Chapter 94

Chapter 94: Chapter 94

In the lower tables, the students watched the scene unfold with varying degrees of fascination and concern.

Finn was practically vibrating with anxiety. "This is bad," he muttered to Marek and Jasper. "This is really, really bad. Thorne is sitting at the same table as her uncle—the one who tried to kill her—and Selene is draped all over Soren like a possessive cat, and the King has no idea that his son’s actual mate is sitting ten feet away disguised as a boy—"

"Finn," Marek said quietly. "Breathe."

"I can’t breathe. This is a breathing-free zone."

"Your panic isn’t helping."

"My panic is the only appropriate response to this situation."

Jasper, who had been watching the high table with his usual sharp-eyed intensity, spoke without looking away. "Thorne is holding up well. She’s scared—I can see it in the way she’s holding her shoulders—but she’s not breaking. Corvin is helping. He’s been at her side all evening."

"Corvin is always at her side," Finn muttered. "It’s like he’s her personal bodyguard. Or her second mate. Or both."

"Both," Jasper confirmed.

"I was joking."

"I wasn’t."

Lucian, seated at the next table over with Orion, leaned toward them. "Did the King just summon Thorne to the high table? The King who doesn’t know Thorne is a woman? The King whose son is secretly mated to said woman? This showcase is going to be a disaster."

"It’s going to be a spectacle," Orion corrected. "Whether it’s a disaster depends on how well they can keep their secrets."

"And if they can’t?"

"Then we’re all in for a very interesting evening."

Killian stood in the shadows of the grand hall, his back pressed against the cold stone wall, his dark eyes fixed on the high table. The feast swirled around him—nobles laughing, servants scurrying, music playing but he heard none of it. He saw only Corvin. Corvin, who was sitting beside Thorne. Corvin, who had his hand on Thorne’s back. Corvin, who was leaning close to whisper something in Thorne’s ear.

The jealousy was a living thing, coiled in his chest like a serpent.

"Soon," he murmured to himself. "Soon, you won’t have Thorne to distract you anymore. Soon, you’ll finally see me."

A figure appeared at his elbow. Xavier, his easy smile nowhere to be seen, his expression hard and businesslike. "The target is at the high table. Lord Varek is in position. Everything is proceeding as planned."

"Good." Killian didn’t look away from Corvin. "And the distraction?"

"Draven is ready. He knows his signal."

"And Nikolai?"

"Watching the exits. If anything goes wrong, we have escape routes prepared." Xavier paused, his sharp eyes studying Killian’s face. "You’re staring at Eldritch again."

"I’m always staring at Eldritch."

"That’s what worries me." Xavier stepped closer, lowering his voice. "This plan only works if you stay focused. Lord Varek has made it clear—Thorne dies during the showcase. No hesitation. No distractions. No personal vendettas getting in the way. If you let your obsession with Eldritch compromise the mission—"

"It won’t." Killian’s voice was ice. "My obsession with Corvin is the mission. Thorne stole him from me. Thorne has been the obstacle between us since the day he arrived at this academy. When Thorne is dead, Corvin will grieve, and I will be there to comfort him. He’ll finally understand that I’m the only one who’s ever truly loved him."

Xavier exchanged a glance with Nikolai, who had appeared silently at his side. Neither of them spoke.

"What?" Killian demanded.

"Nothing." Nikolai’s scarred face was unreadable. "Just remember what’s at stake. Lord Varek has promised us titles and lands if we succeed. If we fail—"

"We won’t fail."

"See that we don’t." Nikolai turned to go, then paused. "The signal will come during the pageantry. Be ready."

He melted back into the crowd. Xavier followed, leaving Killian alone in the shadows.

Killian turned his gaze back to the high table. Corvin was still beside Thorne, his hand still resting protectively on the small of her back. The sight made Killian’s blood boil.

Enjoy your last moments with him, he thought, his eyes boring into Thorne’s silver-haired figure. By this time next tomorrow, you’ll be dead, and Corvin will be mine.

He smiled—a cold, terrible smile—and disappeared into the darkness.

Across the hall, Valeria was also watching the high table.

She stood among the other instructors, her dark hair swept up in an elegant twist, her deep green gown hugging her curves. She looked beautiful. She always looked beautiful. But her expression was troubled, her amber eyes fixed on Soren the crown prince, the heir to the Seven Packs, the man she had been sleeping with for years without ever knowing his true identity.

