Then there’s Anders, the older, undeniably more formidable brother. He stands taller than the rest, arms crossed over his chest with commanding authority. His expression remains cold and calculating as he glares at Kellan. A blonde girl I don’t recognize daringly runs her hand up his chest, but he seems oblivious. He’s all hard lines and dark magnetism, and something stirs inexplicably low in my belly. Before my gaze can linger, his sapphire blue eyes lock onto mine, sending a wave of shame coursing through me.Shit.
I quickly avert my gaze, feeling the awareness of his scrutiny burning into my back. Anders and I have never spoken, our paths rarely crossing at the academy’s classes or occasional balls. Yet, his presence always looms like a shadow—lingering, watchful, surrounded by an entourage, and seemingly oblivious to anyone who doesn’t bow to him. His arrogance is legendary, and I’ve made it my mission to keep my distance; the princess of Treon has no intention of falling into his trap and becoming fodder for school gossip.
Five long years have passed since King Aki’s transport mysteriously vanished, leaving his family without answers. I sympathize deeply with the Rykerson brothers—the thought of losing my own father, who means everything to me, feels unbearable. King Aki was, from my recollections, a well-loved, strong ruler. It bewilders me how his sons have morphed into such arrogant, insufferable heirs.
Kellan, revered among students as one of the strongest warriors, earned the title of Weapons Master for swordsmen last year, in Specialists Order and he offers no such sympathy or patience. “Shut it,” Kellan snaps.
The crowd around us collectively gasps, giggling with oohs as the air thickens with building tension. “See you on the mat, Hyston,” Cole replies with cruel satisfaction. I turn to face Cole just in time to noticeAnders elbowing him in the side in silent reprimand. I snort out my amusement, gaining Anders’ attention.
His intense gaze snaps toward me, pinning me in place. The air thrums, a vibration echoing through my bones. In that single, electrifying moment, our gazes collide, and a powerful ripple of energy resonates between us, binding our fates in a way that terrifies me. Disbelief crashes over me like a tidal wave. It’s just the Bond, I remind myself, even as a profound stirring deep within me—something that has slumbered my whole life—now awakens.
“Next,” Izak, the senior Executive, calls out, his tone flat and laced with boredom. “Names, please,” he sighs. I feel a chuckle bubbling up, but I fold my lips in, biting down the giggle. Izak knows precisely who we are, yet the ritual of formality must be upheld.
With a barely contained smile, I declare, “Princess Raea Tierson, Treon Kingdom.” As I speak, I extend my wrist, showing the detailed tattoo that marks my identity, my family crest tattooed on my skin.
“Duke Kellan Hyston, Treon,” Kellan chimes in, mirroring my gesture. His tattoo, while similar in concept, is a simple black replica. All of the nobility in my realm bear the Treon crest on their wrist.
Izak nods somewhat absently, tapping on the tablet. Without looking up, he asks where we’d like our tracker placed. I tap my forearm, where I have chosen to place the temporary tracker every year since Primms. The cold metal tip presses into my skin, and I brace myself for the momentary burn. Using nanotechnology, the tracker is placed, and the screen on the device turns green. Kellan takes his in his shoulder.
“You both are assigned to Taeolyn,” Izak says. “Please make your way to the dorms for orientation. Next,” he calls out again, shifting his focus to the person behind us without missing a beat.
“Knew it,” I squeal, bouncing on my toes. I’ve always hoped that once we reached the Executive Order, we would be assigned to Taeolyn. It’s where both of our parents were placed. I don’t miss the way Kellan’s shoulders fall, just an inch, before he wraps an arm around me—his smile soft, meant to placate.
“I’m sorry, Kel,” I say as we hover beyond the table. “I know you really wanted Veker.”
He shrugs, checking the time. I’m bummed for him, yet a touch of satisfaction warms me: we’ll graduate together, having spent our entire academy years side by side.
A sudden, warm voice interrupts my thoughts. “Ryker, how nice to see you,” Professor Ainslyn calls out from behind me.Ryker?!Please don’t tell me Anders seriously goes by his last name. “Has your brother also been placed in Taeolyn?”
A deep, velvety laugh tumbles through my body, igniting all my nerve endings and putting my body on alert. I refuse to turn around and look, knowing it will only feed his inflated ego.
