The lights in the royal wing flickered again—once, twice—and then steadied into a cold, bluish glow. Not warm like the student wings. Not bright like the faculty halls.
This lighting was clinical.
Deliberate.
Royal Office lighting.
Horace froze mid-step.
Rowan stopped typing.
Cassian straightened sharply, jaw clenched.
Chandler muttered, "Tell me that's not what I think it is."
It was.
We all felt it before we heard it.
A shift in the air pressure.
A faint metallic taste.
A scent like sharp steel and cold wind.
Lucian.
He was inside the Academy.
Rowan's tablet vibrated. He checked it, eyes widening.
"Oh, that's—no. No, no, no. He didn't come alone."
Cassian's voice dropped.
"What do you mean he didn't come alone?"
Rowan turned the screen toward us.
A full Royal Office escort unit, marked with red-class access—
the highest level any civilian academy could receive.
Photographed entering through the main gate.
And leading them—
Lucian Frinton.
Tall.
Composed.
Expression unreadable.
Eyes cold even on camera.
Horace inhaled slowly through his nose, trying not to stiffen.
Trying not to show fear.
But I felt it.
In the way his fingers curled slightly.
In the way he shifted his weight.
In the way his scent tightened in the air—strained and protective.
Chandler stepped closer to me, muttering,
"Okay. I officially hate his face."
Cassian didn't speak.
His entire body went still.
Rowan swallowed. "He's here to retrieve Elleanore."
Horace's voice sharpened instantly.
"No. He's here to take her."
A loud announcement echoed through the building:
"Attention students and staff.
The Royal Office is now conducting emergency protocol checks.
Remain in your designated wings.
All unauthorized movement will be detained."
Chandler groaned. "Great. Babysitting orders from the throne."
Cassian whispered tightly,
"Horace, we need to move. Now."
But Horace didn't move.
He closed his eyes for a moment—just one second—collecting himself.
Then he looked directly at me.
"Elleanore."
My heart hammered.
"Yes?"
"If you feel anything strange…" he said quietly, "anything at all—tell me immediately."
I nodded.
Because even now—
before seeing Lucian in person—
I could feel something wrong in the air.
A buzzing.
A weight.
A pull that wasn't mine.
Chandler looked around nervously.
"I don't hear Aiden. That's… somehow even worse."
Rowan agreed quietly,
"If Lucian's here, Aiden's instinct is going to react."
Cassian's fist tightened.
"If Lucian gets near him—"
"He won't," Horace said firmly.
But Rowan shook his head.
"It's not that simple."
Horace turned sharply.
"Explain."
Rowan hesitated.
"It has to do with scent hierarchy."
Cassian tensed.
Rowan continued quietly,
"Omega scent triggers Alpha instinct.
But a royal Alpha—especially one like Lucian—triggers something different."
Chandler frowned.
"Like what?"
Rowan looked directly at me.
"Submission."
My breath caught.
Cassian reacted instantly. "No. No—Elleanore is NOT—"
Rowan cut him off.
"I'm not saying she'll submit. I'm saying her scent will react. Automatically. Instinctively."
Horace stepped between me and Rowan, eyes sharp.
"That doesn't matter. We're not letting Lucian near her."
Rowan nodded quickly.
"I know. I just—I needed you all to understand the danger."
Chandler rubbed the back of his neck.
"So basically, if this guy breathes near her—she could faint?"
"…potentially," Rowan admitted.
Cassian snapped,
"Then we keep her out of scent range."
Horace nodded.
"Exactly."
He turned to me again.
"Elleanore, stay close."
I nodded, gripping the snowdrop charm around my neck.
Rowan checked his tablet.
"He's heading to the Headmaster's office first. That gives us a little time."
Cassian shook his head.
"Not enough."
Chandler asked, "So what's the plan? Keep running in circles until he leaves?"
Horace's voice lowered.
"No."
He turned toward a door on the far right of the wing.
A door marked with a small gold crest.
Cassian paled.
"That room?"
Rowan blinked.
"You're not serious."
