Room 304

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.

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