The Royal Academy’s Great Hall was abuzz with quiet chatter as students gathered for tea. Afternoon sunlight poured through the tall windows, illuminating noble heirs seated around the tables, sipping delicately from porcelain cups. The atmosphere was refined—idyllic, even—until the heavy sound of boots against the polished marble shattered the peace.

Heads turned as Damian von Rivenhurst stormed into the hall, his jaw tight, his expression thunderous. Whispers erupted like wildfire as students speculated on what—or who—had roused the second prince’s fury.

His eyes zeroed in on Celine Schlestor, seated at the center of the room, her posture as impeccable as her reputation. She was the epitome of composure, delicately stirring her tea as if completely unaware of the storm heading her way.

“Lady Celine,” Damian’s voice rang out, silencing the hall. “We need to talk.”

Celine glanced up, her expression unreadable, and placed her spoon down with deliberate grace. “Your Highness,” she said smoothly, her tone bordering on disinterest. “Is this a private matter, or shall I prepare for yet another public spectacle?”

The jab didn’t faze him. “Enough games,” he snapped. “Why are you tormenting Lila?”

The room fell silent. A ripple of shock spread through the hall, students exchanging wide-eyed glances.

Celine arched a brow, feigning confusion. “Tormenting? I wasn’t aware I held such power. Do enlighten me, Damian.”

“Don’t play innocent,” Damian growled, stepping closer. “She’s done nothing to deserve the rumors circulating about her. You’ve turned the academy against her.”

“Have I now?” Celine tilted her head, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “How fascinating. Tell me, what precisely did Lila tell you?”

“She told me the truth,” Damian said, his voice rising. “That you’ve made her a target out of petty jealousy!”

The collective gasp from the students was almost deafening. All eyes were on Celine now, waiting for her reaction.

She laughed, soft and humorless, and leaned back in her chair. “Jealousy? Of what, exactly? Please, Damian, do enlighten me.”

“Of her kindness,” Damian snapped. “Her purity. She’s better than you in every way.”

For a moment, something flickered in Celine’s eyes—something raw and unguarded. But it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by a cold, brittle smile.

“Better than me,” she repeated, her voice a whisper that carried through the hall. Slowly, she slid the engagement ring off her finger and held it up for all to see.

“Perhaps you’re right, Your Highness,” she said, her tone steady but laced with venom. “Lila may very well be better than me. After all, I would never waste my life on a man like you.”

The words struck like a whip. Before Damian could react, Celine dropped the ring. It clattered against the marble floor, the sound echoing in the stunned silence.

She rose from her seat, smoothing her skirts with deliberate grace. “Consider this my resignation from this farce of an engagement,” she said. “Enjoy your freedom, Damian. You’re unworthy of mine.”

Without another word, she turned and strode out of the hall, leaving behind a sea of shocked faces and a prince too stunned to respond.

Lila, standing near the entrance, watched the entire confrontation unfold. Her heart was pounding, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts. She’d only meant to clear things up with Celine earlier—she hadn’t wanted it to escalate to this.

But when Damian had defended her, declared her better than Celine…

Why didn’t it feel like a victory?

The whispers started immediately.

“She threw away her ring?”
“In public, no less!”
“Do you think it’s because of Lila? That she’s trying to ruin the engagement?”

Lila’s chest tightened. The students’ gazes burned into her like fire, their judgment palpable.

“I—I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she whispered to herself, backing away.

Damian approached her then, his expression softening. “Lila,” he said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t listen to them. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“But—”

“This is on Celine,” Damian said firmly, cutting her off. “Not you.”

His words should’ve been comforting. Instead, they felt hollow, like a fragile thread that would snap at the slightest pull.

Meanwhile, in the shadows of a nearby corridor, Lucifer Valmont leaned casually against a pillar, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched the chaos unfold. He hadn’t been in the hall when the confrontation began, but he’d heard enough to piece things together.

“Interesting,” he murmured to himself, his sharp eyes glinting with amusement.

He straightened, brushing invisible dust off his coat. “Well, well, Lady Schlestor. It seems you’ve just given me a marvelous opportunity.”

With a self-satisfied chuckle, Lucifer turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving the Great Hall to simmer in the aftermath of Damian and Celine’s explosive confrontation.

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The night had draped the Royal Academy in a blanket of stillness. Moonlight poured over the dormitory’s grand facade, painting silver streaks across the intricate stonework. On the balcony of her room, Celine Schlestor leaned against the rail, her hands clasped tightly as if the cold metal could steady the whirlwind of emotions inside her.

