I lay on the bed, eyes half-lidded, following the rhythm of the rain as it tapped against the window. Each soft patter felt like a lullaby pulling me toward sleep. My mind drifted, half-awake, half-asleep. A power nap was all I needed—especially with the Queen's dinner looming over me like a guillotine. I doubted I’d get away without some kind of ordeal. Hopefully, she'd be content with just flaunting her power, but I wasn’t holding my breath.

I shifted onto my side, eyes settling on the bland, featureless walls. They reminded me of home. My room wasn’t as cramped, but it had that same empty feeling. No posters, no decorations, just plain furniture. A bed, a wardrobe, a table. Functional. Dull. Quiet.

Just like the city itself.

"Sick of it," I muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

══════✦══════

I opened my eyes, and the first thing I saw was my mother. She was holding me tightly, her hands stained with blood. My head rested on her lap, and she screamed as she stared at her bloodied hands, while our neighbors tried desperately to calm her. My head throbbed with pain from the bullet wound. Though my memories of that moment were blurred, I could never forget her face.

I woke up in sweat. Breathing way too fast.

Another nightmare.

Staring at the ceiling, I let my eyes wander over its texture, tracing the odd shapes and patterns in the cracks. The rain still poured outside, and the low light of the fading sun told me it was almost time for my dinner with the Queen. I had to get ready. I couldn’t afford to give her another reason to throw me into her dungeon. Slowly, I rose from the bed and sat at its edge, resting my elbow on my knee, my fingers tracing the scar of the bullet wound on my head.

“Come on, Ax. Get up,” I muttered, forcing myself to move.

I tugged on my boots, stamping my heels to get a snug fit. My clothes were wrinkled, but I flattened them as best I could, running my hands down my chest and sleeves.

Standing by the window, I gazed out at the rain-slick streets below. No carriage yet. Good. That meant I still had a little time to center myself before dealing with whatever performance the Queen had in store.

I sighed and left the room, heading downstairs. The dull buzz of conversation greeted me as I reached the common area.

At the counter, that man with the thick mustache was smiling as he chatted with a couple of students. His voice was loud, his laughter even louder. I slid onto one of the stools, planting my elbows on the counter, and leaned forward. My eyes felt like lead weights, every blink slower than the last.

“Axel, right?” the mustache man asked as he noticed me. He excused himself from the others and came to stand in front of me. “What can I get ya?”

“Water,” I said, voice still scratchy from sleep.

“Water, huh? Comin’ right up.” He crouched down, rummaging beneath the counter. “Looking a bit rough there, kid. Didn’t get much sleep?”

“Yeah,” I muttered, rubbing my eyes.

“Too bad it’s raining. I can never sleep when it rains.” He chuckled, placing a glass of water in front of me. “Here ya go.”

“Thanks.” I grabbed the glass, cool condensation wetting my fingers. I took a slow sip, letting the water wash away the dryness in my throat.

The mustache man leaned forward, crossing his arms on the counter. His eyes flicked toward the group of students he’d been talking to earlier. “Did ya hear about that kid, Seker? Poor boy got himself messed up pretty bad.”

My fingers froze on the glass, but I didn’t look at him. I knew where this was headed. “Yeah, I heard.”

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

“At first, I thought it was one of them cannibals," he went on, ignoring my disinterest. "You know, the weird folk from Suzan’s old tavern. Ever since it got shut down, they’ve been stirrin’ up trouble.” He shook his head, eyes narrowing. “Course, they usually stay outside the city gates, but you never know these days.”

“Right,” I muttered, taking another sip.

The man sighed, scratching at his mustache. “Strange times we’re livin’ in, eh?” He shook his head as if the weight of it all was too much to bear. “What a time to be alive.”

“Yeah,” I grunted, turning my eyes back to the rain. It was still falling steadily, tapping against the window. "What a time."

