“Werewolves? Again?” Valeria asked, arching a perfectly shaped brow as she leaned back against the crimson velvet chair. Her voice was calm, but the subtle bite in her tone didn’t go unnoticed. “Why are we even forbidden to associate with them?”
The elder vampire standing before her, Tutor Malkien, adjusted his monocle with a sigh. His long silver hair cascaded over his shoulder like a frozen waterfall, his pale eyes fixed sternly on her.
“Because they are unstable, impulsive, and dangerous,” he replied. “The werewolves have always been the counterforce to our kind. Their instincts are wild, unlike our refined nature. We are born to rule. They are born to serve, or fight.”
Valeria twirled the silver-tipped quill in her hand, her eyes narrowing. “That sounds like something our ancestors said to justify war. Not facts.”
Tutor Malkien raised a hand. “Mind your words, Lady Valeria. Curiosity is admirable, but challenging centuries of tradition? That is rebellion.”
She rolled her eyes. “Or evolution.”
His sigh deepened. “That will be all for today.”
Valeria stood, brushing down her pleated skirt. She nodded curtly and strode out of the library, her boots clicking softly against the marble floor.
As she walked toward her room, her maid, Esther, hurried behind her. Esther was young, with golden curls pinned beneath a black lace cap and eyes darted around like she feared the shadows might speak.
“My lady, your gown is already laid out,” Esther said, half out of breath. “The tailor said it’s the most fashionable piece in the capital.”
“Then burn it,” Valeria said, pushing open the heavy oak doors to her room.
Esther blinked. “Pardon, my lady?”
“I was joking.” Valeria sighed and flopped onto the chaise. “Mostly.”
Esther chuckled nervously and went to retrieve the dark wine-colored dress, embroidered with silver thread along the bodice. She moved behind Valeria and began unbuttoning the back of her current gown.
“Esther,” Valeria said, “have you ever met a werewolf?”
The maid paused. “N-No, my lady. My uncle says they live in the Blackwoods, far from the main cities. I’ve only heard the stories.”
“Monsters. Savages. Liars,” Valeria muttered. “That’s what everyone says. But stories always leave something out.”
Before Esther could reply, a firm knock echoed through the room.
Esther froze. “Who could that be?”
Valeria frowned. “Answer it.”
The maid scurried to the door, opened it, and let out a small gasp. Valeria turned her head curiously.
Standing at the entrance was her father, Lord Veyron. Tall, regal, and as stoic as the statues in the palace garden, his mere presence seemed to still the air. His deep burgundy cloak swept behind him like blood on snow.
“Father,” Valeria said, standing quickly.
He smiled faintly, reaching out to pat her hair with an affectionate hand. Valeria’s eyes widened. He never came to her room. If he wanted to see her, she was summoned.
“All is well?” she asked cautiously.
Lord Veyron nodded. Still, he said nothing.
She glanced at Esther. “You may excuse us.”
Esther moved out quickly. Valeria gestured to the chairs and said to her father. “Please, sit.”
He did, resting his arms on the carved handles. His gaze was unreadable. “Valeria,” he began, voice like velvet over steel, “you are no longer a child.”
“That’s debatable,” she muttered under her breath.
His brow twitched, but he went on. “It’s time you begin preparing to take on greater responsibilities.”
Valeria’s heartbeat quickened. Was this about the council? A new title?
“You are to leave for the Juvenile Academia tomorrow morning.”
The words hit her like a slap.
“What?” Her voice rose, a rare crack in her usually poised tone.
“You will board the ship at dawn. It is a tradition. One year of living, studying, and training among others of your kind–and others not of your kind. It is essential.”
She blinked. “But why? I’m already trained. I’ve studied under the best scholars. I’ve been groomed to lead here.”
He gave her a rare smile. “That is precisely why you must go. You cannot lead a world you’ve never stepped foot in. The Academia will shape you. Prepare you to be a queen worthy of this realm.”
“But—”
He stood.
“Father, wait,” she said, stepping forward, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Juvenile Academia is for every creature…”
Her voice trailed off as realization dawned.
He turned his head slightly, his gaze cool and amused.
“Werewolves will be there,” she said finally.
He said nothing for a moment. Then, he nodded.
“I know of our history with them. But I trust you to do what’s right.”
“What’s right? What does that even mean?” she asked, a little more sharply than she intended.
He gave her one last lingering glance, his expression unreadable.
“You are your mother’s daughter,” he said quietly. “I trust that means something.”
And then he walked out.