The first thing Rowan noticed about Blackthorn Imperial University was that it looked less like a school and more like a kingdom that had forgotten it was one.

Ancient towers rose above the surrounding forests.

Stone walls stretched endlessly beneath climbing ivy.

Massive stained-glass windows reflected the morning sun while hundreds of students moved across the courtyards below.

Some laughed.

Some argued.

Some looked like they hadn't slept in days.

Rowan felt strangely comforted by that.

At least misery was universal.

A carriage stood waiting behind him.

The driver looked uncertain.

"My lord—"

"Don't."

The old man immediately corrected himself.

"My mistake."

Rowan adjusted the strap of his bag.

For the first time in his life, nobody around him knew who he was.

No servants.

No guards.

No royal tutors.

No palace walls.

Just a university.

Exactly as his father intended.

Prince Rowan Vespera no longer existed.

At least officially.

Now he was simply Rowan.

A first-year student.

A nobody.

The idea should have felt liberating.

Instead, it felt terrifying.

"Take care of yourself," the driver said quietly.

Rowan nodded.

Then turned away before he could change his mind.

The carriage disappeared down the road.

For the first time in eighteen years, he was completely alone.

"Wonderful."

His stomach immediately chose that moment to remind him he had skipped breakfast.

A promising start.

Three wrong turns later, Rowan was completely lost.

The map made no sense.

The signs contradicted each other.

And whoever designed Blackthorn clearly hated first-year students.

After asking directions from three different people and receiving four different answers, he finally found Dormitory Three.

The building looked older than some kingdoms.

Massive wooden doors stood beneath weathered stone arches.

A brass plaque beside the entrance read:

ROOM 304

Rowan climbed four flights of stairs carrying far more luggage than any sane person should possess.

By the time he reached the top floor he was beginning to question every life decision that had brought him here.

Finally.

Room 304.

His new home.

Taking a breath, he pushed open the door.

Then immediately regretted it.

Someone was already inside.

A boy occupied one of the chairs beside the window.

Dark hair.

Simple clothes.

A book resting lazily in one hand.

One boot propped on the desk.

The other hanging over the armrest.

He didn't even look up.

Rowan waited.

Nothing.

The stranger simply turned another page.

Irritating.

"Hello."

No response.

"You're in my chair."

The boy finally looked up.

Gray eyes.

Sharp.

Observant.

Annoyingly calm.

Then he glanced at the chair.

Then back at Rowan.

"Interesting."

Rowan blinked.

"What is?"

"I don't remember asking."

Silence.

A long silence.

The kind that usually preceded either friendship or murder.

Rowan wasn't sure which.

The stranger returned to reading.

Apparently the conversation was over.

Wonderful.

A roommate.

Exactly what he needed.

Unpacking began.

Or rather, Rowan attempted to unpack while pretending the other person didn't exist.

The other person appeared equally committed to the same strategy.

For nearly fifteen minutes neither spoke.

Then disaster struck.

A small object slipped from Rowan's bag.

It landed against the floor with a metallic sound.

Clink.

Both boys looked down.

Rowan's heart stopped.

A silver signet ring.

Royal.

Expensive.

Dangerous.

He snatched it up instantly.

Too late.

The other boy had already seen it.

Gray eyes narrowed slightly.

"Rich?"

Rowan froze.

"What?"

"The ring."

Silence.

A very uncomfortable silence.

The boy closed his book.

"Relax."

Rowan did not relax.

"If you were royalty, servants would be carrying your bags. But somehow you are stuck like a donkey."

Rowan forced a laugh.

A terrible one.

The boy stared.

Rowan stopped laughing.

"Good," the stranger said. "That was painful."

Rowan immediately disliked him.

A lot.

"Do you enjoy being insufferable?"

"Only as a hobby."

"That's tragic."

"It's affordable."

The stranger extended a hand.

"Cassian."

Rowan hesitated before shaking it.

The first thing he noticed was warmth.

The second was the strength hidden beneath the casual grip.

Odd.

Not dangerous.

Just unexpected.

