The stones beneath my boots echoed like hollow promises as I stepped into the South Wing of Greywatch Academy. The corridors were carved from pale-grey marble veined with gold, polished until the past could almost be seen reflected in them. Stained-glass windows cast fractured patterns of saints and sinners across the floors, bathing everything in holy light. Hilarious, considering what half the faculty had buried beneath their robes and reputations.
I took a breath, straightened my coat, and reminded myself not to strangle the next aristocrat who called "common-born." These upperclassn had a knack for sniffing out lineage like it was so divine perfu, and unfortunately for , I slled more like soot and street magic than royal blood.
But what they didn’t know was that I carried sothing rarer than nobility: restraint. And a very magical feathered pen, tucked inside my coat like a loaded dagger.
"Hey, rat."
Ah. Speak of the devil.
Three boys stood in the corridor ahead, all wearing that pretentious House of Aegis blue. The one in front, tall and draped in velvet like a discount cardinal, gave a condescending once-over. His na was Pharren—short for Pharrenwell Vaunte of House Vaunte, as he’d announced on our first day like a drunk introducing himself to a tavern wall.
I plastered on a lazy smile. "Pharren. Still confusing with soone who gives a damn, I see."
He sneered, motioning to the two henchn beside him—blonde twins with muscles for brains. "This corridor is reserved for High Sigil students. You’re in the wrong place, gutter rat."
Oh? He was going for that as well? How clique.
Internally, I sighed. I hadn’t co here to start anything. This was supposed to be reconnaissance. Blend in. Gather information. Maybe flirt with a professor if I was feeling ambitious.
But now Pharren had ruined my mood. And when my mood’s ruined, well... things tend to get feathery.
"Relax," I said, stepping closer, my boots clicking softly on the stone. "I was just admiring the stained glass. It reminds of you, Pharren. Pretty, pompous, and always cracking under pressure."
His eyes flared. "You think you’re clever?"
"Oh no," I said. "I know I’m clever. But don’t worry, that’s a common mistake among the illiterate."
The punch ca fast. Predictable. Sloppy. I stepped to the side with a theatrical sigh, letting his fist slide past my face like a breeze of incompetence.
And then I jabbed him—not hard, not enough to knock him down. Just enough to piss him off.
The twins lunged next. I ducked the first and swept the second’s legs from beneath him with my boot. He landed with a satisfying crack that echoed through the corridor.
Pharren hissed, staggered back, and reached for his wand. That was cute. He thought he still had a chance.
I pulled out the feathered pen.
It shimred faintly in the torchlight, the silver nib glinting like a secret just waiting to be confessed. One touch, one stroke of ink, and I could rewrite him entirely. But the rule was clear: I only marked those who deserved it—and only once they were defeated.
So I waited.
Pharren’s wand stuttered with light, trying to gather a spell. His hands trembled. Good. Fear always looked better than arrogance on people like him.
I lunged. He blocked the first strike, but not the second. My fingers caught his wrist, yanked it forward, and twisted until the wand dropped to the floor with a clatter.
He gasped. I pressed him against the wall, the feathered pen poised just beneath his chin.
"Let’s be clear," I whispered, "you’re not losing to because I’m strong. You’re losing because you’re stupid."
He squird. Sweat trickled down his temple. I drew the pen slowly across the side of his neck, a single line of shimring ink trailing down like a kiss turned razor.
His body arched, twitched, and then... the magic sank in.
The transformation was never instantaneous. It always started small.
The sharpness in his jaw softened. His body tightened in odd, subtle ways—muscle lines pulled taut, waist cinched, hips tilted inward. His voice cracked as he tried to speak.
I leaned back, letting the spell unravel him.
"What... what did you...?"
"Shhh," I said. "Let it happen."
The twins scrambled to their feet behind , staring in horror as their leader lted into a new shape. I turned to them slowly.
"Run," I said, and to their credit, they did.
Once the change settled, Pharren stood there blinking, uncertain, his limbs still shaking. He was... quite pretty now. Even by my standards. The harshness in his face had dissolved into sothing almost delicate. He looked confused, vulnerable, and just a bit turned on.
God, I loved my job.
Back at the townhouse, the fire crackled warmly. Roderick had his feet up on the coffee table, a cup of steaming black tea in one hand and a smug smirk on his lips. Jules was lying on his stomach on the rug, legs swaying, flipping through a smutty novel he’d stolen from the library.
I entered like a general returning from campaign.
Elian greeted with a wolf whistle. "So... who was it this ti?"
I tossed my coat over a chair. "Pharren Vaunte. House Aegis. Looks like a lost porcelain doll now. You’re welco."
Jules squealed with laughter. "Did he cry?"
"Almost. I’m sure he will later, once the urges hit."
Miko, always the quiet one, spoke without looking up from his corner. "He’ll be missed in the dueling club."
"I’m doing them a favor," I said, flopping onto the couch beside Roderick. "Less grunting. More grace."
Roderick chuckled. "So what’s next? The Council?"
I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of the fire seep into my bones. "Not yet. Let the gossip stew a bit. We want curiosity, not panic."
Elian leaned over the back of the couch, trailing a finger down my neck. "You’re glowing, you know. That look you get after a fresh conquest. Kinda hot."
I cracked one eye open. "Careful. I might think you’re flirting."
He grinned. "I might be."
Jules chid in. "You say that like it’s a threat."
And just like that, the room filled with laughter—warm, teasing, wicked.
My kingdom-in-progress.
Each one of them had started out the sa—bullies, snobs, bastards. And yet here they were, reford and radiant, lounging on velvet and silk, loyal and lethal.
I wasn’t turning them out of lust. I was turning them into sothing better.
But deep down, I knew it couldn’t stay this simple. The Academy was watching. The Council would start to notice. And then there was the church who lurked in the shadows. I couldn’t just turn every enemy into an ally. Eventually, I’d have to play bigger gas—politics, history, prophecy.
Maybe even fate.
But not tonight. Tonight, the fire was warm. The room slled like cinnamon and lavender oil. Soone—probably Jules—was boiling sothing scandalous in the kitchen.
And I? I was content.
For now.
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