Even Chandler stopped cracking jokes.
I looked between them.
"What's in that room?"
Horace hesitated.
Then he opened the door.
The Hidden Royal Chamber
The room inside wasn't large.
It wasn't ornate.
It wasn't like the immaculate study earlier.
It was darker.
Colder.
Almost empty.
Just a circular platform in the center, surrounded by faint glowing lines etched into the floor.
A private scent ward.
A forbidden one.
Rowan whispered,
"Horace… that's a containment circle."
Chandler blinked.
"A what?"
Cassian explained quietly,
"It's a scent-neutralizing chamber for Omegas. Illegal for academies. Only royalty can use it."
Chandler's jaw dropped.
"Wait—you want to put her in a fancy cage—?!"
Horace snapped,
"It's not a cage."
His voice softened slightly.
"It's protection."
Cassian frowned.
"It's still a risk."
Rowan agreed.
"It can mess with scent receptors if used too long."
Chandler pointed at the glowing lines.
"Yeah, no offense, but this room looks like the start of every horror movie ever—"
Horace looked at me.
Really looked.
"Elleanore," he said softly,
"You decide.
No one else."
My throat tightened.
I stepped forward slowly.
"I'll only go in if—"
He stepped closer, eyes steady.
"Yes?"
"…you stay with me."
Horace froze.
Just for a moment.
Then his voice softened—deepened—into something that made my stomach twist.
"Then I'll stay."
My heartbeat tripped.
Chandler muttered something like,
"Okay, I didn't expect to feel single in a crisis, but here we are—"
Cassian glared at him silently.
Rowan adjusted the tablet.
"We have maybe ten minutes before Lucian finishes with the Headmaster."
Horace nodded and guided me gently toward the platform.
"Elleanore," he said quietly,
"This room neutralizes all scents except your natural one. That means—"
"I'll be exposed."
"Yes."
Raw.
Unfiltered.
Unmasked.
My pulse stuttered.
Horace gently took my face in his hands.
Warm. Steady. Careful.
"I won't let you fall," he murmured.
"I swear it."
I believed him.
Even when the chamber lights began to hum.
Even when the circle glowed brighter.
Even when my chest tightened from the shift in the air.
Horace didn't move his hands.
"Breathe with me," he whispered.
I did.
Slow.
Careful.
Steady.
Rowan watched the readings.
Cassian guarded the door.
Chandler paced like a restless wolf.
Horace stood in front of me—
calm
warm
focused.
Then everything shifted.
The air sharpened.
The pressure changed.
My pulse fluttered wildly.
"Elleanore?" Horace whispered, eyes widening.
I barely heard him.
Because the moment the chamber reached full activation—
something inside me cracked open.
A swell of warmth.
A trembling pull.
A dizzying rush of instinct.
My scent.
Not masked.
Not hidden.
Released.
Cassian staggered.
Chandler cursed and grabbed the wall.
Rowan nearly dropped his tablet.
Horace inhaled sharply, eyes blown wide.
"Elleanore…"
His voice dropped into something deeper—
something overwhelmed
something unguarded.
I didn't get to react.
Because at that exact moment—
BOOM.
Someone slammed against the outer door.
Hard.
Rowan's eyes flew wide.
Cassian froze.
Chandler stepped in front of us.
Horace snapped back to himself instantly—
placing both arms around me, shielding me completely.
"Elleanore—don't move."
My breath trembled.
Through the heavy door—
through the walls—
through the sealed royal wing—
a voice drifted in.
Cold.
Precise.
Unhurried.
And horribly familiar.
"Horace.
Open the door."
Lucian.
Bloodline Confrontation
Lucian's voice slid under the door like a knife made of cold wind.
"Horace.
Open. The door."
The room went silent.
Not empty—
tense.
Held.
Like every breath could shatter the air.
Cassian froze mid-step.
Chandler swore and tightened his fist around the closest object—a rolled tapestry weight.
Rowan's fingers hovered above his tablet, but even he seemed afraid to type.
But Horace—
Horace didn't move at all.