The rhythmic clatter of hooves echoed through the air as a carriage pulled up outside. The sound of iron horseshoes striking wet cobblestone streets grew louder, each tap sharp and distinct. My gaze lingered on the window, watching the blurry silhouette of a figure pass by. Moments later, the dormitory door creaked open, letting in a brief gust of cold, rain-scented air.

A guard stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room. He didn’t seem the type to dawdle. His gaze swept over the students lounging around until it locked onto me. His face didn’t change, but the slight tilt of his head told me everything I needed to know.

Here it was. My ride.

“Okay…” I whispered to myself. “Let’s do this.”

He raised his hand and crooked a single finger toward me. A silent order. I pushed myself off the stool, sighing as I shoved my hands into my pockets and walked toward him. This was going to be a long ride, I could feel it already.

The students around us took notice. Some whispered behind cupped hands, while others talked openly, their voices carrying across the room. I caught bits and pieces of their words. "That’s him," someone muttered. "What did he do this time?" another snickered. I kept my eyes forward, not giving them the satisfaction of a reaction. Still, I could feel every stare boring into my back.

I hated this. Always the outlier. Always the one people watched.

“Come on,” the guard said, his tone brisk and business-like. “Let’s go, Axel.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, my voice flat as I stepped up beside him. “Let’s.”

The moment we stepped outside, the rain hit like a cold slap to the face. I hunched my shoulders, arms tucked close to my sides as I followed the guard. The rain had already soaked through my clothes by the time we reached the carriage.

Luckily, it wasn’t one of those open carriages. This one had doors, an interior, and, hopefully, a roof that didn’t leak. The guard stepped ahead, grabbed the handle, and yanked the door open with a grunt. He stood aside, letting me climb in first. I didn’t waste time, ducking inside and shaking off the rain from my arms.

The space inside was cramped but dry, which was good enough for me. Wooden walls lined with thin cushions made up the seating. It wasn’t exactly luxury, but it beat standing in the rain. The guard followed right after me, his heavy boots thudding against the floor as he shut the door behind him with a dull thunk.

Outside, the coachman grumbled something as he tugged on the reins. “Sweet Rowe’s perky tits…” I heard him mutter under his breath. “This weather’ll be the death of me, I swear…” He gave the reins a flick, and the horses lurched forward, hooves splashing through puddles.

The faint jostle of the carriage made the wooden frame creak, and water droplets slid down the small square window on the side. I watched as people on the street turned their heads to stare. Curious eyes followed the carriage as it passed, some glancing quickly, others stopping in their tracks to watch it roll by.

No doubt the gossip would spread by morning.

"Did you see that boy?"

"Yeah, the one riding with the guards."

"He must be in serious trouble."

They’d make up whatever story entertained them most. I leaned back, eyes fixed on the rain-smeared window, tuning them all out.

The guard across from me let out a slow exhale, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes scanned me, his expression unreadable, but I could tell he was sizing me up. After a moment, he cocked his head to the side.

“You didn’t have anything fancier to wear?” he asked, his brow arched with mild disbelief. “A school uniform for this type of invitation… not exactly the best look.”

I glanced down at my damp clothes, tugging at the sleeve. The fabric clung to my arm, cold and uncomfortable. “I’ve only got two sets of clothes,” I replied, deadpan. “Not exactly swimming in gold, as you can probably guess.”

He snorted, lips curling into a crooked grin. “Yeah, I can see that.” His eyes lingered on my shirt a little longer before narrowing in on something. “Hold up—” He leaned forward, pointing at a small tear near my shoulder. “Is that an arrow hole?”

I tilted my head, eyeing the damage. “I think so. Yeah.”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, leaning back with his arms still crossed. “You’re really showin’ up like this, huh? Queen’s probably gonna love that.” His grin widened as if he found the whole thing amusing.

“Yeah, well…” I shrugged, leaning back against the wooden wall. “Let’s hope she’s not too picky about my fashion sense…”

══════✦══════