"Rowan."

Cassian nodded once.

Then returned to reading.

Apparently introductions were enough social interaction for one day.

By evening, Blackthorn was alive.

Students filled the courtyards.

Voices echoed through the stone corridors.

Laughter drifted through open windows.

Rowan watched from beside the dormitory window.

A strange feeling settled in his chest.

Freedom.

Maybe.

Or loneliness.

The two often looked similar.

Behind him, Cassian was writing something.

Pages covered in neat handwriting.

Observations.

Notes.

Lists.

Rowan had noticed him doing it several times already.

"Homework?"

Cassian didn't look up.

"As a first year?."

"What are you writing?"

"Things."

"That's vague."

"Called minding my own business. You?"

Rowan rolled his eyes.

Definitely insufferable.

Night arrived slowly.

The room darkened.

The university quieted.

Eventually both boys climbed into their beds.

For the first time all day, neither spoke.

Rowan stared at the ceiling.

His father's warnings replayed endlessly in his mind.

Trust nobody.

Stay hidden.

Don’t love anyone.

Simple instructions.

Difficult life.

The third rule seemed awkward.

Across the room, Cassian appeared asleep.

At least Rowan thought so.

Minutes passed.

Then—

"You're hiding something."

The voice emerged from darkness.

Rowan nearly fell out of bed.

"What?"

Silence.

Then:

"You're hiding something."

Rowan's pulse quickened.

Had he been discovered already?

Impossible.

Nobody should know.

Nobody could know.

The darkness stretched.

Then Cassian spoke again.

Calm.

Almost amused.

"Everyone at Blackthorn is."

Silence returned.

This time neither boy spoke.

But neither slept either.

And somewhere beneath Blackthorn Imperial University—

behind locked doors,

forgotten tunnels,

and records buried for centuries—

old secrets waited patiently.

For the first time in five hundred years,

the cycle was about to begin again.

Rowan woke up to sunlight attacking his face.

Apparently, Blackthorn's windows had been designed by people who hated sleep.

He groaned.

Rolled over.

And immediately remembered where he was.

University.

New room.

New life.

New roommate.

Unfortunately.

Across the room, Cassian was already awake.

Reading.

Rowan was beginning to suspect he slept with books.

"What time is it?"

Cassian turned a page.

"Late."

Rowan sat upright.

"That's not a time."

"It is when you're supposed to be somewhere."

"I dislike you."

"You've mentioned that."

The dining hall looked like a battlefield.

Hundreds of students filled long tables.

Voices echoed endlessly.

Someone was already crying.

Classes hadn't even started.

Neither had the orientation of first-years.

Blackthorn seemed healthy.

Rowan grabbed a tray.

Then another pastry.

Then another.

Cassian watched.

"Preparing for a famine?"

"I skipped breakfast yesterday."

"So naturally you've chosen revenge."

Before Rowan could answer—

The entire hall suddenly changed.

Conversations stopped.

Students straightened.

Several professors looked toward the entrance.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Cassian looked up.

Rowan followed everyone's gaze.

Then saw him.

Prince Tristan Auroria.

The future king of Auroria.

The pride of his kingdom.

The darling of the nobility.

The reason half the girls in the hall suddenly forgot how breathing worked.

Tristan entered as though the building belonged to him.

Perhaps he assumed it did.

People moved aside automatically.

Students whispered.

Professors smiled.

Staff bowed slightly.

The attention followed him effortlessly.

Like sunlight.

Or a plague.

"Impressive," Rowan muttered.

Cassian looked unimpressed.

"Looks exhausting."

The prince smiled at students.

Nodded politely.

Accepted greetings.

Answered questions.

The perfect royal.

The perfect future king.

The perfect public image.

Across the hall, Tristan accepted praise gracefully.

Internally—

He was already annoyed.

The attention was predictable.

The conversations were predictable.

The compliments were predictable.

Everything was predictable.

Blackthorn was supposed to be interesting.

Instead everyone kept introducing themselves.

One noble student practically tripped over his own feet trying to impress him.

