Claimed By The King(s) Of Kings

AINA

”As you begin another year at Moonside Academy,” Roiner continued smoothly, ”remember that power without discipline is merely chaos. You are here to master your instincts, hone your capabilities, and honor your bloodlines. Violence outside the sanctioned combat arenas will be met with immediate, severe consequences. Enjoy your feast.”

With a slight bow of his head, Roiner gestured to the air.

Instantly, the empty silver platters resting on every table shimmered with bright golden light. As the glow faded, an extravagant, mouth-watering feast appeared out of thin air. Platters of roasted venison in cranberry reduction, steaming bowls of buttered herb potatoes, grilled salmon fillets, and golden baskets of flaky garlic rolls filled the table.

”eat!” Chloe cheered, grabbing a serving spoon.

Aina blinked in sheer awe, her mouth watering despite her previous anxiety. ”Magic catering... okay, I could definitely get used to this. I’ve never seen magic so close, I thought it didn’t exist.”

”Right?” Chloe giggled, dropping a generous portion of salmon onto Aina’s plate. ”You need to eat up, Travis! Look at you, you’re so cute and compact now with that haircut! Honestly, you should try out for the academy track or agility sports!”

”Agility sports?” Aina squeaked, nearly choking on a piece of roll. ”Me?”

”Yes! You’d be amazing!” Chloe beamed, clapping her hands together. ”You’re small and quick! You’d have so many fans in the bleachers! The lower-years would be screaming your name!” Aina waved her hands frantically in front of her face. ”No, no, absolutely not. No sports for me!”

Deep down, Aina suppressed a bitter, dry laugh. Tryouts? Sports? Doing a full sprint across a field would literally trigger an asthma attack and kill me on the spot. Back at the Whitelock estate, her lung condition was treated as a pathetic flaw, something to be hidden away. She sure as hell wasn’t about to collapse gasping for air in front of the entire school.

”I’m strictly a spectator,” Aina insisted with a nervous laugh, taking a quick bite of her salmon to change the subject. ”My physical contribution to this school begins and ends with Herbalism Club.”

”Suit yourself, cutie,” Delilah chuckled, taking a sip of water. As the girls continued to chatter and gossip about upcoming classes, Aina felt a strange, heavy sensation prickling at the back of her neck.

It wasn’t just one pair of eyes. She turned her head slightly, keeping her movement subtle. From the far end of the hall, at the end of the table at the center, Malric was glaring straight at her, his amber eyes burning with a dark, promise-filled rage. Beside him, Vance was leaning back, staring at her with an amused, analytical smirk, tapping his fingers against his chin.

And from the elevated head table near the podium, Headmaster Roiner sat quietly, sipping from a silver goblet, his unreadable dark eyes fixed entirely on her every move.

Aina swallowed hard, feeling utterly exposed. Great. I’m being hunted by a hybrid vampire and watched by psychotic wolf princes. Just a normal Thursday night.

1

She turned back to her plate, trying desperately to focus on Chloe’s animated story about fairy-ring etiquette, when a strange, soft fluttering noise caught her attention.

A tiny, folded piece of thick parchment was floating slowly across the air, gliding just inches above the dining tables like an origami bird. It darted between students, weaving past goblets and bread baskets, until it gently dropped straight into Aina’s lap.

”What’s that?” Chloe asked, pausing mid-sentence. ”Uh... I don’t know,” Aina murmured, picking up the small, square note.

The moment her fingers brushed the heavy paper, a distinct, powerful scent hit her nose. It was the sharp, intoxicating aroma of of Malric’s scent, mixed with the faintest trace of Vance’s cologne. Aina unfolded the note beneath the edge of the table. Written in bold, harsh, sweeping cursive were six simple words:

Sleep with one eye open tonight.

Aina stared at the ink. She raised her eyes slightly, glancing toward the Royal Table. Malric caught her gaze, raising his glass in a dark, silent toast, a sinister smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Aina let out a quiet, exasperated sigh. She didn’t panic. She didn’t tremble. Instead, she slowly crumpled the expensive parchment into a tight little ball in her palm, shoving it deep into her blazer pocket.

”Childish,” she muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes. ”Absolute man-children.”

”What did it say?” Delilah asked, raising an eyebrow. ”Just trash,” Aina smiled sweetly, picking up her fork and taking a massive, deliberate bite of a buttered potato. ”Nothing worth losing my appetite over.”

