According to The Schedule, new students would eat with their own dormitory until two weeks into the semester, at which time they would be introduced to the school at the Harvest Ball—an event that had gotten no small amount of attention in Glassenveil Dorm. The whole event reeked of formality like a bottle of spoiled smelling salts.

  There would be Formal dining. Formal dancing. Formal small talk. Rose suspected that half of the first years would have called in sick if there wasn’t also going to be something there that had their absolute, arrested attention—girls.

  Drakkonspire Academy of Magecraft was set to host its rival school, Lunelace College. Lovelace—a school comprised almost entirely of female magical practitioners. The school was abuzz with preparation and boasting—but mostly boasting. The boys in Rose’s last classes seemed convinced the girls would walk onto campus and fall immediately, helplessly, and (they hoped) scandalously in love.

  Even Rob seemed a bit excited about the event. Rose, of course, had no intention of sticking around until an event where she’d be under that much scrutiny, hunting at every opportunity for a chance to get back to Sunken Manor. Unfortunately, it was only day one and she’d run up against two unignorable obstacles.

  The first was that she was always being watched—by teachers, prefects, or fellow students—and it was impossible to say how much time she would really have with Gearson before someone came looking. The second was that each of the Dormitories were warded against intruders—a fact which she had picked up while listening to one of the older students complain about how he’d been locked out of the Orrun Dormitory all night once the evening wards had been laid down. If Sunken Manor had any of its own, she’d have to get past them—alone.

  Wandering back after classes, the first-year Glassenveil students were excitable, clean, and absolutely ravenous, which was why so many of them did not appear to notice the icy chill that greeted them when the group stepped through the great doors for dinner.

  “I didn’t see you in the showers, where did you go?” questioned Rob, when he met a shivering Rose in the doorwary.

  She chattered, determined to avoid that topic as long as possible. She’d bathed in the icy river behind the school track (because of course even a magical school believed in running laps) and was convinced she was only a few degrees away from a nice, crippling case of hypothermia.

  “Hunting for laundry—Oh. Hi, Sean! Fred!” Rose welcomed the approaching distractions.

  “What’s going, Cible?” Fred called cheerily, sauntering up to them with oblivious cheer. “I can already smell dinner. Hope we’re not late.”

  “If we are, then Valentin will probably drop his panties and start throwing our furniture out the window,” added Sean.

  Rob snorted. “I don’t care how he’s dressed or what dinner smells like. As long as there’s a lot of it.”

  What they failed to notice, is that when they entered Glassenveil’s formal dining hall, the only people still left talking were first-years, and even then, most had the good sense to stop when they noticed the pointed stares of the rest of the dormitory. Rose fell quiet first, nudging the other three.

  The white castle’s dining hall was only a fraction of the size of the lunchroom at the academy, but with its high vaulted ceiling, and impossibly long ashwood tables, it was several leagues more grand. Bold white carpeting beneath the table made Rose nervous, but what made her most nervous was the expressions of the four individuals at the head table.

  In alternating white and black chairs that unsubtly imitated the pattern of a chessboard, the heads of the Glassenveil dormitory watched them as they took their seats. Prefect Valrose inspected the table from the king’s chair. Valentin and one of his glaring cronies took the places of bishop and knight, respectively. There was only one seat for the Rook, which stood empty. The queen’s place, also, was notably missing a chair entirely.

  “Welcome back, from a victorious first day, I hear,” Valrose welcomed them warmly. “I won’t bore anyone with announcements until after the first course. Please, join us.”

  Hurried, the first-years took their seats, and, almost immediately, a line of beautiful dishes sailed through the butler doors, landing in front of them. The closest dishes were full to the brim with warm, mint-scented water, which Rob immediately tried to drink. Rose kicked him under the table.

  “Hey—”

  Rose avoided his glare, and washed her fingertips in the water, and dried them on the tiny towel next to the dish. The upperclassmen around them were doing the same.

  “Huh?” Rob shook his head like a confused dog.

  Then, just as suddenly as they’d appeared, the water dishes floated away, and another line of dishes, laden with hors-d'oeuvres appeared. Rob, Sean, and Fred ate six apiece, picking their teeth with the toothpicks at the end.

  She cringed.

  “Strange dinner, but I’ll take it,” said Sean grudgingly, before, just as abruptly, the soup dishes appeared.

  Rose picked at them cautiously, nervous until the main course appeared in similar fashion. Valrose took that moment to stand, and the forks, much to Rob and Fred’s chagrin, chose that moment to glue themselves to the table.

