I’ve always been told that curiosity is both my gift and my flaw. The past, the hidden corners of it—the wars, the betrayals, the whispers of Houses long erased—have always pulled at me more than court galas or titles ever could. I was raised on gilded promises of tomorrow, yet I’ve spent half my life staring backward, wondering what was scrubbed from the records and why.

The present is… different. At Aurellian, every step I take is watched. I walk marbled halls that glitter with sunlight, but there’s always shadow at my back. Friends smile too sweetly, rivals laugh too sharply, and I never know which is which until the moment passes. Still, I smile in return, laugh when I must, and pretend it doesn’t weigh me down. Pretend I don’t dream of something freer.

And the future? I hope for it, quietly. Maybe even foolishly. A future where I’m more than just “the Aureline princess,” more than the neat golden piece in a game I never asked to play. A future where truth matters more than bloodlines.

It’s been two weeks since He arrived, and the halls feel sharper now. He didn’t ease into the Academy the way most newcomers do—He just appeared, silent as a shadow slipping between breaths. The whispers started instantly. Some called Him a ghost, others a mistake.

I remember it so clearly: walking past my mother’s study, hearing my father’s voice on the phone, clipped and tense. The great Houses were furious—complaining, questioning, demanding why he would allow Him into Aurellian at all. My father gave nothing away, but I caught the weight in his silence. He didn’t deny it.

And now He walks the same halls as me, white-haired and quiet, His gaze unreadable. He doesn’t play their games, doesn’t bow to their rules. Some avoid Him. Others circle Him like predators testing prey. But something about Him doesn’t feel like prey.

I tell myself I should keep my distance. And yet—curiosity, that flaw of mine—won’t let me.