Prince Thomin blocked the ornate double doors, sunlight catching the gold trim of his Academy uniform and shining bright as if he’d positioned himself precisely for the effect. Beside him, Philippes fiddled anxiously with his cuffs, his fingers twisting the fabric as he glanced nervously between Thomin and our advancing group. Another stocky boy, clearly the replacement for the oh-so-unfortunate Rogier, shifted his stance repeatedly, trying and failing to mimic his master’s assertive posture.

  Understandable, considering the small army at my back, nearly sixty students from every course of the Academy. Their eyes darted between the fanged beastkin to the pointed ears of elves, from stocky dwarves to fellow humans, before finally settling on Libby, whose rainbow-refracting wings carried her tiny form above our assembled ranks.

  The fairy finally acquiesced to our cause. She’d been wronged during the theology entrance exam, like so many others, yet still clung to her dream of service at the Temple. Until last month, that is. Even though she was bestowed two divine favors like me, one from the Goddess of Balance, the Temple still barred her and other non-human initiates this year. That moronic decision was the last straw, spurring more theology students to join our movement.

  Our current destination lay past the insufferable Prince. The grand double doors gaped just wide enough to offer teasing glimpses of the revelry within. Golden and lilac banners adorned every wall, each one meticulously embroidered with the insignias of the Academy’s various courses. The rumble of hundreds of voices echoed from inside, where the annual admissions and graduation ceremony was in full swing.

  “What game do you think you’re playing?” Thomin demanded, one manicured hand sliding meaningfully to his ceremonial dagger.

  I widened my eyes and tilted my head, letting a sugary edge coat my words. “Merely attending the ceremony, Prince Thomin. Is there a problem?” I replied, each syllable deliberately innocent, almost taunting.

  Thomin’s cheeks reddened as his manicured finger jabbed toward our necks. “Not wearing that, you are not. It’s an insult to nobles inside. This definitely violates Academy rules.” The whole group of students was wearing identical mock slave collars, a silent army united in defiance.

  I lifted my chin and straightened my collar, feeling the cool metal-painted surface against my padded fingertips. “Oh, but it doesn’t,” I replied, savoring each word. “Every student is allowed to wear jewelry during the ceremony. We checked with the faculty to make sure.” As I spoke, I let a faint smile flicker across my lips, watching his reaction.

  “A slave collar is not jewelry!” Thomin’s voice strained, breaking with indignation as his grip tightened on the dagger.

  “Finally, something we agree on. However, these are not slave collars, you see.” I slowly traced my finger along the gleaming silver-flecked edge of my collar, looking at Thomin and noticing his eyes follow the motion. "Their design merely resembles those atrocious things."

  On my signal, a fellow student handed me an extra collar, which I presented to the Prince. “High-quality wood, metal glaze containing silver dust, and even a quartz gem at the back.” I twisted the collar, letting sunlight play on the stone as I watched his jaw tighten. “Maybe not as valuable as the extravagant jewelry ‘Your Highness’ prefers,” I added with a theatrical mockery that drew soft chuckles from the students behind me, “but as far as regulations are concerned, these collars are jewelry.”

  Thomin’s face contorted, nostrils flaring in irritation. He threw up his hands in exasperation, glared hard at me in warning, then grudgingly stepped aside.

  Feeling empowered by our careful bureaucratic maneuvering, we stepped inside the grand hall. The Academy’s largest annual gathering buzzed with the mingled voices of newly admitted students still getting used to their uniforms, second- and third-year students projecting somewhat forced confidence, and recent graduates proudly displaying their golden tassels of completion.

  On the parents' side, the air hung heavy with perfumed nobles and the earthier scents of commoners, creating an invisible boundary between social classes. Yet the shared joy of parenthood seemed to prevent the drama that normally occurs when those two groups clash. In fact, the Academy was probably the only place on the whole Morne Isles where such gatherings would regularly and peacefully take place.