  As confusion spread among the first-years, everyone second-year and above shifted attention to the head table.

  “Gentlemen—for gentlemen you ought to be—in the last twenty four hours, my board and I have watched you carefully, and what we see is a load of shabby, unpolished pebbles. For elegance’ sake, you must be polished if you are to be presentable for the Harvest Ball—or anything.”

  Then, the prefect sighed, as though expecting the room’s reaction when he asked, “I trust you have all heard of the Harvest Ball?”

  Excited chattering immediately erupted around the table, and not just from the first-year group.

  Valrose continued forcefully, when the hall was quiet enough for him to interject. “I will repeat, as I did on sorting night: Welcome to Glassenveil—where beauty is not merely admired, it is earned. You stand now in the house of precision, poise, and perfection. We do not stumble through spellwork like clumsy beasts. We glide. We do not bark orders or fling tantrums like brutish rogues. We command, with a glance, with a word, with grace. Some of you may believe you were chosen for your potential. That may be true. But potential without discipline is like perfume on a corpse—wasted."

  "You will learn to hone yourselves as a diamond is cut: brutally, repeatedly, and until no flaw remains. You will speak with intent. You will walk with elegance. You will cast with control. You will represent me—and I do not suffer embarrassment lightly."

  "If you crave praise, earn it. If you seek ease, transfer. And if you ever think to disgrace this dorm, know this—a single chip in the mirror ruins the whole reflection. And I will notice."

  It may have been Rose’s imagination, but she could have sworn that his gaze lingered over her—hair still damp, and uniform wildly too big—as he spoke.

  "Welcome, darlings. May you rise... or be polished until you do. So, particularly after previous years’... incidents.” He leveled an even, perfectly symmetrical look at each of the students around the dining tables. “You will learn manners.” The housewarden snapped his fingers, and the forks of nearly all of the first years, and a few of the seconds’ disappeared.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “You will learn etiquette.”

  He snapped again, and the plates—along with the food—of those same people disappeared. “You will learn respect.” His fingers began to glow. “And then…You will learn ambition.”

  Then, all those whose places had disappeared had their seats pulled out, as though by invisible servants.

  “You are excused.”

  There was a riot of dissent from the first-years who had been deprived of dinner. Rose could tell with a quick glance that she, Tristan, and only one or two others were still seated. Almost immediately, an unnatural mute buzzing filled the air, drowning out the voices. It was Valentin’s turn to address the room, his voice magically augmented, and, Rose suspected, slightly deepened as well.

  “As you all saw the first night here, leadership positions may be challenged and won at any time. Upon the issue of a challenge, a duel will be agreed upon, and a time will be set. Until then, should you fail to show proper table manners you shall not eat. Should you fail to keep a proper schedule, or standards of tidiness, you will forfeit the comforts of a bed. However, should you wish to improve yourselves and avoid these…natural consequences, courses begin at the end of the day’s schedule tomorrow evening. As for tonight, know that if you’re going to eat like commoners, then you can eat like commoners—rarely. ”

  There were glares. There were insults muttered under breath, but ultimately, there was nothing to be done for those whose places had been cleared away than to leave the room.

  When Rose ascended the staircase to the first-year dorm room, she found it far emptier than the night before, and far less lively. The beds had been stripped of bedding. The rug had vanished. Even the curtains were gone. The room had gone from ‘sterile,’ to ‘possible asylum’ in just a few hours.

  Rob lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling with a petulant expression.

  “Plotting Valentin’s grisly death?” she asked cheerily.

  “Lemme ‘lone,” he grumbled, arm over his eyes.

  Rose pulled the robe up from her sleeve, and several rolls tumbled out next to Rob’s head. She picked one up and stuffed it in his mouth. “Come again?”

  “I love you,” he said around a full mouth, and lunged wildly at the rest.

  “Talking to the bread?”

  He snorted. “Yes, obviously.”

  “Listen, Rob, I need a favor,” she said quietly, accutely aware that the closest student was only a few beds away.

  “My toothpaste is your toothpaste,” he responded immediately. “My underwear is your underwear. Stuff’s in the trunk.”

  She snickered. “That was gonna be the second favor. The first is… I left something in Sunken Manor.”

  He froze mid-chew. A feat that she got the impression was both rare, and impressive.

  “So… what? You want a piece of paper to write the headmage about it?” he asked cautiously.

