Damien. A few hours ago.

He hated Ronan. First because he was better—he should be better, since he had high dark affinity. So why didn't he act accordingly? Why wasn't he dominating the academy students through blackmail, curses, and any other trick he could think of? Even worse: why hadn't he wanted them to have fun together with that earth mage?

He definitely hated him.

Besides, in dark magic class, the professor seemed to have eyes only for him. Consumed by envy, he'd tried to knock him down from his pedestal. He'd spread false rumors and conspired with an influential noble who seemed to have a grudge against the earth mage. And all he'd accomplished was experiencing fear like never before in his life.

Those eyes gleaming in the darkness, that power condensing in his hands. He'd been able to see it—after all, they had the same type of affinity—and it had been totally and absolutely terrifying. His only escape route had been jumping out the window.

When he told his father, expecting him to get appropriate revenge—his father had many contacts among dark mages—what happened was that he spent the rest of the term recovering and resting at home. He didn't need it; he felt fine right away. But his father told him he had a plan and didn't want him to ruin it.

Perfect. A plan. That, he could applaud.

When the dinner day arrived, he returned to the academy with his family. He wanted to go to his room to grab a couple of things he'd left behind. Since he was also carrying a curse he'd prepared very carefully, he opened Ronan's wardrobe door to hide it inside.

Three skeletons, huddled in the space, greeted him with their bone hands while the dark flames in their eye sockets flickered. Their jaws unhinged in a forced grimace that looked like a spine-chilling attempt at a smile.

He closed it quickly. He couldn't store anything there. He tried Ronan's wardrobe's top shelf. An animal bone head moved and looked at him, beginning to sketch that strange smile. He closed it. His roommate was definitely insane.

Okay, under the bed would be fine. There he could hide the curse's little bag. He crouched down. He started seeing bones that were moving. He stood up.

Maybe it wasn't such a good idea. It would be better to put the curse bag back in his pocket and just grab the few clothes he'd left. He opened his own wardrobe.

A yeti—a huge skeleton yeti—had squeezed itself to fit, folded in impossible positions, the bone structure of his shoulders taking up the wardrobe's width, and it was waving at him.

He screamed. Screamed and ran. Didn't even close the door. The curse's little bag went with him.

He'd already told his father about Ronan's skeletons. He had to tell him about this now; his father had to understand the danger and prepare, or else they would all pay the price.

Ronan.

Ronan observed at dinner that his parents had changed. They were treating him better and showing off about him in front of other nobles. Considering he was only at the academy for his lady, he dedicated himself to ignoring them as much as possible. If he hadn't gotten revenge on his parents yet, it was precisely because he was busy taking care of Bianca, plus practicing necromancy, conducting and documenting his experiments, and managing the goblin village. But he didn't ignore them like he would an annoying insect—Why wouldn't they shut up and leave him alone?—because an insect could never have caused him so much damage.

As soon as dinner ended, he got up from the table and left. On his way out of the great hall, Damien's father stopped him.

Yes, he knew it was his father because at dinner he'd been seated next to his roommate and you could see the family resemblance in their features.

In any case, that day Ronan had made things clear to Damien. Did he now have to repeat it with the father?

"What do you want?" he asked.

He wasn't planning to waste his time being polite to someone who, so far, had shown through his son that he didn't deserve it.

"Do you have a moment? I'd like to speak with you privately."

"Actually, I don't."

He started to turn. The count hurried to insist:

"It's important. I assure you that you want to hear what I have to say."

Ronan didn't even consider it. He didn't want to hear anything more about Damien; he'd already made it clear that Damien had to stay away from Bianca, and he considered the matter settled.

He continued turning.

"It's not about my son," the count added.

That sparked some curiosity in Ronan.

"All right. Make it quick."

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"Please, come with me."

He led him out of the great hall and beyond the rooms set up for the evening. They crossed the gardens, where several nobles greeted the count and detained him in meaningless conversations he escaped from as quickly as possible. Many were about Damien, who'd stuck to his father like a shadow, and whom they asked about seeing him back at the academy. The count probably figured that if he didn't cut those conversations short quickly, Ronan would end up leaving.

They reached the academy's other building, where they entered and headed to the library area. That day and at that hour, no one was there. They ran into one of the academy's janitors, who opened the library door for them, closing it behind them.

"What's this?" Ronan asked.

"I don't want us to be disturbed," the count replied while guiding him through the library to the adjoining storage room.

Once inside, he observed they'd placed a table and some chairs between the shelves of stacked books, in a space that clearly wasn't meant for that.

The count and his son sat down after Ronan did.

Bianca.

We don't find him in the classrooms, so we go upstairs to look for him in the library. It's locked and we can't hear anyone on the other side. I knock on the door while asking:

"Ronan, are you in there?"

A janitor approaches us. I guess he was in the area and heard me.

"Good evening, you should be in the gardens and in the halls prepared for the evening in the other building."