“No, he’s been placed in Veker. I don’t need his antics messing withmydorm.”His dorm?Gods, the sheer arrogance of his statement makes my skin crawl. He may be nearing his coronation after graduation, but he’s still just a student.
“Very well, I will see you during orientation then,” Professor Ainslyn says, his voice drifting off as we head toward the Executive dorms.
After a few minutes, we pass under the wide stone archway that spans the path and then some. Just beyond the magical wards—which only allow Executives to enter—sit the three glittering dorms in all their glory.
The Executive Order is the pinnacle of Drithm Academy.
Directly ahead, the beautiful white facade of Taeolyn Dorm ascends several stories. Its striking design stands out, adorned with grand terraces where students lounge against balustrades draped in delicate vines and blossoms spilling from window boxes—an atmosphere of pure elegance. Pristine white stone, tall arched windows, and ornate designs intertwine with clean, flowing lines, creating a perfect harmony with nature. The many terraces and window boxes brim with vibrant plants and trees, effortlessly blending architecture with the surrounding forest.
To my right, Veker Dorm makes a bold statement with its towering walls of sleek black marble. Light filters in through its glass dome,illuminating the interior with a natural brightness that accentuates its modern design. The dorm exudes an aura of intimidation and innovation. On my left, Bragr Dorm stands in stark contrast to its neighbors. Its dominating structure resembles a barracks more than a traditional dormitory, with towering stone walls and turrets rising at each corner. The design screams of cold, damp climates and blood-soaked battlefields; preparing for war, I’m sure that living in a barracks feels right at home.
Beyond them, the campus spreads out. Nestled behind Bragr, the warm aroma of baking bread and roasting meats drifts from the dining hall, its arched pathways a welcoming bridge connecting all three dorms. Further to the right, beyond Veker’s shadow, the Transport Hall stands like a shiny beacon for the Sky Division hopefuls. Directly behind Taeolyn, the Executive Briefing Hall stands as the campus’s central hub, a network of bridges and covered walkways pulling everything toward its authority.
A palpable thrill fills the air as students arrive at their assigned dorms. I find myself swept up in the collective enthusiasm, recognizing familiar faces. This is it. Our final Order here at the academy. Home for the next two years until graduation. These are my friends, my people—the last glimpse of our “childhood” before we receive our roles within our kingdoms, likely never seeing each other again. For nearly half, this is their final year.
Reaching the top of the stairs, an arched entrance adorned with glass doors glides open with a satisfying slicing noise. Inside, the central chamber expands before me, revealing five expansive levels. Natural light floods the space, pouring through tall windows and bouncing off the white stone. Lush greenery adorns every corner, and an ancient fern tree—its branches reaching like welcoming arms—stands at the heart of the room. Cozy seating encircles its trunk, while the gentle sound of trickling water fills the air from small fountains decorating each level.
Grand staircases ascend toward the upper three levels where our bed chambers are located. Near the back, a glass-encased elevatorwaits. This main floor is the epicenter of life at Taeolyn. For the next ten months, until I return to Kyrr, this is home.
Being at school feels refreshing. Here, I shed the weight of royal obligations, simply another twenty-one-year-old student. No formal curtsies or forced expectations bind me. I am just a part of a group immersed in politics, history, and the shadow of a potential war—and my personal favorite, flying. That is, if I can convince the Sky Division professor to let me.
“Find your mailbox for room assignments on your device,” a lady announces with weariness. She stands taller than I do, her chestnut hair cascading gently to her shoulders, partially obscured by a navy cloak. She appears younger than most professors, perhaps an Executive-only instructor or a recent addition. As she waves a single hand, I notice the Bonding mark tattooed up her left middle finger and hand. It takes me by surprise; I have never had a Bonded professor, meaning she is also nobility.
Kellan and I work our way through the crowds of familiar faces, saying hello and offering a wave or a hug as we brush past toward the far wall, where our student mailboxes are located. Spotting my name along the first column dedicated to royals brings a rush of excitement that I actually belong here.
There are currently only three kingdoms represented by royal children at Drithm: my own kingdom of Treon, Okenen, Anders’ and Cole’s, and Ateria, Princess Aolyn’s kingdom. These mailboxes contain a personal tablet that we’ll use to keep track of classes, take notes, and submit assignments.