  “Not… really,” she said, fiddling with her robe, suddenly regretting telling Rob what she was about to do when he started to argue—a little too loud.

  “Listen, I know you forgot your trunk, but there’s nothing that can’t be replaced, and even if there is, it’s not worth your life. Did you not hear everyone today? Going in there is suicide. People have died in there.”

  “I know that,” Rose rolled her eyes. “I met them. Listen, all I need is, if Valentin starts asking questions when curfew comes around, just tell him I’m in the bathroom, or on a run, or doing something self-bettering.”

  “I don’t think I should,” said Rob slowly. “You wanna tell me what’s worth getting killed over?”

  Rose debated on telling him, but ultimately decided that going into a ghost manor to find a couple of ghosts on purpose wouldn’t be something that Rob would support.

  “I have to go now. As long as there are a few rays of sunlight, I’ll be fine. Safe from the ghosts in the sun, right?”

  He probably didn’t know that, but Rob seemed to swallow that explanation just fine. “You have minutes, then.”

  “Exactly,” she said quickly.

  He heaved a heavy sigh. “Fine. But if you’re wrong. If you aren’t back within a half hour after dark, I’m not lying to Valentin. I’m telling him and the prefects where you went, and going for the headmage myself.”

  “Detention over death, I guess,” she said.

  “Right. Because something like that would only be detention,” he muttered, but she was already up and gone, passing the rest of the exhausted first-years on their way upstairs.

  Tiptoeing along the plush carpet, her footsteps were muffled as she skipped down the side corridors to the small entrance Rob had showed her earlier that day. She was nearly there, nearly out, when she overheard voices in the side corridor that should have been empty.

  “I still don’t understand why he is vice-prefect if he fails to show up for anything important!” Valentin was saying.

  Hurriedly, Rose rucked herself into an alcove. It wasn’t curfew yet, but she still wanted to cross paths with him as little as possible.

  “He is there when he is needed. However, he and you have different ideas of important, which is why the house needs you both.”

  Rose edged around the corner to see Valrose and Valentin arguing in front of a window. Wisely, everyone else had either been dismissed or retreated from the room.

  “Don’t flatter me,” Valentin snapped. “Why have someone like that on the board at all? At a time like this? We’ve been overlooked and outpowered in the duels nearly every year. This year things finally stand to change, and you choose… him. The only student who has complaints lodged against him from nearly every other prefect in the school!”

  “And yet, he is perfectly reliable. You see…”

  From a pocket, Verre produced an apple and held it up to the window, and—shink! There was a wet thud as an arrow ripped the fruit from between Valrose’s fingers and pinned it to the wall not inches from Valentin’s head.

  “The nightly report.” Verre ignored Valentin’s blanched discomfort as he unrolled a parchment from the fletching. “He’s been tracking something in the forrest.”

  “He is always tracking something in the forrest,” Valentin spluttered. “Verre. The academy’s reputation has taken a dive after the last three years’ incidents. It’s a miracle Lunelace still wants to associate with us at all.”

  “Is that what this is about—girls?” Valrose muttered scathingly. “Must you always be so dreadfully inelegant?”

  Valentin went audibly red, stuttering over himself. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it! Half the prefects at the academy are shirking responsibility. Drosselmeyer hasn’t been on time to a meeting in months. Heir to the labyrinth, and even he spends most of his time brooding—and that’s not even mentioning Jack Hollow! Or your brother!”

  “Do you have a particular point to make about my brother?” Verre asked coldly, not glancing up.

  “Only that turning this academy around in the eyes of others—in the eyes of sponsors—is unlikely to be managed solely by him. I—”

  “Rook’s found it,” Verre interrupted sharply.

  Valentin folded his arms impatiently. “He’s found what, exactly?”

  “There’s a seal beast wandering the forest tunnels. Miles away from its seal.”

  “Impossible.”

  “Rook is never wrong about forest game.”

  “A seal beast is not forest game—”

  Valrose ripped the arrow out of the wall, perfect hair swinging in the light with the motion.

  “Enough squabbling. If you want Rook’s position, you know what to do to get it. Just keep the blood off the stairs this time, if you please.”

  With that, Verre left Valentin where he was, and began to walk up to the tower upper-class dormitories—right toward where she stood. Rose darted back to her dorm, only just making it before the lights turned out.

  “You didn’t make it?” Rob whispered, when he saw her return to her bed. “Suddenly feel the need to live?”

  She fiddled with her sleeves uncomfortably. “Something like that…Did you mean it about that toothpaste?”