Chapter 6: You Didn’t Know She was Claimed?

An hour later, the History classroom was dead quiet, save for the pathetic sounds of a predator feeling very sorry for himself.

Garth, the Boar beastman, sat slumped against the chalkboard, nursing a rapidly swelling jaw and a groin that throbbed with a vengeance. He had a torn piece of his own shirt pressed to his nose to stop the bleeding.

"Crazy human bitch," Garth hissed, his words slurring through his busted lip. He gingerly touched the knot forming on his forehead where the broom handle had connected. "I’m going to rip her arms off. I’m going to find her tomorrow, drag her into the woods, and break every bone in her—"

Click.

The lock on the classroom door slid shut.

Garth froze. The hair on his thick arms stood on end. He slowly lowered the bloody rag from his face.

The afternoon sun had set, leaving the room bathed in shadows. But Garth could see them. Two figures stepped out from the darkest corner of the classroom, moving with a silent grace that made the Boar’s blood run cold.

They were twins. Jackal beastmen, tall and dressed in tailored suits of emerald and silver: the colors of the royal house.

"Who... who are you?" Garth stammered, his bravado evaporating instantly. He tried to push himself up, but his bruised body screamed in protest. "The building is supposed to be empty."

"It is empty," the first Jackal said. His voice was smooth and devoid of emotion.

"Save for the garbage that needs taking out," the second Jackal finished, a pleasant smile on his face that didn’t reach his eyes.

They began to walk down the center aisle, their footsteps silent.

"Whatever faction you’re from, I didn’t do anything to your territory!" Garth panicked.

"You are under the mistaken impression that we care about your excuses," the first Jackal said, stopping at the edge of the professor’s desk.

"Or your pathetic life," the second added, stepping to the side, boxing Garth in. "But you committed a very grave offense today, Garth of the Boar clan."

Garth’s small, dark eyes darted between them. "What? What did I do? I just tried to play with a couple of human pets! That’s not a crime!"

"It is," the first Jackal whispered, his eyes glowing a faint, eerie yellow in the dark, "when you reach for a toy that has already caught the eye of the Crown Prince."

Garth’s heart stopped. All the air left his lungs.

"The... the Crown Prince?" Garth wheezed, his eyes widening in terror. "No. No, no, no. There’s a mistake. I didn’t know! I didn’t know he wanted the human! She’s a nobody! Please, tell His Highness I didn’t know!"

"His Highness does not require your apologies," the second Jackal said, pulling a long, curved silver blade from the inside of his suit jacket. It glinted in the faint moonlight.

"Please!" Garth sobbed, reduced to a blubbering mess, crawling backward on the floor. "I won’t look at her! I won’t go near her! I’ll transfer out of the academy! Just let me live!"

"Oh, you are going to live," the first Jackal smiled, stepping forward and gripping Garth by the throat, lifting him halfway off the floor.

"The Prince simply requested we leave a permanent reminder," the second Jackal whispered, stepping in close and raising the silver blade. "To ensure you always remember your place when looking at what belongs to him."

Garth’s scream echoed through the empty academic tower, though no one came to investigate. At Apex Academy, you learned very quickly to ignore the sounds of prey.

Half a mile away, in the highest spire of the exclusive Royal Faction House, the air was thick with the scent of expensive cigars and aged whiskey.

The VIP lounge was a sanctuary for the apex of the nobility. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over plush velvet sofas and mahogany tables. It was loud, filled with the laughter and boastful roars of the most powerful beastmen in the world.

But in the center of the room, sitting on a high-backed leather throne, Crown Prince Killian Lexur looked utterly bored.

Killian swirled the amber liquid in his crystal glass, his chin resting on his knuckles. His silver hair fell perfectly around his sharp, sculpted features. His purple, slitted eyes stared blankly at the roaring fire across the room.

He was surrounded by sycophants and lesser nobles desperate for a fraction of his attention, but Killian barely registered their presence.

Instead, his mind was annoyingly snagged on a face.

He looked down at his blazer. He had changed it immediately, of course, throwing the wrinkled one into the incinerator. But he could still feel the phantom sensation of those desperate, tiny human hands gripping his lapels. She had actually touched him. A filthy, insignificant lesser had dared to put her hands on the future Beast King.

Killian’s jaw tightened. His forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air.

He should have killed her right there in the courtyard. It would have been well within his rights.

It was an irritation he fully intended to rectify. She was the anomaly who dared to score only one less than him. The arrogant little pest who thought she could exist in his world.

The doors of the lounge opened. The twin Jackals stepped inside, moving silently through the crowd until they reached Killian’s throne.

They bowed low.

"It is done, Your Highness," the first Jackal murmured quietly.

"The Boar will only be seeing half the world from now on," the second added with a slight smirk. "He sends his deepest regrets."

Killian took a slow sip of his whiskey and gave a small nod of dismissal. The Jackals bowed again and left.

"Killian, darling!"

The shrill, melodic voice cut through the loud atmosphere of the lounge.

Killian repressed a sigh as Rain Tegret slithered into his line of sight. The Snake beastwoman was undeniably beautiful, dressed in a backless, shimmering green gown that clung to her curves like a second skin. Her dark hair was slicked back, and her green eyes sparkled with hungry ambition.

"Rain," Killian acknowledged, his voice a flat drawl. "You are loud tonight."

"And you are brooding," Rain purred, draping herself over the arm of his leather chair. She leaned in close, ensuring he had a perfect view of her cleavage, her musky perfume masking the scent of the whiskey. "We haven’t spoken since the entrance exams. I missed you."

"We grew up in the same palace, Rain. We have spoken enough for one lifetime," Killian replied, his eyes never leaving the fireplace.

Rain pouted, unfazed by his coldness. She was used to it. "You’re just tense. The academy is so dreadfully dull. Although, I did bring a new toy to keep myself entertained."

She gave a sharp tug on the chain wrapped around her wrist.

From behind her, a figure crawled forward on its hands and knees.

It was a human male, no older than twenty. He was wearing nothing but ragged, torn trousers. A thick iron collar was locked tightly around his neck, connected to Rain’s chain. The man’s body was a canvas of bruises, bite marks, and deep, healing scratches. His eyes were vacant, staring blankly at the floor, broken.

When he didn’t move fast enough, Rain kicked him sharply in the ribs with her stiletto.

The human let out a pathetic whimper, scurrying forward to position himself next to her chair. With a laugh, Rain propped her heels onto the man’s bleeding back, using him as a footstool.

"Got him from the labor camps," Rain boasted, taking a champagne flute from a passing waiter. "He’s got decent stamina, but he cries too much. I’ll probably have him put down before midterms."

Killian slowly dragged his purple eyes away from the fire, looking down at the broken human man beneath Rain’s feet.

There was no pity in Killian’s gaze.

This was the natural order of things. Humans were weak, fragile creatures meant to be used and discarded by apex predators.

"Did you see the broadcast, Killian?" Rain continued, oblivious to his detachment. "That human girl. Blair Willows. Scoring second place? It’s an insult to the crown. A human shouldn’t even be allowed to hold a pencil, let alone sit in a classroom with us."

At the mention of the name, Killian’s grip on his crystal glass tightened just a fraction.

"She’s probably some ugly, mutated rat," Rain sneered, taking a sip of her champagne. "I hope they assign her to the kitchens so I can have my guys break her fingers."

Killian looked at Rain.

"No," he whispered, his voice smooth and deadly. "No one is going to break her fingers, Rain."

Rain blinked, confused. "No?"

"No," Killian repeated. He took a slow sip of his whiskey, savoring the burn. "Because she belongs to me."