During the morning knights class, my practice swords felt like lead rods within my trembling fingers. When Darius, the dwarf from the entry exam, lunged at me, I could barely lift my arms before his training ax smacked against my torso. Professor Gas, his face lined with disapproval, pulled me aside and lectured me about the importance of what he called ‘good knight thleep’ with a wink that no one found amusing, and banished me to a splintered bench with old, yellowed books on ancient battle formations that smelled like dust and forgotten wars.

  Still, somewhere beneath the bone-deep exhaustion, a spark of excitement twinkled in my chest. Professor Irleophiss was actually teaching me soul magic now. Just thinking about it made the anxieties I’d been hauling around melt away. While it was true that offensive soul magic drew power from corrupted and poisonous miasma, my interest was purely in defensive spells that could be woven from regular, contained mana. There was no downside to it whatsoever.

  Despite my aching muscles and the dull throbbing behind my temples, comfort flowed through me as I slumped forward, jowls pressed against the cool wooden surface of my desk. My eyelids dropped like heavy velvet curtains, seeking a few precious moments of rest before my next stewardship class.

  A loud "SLAM!" made me sit up straight as a hand hit my desk, rattling my inkwell and snapping me out of my half-asleep daydream. I blinked, confused by the sudden interruption.

  Prince Thomin stood over me, his aristocratic features twisted with fury. He jabbed a manicured finger so close I could nearly feel it. “You! What did you do?” he demanded, and on the last word, his voice cracked, betraying his usual royal composure.

  “I do things every day. Care to narrow it down?” I muttered, stifling a yawn and blinking watering eyes.

  “That ritual, blood oath or whatever,” he hissed through clenched teeth, leaning closer until I could smell his lunch. It reeked of truffles. “What trickery did you use to make Luciana do something that stupid?”

  My mind, sluggish from sleep deprivation, pieced together the fragments of what must have happened. Luciana had informed the towery marbled palace in Veridia about her pact with me, a mere wolfkin commoner. The political implications unfurled, rippling through the high society of the three kingdoms. They eventually reached the ears of a wannabe groom over here. I kept my expression deliberately vacant.

  “Hey,” I said, raising my palms in mock surrender, “I tried to convince her against it at first. I know the concept might be as foreign to you as dirt under those manicured nails, but she is her own person and can make her own decisions.”

  Thomin’s face flushed crimson, the color spreading up to the tips of his ears as he slammed his fist against the desk again. “No, she cannot!” His voice echoed through the classroom, drawing curious stares. “She has royal obligations to the crown, and now she can’t fulfill hers by marrying me!”

  I leaned back in my chair, the wood creaking beneath me. “Not that it is any of my business,” I said, tapping droplets of spilled ink on my desk with a cloth, “but just a thought, did you try asking her if she even wants to marry you?”

  His nostrils flared like an enraged stallion’s. “It is not up to her!” The vein in his temple throbbed visibly now. “She doesn’t make that decision!”

  “Well, it is not up to you either, right?” I said, giving him a lazy half-smile. “Looks like whoever plays puppet-master has already decided that for the both of you.”

  Rage seemed to reach a boiling point in Prince Thomin’s face. His trembling fingers yanked the butter-soft leather glove from his right hand, then flung it at my chest. The glove tumbled onto my desk. Every eye in the classroom fixed on that small scrap of leather, knowing what it meant.

  “Yeah, I am not picking that up,” I said, flicking the glove back onto his polished boot with my index finger. “By law and tradition, a mere commoner such as myself has no obligation to accept a challenge from someone of noble or royal standing.”

  Thomin’s knuckles turned white as he clenched his fist, his signet ring shining as he pulled back his arm. Before he could strike, his chaperons, Philippes and Rogier, appeared on either side and firmly gripped his shoulders, restraining him with practiced ease. Nice to know they had some authority in these situations. I thought they were just his flunkies.

  I glanced toward the doorway, relieved to see Luciana’s usual seat still empty, sparing her the spectacle. Still, whispers already slithered between desks like snakes, and I knew I’d need to inform her before the twisted version of events reached her ears.

  Sadly, I had no time to do that. Luciana entered the classroom at the same time as Professor de Pre, a silver-haired man in slightly loose Academy robes. The retired noble from Sonem had a distant look. He had left power behind by passing his estates and titles to his children. He taught to fill his twilight years and maintain distance from family politics.