Pathetic.

Another immediately started praising Auroria.

Boring.

A third attempted to discuss politics.

Worse.

Then Tristan noticed something unusual.

A student near the middle tables.

Dark hair.

Average clothes.

Entirely unremarkable.

And completely ignoring him.

Interesting.

The prince narrowed his eyes slightly.

Most people stared.

This one continued eating.

The student beside him didn't even look up from his book.

What was a first year even reading?

Annoying

Very annoying

Orientation took place shortly afterward.

The Great Assembly Hall overflowed with students.

Tristan sat near the front.

Naturally.

The seat had practically been reserved for him before he'd arrived.

Sometimes privilege was efficient.

The headmaster welcomed everyone.

Spoke about excellence.

Discipline.

Tradition.

Honor.

Students immediately stopped listening.

Professors yawned.

Backbenches started murmuring.

Everything an interesting speech has.

That's why it's called PAY attention.

Tristan included.

Then his attention drifted.

Toward the middle rows.

The same student from breakfast.

Still ignoring everything.

Still sitting beside the same, gray-eyed roommate.

Strange.

Something about him felt familiar.

Not recognizable.

Just familiar.

Like a word sitting at the edge of memory.

Tristan hated unfinished thoughts.

After orientation ended, students flooded into the courtyards.

Groups formed immediately.

Friendships.

Alliances.

Future disasters.

The usual.

Tristan walked through the crowd surrounded by several noble students.

They practically followed him like ducklings.

One was discussing economics.

Another was discussing politics.

A third was discussing Tristan.

Tristan hated that one most.

Then—

There he was again.

The familiar student.

Walking across the courtyard.

Alone.

Tristan changed direction immediately.

The ducklings followed.

Unfortunately.

"Your Highness?"

"Not now."

The group exchanged confused looks.

Tristan ignored them.

He approached.

The student noticed him immediately.

Then did something unexpected.

He turned around.

And walked faster.

Tristan stopped.

Did he just—

No.

Surely not.

People usually approached him.

Not the reverse.

The prince smiled slowly.

Interesting.

Rowan immediately regretted looking back.

The prince was following him.

Why?

He had no idea.

Maybe rich people got bored easily.

Probably.

He increased his pace.

The prince increased his.

Wonderful.

Exactly what he needed.

A royal problem.

Blackthorn Imperial University was beautiful.

Ancient stone buildings.

Elegant gardens.

Historic architecture.

And apparently a student population that had entirely too much free time.

Rowan discovered this around noon.

Specifically, when three noble students began following him.

He sighed.

This was becoming a pattern.

He turned left.

They turned left.

He turned right.

They turned right.

He stopped.

They stopped.

Wonderful.

Absolutely wonderful.

Rowan turned around.

"Am broke."

The tallest one smiled.

"..."

"Then why are you following me?"

"We were asked to."

"By whom?"

The three exchanged looks.

Then smiled.

That was answer enough.

Prince Tristan.

Of course.

Because apparently being royal meant never developing hobbies.

And most importantly harassing civilians.

Across campus, Tristan sat beneath a tree while several students attempted to entertain him.

They failed.

Spectacularly.

One was discussing trade routes.

Another was discussing hunting.

A third was discussing himself.

Tristan considered pushing them into a river.

Then one of his friends approached.

"We got him."

Finally.

Tristan stood immediately.

Good.

He was getting tired of waiting.

Rowan made it approximately twenty more minutes before everything went wrong.

He had chosen a quieter path behind one of Blackthorn's older buildings.

A mistake.

The area was mostly abandoned.

Silent.

Hidden from the busier sections of campus.

Perfect for studying.

Or apparently royal stupidity.

A hand grabbed his shoulder.

Another caught his arm.

A third shoved him backward.

Rowan hit the wall.

Hard.

Pain shot through his shoulder.

His temper immediately followed.

"Get off me."

Nobody listened.

The noble students held him in place.

Not brutally.

Not enough to leave lasting damage.

Just enough to remind him exactly where he stood in the social hierarchy.

One of them laughed.

