From the transcript of the interrogation of Florian Quinn by the Academy Prime: “My loyalty to the Academy is absolute, sir.”

  Florian Quinn, heir to House Quinn, Prince of a Royal Bloodline, ate breakfast like everyone else.

  His fancy name and title might even mean something, too, if not for the fact that his family functionally and privately disowned him. Oh, they couldn’t do such things publicly, no, that would dishonour the family name and might even lower their standing in the eyes of the Royal Courts. But privately?

  He didn’t mean to discover the ledgers. What else was he supposed to do? Let his father be harmed, maimed or killed? He’d heard a commotion in the old man’s study and raced in, kitchen knife drawn for a fight. He’d trained in martial arts since he could walk.

  Except when he burst into the study, he saw no evidence of fighting. Only love.

  The woman his father had bent over the desk was not his mother.

  In his haste to exit the luxurious study, he’d stumbled and fell on notebooks - inadvertently kicking one out the door into the sparkling clean hallway - and loose papers and other things that must have occupied the space on his father’s desk before the brunette’s forearms replaced them.

  Florian scrambled from the study, falling to his bottom on a pile of loose papers, dragging more of them out the door with him. He crumpled against the nearest wall and tossed aside a childhood drawing he’d done, one depicting him as a boy holding his father and his mother’s hands, and saw a notebook that looked like it didn’t belong. He’d relived that moment in agonizing detail a dozen times and he still couldn’t rationalize his decision to open it. If he’d only walked away.

  The notebook that caught his eye, alone in the hallway showed signs of age, fraying pages, old ink, a scent of moisture that didn’t quite sting his nostrils. The cramped penmanship within the pages could only be one thing.

  Names. Dates. Amounts or favours owed. The list of names froze Florian in his tracks. Some of the most powerful people in the realm - Salvatore Marco, James Greer, Caitlynn Stutter, Jacques Savard among others - owed his family money or favours. In the case of Greer and Stutter, they owed copious amounts of both.

  Twenty minutes later and bringing a smell Florian hoped never to smell on his father down the hall, his father exiled him to the furthest wing of the home and told him he had to be out, permanently, come the new school term. Florian couldn't look away from the notebook even as his father chastised him. He’d have to pick a school and go. No more Quinn Manor, no more private tutoring. Eventually, his father would put out a missive renouncing Florian from the family line and announcing his brother as the new heir.

  The Saberwyn Academy’s term began before other specialty schools so he thought if he’d failed to secure entry to the Academy, he could find something else to take him in.

  Coincidentally, he hadn’t seen nor spoken to his mother since that day.

  “You guys want to go to get our schedules now? I was thinking we should wait until later to avoid the rush,” Florian said, once he cleared his breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, pancakes and coffee. He ate mechanically.

  Lane smirked, then teased Florian in his deep, rumbling voice. “You just want to avoid that girl who scowled at you. If someone looked at me that way I’m pretty sure I’d piss myself. Wait, did you…?”

  “Oh, will you shut up,” Florian rolled his eyes at his new dorm-mate.

  Florian stood tall, but Lane stood wide. He’d grown up in a rough part of the world and had to literally fight for his life at times. That’s how he’d acquired the deep voice and the several scars leading downward on his throat. All he’d said was that he’d won that fight. Florian didn’t understand how winning a fight could be humanly possible while emerging with an altered voice box and six slashes on your neck but Lane was adamant in his victory.

  His other roommate, Thaddeus, stood a hand shorter than Florian, wide but not as muscled as Lane with a bit of a paunch. Despite being in his early twenties, Thaddeus’s hair at the back noticeably thinned. “Later is fine. Let’s try and find the library or something.”

  “The library?” Lane’s eyes widened. “Dude, it’s the first day. Let’s chase some tail or something fun. Not the fucking library.”

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  “There could be tail at the library,” Florian supplied, despite not really wanting to go to the library either. He’d learned from his tutors that making everyone feel valued fostered a positive atmosphere better than anything else.

  “That’s true,” Thad agreed. His skin, a rich ebony, accented the color scheme of the Death Dealers very well indeed, the white skull logo prominently stitched on the breast of his collared shirt.

  “Why do you want to go to the library anyway?” Lane asked, still showing hints of disbelief at the suggestion.

  Thad shrugged. “Figured we’d scout it out, I mean, we’ll be there a lot. Thought it would be smart to pick a favourite table. Plus, I heard they have some pretty great manifests on Rotspawn-,”

  Florian withheld a smile.