  “Good afternoon, everyone,” he announced, his voice still carrying the crisp authority of nobility. “Small announcement. Next week, we will rotate with Professor Orlov, who will start teaching you the Imperial language and a few other useful skills. He will only be with us for a short time, so please use that limited opportunity to its fullest.”

  “Pffft,” came a deliberate whisper from the back row, loud enough to carry across three desks. “Why do we even allow their kind to set foot on the Morne Isles again?”

  “As I have explained before, Jean,” he said, his irritation noticeable, “this is an opportunity to learn about your rivals. Professor Orlov is a traveling academic who has lectured in numerous countries and city-states before. He just so happened to be born in the Empire. With that said, he has no allegiances to it. The faculty thoroughly vetted his background. Judge people by their individual merit, or you’ll squander diplomatic opportunities when you inherit your father’s position.”

  “Yes, Professor,” Jean muttered from beneath a fringe of copper-colored hair, his jaw set in the stubborn line that had become familiar to everyone who’d spent more than a week in his presence.

  Professor de Pre adjusted his immaculate cuffs, revealing a faint dueling scar on his wrist. “Now, before we delve into today’s curriculum on commerce regulations, does anyone wish to raise a specific matter for discussion?”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Prince Thomin’s ringed hand shot up. Without waiting for acknowledgment, a habit that made Professor de Pre’s right eye twitch ever so slightly, he launched into speech, his voice carrying the practiced resonance of someone raised to command attention.

  “As I have mentioned in our previous discourse,” he said, “Sonem faces a critical labor shortage across our agricultural heartlands and mining regions. Just yesterday, I received a letter from my dear friend, Prince Aleamme of Veridia, who confided that their situation is growing increasingly dire as well. I believe that together we have formulated a solution.”

  Professor de Pre’s silver eyebrows arched slightly as he folded his weathered hands atop his lectern. “Interesting,” he replied, his tone measured but curious. “Please clarify for the benefit of your peers.”

  Prince Thomin’s voice rang through the classroom like a polished bell. “Prince Aleamme and I are forming a joint faction to propose the repeal of the Lokertals Accords,” he announced, his manicured fingers splayed across his desk like pale spiders. “Unfortunately, our friends in Chogueux are not as amenable to the idea, but this decision fortunately doesn’t require a consensus.” His lips curled into a satisfied smile as he glanced at his companions, who nodded in approval.

  The room fell so silent I could hear the scratch of quills halting mid-sentence. I hadn’t been paying much attention before, but now my ears perked up. Leftover sleep vanished instantly. The Lokertals Accords: forty-two pages of parchment signed in blood-red ink by two kings and a queen from the ancient past. Together they had ended generations of misery on the Morne Isles.

  The Accords had two core provisions: equal rights and obligations for all sentient beings across the three kingdoms and the prohibition of forced labor, except for criminal punishment. Though everyone knew about illicit markets and debt contracts binding servants for decades. It didn’t come even close to what Prince Thomin proposed: the return of auction blocks, breeding ‘farms’, and family separations, horrors that lived only in the now ancient dark history of the Isles.

  Professor de Pre gripped the edge of his lectern with white-knuckled fingers, the faint dueling scar on his wrist standing out like a pale thread against flushed skin. “That proposal…” he finally managed, his cultured voice uncharacteristically strained, “has merits, but also… dangers. Does anyone wish to share an opinion on the subject?”

  My hand shot up before I’d fully formed my thoughts.

  “Yes, Zar,” he nodded, relief flickering across his features. “Let’s hear it.”

  “Thank you, Professor.” I rose slowly, feeling the weight of every eye in the room. “While I’m tempted to dissect the ethics and morality of slavery, I suspect our future lords are more interested in practicalities.” Several students nodded, their quills poised above parchment. I cleared my throat, the sound resounding through the tense silence. “Historical records from the Academy Library revealed to me that while slavery generated enormous profits for slaveholders in the short term, it also creates something called ‘path dependence’ that hinders broader, long-term development of the Morne Isles.”

  A student in the front row, a thin boy with ink-smeared fingers and spectacles perched on his nose, raised his hand. “Could you elaborate?” he asked, his voice carrying genuine curiosity rather than challenge.

