Chapter Seven – Roses with Thorns

 Elara heard a knock on the door shortly after the dawn, it came again this time, more sharper. She had just closed her eyes. She tugged on her robe, suspicion already clenching her heart.

Derek Blackthorne was leaning casually against the frame, holding roses, when she opened it. Scarlet, fresh, and wickedly thorned.

“Morning, fireheart,” he drawled, flashing a smile sharp enough to cut. “I thought your room could use something beautiful.”

He pushed the roses toward her. She didn’t move to take them.

"I like lilies better," she declared bluntly.

"Falsehoods." His smile got bigger. "Elara, you're no lily. In the sun, lilies wither. Roses bloom and bleed in it. He lean closer speaking  slowly so  she alone could hear.  “You and I are roses. Power with thorns. And I intend to see you bloom beside me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And if I choose to bloom alone?”

Derek’s smile faltered into something darker. “Then you risk being trampled by lesser flowers.” He set the roses on her desk uninvited, brushing past her like he belonged inside. “I’m not asking for obedience. I’m offering destiny. You and I, equal, unstoppable.”

“Equal,” she repeated, tasting the word. Iron chains were hidden beneath his velvet tone.

Another knock on her door sounded before she could respond. Derek grinned.  “And so comes the knight in tarnished armor.”

Robert burst in, fury written across his face. His gaze fell on the roses, then Derek, and his jaw tightened.

“Get out,” Robert snapped.

Derek tilted his head. “You’re late, Sinclair. I was just inviting her into the future.”

Robert stepped between them, his body a shield. “She doesn’t need your future. Or your poison.”

“Funny,” Derek said smoothly, “I don’t recall her choosing you either.”

Their eyes locked, storm against storm. Elara tried to speak, but Robert shoved Derek back, the door crashing open as they spilled into the courtyard. Students were already gathering, drawn like moths to flame.

“Robert!” Elara shouted, following them out.

But the duel had already begun.

“You parade around like a savior,” Derek spat, circling, fists clenched. “But you’re just another shadow of your family’s name. Nothing more.” "And you are a vulture, feeding on whatever scraps Ariana throws your way," Robert retorted.

There were gasps from everyone in the crowd. Derek's smile shrank. “At least I’m not hiding behind a girl’s flame to feel powerful.”

Robert lunged.Their fists collided, echoing throughout the courtyard. Students cheered, with some chanting Robert's name and others Derek's.

Phones lifted, recording every moment.

“Elara!” a voice whispered near her ear. Alice. Smirking, enjoying the spectacle. “Congratulations. You’ve become the academy’s favorite scandal.”

Elara’s stomach twisted. Her name was being carved into gossip, dragged through blood and pride. She stepped forward, shouting, “Stop!” But neither heir listened. They fought like wolves, and the pack roared for more.

It took Headmaster Dorian himself to break it. His booming command silenced the courtyard. Both heirs froze, panting, bruised but unbroken. Dorian’s glare cut through them before turning on Elara.

“Inside,” he ordered. “All of you.”

---

That evening, Elara returned to her dorm exhausted, only to find chaos waiting. Her books lay torn across the floor, ink splattered on the walls and  her bed with glass fragments all over the sheets. Blood dripped from her palm slowly as the struggle to remove it .

A note sat atop the pillow: Cursed things cut themselves.

Alice’s handwriting.

Elara gazed at the shards of blood that glittered like ruthless stars as they gathered in her palm. The weight of everything threatened to crush her for a moment. The visions, the laughter, the rumors, and the frozen inheritance. She felt like breaking.

But something inside her burned steadier than grief.

Grabbing the biggest fragment, she pressed it further into her wound until her blood slicked the edge. After adjusting her back and wrapping her hand, she carried the glass to the cafeteria.

When she walked in, the hall became quiet.

Students whispered, eyes darting to her bleeding palm. She walked straight to Alice’s table. Alice’s smirk faltered when Elara dropped the bloodied shard before her.

“Try harder,” Elara said, her voice calm, steady, fire in every syllable.

Gasps rippled. No laughter followed. Fear slid through the room instead, crawling under skin. Even Alice said nothing, her smirk dead on her lips.

Elara turned and walked away, leaving the shard like a crown of defiance. Respect followed her, hushed but undeniable.

---

She had barely sat down before a summons came. Headmaster Dorian's office was dusty and leathery, with portraits of old money lining the walls. He studied her with his fingers steepled behind his desk.

“You’ve grown… disruptive,” he said finally. “The students follow your flame, but Roverthhood does not bend to fire. It bends to wealth. To names carved in gold, not ash.”

“I never asked them to follow me,” Elara replied.

“Perhaps not. But power unclaimed is power wasted. And wasted power becomes dangerous.” His eyes grew sharper. “Tread carefully, Miss Vale. This academy is not yours to command.”

Her jaw tightened. “Then perhaps it’s time someone changed that.”

Dorian’s expression hardened. “Defiance has a cost. Remember that.”

---

later that night, someone knocked on Elara door, she opened it to reveal a man with a box in his hands. "Am asked to deliver this to you," he said and walked away  before she could ask who had sent it.

She took  the box in placing it on her desk and opened it with trembling hands. Her mother's wedding ring was inside, bent, broken, and twisted beyond recognition. A note slipped free.

Even ghosts must be erased.

Ariana’s hand.

Elara chest burned with anger and sorrow tore at her ribs, with trembling fingers and blurred vision from tears she vowed not to cry, she gripped the broken ring.

A soft knock followed. Robert entered without waiting, his eyes softening the instant he saw her.

"Elara," he murmured.

Her voice broke as she attempted to speak. Gently removing the broken ring from her hands, he walked across the room.

 His thumb brushed her trembling fingers.

“She can’t take her from you,” Robert murmured. “Not memory. Not blood. Not flame.”

The his presence warmth and changed her grief into something else, something delicate yet alive, as she ean onto him for a moment, while his arms steady around her.

 She called softly "Robert," 

“I’m here,” he promised. “Always.”

For the first time in years, she felt safe enough to breathe though her heart stirred with something dangerous, something tender.

Derek watched from the shadow outside her window unseen to her. His eyes full of anger and  his fist tighten around the thorn of rose  his holding, he   vowed silently, If Sinclair dares to touch her, I will take her for myself.