The final bell rang, a low echo vibrating through the stone corridors and announcing, at last, the end of the day's lessons.
For a long moment, I sat frozen at my desk, letting the gentle chaos of students packing up, chattering, and rushing toward freedom swirl around me like water.
I had spent the whole day simmering—caught between wanting to disappear and wanting to burn everything down.
Every lesson had felt twice as long as it should have.
Whenever I glanced out the window or let my attention drift for even a second, the image that appeared behind my eyes was always the same:
Lyra, sitting tall and unbothered at the back of the classroom, drawing easy laughs from Hugo, conjuring little foxes out of fire for Mireille, or answering Professor Valendra's questions with that maddening air of calm.
I collected my books and, as always, took an extra moment to ensure everything was perfectly arranged in my satchel.
I would not look at Lyra.
Instead, I slipped into the throng of departing students and pressed into the corridor, letting the crowd sweep me away from the magic classroom and its lingering scent of ozone and scorched parchment.
I ducked my head and hurried toward the old cloister, a narrow courtyard.
I barely had time to settle onto the low stone wall, to drop my satchel at my feet and draw a deep breath, before I heard the telltale sound of shoes slapping against flagstones.
Seconds later, arms flung around my neck, and a voice shrieked in my ear, "Isolde! We've been waiting for hours!"
It was Rielle, of course. I'd know her cinnamon-tinged perfume and death-grip hug anywhere.
She was all wild chestnut curls and sparkling green eyes, her uniform already rumpled, and her tie nowhere to be seen.
She clung to me as if it had been years, not days, since our last conversation.
"Rielle," I squeaked, trying to pry her off, "you're wrinkling my vest—"
"I haven't even started yet!" she wailed, tightening her hold.
"Do you have any idea how dull literature is without you there to make faces at me from across the aisle? I nearly died of boredom. I thought the teacher was going to send me to the infirmary for excessive sighing."
A second figure appeared, more reserved but no less impossible to shake: Vivienne.
Her dark hair was pinned into a braid that never dared to fall out, and she was taller than me by a full head, which she used to pat my shoulder in what she considered a dignified greeting.
"Rielle, let her breathe," Vivienne admonished, eyes twinkling behind her spectacles. "Isolde might need to report to the nurse herself if you squeeze her any harder."
Rielle let go, but only so she could plant herself at my side, looping her arm through mine with practiced possessiveness. "You weren't at lunch. You weren't at break. We nearly sent out a search party."
"I had class," I muttered, unable to keep the affection from my voice. Rielle and Vivienne had always been my shadows.
Since our very first year at the Academy, when Vivienne had calmly informed a much larger boy that she would dismantle his entire family's inheritance if he ever pulled my braid again, and Rielle had simply dumped a cup of ink over his head.
From that moment on, we'd been inseparable—a trio against the world.
Vivienne perched herself on the wall beside me, folding her skirt with clinical precision before sitting. "So, how was it? Your first day with the new… arrangement?"
I groaned, letting my head fall back dramatically. "You have no idea. I am living through a nightmare."
Rielle gasped, delighted. "Scandal! Tell us everything."
Vivienne raised an eyebrow. "Start from the beginning. Is she as bad as the rumors say?"
I hesitated, chewing my lip.
"Her name is Lyra," I began, voice tight. "Lyra Skyblade. She's… I don't even know where to start. She's half-demon—her hair is red, with these white streaks, and she has fangs. Actual fangs."
Rielle's eyes went wide with glee. "Like a storybook villain!"
"Or a wolf," Vivienne mused, "which is at least a little poetic, given your whole tragic-princess vibe."
I shot her a glare, but she only smirked. "She's everywhere," I continued. "She's in the palace, she's at breakfast, and now she's here, in my class, sitting at the back and acting like she owns the place. And of course, she won't even wear the proper uniform. Trousers, not a skirt. Just because she's special."
Vivienne hummed. "I heard she bested a knight during training."