The confrontation with Damian earlier in the day had left a bitter taste in her mouth. The rumors, the judgmental stares, and the relentless whispers—it was suffocating. She closed her eyes, letting the crisp night air cool her flushed face.

“You might catch a cold, Lady Schlestor.”

Her eyes snapped open, and her hand instinctively went to her waist, where her fan usually rested during the day. A familiar figure stepped out from the shadows of the balcony adjoining hers. Lucifer Valmont, dressed in a loose shirt and dark trousers, leaned casually against the stone divide, his usual smirk in place.

“What are you doing here?” Celine’s voice was sharp, though she kept it low.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. “What does it look like? Admiring the view. Though I must say, it pales in comparison to the one standing before me.”

“Spare me your flattery,” she snapped, turning her gaze back to the horizon. “If you’re here to gloat about today, save it. I’m not in the mood.”

Lucifer chuckled softly and took a step closer, his movements deliberate and unhurried. “Gloat? Far from it. I’m here because I’m intrigued. You, Celine Schlestor, are not a woman who breaks easily. Yet today, you threw away an engagement that many would kill for. Why?”

Celine’s grip on the railing tightened. “That’s none of your concern, Lord Valmont.”

“Oh, but it is.” His voice softened, losing its mocking edge. “I see cracks in that icy facade of yours, and I can’t help but wonder… what would it take to shatter it completely?”

She turned to him then, her eyes blazing. “Is that why you’re here? To watch me fall apart? To amuse yourself with my misery?”

Lucifer held her gaze, his smirk fading into something more serious. “No,” he said after a moment. “I’m here because I see you standing alone in a storm that would crush anyone else. And perhaps, because I don’t want to see you fall.”

The sincerity in his tone caught her off guard, but she refused to show it. “You’re mistaken if you think I need your pity.”

“It’s not pity.” He stepped closer until he was within arm’s reach. “It’s… curiosity. And maybe a bit of admiration.”

Celine let out a bitter laugh. “Admiration? From you? How flattering.”

Lucifer reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief embroidered with his family crest. He held it out to her. “For your tears, if you ever decide to shed them.”

She glanced at the handkerchief, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I don’t need it.”

“I insist.” He took her hand gently and placed it in her palm, his fingers lingering briefly against hers. “Keep it. Consider it a reminder that even in a storm, you’re not entirely alone.”

Celine stared at the handkerchief, unsure whether to laugh or throw it back at him. “You’re insufferable.”

He smirked, stepping back into the shadows. “And you’re too proud for your own good. But that’s what makes you fascinating, Lady Schlestor.”

“Is this how you amuse yourself? By toying with others?”

“Not others,” Lucifer said with a tilt of his head. “Just you.”

Before she could retort, he turned to leave, his voice carrying softly over his shoulder. “Good night, Celine. And do try to use the handkerchief—I’d hate for it to go to waste.”

When she finally turned, he was gone. Only the faint echo of his footsteps remained, leaving her alone once more with her thoughts, the chilly night air, and the handkerchief still clasped in her hand.

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The academy was unusually tense that morning. The staff moved quickly, preparing for something—someone—important. Whispers of a royal visitor spread throughout the halls, but no one could confirm who it was.

Celine could feel the shift in the air, an undercurrent of anticipation that was hard to ignore. Cassian stood next to her, his posture more rigid than usual. “Do you know who’s coming?” she asked quietly, though she already suspected.

He shook his head, his eyes narrowing in thought. “No idea. But it's not just an inspection... something feels off.”

Before she could reply, the grand doors opened, and a woman entered, cloaked in deep, royal blue. Her face was hidden behind a veil, but her presence was commanding—there was no mistaking that she held authority. The room fell into silence as she stepped forward with measured grace.

The headmistress, usually poised and in control, bowed deeply. “Your Majesty,” she said, voice reverberating through the room.

The visitor’s voice was cool and even as she addressed the gathered crowd. “I am here to inspect the academy... and to remind you all of your place in the kingdom.”

There was something chilling in her tone, though it was barely perceptible, like the calm before a storm. The woman’s gaze swept over the students and staff, her eyes calculating, as if weighing each person’s worth. When her gaze finally landed on Celine, there was a flicker of something unreadable in her expression—almost like a challenge.

Celine held her ground, her heart beating a little faster, but she made no move to look away.

The visitor paused before turning to leave, her regal cloak swishing behind her. Just as she reached the door, she turned her head slightly, offering a final, sharp glance at the room.

“I am Empress Isolde von Rivenhurst,” she declared, her voice final, before the doors shut behind her with a heavy thud.