"Good evening, may we go in? I lost a bracelet with a heart pendant," I make up, describing the first one that comes to mind. "Can't I go in to see if I left it here?"

"I'm sorry, I'll ask the housekeeper to see if they found it when cleaning. You must leave the building now."

There are more areas in this building we haven't checked, but considering the janitor is escorting us out, we obey.

Ronan.

"I've arranged for a seal spell to be placed in this storage room so that no one can hear what we discuss here, or even see our faces through magical means," the count explained.

Ronan had heard of that spell. It was an evolution of the silence spell and, indeed, prevented things like lip-reading.

The count must have very good contacts or a lot of money to pay a mage capable of casting it, as well as the mana potions necessary to maintain it.

And it was effective, because he tried to communicate with the bird he had flying over the academy and with the cockroach he'd stationed in that area of the building, to see if they'd seen anything that might give him a clue about where that mage could be hiding now, but he couldn't. They were out of his range, and he knew it wasn't due to distance.

"Get on with it. What is it that you want to tell me?"

He used his courtesy with those who deserved it, like his lady. He didn't care if his interlocutor was a count and he was only an heir to one.

Vincent.

While searching for Ronan through the more secluded areas of the building where the ball was being held, the prince walked down a wide hallway with suits of armor on both sides. It wasn't an area students usually passed through, since it connected to the faculty and headmaster's wing. However, perhaps motivated by the festive atmosphere of the ball, there were three young people ahead of him. They looked like third-years. They were touching one of the suits of armor and saying things like "this is so cool."

Vincent approached and realized they weren't admiring armor. They were touching—one even scratching—the belly of a massive white beast sculpture wedged between floor and ceiling, occupying a space clearly meant for armor like the others.

The students saw him, greeted him, and headed toward the great hall. Puzzled, Vincent moved closer.

The beast was crouched to fit between ceiling and floor, but otherwise identical to the yeti—the damn boss from the third level of the Blue Mountains dungeon. He knew because he'd seen a bone dragon rip its head off. The other students had no clue.

What was a yeti statue doing here? Oh. Could it be...?

Suspicious, he stared into its eyes. The statue didn't blink. He touched it. Room temperature —definitely not warm.

"Ronan?" he whispered after creating a silence spell around himself.

The yeti nodded and waved with one enormous hand.

Okay, the statue was a zombie.

"Can you talk to Ronan? Do you know where he is?"

The yeti nodded. Tricky, since it was already brushing the ceiling. Then it looked apologetic and shook its head no.

A small bird like the one Vincent had sometimes seen near Bianca or Mary, and which he strongly suspected was another zombie, fluttered. It was perched on the yeti's shoulder and Vincent hadn't noticed it until it moved.

"Do you know where he is?" he asked the bird.

It shook its head.

"All right. If you see him, I'm looking for him. And by the way, you're not here because of Mary and Baron Velbrun, are you?"

Both the bird and the yeti nodded.

Vincent paled.

"If by any chance you saw what happened and warned him," he nodded first toward the bird, then the yeti, "you should know it's already been handled. There's no need for you to intervene."

The yeti extended its massive paw and gave him a thumbs-up with a smile.

Vincent couldn't help but wonder how it had a head if Ronan had kept its skull.

In any case, he said goodbye and continued searching for Ronan.

Two things. First: luckily, he wasn't going to be king, he wouldn't have to deal with this. All for his older brother. And second… this strange encounter—how was he going to explain it to Bianca?

Bianca.

We're back in the gardens. My parents, who seemed to be looking for me, see us and walk toward us both. Before they arrive, Mary excuses herself and slips away, claiming her parents must be worried since she left them alone over an hour ago.

"Are you all right? You look a little pale," the count asks once they reach me.

"Yes, everything's perfect," I force myself to smile.

I don't want to worry anyone.

"That girl—isn't she the commoner who's at the academy on a scholarship?"

"Yes, she has high light affinity. She's my friend."

The countess—or Bianca's mother, or, as I'm trying to get used to thinking, my mother—furrows her brow slightly.

"Well, it's fine," she says. "You've done very well. You can be magnanimous and take pity on the social void a simple peasant girl has to endure."

"Actually, no. The prince and his childhood friends are also very good friends with Mary. And we don't hang out with her out of pity, we genuinely like her. Just to be clear, she's not some outcast."

"How touchy..."

"In any case," the count intervenes, "the ball will start shortly. We should be heading over, even though you'll be the last to enter since you're the queen of the ball. The king, that boy with high dark affinity, is he around? I'd like to meet him."

"I'm afraid not, Father. I was looking for him myself but I can't find him. I imagine he'll arrive at the last minute."

"Marco is already there. I spoke with him. I think it's a good decision for you to enter the ball with him."

"Thank you."

We walk toward the entrance of the great hall, where they've already started calling names. This time, just the students, beginning with those with the lowest scores, who enter together with their partner if they have one.

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