  I scanned the sea of faces, some curious, others dismissive. “In simplest terms,” I began, my voice steadying, “slave-owning lords and merchants will inevitably make a fortune because labor will cost them nothing, but they will not invest that fortune in any new venture because those will never guarantee the same level of profit you get from extracting resources from the ground by using free labor. Moreover, once you repeal the Accords, you will halt the immigration of beastkin and other races from the continent. They’ll vanish like morning mist, avoiding our borders as they would a plague house.”

  A stocky boy with a family crest embroidered on his collar leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “And how exactly is that bad?” he drawled, his lips curling into a sneer beneath hooded eyes. “Why do we even need their kind cluttering up our streets?” Several students around him nodded in agreement.

  “New people create new opportunities, but if that is too metaphorical for you, think about it this way. Free citizens consume goods that others must produce. When beastkin immigrate here, they create unique markets. Horsekin need specialized clothing and shoes, which means new business for tailors and smiths. These businesses grow and hire more workers. Tax collectors return with heavier chests. Slaves, however, consume only what masters provide, and that is barely anything. This will lead to a decline in commerce. Slaves also rarely form families or have children. Within a few generations, kingdoms dependent on slave labor will face the same shortage Prince Thomin does now. And once they seek more slaves…” I paused meaningfully, “they’ll find themselves beholden to the world’s largest slaver nation.”

  The word ‘Empire’ spread through the classroom, making several students shift uncomfortably in their seats. The sunlight from the tall windows seemed to fade, as if clouds had covered the Academy grounds.

  “So, I argue,” I continued, my voice growing firmer as I met Prince Thomin’s narrowed gaze across the polished oak desks, “returning to that practice will set us on the path of dependence on our worst enemy, chaining our future to the very nation who invaded us in the past and who is partially at fault for our current predicament. If there is some wisdom in that, I don’t see it.”

  “Fine points, Zar. I suggest we discuss this further in future classes.” Professor de Pre’s weathered fingers drummed once against the lectern’s polished surface. “We might even set aside time for a proper debate or ask for students to write essays as part of midterms. For now, let’s get back to commerce…” His gaze flicked briefly toward Prince Thomin. “Eh, legitimate commerce in goods and services that is.” The tension in the room seemed to dissipate like morning fog as quills resumed their scratching against parchment.

  Once the bell tower’s bronze chimes signaled the end of class, I joined Luciana on the cobblestone path back to town. As we walked, I recounted what had transpired with Prince Thomin before class.

  “Yes, how do you say it? That tracks.” She nodded solemnly. Late afternoon sunlight caught the golden threads woven through her Academy uniform as we passed beneath the ancient elm trees. “Before I left for Academy Town, I was given a hint that I should ‘befriend’ him, but nobody told me we were practically betrothed.” She kicked a loose cobblestone with the toe of her polished boot. “If I had to guess, my father proposed the match, but Sonem decided to wait for Thomin to weigh his options before any announcements. Now, with me scraping the bottom of a proverbial barrel of social standing, I am damaged goods.” Her lips curved into a grin that transformed her entire face, dimples appearing at the corners of her mouth. The relief in her expression was as clear as the sky above us.

  “Well, regardless, now you can get ahead of rumors if you so desire.” I adjusted the strap of my worn leather satchel, feeling the weight of my textbooks shift. “Changing the topic, I am deeply concerned about the Lokertals Accords. Do you think using ‘the’ envelope could help?”

  Luciana twisted a golden strand of hair around her finger, frowning thoughtfully. “Hmm… no, I don’t think so. Too large of an issue for that. Kingdom’s strategic interests outweigh family honor.”

  “Thought so. In this case…” My voice dropped to a whisper as a group of uniformed students passed by. “I need to build a faction of my own to counteract this.”

  “Huh, can you manage that?” Luciana's eyes widened in surprise. “You’re not a noble. Your words carry little weight in those circles.”

  I stopped in my tracks, inviting her to sit by the tree. “Gotta use my strengths. First, I attend more courses than Thomin does. There are kids from influential merchant and clergy families attending the knight, magic, and theology courses. I suspect a couple of bastards…” I winced as I leaned against the tree. “Gosh, I hate that term. The point is, they all write home. If their families pay for their education, there must be some affection there, recognized or not. I need to make the case for the Accords to as many of them as I can reach. Then mobilize them in the right moment for something big.”

  Luciana’s lips curved into a determined smile as she placed her hand on my arm, her touch warm through the fabric of my sleeve. “Then consider me the first member of your faction. Whatever you need, I’m with you.”