After that evening in the lab, Chester Dymov practically became my shadow.

  I’d “accidentally” run into him after lectures, bump into him at the library, and nearly every evening found myself cleaning the lab again.

  He tried to start conversations, even cracked a few jokes now and then, but behind all the forced lightness and casual smiles, I could feel it—he was tense. Watching me closely, like he expected me to snap at any moment and start attacking students.

  It wasn’t until a week later that he finally began to relax. At least he stopped hovering every time one of the boys from our faculty came within ten steps of me.

  I, on the other hand, was growing more tense by the day. And the dean wasn’t doing much better.

  A few days before the Winter Ball, his eye had developed a twitch—clear proof that he’d already seen the guest list. And judging by his reaction, it included a name we both knew far too well.

  The day before the ball, after our final lecture, the dean motioned me over to the podium.

  “I understand, Aurora, that the Winter Ball is a major event, and you’ll soon be leaving the Academy,” he said in a formal tone. “But considering what happened last time, I believe it would be best if you skipped the festivities.”

  Then, lowering his voice so only I could hear, he added, “Listen to me, girl. Go to the dining hall. Get enough food for two days—I’ve already warned the cook. Lock your door and don’t come out until classes resume.”

  He gave me that same pitying look and gestured toward the exit.

  I nodded and headed straight to the dining hall. If the dean himself was this nervous, then I knew one thing for sure—whatever was coming, it wasn’t going to be good.

  This wasn’t just a suggestion to avoid embarrassment. It was a direct order to stay hidden.

  And that terrified me.

  The evening passed quietly. The stern cafeteria worker handed me supplies like I was preparing for a siege—and a long one at that.

  Noticing a few of my favourite candies tucked in among the food, I actually managed a small smile.

  Staying in my room didn’t bother me. With Wizardis chattering away, I wouldn’t be bored in the slightest.

  I activated my protective ward and began reading aloud from yet another legend.

  My feathery companion didn’t just love to talk—he adored being read to.

  The next day passed just as quietly—right up until the start of the ball, and even a few hours beyond.

  I’d nearly begun to relax when the ward flared to life. Wizardis instantly darted into his cage and muttered confidently:

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  “They’re here. Spying and gossip-hunting.”

  Disabling the barrier, I cracked open the door.

  “Winder! Are you trying to ruin the ceremony?!” screeched one of my classmates as she burst into the room.

  What followed was a stream of dramatic complaints—about how she’d walked through the snow in thin shoes, nearly slipping several times on the way.

  “Dimara, did you come here to whine or for a reason?” I asked coolly, popping another candy into my mouth.

  “They’re handing out some kind of imperial awards, and everyone’s waiting on you,” she said, hands on hips. “You’re not even dressed! Vir Ventus himself is presenting them—he said they must be given in person. Get dressed. I’m not going back without you. The dean sent me himself. Even the rector was glaring and muttering threats.”

  Her words hit me like a cold wind. I froze. I was in deep trouble.

  Digging through my wardrobe, I pulled out the only formal dress I had—the one I’d been saving for graduation. Throwing on my red coat, I left the safety of my room.

  Under Dimara’s constant complaining, we made our way almost all the way to the ballroom. Just a little farther. Her company gave me some hope that Chester’s logic might hold—that the dragon wouldn’t dare touch me with other students nearby.

  The dress was mine this time. There was no bride, no dragon at her side.

  I dared to hope that maybe Vir Ventus only wanted to see if I’d blabbed—that he just wanted to scare me one last time before graduation, to make sure I stayed far from the Capital.

  But that fragile hope shattered like cracked glass when, one corner from the entrance to the hall, I spotted him.

  The familiar face. The cold, angry dragon.

  His predatory smile spread wide the moment he saw me.

  Sending Dimara off into the ballroom, the Fifth Junior Advisor of the Emperor bared his teeth—and confidently began to herd me toward the far wall, away from the hall and away from the noise.

  The murmur of students and the empty corridor left no chance for escape.

  Everyone was waiting for the ceremony. The excitement was loud enough to drown anything else.

  Words from an unfinished spell echoed in my head. I just had to whisper them—before the dragon grabbed my throat and stole my voice.

  And judging by the way he was rubbing his hands together, that was exactly what the madman intended to do.

  A cold wall at my back. Those black-as-pitch eyes again. His hand reaching—almost touching my neck.

  “Retro reverala essentia,” I blurted out.

  The advisor’s eyes snapped back to hazel. The beast retreated, severing Serpens’ connection to the elemental force. He blinked rapidly and staggered back, clutching his head.

  “What did you just say?!” he shouted, fury overtaking him.

  He lunged toward me again, but a loud, familiar whistle echoed in the corridor—followed by deliberately heavy footsteps.

  “Leave me with the student. We’re not done speaking. This is Imperial business!” the dragon growled, not even turning to face the intruder.

  But Chester Dymov walked toward us with calm confidence, as if he hadn’t heard a word.

  “No worries, Vir Ventus. I have clearance from the Department of Innovations. I worked for you, remember? A few years. You can speak freely in front of me—my fiancée keeps no secrets from me. Isn’t that right, Snowflake?” he said with forced cheer and a wink.

  But his posture—and the cold, focused look in his eyes—told a different story. He wasn’t nearly as calm as he pretended to be.

  “Of course, Ch-Chester,” I stammered, offering him my hand.

  He grabbed it and pulled me close in one swift motion, wrapping his arms around me and guiding me a few steps away from the dragon.

  Still trembling in his embrace, I tried to smile. But one look at the darkness growing in the advisor’s eyes—and I couldn’t manage it.

  The spell had worked… but its effect had already faded. The dragon’s connection to his spirit and magic was returning.

  “Seems you’re losing control of your beast, Vir,” Chester said coolly. “I think I’ll take my fiancée elsewhere—she’s a bit sensitive. Perhaps the award should go to the heir of House Terragon, since he’s made his grand return to the Academy.”

  Without waiting for a response, he turned sharply and led me toward the ballroom.