned. The King and Queen will arrive the day after tomorrow with their full retinue. Every dignitary of note in the Seven Packs will be in attendance."

A murmur of acknowledgment rippled through the assembled staff.

"This is the most significant event in the history of this academy," Kane continued. "The Crown’s attention is upon us. The realm’s attention is upon us. We cannot afford a single mistake. Not in the training exhibitions. Not in the pageantry. Not in the security arrangements." He paused. "And not in the behavior of our students."

Elara Voss, the sharp-eyed lecturer, leaned forward. "Are you referring to the cafeteria incident, Proctor?"

"I’m referring to everything. The cafeteria brawl. The tensions between our academies. The rumors that have been circulating about certain students." Kane’s jaw tightened. "Whatever personal conflicts exist among the student body must be set aside for the duration of the showcase. I will not have this academy embarrassed in front of the Crown."

"And if those conflicts cannot be set aside?" Marrow asked.

"Then they will be suppressed. By whatever means necessary." Kane’s voice was iron. "I want additional security in the corridors during the ball. I want instructors stationed at every entrance. I want the Silvermoon and Shadowmoon students separated during any events that might provoke conflict. And I want a full report on any unusual activity—any suspicious behavior, any threats, any whispers of violence. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Proctor," the staff echoed.

Lady Isolde spoke for the first time. "The Silvermoon delegation is prepared to cooperate fully with any security measures you deem necessary. However, I must remind the council that our students are guests here. They will not be treated as prisoners or suspects."

"Of course not, Lady Isolde. But they will be protected. As will all our students." Kane turned to the head of security, a grizzled former warrior named Captain Voss. "Status report on the King’s arrival?"

"The royal procession is already en route, Proctor. They should arrive by sunset the day after tomorrow. We’ve received word that the King will be accompanied by the Queen, Princess Freya, and a full retinue of royal guards and advisors. The Astrlyn delegation is also en route, led by Lord Varek. Representatives from all seven packs have confirmed their attendance."

"Then we have three days to ensure that this academy is ready to receive them." Kane rose from his chair. "I want daily reports from every department. I want the dormitories inspected, the training grounds prepared, and the grand hall transformed into a venue worthy of the Crown. There will be no second chances. No excuses. No failures."

He looked around the table, his gaze hard.

"The Crown is watching. The realm is watching. Do not disappoint them."

The staff filed out of the council chamber, their expressions grim and determined. Kane remained at the head of the table, staring at the empty chairs, his mind churning with all the things that could go wrong.

"You look troubled, Vesper."

Lady Isolde had lingered behind, her pale eyes fixed on him with quiet assessment.

"I am troubled. This showcase has more moving pieces than any I’ve overseen. The King’s attendance. The Silvermoon delegation. The tensions between our students. The rumors about Prince Thorne. The incident in the cafeteria." He shook his head. "It feels as though we’re standing on the edge of a precipice, and one wrong step will send us all tumbling."

"Then we must ensure no one takes that step." Lady Isolde’s voice was calm. "You’ve trained your students well, Vesper. Trust them. Trust your staff. And trust yourself."

"And if that’s not enough?"

"Then we adapt. We survive. We endure." She smiled faintly. "That’s what we’ve always done, isn’t it?"

Kane looked at her for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Yes. I suppose it is."

He returned to his papers, and Lady Isolde slipped out of the chamber, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the weight of the coming days.