He kept both arms wrapped around me, steady and protective. The glow of the scent-neutralizing chamber cast shadows across his cheekbones, making him look both younger and more terrifying at the same time.
"Elleanore," he murmured, barely audible,
"do not speak."
I nodded, pulse hammering under my skin.
Because I could feel it.
Lucian's presence.
Not physically—
but through the door, through the air, through instinct.
His scent.
Cold metal.
Clipped air.
A sterile chill that felt like it came from somewhere higher than a throne.
It scraped against something deep inside me—
not attraction, not fear, not recognition.
Something older.
Darker.
Biological.
An urge to lower my gaze.
To go still.
To submit.
I fought it.
My nails dug into Horace's sleeve.
He noticed instantly.
"Elleanore," he whispered, voice rough,
"I'm right here. Focus on me."
I tried.
But the pressure from the other side of the door grew heavier.
A shadow spilled under the doorway—
Lucian's silhouette.
"Horace."
A little firmer.
A little colder.
"Avoiding eye contact is beneath you."
Chandler muttered under his breath,
"Look at him? I'd rather lick a drain."
Cassian shot him a sharp look—
but even he couldn't hide how pale he'd gone.
Lucian spoke again.
"I know she's in there."
Horace's grip around me tightened.
Rowan whispered, barely audible,
"He can smell her. Even through the suppression field."
Cassian whispered back, shaky,
"Or he can smell Horace reacting to her."
Chandler grimaced.
"That's even worse."
Horace straightened, jaw locking.
"Lucian," he called back, voice calm but edged with steel,
"you're trespassing into my wing."
Lucian's chuckle sliced the air—
quiet, dismissive, cold.
"Your wing.
That's cute."
Horace stiffened.
Lucian's shadow shifted.
He leaned slightly closer to the door.
"Let's not play games, little brother.
I've come for the Omega."
A sharp, electric pulse rippled across the chamber.
Cassian flinched. "He didn't even pretend. He just—he just said it."
Rowan swallowed, whispering,
"Lucian doesn't pretend."
Chandler moved to the door, raising the tapestry weight like he was prepared to fight the Crown Heir of the country with a decorative stick.
He growled low,
"I swear, if he puts a single finger through that door—"
Horace didn't turn, didn't raise his voice, didn't even breathe deeper.
But every muscle in his back tensed around me.
"You're not getting her," he said.
Slow.
Cold.
Final.
A long silence followed.
Then—
"Open the door, Horace."
Horace didn't move.
Lucian's voice sharpened.
Like a quiet blade.
"This is not a request."
Horace finally spoke louder, voice ringing through the chamber.
"She's under my protection."
A pause.
Then Lucian laughed softly,
the most horrifying sound I had ever heard.
"Yes."
A sigh.
"Your protection.
And yet Elliot Fonze died anyway."**
Cassian made a strangled sound—half rage, half grief.
Chandler slammed the tapestry weight against the wall.
"HE DID NOT JUST—"
But Horace's reaction surprised all of us.
He didn't yell.
He didn't lunge.
He inhaled.
Slowly.
And when he exhaled—
the entire temperature of the room dropped.
"Lucian," Horace said, voice low,
"open your mouth again,
and I will forget you are my blood."
Even Rowan froze.
Lucian didn't seem shaken—
but his silence meant something.
Something dangerous.
"Horace," he said quietly,
"I'm entering now."
Rowan's eyes flew wide.
"Horace—he has override access!
You won't slow him down!"
Horace pushed me gently back into the center of the containment circle.
"Elleanore—listen to me.
No matter what happens, do not step outside this circle."
"Horace—"
His hand cupped my cheek.
"Trust me," he whispered.
It shook something inside me.
But before I could answer—
CLICK.
The door's locks began sliding open.
One by one.
Heavy iron latches pushed back.
Cassian stepped in front of the door, fists clenched.
Chandler took position beside him, shoulders squared.
Rowan typed furiously.
"Horace—if he steps inside, things escalate beyond academy jurisdiction—!"