  “A favourite library table?” Lane’s deep voice sounded scandalized. “Okay. Okay. There is no way. You must be a virgin.”

  At that, Florian did snort. He did so into his coffee, but he couldn’t hold back.

  Thad’s eyes widened.

  Before Florian could chastise Lane for his lack of tact, Lane seemed to realize what he’d said. “I’m sorry,” he offered. “Bad joke. Shouldn’t have said that.”

  “All good,” Thad responded, eyes returning to normal. “I am, for the record.”

  Lane nodded. “Probably for the best. Women bring nothing but trouble. Isn’t that right, pretty boy?”

  “Yeah, much more trouble than they’re worth,” Florian agreed with a small smile.

  They finished their coffee, deliberately taking their time waiting for the mess hall to clear out. Florian watched the scowling Grinnrock girl leave with her friends, convinced he noticed the raven-haired one’s eyes linger a little longer on Lane.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” Lane announced. “I think we should go to the library. You okay with that, Flo?”

  Florian really didn’t want to go to the library but he understood the intention behind Lane’s offer. So, he sucked it up. “Sounds good, you guys ready?”

  They left the mess hall and walked toward the library, only stopping twice to ask an older student with the five coloured arm bands for directions. The creators of the school evidently thought the library to be a foundational part of the school as its central location could be entered using four different doors.

  Florian’s eyes settled on the library’s entrance when he heard someone call his full name. He turned around.

  A meek young man holding a clipboard looked expectantly at Florian. He adjusted his glasses, using one finger to push the bridge back up his nose.

  “You good?” Lane asked.

  “Yeah, go on, I'll find you guys,” Florian responded. “Try not to get into too much trouble. It’s the second day.”

  A cheeky grin was his reply.

  Florian jogged to the man who immediately started explaining. “My name is Ashton and I’m from the administrator’s office, Mr. Quinn, there has been an issue. Would you come with me?”

  “An issue?” Florian quizzed the man, tilting his head to one side. “What do you mean, an issue?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Quinn,” Ashton said, pointing to his clipboard apologetically. “I’ve only been told to get you to come with me.”

  Florian looked back at the library’s entrance through the door where his friends disappeared. He shrugged. He’d find them later.

  “Okay, Ashton. Lead the way.”

  Ashton spun on his heel and led Florian through the halls expertly. Florian wished Ashton would move slightly to one side, or nearer to the windows. The man smelled like he’d been running errands all day.

  As they walked, Florian’s mind drifted. He had been here one night, what could he possibly have done? He’d acted exactly as Professor Lawrence instructed the previous evening, eating enough food for a horse and then washing and going to bed. Well, the instructions were from Professor Lawrence, delivered from Professor Bonetti’s mouth. But still. He did as he was told.

  They weaved deeper into the castle, windows becoming more seldom. Were they going back to the Death Dealer common area? The aesthetic turned more gothic the deeper they dove into the castle. They took a staircase down a level which only served to elongate the shadows of the flickering torches.

  Eventually, Ashton found his target. “Through here,” he ordered, then spun again on his heel and harried away.

  “Right, then,” Florian announced to nobody in particular before stepping into the room that turned out to be Professor Bettina Lawrence’s office.

  She sat behind a black desk, scribbling notes. Florian awkwardly took the seat in front of her desk, waiting for Professor Lawrence to acknowledge his presence. She did not. The only sound she made came from the scratching of the ink pen on parchment.

  Florian tried to hold her focus until she finished, he’d grown up with his father doing much the same thing, refusing to acknowledge him until he’d decided the proper time. It was a classic power move, but Florian didn’t see the need for it and as such, didn’t respect it. So his eyes wandered around the room, around the Professor’s various things. A large skull portrait hung behind her, but curiously no fire burned in the hearth. Perhaps he’d been too nervous to notice the cold but now that he’d noticed he began to feel it. He pushed it aside.

  Florian liked the style of the Professor’s desk, it looked like the black wood had bone inlays on the outside. That couldn’t have been cheap. The Professor’s scepter leaned against the desk, a short black piece of polished wood with the skull logo attached to the top of it.

  Forcing himself not to recoil after noticing the reflection from the torches highlight a long, thin dagger, Florian simply looked at other things.

  He noticed a half dozen items he couldn’t even begin to guess their function, including something that seemed to be a tube of some sort, something else with a singular feather jutting from its head and a series of creepy looking dolls carved from wood. Just when he began to daydream about their purpose, Professor Lawrence looked up.

  “Mr. Quinn. We need to have a conversation.”