The carriage waited in the courtyard, its black lacquered sides reflecting the torchlight like still water. Four night-coated stallions stamped impatiently, their breath curling into the chill air. Above them, the sky was a dull slate, the moon a pale smear yet to rise.
Theo stood on the steps of the keep, travel cloak clasped at the throat, staring at the vehicle as though it were a prison wagon. His belongings amounted to a single leather satchel, worn smooth by years of neglect in the corner of his room. The decree had been clear: Bring only what you can carry.
Aunt Magda loomed behind him, somehow managing to make chainmail look like evening wear. She had traded her ceremonial black for a travel-stained set of armor and a crimson scarf knotted tightly at her neck. "Last chance to run," she murmured, her voice a low rumble.
Theo almost smiled. "Where would I go?"
"Anywhere that isn't Grimwald," she said. "I've heard they feed the first-years to the wyverns if they fail their initial trials."
"Comforting," Theo said, stepping down toward the carriage.
The king stood nearby, flanked by guards whose armor gleamed in the torchlight. He didn't embrace his son — royal protocol was rarely so warm — but his eyes lingered on Theo for a fraction longer than formality demanded.
"Remember," the king said, his voice low enough to be meant for Theo alone, "your title means nothing inside those walls. They will test you, in ways I cannot predict. Do not mistake civility for trust, or friendship for loyalty."
Theo nodded. "And if I fail?"
"Then you come home," the king said, "and pray our enemies do not smell weakness."
The door of the carriage swung open. Magda climbed in first, taking the seat opposite the door so she could see anyone approaching. Theo followed, sliding into the cushioned bench.
The ride began with a lurch, the sound of hooves ringing against the cobblestones before fading into the muffled thud of earth. Outside, the castle fell away, swallowed by the fog that clung to the hills.
Magda watched him for a while, her eyes unreadable in the gloom. "You don't want to be there," she said.
"Was I that obvious?"
"Only to someone who's seen the same look on their own face," she said.
Theo leaned his head back against the wall of the carriage. "I don't care about the politics. I don't want to play their games."
Magda's mouth quirked upward, almost a smile. "That's exactly why you'll be good at them. You won't mistake the game for the goal."
The road wound upward, into dense forest. Lanterns swung from the carriage's frame, throwing fractured light into the trees. Shadows darted between trunks, too fast and too silent to be ordinary animals. Theo caught sight of a pair of eyes — yellow, unblinking — before they vanished into the undergrowth.
"Company?" he asked quietly.
"Probably," Magda said, reaching beneath her cloak. He heard the familiar scrape of her hand against the haft of her axe. "But nothing foolish enough to test the wards on the road. Not yet."
Hours passed. The forest gave way to jagged hills, and beyond them, the road dropped into a valley where mist pooled like water. A single structure dominated the far side — a massive fortress carved into the bones of the mountain itself. Its towers rose like jagged teeth against the sky, and its windows glowed faintly with an inner light, as though the building itself were awake.
Grimwald Academy.
Theo felt the knot in his stomach tighten.
The carriage rattled over a narrow stone bridge spanning a river that roared unseen below. The gates loomed ahead — black iron bars twisted into the shape of intertwined serpents. As they approached, the metal shifted and unwound itself, slithering aside to let them pass.
Inside the courtyard, dozens of other carriages were arriving, each bearing a crest Theo recognized from hours of tedious study. He saw the stag of House Verrane, the silver wave of the Merfolk envoy, and — most unsettling — the obsidian sun of House Drexmoor, whose heir was rumored to have poisoned his own cousin to claim the line of succession.
Servants in ash-gray uniforms darted among the carriages, unloading trunks, leading away mounts. No one smiled.
A tall figure in a long black coat stepped forward as Theo's carriage halted. His face was narrow, his skin the color of old parchment, and his eyes were the pale gray of winter sky.
"Prince Theodor Lupenstein," the man said without inflection. "I am Warden Cael, Master of Discipline. Your things will be taken to your quarters. You will report to the Hall of Oaths before moonrise. Do not be late."
Theo climbed down, his boots striking the cobblestones with a dull thud.
"Welcome to Grimwald," Warden Cael said, his mouth twisting into something that might have been a smile — though it was hard to tell whether it was meant for greeting… or warning.