"I know," Horace said calmly.
"Your father—"
"I know."
"Your future—"
"I know."
"Elleanore—"
"I KNOW."
Rowan went silent.
Because Horace wasn't bluffing.
He was choosing.
Choosing me.
Even if it meant choosing war.
Thud.
The final lock released.
The door began to open.
Cassian tensed.
Chandler gripped the tapestry weight like a club.
Rowan stepped back, tablet raised.
Horace didn't move.
And then—
Lucian stepped inside.
Lucian Frinton
He was taller than Horace.
Sharper.
Paler in a way that felt too precise, like he'd been carved out of marble instead of born.
His eyes were the most unsettling part—
silver, cold, alive with something calculating.
And beneath everything—
his scent.
Cold metal.
Winter wind.
Command.
My pulse spiked painfully.
The containment circle counteracted most of the instinct—
but not all.
Horace noticed immediately and stepped closer to me, shielding me from Lucian's direct gaze.
Lucian's eyes flicked to him.
"Really?" he said softly.
"You're standing in front of her like a guard dog."
Horace's tone cut like ice.
"Say what you came to say."
Lucian stepped further in.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
Rowan's throat bobbed.
Cassian's knuckles whitened.
Chandler whispered, "He stinks like a freezer aisle."
Lucian ignored them completely.
His eyes found me.
And the world narrowed.
"Elleanore Fonze."
My breath hitched sharply.
Cassian lunged forward—
Horace caught him with one arm without looking away from Lucian.
Lucian tilted his head slightly.
"I've been looking forward to meeting you."
Horace stepped closer, blocking his line of sight.
"You approach her again," Horace said quietly,
"and I will end you."
Lucian's eyebrow lifted.
"End me?
Horace—
you can't even beat me."
Chandler threw up his hands.
"Oh, great, he's smug. Of course he's smug."
Cassian growled,
"You dragged Elliot.
You killed him."
Lucian barely glanced at him.
"I neutralized a threat."
Cassian almost lunged again.
Chandler had to drag him back.
Rowan whispered fiercely,
"Elleanore—don't look at him. Don't breathe too deeply. Stay with Horace's scent."
I tried.
I did.
But Lucian stepped closer, and something inside me twisted again.
Not willingly—instinctively.
Lucian's voice lowered, almost gentle.
"You were never meant to be hidden, Elleanore.
Your scent—your compatibility—
you are the key to the future of our bloodline."
Horace snarled,
"She is not your key."
Lucian smiled faintly.
"But she is."
He tried to step forward—
Horace blocked him.
Lucian's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Move."
"No."
Lucian took a slow breath.
And for the first time—
his scent sharpened.
Not outward.
Not dominating.
It aimed directly at me.
Cold metal sliced through my senses.
I staggered.
Chandler cursed.
Cassian shouted.
Rowan yelled, "HORACE, SHE'S REACTING!"
Horace reacted instantly.
His hands cupped the sides of my face, pulling my gaze away from Lucian.
"Elleanore—look at me."
The world swam.
"Horace—"
"Right here," he whispered.
"Stay with me. Breathe with me."
Lucian's voice slid behind him, amused.
"Interesting.
She reacts faster than I expected."
Horace snapped—
"I SAID STOP LOOKING AT HER!"
The chamber lights flared—
the containment circle pulsed—
the air crackled—
Horace's scent burst through the neutralizing field, warm and fierce and unmistakably protective.
Lucian's expression changed.
Just slightly.
"Well," he murmured.
"That complicates things."
Horace kept holding my face, grounding me, shielding me, anchoring me to him instead of Lucian.
"Elleanore," he whispered,
"you're safe.
I promise.
I'm not letting him take you."
And for the first time since Elliot's death—
I believed someone could actually stop Lucian.
I believed him.
Lucian straightened.
His eyes darkened.
"You are making a mistake, Horace."
Horace didn't release me.
"No," he said quietly.
"You did."
Lucian's gaze sharpened like breaking ice.
And the first true confrontation between them began.