Another looked uncomfortable.

The third simply obeyed.

Rowan hated all three.

A few moments later, footsteps echoed through the corridor.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Confident.

Then Tristan appeared.

Perfect uniform.

Perfect posture.

Perfect expression.

The future king of Auroria.

Unfortunately.

He stopped several feet away.

The noble students released Rowan immediately.

Not because they wanted to.

Because Tristan had arrived.

The prince looked almost disappointed.

"You run surprisingly fast."

Rowan rubbed his sore shoulder.

"You chase surprisingly hard."

"That's not an answer."

"To what question."

Tristan smiled faintly.

Dangerous.

Not friendly.

Dangerous.

For the first time since arriving at Blackthorn, the polite prince disappeared.

The public mask slipped.

Just slightly.

Enough.

"Let's try this again."

Rowan already disliked where this was going.

"What?"

"Who are you?"

The question hung in the air.

Simple.

But not really.

Rowan crossed his arms.

"Someone who minds his own business."

A cold command followed.

"Name."

"Rowan."

"We covered that already."

"Then ask better questions."

The noble students winced.

Tristan's smile vanished.

Interesting.

Most people became nervous around him.

This one became sarcastic.

The prince took a step closer.

"What village?"

"Brain-Topia."

"What family?"

"The kangaroo family. Hops to its business."

"What are you hiding?"

"Am clearing showing basic common sense."

One of the noble students nearly laughed.

Then remembered who was standing beside him.

And wisely chose survival.

Tristan stared.

Rowan stared back.

Neither moved.

Neither yielded.

It felt strangely like a duel.

Just significantly less civilized.

Finally, Tristan exhaled sharply.

"You seem familiar."

"Do I get paid for that?"

"You're avoiding the point."

"It never existed."

The prince's jaw tightened.

There it was.

The thing Rowan had noticed early.

Tristan was used to answers.

Used to obedience.

Used to people adjusting themselves around him.

And for some reason—

he desperately wanted something from Rowan.

The problem?

Rowan had no intention of giving it.

"Do you know who I am?"

The question arrived suddenly.

Sharp.

Cold.

Unnecessary.

Rowan blinked.

Then laughed.

Actually laughed.

A mistake.

A terrible mistake.

"Unfortunately."

Silence.

The noble students looked horrified.

One physically stepped backward.

Tristan looked offended.

Genuinely offended.

As though reality itself had become disrespectful.

"Unfortunately?"

"You're impossible to miss."

"Most people would consider meeting me fortunate."

"There it is."

"There what is?"

"The problem."

Tristan frowned.

Rowan gestured vaguely.

"The whole prince thing."

The future king of Auroria stared.

Rowan continued.

"Everybody acts like you're the center of the world."

The corridor became silent.

Painfully silent.

Even the birds outside seemed concerned.

Then Rowan shrugged.

"You're just a student."

The silence somehow became worse.

Nobody spoke.

For several long seconds.

Then Tristan laughed.

Not because it was funny.

Because he was angry.

The dangerous kind.

The kind wrapped inside amusement.

"You're brave."

"No."

Rowan shook his head.

"Just tired."

That landed harder than any insult.

For the first time, Tristan looked at Rowan not as a curiosity.

Not as a puzzle.

Not as a familiar face.

But as a problem.

And Tristan Auroria had spent his entire life removing and eliminating problems.

A new voice suddenly echoed from the far end of the corridor.

"Ah."

Everyone turned.

A tall figure stood at the entrance.

Gray eyes.

Dark uniform.

A book tucked beneath one arm.

Cassian.

Of course.

Because apparently fate enjoyed bad timing.

Or excellent timing.

Depending on perspective.

Cassian looked from Rowan.

To the noble students.

To Tristan.

Then back to Rowan.

A pause.

Ah, what bad luck.

"Should I come back later?"

Rowan immediately pointed toward him.

"Please don't."

Cassian sighed.

The sigh of a man who had just discovered a problem.

A very annoying problem.

And unfortunately—

it appeared to be looking directly at him.