"She did," I muttered, cheeks burning at the memory. "And then she bested me. In front of everyone."
Rielle let out a low whistle. "That's impressive."
"No, it's infuriating!" I snapped. "She's only been here 6 months and already everyone's fascinated by her. And if that's not enough, she's made it her personal mission to ruin my life."
Vivienne raised an eyebrow. "Ruin your life? Or just keep you out of trouble?"
I clenched my hands. "Every time I try to leave the palace, she catches me. Every time. I can't even slip out the garden gate without tripping over her. I swear, she knows what I'm thinking before I do. I've never been so… so thwarted in my entire life."
Rielle giggled, her laugh bright and a little wild. "Maybe she's a mind reader. Or maybe you're just predictable, darling."
Vivienne pressed her lips together, fighting a smile. "I think it's kind of romantic. The princess and the mysterious, brooding bodyguard. There are novels about that sort of thing."
I snorted. "Romantic? She's a menace. She doesn't listen to anyone. Today at school, she waltzed in late, introduced herself like she was a conquering hero, and then conjured a little fox out of red fire. The class applauded."
"Was it cute?" Rielle asked, starry-eyed.
"That's not the point," I groaned. "The point is—she overshadows everything. It's like there's no room left for me to breathe."
Vivienne tapped her chin. "You don't actually dislike her magic, though."
I hesitated. "Her magic is… fine. Impressive, even. But that's not the problem. The problem is that I'm supposed to be the princess. I'm supposed to stand out. And now I just… don't."
Rielle frowned, scooting closer. "You still stand out, Isolde. You always will. No fire fox can outshine you."
I shook my head. "It doesn't matter. None of it matters. Because none of this is what I want. I don't want to be queen. I never have. But with Seraphina refusing the crown, everyone acts like I'm already halfway there."
Vivienne grew serious, her fingers brushing mine. "Have you told your parents how you feel?"
I barked a hollow laugh. "They wouldn't understand. They love me, but they see this as destiny. The White Flame, the royal bloodline, the duty to the kingdom… I can't just say no. Not when Seraphina has already walked away."
"Why not?" Rielle pressed, always the impulsive one. "Why can't you say no?"
"Because…" I trailed off, staring at the flagstones beneath my shoes. "Because I'm not brave enough.Because I don't know what I'd do if I wasn't being prepared for the crown."
Vivienne leaned in, her eyes kind but sharp. "Isolde, you are not alone in this. We're here. You could run away and join a traveling circus and we'd follow you."
Rielle nodded vigorously. "We'd bring snacks."
A reluctant laugh escaped me. "You two are ridiculous."
"Of course we are," Vivienne replied. "But we mean it. If you don't want to be queen, then we'll help you figure out something else. There are other paths—"
"Not for me," I whispered. "Not really."
Rielle squeezed my hand. "If you're stuck with it, you don't have to do it their way. You can make your own rules."
Vivienne's gaze sharpened. "Or you could try a different approach."
I raised an eyebrow, curious despite myself. "What do you mean?"
Vivienne grinned, wicked and knowing. "Well, if you want them to stop seeing you as the perfect little queen-to-be, maybe you should give them a reason."
Rielle's face lit up with delighted understanding. "Yes! Be a terror. Be impossible. Be the worst princess the kingdom has ever seen."
I stared at them, half-horrified, half-intrigued. "You want me to be mean?"
"Why not?" Rielle shrugged. "If you become a mean princess, they won't want you as queen. Since there is no mean queen."
Vivienne nodded, her smile sly.
"The history books are very clear: no one remembers a cruel queen fondly. Maybe it's time you let them see the Isolde we know—the one who doesn't care about court games or perfect hair or sitting quietly while someone else takes the spotlight."
I looked at them, at their hopeful faces and mischievous grins, and felt something inside me loosen a knot I hadn't even realized I'd tied. Maybe it wouldn't work.