Chapter 8: The Royal Nope

By the time the lunch bell echoed across the sprawling campus, Blair had reached a very solid conclusion: she was a social pariah.

It wasn’t just the beastmen glaring at her in the hallways. The human students were parting like the Red Sea whenever she approached. When she had walked into the bustling human dining hall to find Heather, a junior had literally dropped his tray and speed-walked in the opposite direction just to avoid making eye contact with her.

Heather, of course, was already holding court at a table in the center of the room, entirely unfazed. She was happily chatting up a group of older humans, her notebook open, no doubt expanding her "market research."

Blair hadn’t wanted to drag Heather down with her. If Heather’s goal was to become indispensable and land a comfortable breeding contract, being associated with the academy’s most cursed, targeted human was a terrible move.

So, Blair had quietly backed out of the dining hall doors.

She wandered the campus until she found an empty, secluded outdoor courtyard tucked between the mathematics building and the library. It was shaded by large, weeping willow trees, and most importantly, it was devoid of apex predators.

Blair sank down onto a cold stone bench, pulling her sad, gray cafeteria sandwich wrapped in wax paper from her bag.

"Just survive the day," Blair whispered to herself, taking a bite of the dry bread and mystery meat. "Keep your head down. Go to classes. Do the detentions. Go to sleep."

It sounded like a solid plan.

After finishing her lunch in blessed silence, Blair checked her schedule. Introduction to Beast World Economics. East Wing, Room 104.

She packed up her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and headed back into the maze of the academy.

She should have known her luck had run out.

The East Wing was massive, and the architecture seemed to change the further she walked. The standard white marble and tile floors gave way to plush crimson carpets and gold-leaf trim. Large, imposing portraits of Beast Kings lined the walls. The air itself felt heavier here, thick with the scent of incense and intimidating pheromones.

Blair stopped at an intersection, looking at the plaque on the wall. Royal Faction Studies. Restricted Access.

Her stomach plummeted. She had taken a wrong turn. A very, very wrong turn. The worst turn of all turns.

"Okay, just turn around," Blair muttered to herself, her heart rate spiking. "Just turn around and walk back the way you came."

She pivoted on her heel.

And froze.

Standing at the opposite end of the corridor, bathed in the sunlight streaming from a window, was Crown Prince Killian Lexur.

He wasn’t wearing his uniform blazer. He wore a dark silk shirt unbuttoned slightly at the collar, revealing the strong lines of his throat. His silver hair caught the light, and his hands were tucked casually into the pockets of his tailored trousers.

He was flanked by two tall Jackal beastmen, but Killian’s commanding, terrifying presence eclipsed them entirely.

He had stopped walking. His head was tilted slightly, his slitted, purple eyes locked dead onto Blair.

For a second, the hallway was dead silent. Blair’s brain flatlined.

Killian slowly withdrew a hand from his pocket. His jaw tightened, and his forked tongue flicked out, tasting her terror on the air. He took a slow, predatory step forward.

"You—" Killian began.

"NOPE!"

Blair screamed it from the very bottom of her exhausted, over-stressed soul. She spun on her heel, and ran as fast as her legs could carry her, her gray uniform skirt snapping around her knees.

Back in the corridor, Killian was left standing with his mouth slightly open, the word dying on his tongue.

The two Jackal beastmen behind him exchanged a bewildered, uncomfortable glance. Nobody ran from the Crown Prince. Usually, prey froze. They fell to their knees. They wept and begged.

Killian slowly closed his mouth. He raised a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose as a sharp, throbbing headache began to pulse behind his purple eyes.

He was the Apex. He was the heir to the throne. He had beastwomen throwing themselves at his feet daily, desperate for a fraction of his attention.

Yet, the one filthy, insignificant human he wanted to torment had just looked at him, screamed like he was a rabid stray dog in an alleyway, and bolted.

"Your Highness?" one of the Jackals asked hesitantly. "Shall we... retrieve the pet?"

"No," Killian hissed. His fists clenched at his sides, his ego deeply, painfully bruised. "Leave her. The anomaly will soon learn there is nowhere on this campus she can run where my shadow will not catch her."

Blair did not stop running until she crashed through the doors of the Economics classroom, completely out of breath and sweating profusely.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur of adrenaline-fueled paranoia. Every time a door opened, Blair flinched, expecting Killian to drag her out by her hair. But no one came.

When the final bell rang, Blair’s relief was short-lived. She had exactly ten minutes to report to the campus kitchens for her first punishment.

The kitchens were a nightmare. The heat was oppressive, smelling of boiling meat and heavy spices. For three grueling hours, Blair and the other human girl she had saved from the Boar stood over massive, steaming stainless-steel sinks.

They scrubbed enormous, grease-caked pots that were heavier than Blair was. The head chef, a terrifyingly large Bear beastman, barked orders and occasionally threw a wet rag at their heads if they slowed down.

By the time they were finally dismissed, Blair was a wreck.

Her back ached with a deep, throbbing pain. Her gray uniform was soaked through with soapy, greasy dishwater, clinging uncomfortably to her skin. Her hair had fallen out of its messy bun and was plastered to her sweaty forehead. She smelled strongly of old beef stew and industrial soap.

"Thank you," the other human girl whispered as they stumbled out the kitchen’s service doors into the cool evening air. "For everything. I’m sorry you got dragged into this detention with me."

"It’s fine," Blair mumbled tiredly, wiping a streak of grease from her cheek. "Just... stay safe, okay?"

The girl nodded and hurried off toward the dormitory.

Blair looked down at her watch. It was 7:45 PM.

She let out a long, miserable groan. She didn’t even have time to go back to her room and change out of her damp, foul-smelling clothes. If she was late to the armory, Professor Feron would probably execute her on the spot.

Dragging her feet, her muscles screaming in protest, Blair made the long trek to the East Wing armory.

The academic buildings were dark and empty now, the moonlight casting long, eerie shadows across the cobblestones. The temperature had dropped significantly, and Blair shivered in her wet clothes as she finally approached the iron doors of the armory.

It was exactly 7:59 PM.

Blair took a deep breath, trying to calm the sudden, erratic beating of her heart. She raised a trembling hand and pushed the door open.