Malicious Prince

RHETT 

I couldn’t see my hands.

That was the first thing that unsettled me-not the darkness itself, but how completely it erased me from it. No edges. No shape. Just breath and the sound of my pulse thudding in my ears.

A pressure crept up my spine, that animal certainty of being watched. I started to turn-

Then a hand catches my throat.

Pressure settled around my throat- slow, deliberate- thumb pressing in just enough to remind me how fragile the space beneath my jaw was.

Not a choke.

Not yet atleast.

My body locked on instinct. Any move would’ve been a gamble, and whoever stood behind me knew it. The grip said he’d measured the distance, the angle, the outcome before touching me.

My breath hitches. The room shrank to the steady weight on my neck and the sound of blood rushing in my ears.

He leans in, close enough that I felt his heat and his breath on my back. I then feel a hand on my waist as the person leans closer to my ear.

“Did you miss me, Tesoro?”

Four weeks earlier

I stood at the mirror holding a Ravenwood admission letter under a new name.

Luke Winters. Age eighteen. Swiss-raised transfer. Enrolled in Political Science and Criminology.

I wanted to go in wearing a disguise but Juno thought it’d be a stupid idea since I’ve never been out on the field before.

Nor were you allowed to in the first place. My pesky conscious reminds me.

No one in the outside world knows what Rhett Constantine looks like. So if I were to change my name and apply to Ravenwood no one would know.

I fold the letter and stuff it in my coat pocket as I grab my bag and suitcase walking out of the cheap motel room I had been staying in for two days waiting for Orientation day at Ravenwood.

Which happens to be today.

The cold wind blows against my face as I walk out the building carrying the scent of piss, alcohol and something between a dead rodent and rotten food.

Which oddly enough the smells don’t seem ro bother me.

They just felt...familiar.

Déjà vu.

I cross the road to the other side where there’s a bus station- well pieces of a bus station stand- it’s rusty and one half looks like it was ran down by a car- literally.

I don’t stand there for long though as the bus soon arrives and I get in to sit by the window. Wheels screech on the road as the bus begins to move heading to the city.

......

Nearly two hours later do I arrive at North East Ridge- the richer, cleaner, and most well-maintained part of the city- where the only people living here earn a six figure income, with even more ridiculous amounts funnelled into the schools.

The school looked lively from up ahead with all kinds of cars coming in and out with students dragging their bags on the cobblestone. I follow suit as I clutch on my backpack and drag my suitcase to the large gates.

Ravenwood University looked like heaven and felt like a wolf’s den.

A prestigious institution for the world’s most powerful families - old money, political dynasties, and bloodlines that preferred secrecy over headlines. Officially, it shaped tomorrow’s leaders. Unofficially, it taught control.

I tightened my grip on my backpack as I crossed the gates, dragging my suitcase behind me. The courtyard unfolded like a painting - manicured hedges, cobblestone paths, black-iron buildings steeped in centuries of quiet authority. The kind of place that didn’t need to announce its power.

It simply existed.

Students moved through the space with effortless precision, dressed in quiet luxury, exchanging familiar smiles and subtle gestures that spoke of legacy and entitlement.

Above us, Ravenwood’s black banners snapped against the grey sky as a stage was assembled near the main hall.

Orientation Day.

A day to welcome all the students returning to Ravenwood and the ones starting out their time here.

I follow behind a student who unlike the rest I’ve seen so far seems out of place with the ones returning-a newbie who luckily for me knows where she’s going.

Should’ve just asked Juno to get me a map of this damn place.

I follow the girl, weaving through the clusters of students until she reaches a small group of other newbies gathered near the fountain. Their luggage sits in neat piles, eyes wide, whispering nervously among themselves.

A tall boy steps forward, and suddenly the crowd hushes. He has the kind of presence that makes people straighten instinctively, like a predator walking into a room.

Dark hair slicked back, sharp jaw, tailored blazer that somehow looks casual, and grey eyes that scan each of us with exact calculation.

“Alright,” he says, voice low but carrying across the group.

“Scholarship students, listen up. I’m Adrian Veyra, your dorm prefect for orientation. You follow my instructions, you don’t get lost, and you don’t embarrass yourself. Simple enough?”

He lets the statement hang, eyes lingering on each of us for just a second too long.

Adrian gestures sharply at everyone.

“You, me. Iron Wing. Keep up.”

We start moving, and his pace is steady, deliberate. He doesn’t walk like someone leading a tour. He walks like someone marking territory.

We cross the courtyard, the sound of our footsteps echoing against the stone as we follow Adrian up the sloping path toward Iron Wing.

The building sits at the far edge of campus like an afterthought- tall, narrow, and slightly older than the elegant main halls.

Where the other dorms had decorative balconies and warm lights glowing through arched windows, Iron Wing looks… functional. Solid.

“Keep moving,” Adrian calls over his shoulder without slowing down.

A couple of guys scramble to catch up. I adjust my grip on my suitcase handle and fall into step behind him.

Iron gates swing open with a long creak, and we step inside a dim stone foyer that smells faintly of polished wood and old books. A wide staircase splits into two, leading to the upper floors.

“This,” Adrian says, stopping at the foot of the stairs, “is Iron Wing. You’ll be living here. Ground floor’s common area. Curfew at ten. Boys on the west side, girls on the east. If you’re caught in the wrong hallway after hours-” His eyes narrow slightly, and a quiet chuckle escapes him. “-well, don’t.”

A few of the guys shift uncomfortably.

“There’s a strict structure here,” he continues. “Unlike the heirs and trust fund babies up the hill, you don’t get the luxury of bending the rules. You break one-“ he snaps his fingers, “-you’re gone.”

The weight of that lands harder than the polished stone beneath our shoes.

He gestures to a hallway on the right.

“You’ll find your room numbers on the board. I don’t do babysitting, so figure out who your roommate is and where you sleep. Orientation ceremony starts in thirty minutes. Be downstairs in twenty. Don’t make me come looking for you.”

Adrian turns sharply and heads toward the door, not waiting to see if anyone has questions.

The moment he’s gone, the quiet hum of nervous chatter fills the room. A girl near the bulletin board calls out room numbers, a few guys groan at their assignments, and suitcases start rolling again.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

Iron Wing isn’t exactly warm and inviting… but it’s not a war zone either.

I find my name scribbled on a sheet of paper tacked under Room 217. Someone else’s name is next to it. My future roommate.

Theodore-James Thomas

“Room 217?” a voice says behind me.

I turn to find a boy about my height with shaggy brown hair, hazel eyes and dark earrings, carrying a duffel bag over his shoulder.

His grin is easy and nervous all at once.

“Looks like we’re stuck together.”

I let out a small laugh. “Guess so.”

And just like that, the sharp edges of Ravenwood blur for a moment, replaced by something almost normal.

Almost.