For the rest of the evening, Aina sat surrounded by the bright laughter of her new friends, the warm glow of the floating candles, and the delicious taste of a royal feast. The princes could make all the threats they wanted, but as Aina leaned back in her chair, listening to Chloe attempt a terrible accent, she realized something crucial.

She wasn’t the scared, helpless girl trapped at the Whitelock estate anymore. She had a roof over her head, good food in her stomach, friends at her table, and a disguise that was holding strong.

Let them come. She was going to survive this school year, one ridiculous day at a time.

///////////////////

The morning air around the campus lake was crisp, carrying the soothing scent of damp soil and blooming flora. Nestled along the water’s edge stood the Herbalism Society’s glass conservatory, its grand dome sparkling beneath the pale sunlight. For Aina, stepping inside felt like escaping into an entirely different world.

The greenhouse was a peaceful labyrinth of hanging vines, glowing terrariums, and rows of neatly potted medicinal herbs. The quiet rustle of leaves was a far cry from the roaring crowds of the combat arena or the suffocating paranoia of her penthouse suite.

”Ah, Travis! You made it,” greeted a girl with soft, brown wolf ears perked atop her head, pushing a stray strand of hair back as she smiled warmly. She offered Aina a pair of thick gardening gloves and a small hand trowel. ”I’m Faye, the society president. We’re currently repotting the moon-lit lilies in the back row. They require a very gentle hand.”

”Happy to help,” Aina replied, pulling the gloves over her fingers with a relieved sigh. ”Honestly, Faye, this place is a lifesaver.”

Aina knelt down beside a long wooden bench, carefully loosening the soil around a pale, glowing stem. For twenty glorious minutes, her mind was entirely clear.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

The sharp, measured sound of heavy boots echoing against the stone pathway shattered the silence. Faye instantly froze, dropping her trowel. Aina turned her head slowly, her heart dropping straight into her stomach.

Walking down the central aisle of the conservatory was Headmaster Roiner. He moved with a silent, fluid grace, his long black coat trailing behind him. His pale vampire features looked sculpted from ice, and his dark, piercing eyes scanned the greenhouse with calm authority.

”Headmaster Roiner!” Faye squeaked, dropping into a deep, flustered bow. ”We... we weren’t expecting to see you today!”

”At ease, Miss Faye,” Roiner said smoothly, his voice a low, melodious purr that seemed to hum through the glass structure. ”I am merely taking a brief walk to inspect the progress of the nightshade cultivation for the infirmary. Carry on with your work.”

Faye nodded frantically, scurrying off toward the far side of the greenhouse to check on another tray of seedlings. Aina kept her head ducked low, frantically smoothing soil over her plant, praying her thick glasses and new wolf cut would act as an invisible shield.

Slowly, deliberately, the sound of boots stopped right beside her workbench. ”A very delicate touch, Mister Whitelock,” Roiner observed softly, looming over her.

Aina swallowed hard, pushing herself up to stand. She forced a polite, steady smile onto her face, though her pulse was hammering against her ribs. ”Thank you, Headmaster. Plants require patience.”

Roiner tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes locking onto hers with terrifying intensity. ”Indeed. Patience is a rare trait among young wolves. Especially those of the Whitelock bloodline.” He took a slow step closer, hands clasped loosely behind his back. ”Tell me, Travis... your family’s estate is situated near the eastern border, is it not? A region known for its harsh, aggressive Alpha lines.”

”Uh... yes, sir,” Aina stammered, keeping her voice as low and raspy as possible. ”My family is... very traditional.”

”And yet,” Roiner murmured, stepping so close she could smell the cold, scentless chill of his ancient aura, ”you carry none of their loud, posturing arrogance. Your spirit feels... docile.”

Aina’s back pressed against the edge of the wooden workbench. She felt a bead of cold sweat trace a path down her neck. ”I’m just a late bloomer, sir. Nothing special. I’ll be arrogant in no time.”

Roiner smiled, a slow, unreadable curve of his lips that sent a shiver straight down her spine. ”We shall see.”

Reaching out toward a silver glass terrarium resting on the top shelf, Roiner clipped a single bloom from a rare, obsidian-petaled flower. ”This is a Luna Caelum,” Roiner explained softly, turning back to her. ”A rare night-blooming blossom that was given to the most beautiful of.... women in the past..”

He extended his hand, offering the stem to her. ”Here. A welcoming gift to the society.”

”Thank you, Headmaster,” Aina whispered nervously. She reached out, sliding off her gardening glove, and extended her bare hand to take the flower from his fingers.

The moment her bare skin brushed against his cold, pale fingertips—