The crown prince, Lila murmured in her mind. The future king. And we had him in our bed a dozen times, and we never knew.

He never told us, Valeria thought bitterly. He trusted Thorne with his secret. He trusted Corvin and Ragnar. But us? We were just a convenience. A body to warm his sheets during the full moon.

Does it change anything?

It changes everything. Valeria’s hands curled into fists at her sides. If I had known—if I had known he was the heir to the throne—I could have done things differently. I could have made him see me as more than just a distraction. I could have been his queen.

Selene is his betrothed. Not you.

Selene is a political arrangement. She doesn’t love him. She wants his crown. Valeria’s eyes narrowed. I want him.

And Thorne?

Valeria’s gaze shifted to the silver-haired prince sitting rigid at the high table, Corvin’s hand on her back, Soren’s eyes flickering toward her every few seconds. The woman pretending to be a man. The Moonblood heir. The one who had stolen Soren’s heart without even trying.

Thorne is a problem that will solve itself, Valeria thought. Selene has her plan. I have mine. And when the dust settles, Soren will need someone to comfort him. Someone who understands him. Someone who has been there all along.

You’re playing a dangerous game.

I always play dangerous games. Valeria smiled coldly. That’s what makes them interesting.

She lifted her wine glass and took a slow, deliberate sip, her eyes never leaving the high table. The showcase was tomorrow. The pageantry. The ball. Everything was about to come to a head.

And Valeria intended to be on the winning side.

At the high table, the conversation had turned to politics.

"The Astrlyn pack has always been a loyal ally to the Crown," The King was saying, addressing Lord Varek. "Your brother was a good man. His death was a tragedy."

Varek inclined his head, his expression perfectly composed. "Thank you, Your Majesty. My brother served the realm with honor. I strive to continue his legacy."

"And young Thorne here—" The King turned to Nyra, his sharp eyes assessing. "You’ve made quite an impression at this academy. The Sword Sovereign’s personal student. A survivor of the Mistwood. I’ve heard remarkable things."

Nyra forced herself to meet the King’s gaze. "I’ve been fortunate, Your Majesty. I’ve had excellent teachers."

"Soren speaks highly of you. That’s no small thing. My son is not easily impressed."

Across the table, Soren’s eyes met Nyra’s. Something passed between them—a flicker of warmth, of reassurance, of love that couldn’t be spoken aloud.

"He’s an excellent teacher," Nyra said. "I’ve learned a great deal from him."

Selene’s grip on Soren’s arm tightened. "Thorne and Soren have become quite close, haven’t they? I’ve noticed them training together often. It’s almost like they’re inseparable."

The words were innocent. The implication was not.

The Queen looked up sharply, her eyes moving from Selene to Soren to Nyra with sudden, sharp interest. "Is that so?"

"Thorne is my student," Soren said, his voice carefully neutral. "I train him. Nothing more."

"Of course, darling." Selene smiled sweetly. "I wasn’t suggesting anything inappropriate."

The tension at the table was thick enough to cut with a knife. Corvin’s hand found Nyra’s under the table and squeezed. Ragnar was glaring at Selene with undisguised hatred. Lord Varek was watching the exchange with cold, calculating eyes.

And then the doors to the grand hall swung open.

Every head turned. The music faltered. The servants stopped mid-step.

A figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the torchlight from the corridor beyond. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Cloaked in traveling robes of deep midnight blue, the hood still raised, obscuring their face.

"Your Majesty," the figure said, and the voice was deep and resonant and carried across the silent hall like a bell tolling. "I apologize for my late arrival. The journey was... longer than anticipated."

Soren went rigid. Corvin’s hand tightened around Nyra’s until it was almost painful. Ragnar’s scarred face had gone pale, his eyes wide with something that looked like shock—or fear.

Nyra looked at them, confusion swirling in her chest. "Who is that?" she whispered to Corvin.

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His eyes were fixed on the figure in the doorway, his expression frozen in disbelief.

The King rose from his chair. His face, which had been stern and composed all evening, had transformed. There was surprise in his eyes. And something else. Something that looked almost like hope.

"You," the King breathed. "After all these years. You’ve come back."

The figure stepped forward into the candlelight, and the hood fell back.

Nyra still couldn’t see their face. But she saw Soren’s expression—the shock, the recognition, the way his hands were trembling on the table.

And she knew, with a cold, sinking certainty, that whoever this person was, their arrival was about to change everything.