  I tracked Luciana through the crowd, her golden hair catching the light like a beacon. Ulf’s broad shoulders shadowed her movements, like a lone iceberg in the ocean, his vigilant eyes never leaving her as a precautionary measure. She was already exchanging pleasantries with a circle of nobles whose stiff postures betrayed their discomfort. They couldn’t refuse a conversation with royalty, even one accompanied by a hellhound, wearing a mock slave collar that gleamed defiantly against her pale neck.

  As expected, the group’s coordinated entrance sent a visible stir through the crowd. Heads turned, conversations stalled, and gazes fixed on our matching silver-flecked collars. Satisfied, I signaled to my companions. “Remember what we discussed. Merchants, talk to your colleagues. Knights, mingle with those who look strong. Clergy, seek out people wearing divine symbols. Luciana and I will approach the nobles. Good luck.”

  I watched them disperse with satisfaction. In this world, one’s station announced itself through fabric and posture, through trinkets and speech patterns. It was quite different from my previous life, where some billionaires dressed in cotton shirts and jeans and influential politicians shared public beach sand, anonymous in their ordinary swimwear. All the students in my group have undergone countless mock debates with me, where I played the devil’s advocate. They could now dance verbal circles around most objections.

  “Time for some entrapment,” I whispered to myself.

  For the next hour, I wove through the crowd like a practiced dancer, targeting nobles with calculated precision. A combination of my past etiquette lessons and academy uniform masking my actual social status put me at an advantage. While there are very few noble beastkin, just one family in Chogueux in fact, I certainly passed as a retainer of some high-ranking noble, so nobody dismissed my attempts at conversation.

  The room brimmed mostly with viscounts and earls adorned in their family colors, while low-ranking nobles such as barons were conspicuously absent. Their purses must be too light to afford such a journey. The higher-ranking nobles, such as marquesses and dukes, were a rare sight as well. They probably had too many responsibilities on their plate, preventing them from attending. How relatable.

  A Marquess from Chogueux caught my eye, mostly because all his fingers adorned jeweled rings, which reminded me of Aunt Estrah. “Our third princess begins her studies this term. Please give her a warm welcome as a fellow student,” he mentioned, swirling amber liquid in a crystal glass. I nodded politely but slipped away when he turned to greet another noble.

  Waste of time. Chogueux is already against repealing the Accords. Instead, I drifted toward a cluster of Sonem nobles in their characteristic blue-trimmed cloaks, and later, a Veridian diplomat whose emerald brooch matched her calculating eyes. Sometimes I’ve gone through to them, and if their expressions hardened at my arguments, I pivoted to lighter topics, their children’s accomplishments and future prospects. As someone attending all four courses, I found it easy to uncover common ground with anyone.

  I was pushy, but not confrontational. More nobles needed to remember the charming beastkin fondly for what was coming next. My final cherry on top for the evening.

  And that moment was approaching fast, as Chancellor Morheim ascended the platform in the center of the hall, his shoulders slightly hunched beneath his ceremonial robes. His speech proceeded with the same deliberate blandness as last year’s. I knew now that the man could command a room when he wished, so his restraint was that out of some sort of strategy, and not weakness or lack of persuasiveness.

  “Following our treasured tradition,” he finally announced, hands clasped before him, “I will now present our three most distinguished students and graduates. First, the top graduate of the first-year class, and the first student in a hundred and twenty-seven years to simultaneously pursue all four Academy courses, Zar of the Sleeping Valley.

  I joined the Chancellor at the podium, my mock collar catching the light as I moved. The wood beneath my paws creaked slightly as I exchanged traditional bows, noting how his eyes gazed at my collar for a mere moment, and creaked slightly, betraying his jubilation at the sight. He was my secret ally in all this, after all, even if he couldn’t publicly show it due to the Academy’s neutral stance.

  As I turned to face the sea of expectant faces, I caught Luciana’s encouraging nod from the front row, while further back, Thomin’s scowl burned like a small red sun among the crowd. For a second there, I wondered what annoyed him the most: that self-proclaimed genius Prince wasn’t the top of his class, or that a mere commoner beastkin was.

  “Racism.” The very first word of my rehearsed speech achieved the desired effect. Wine glasses froze halfway to parted lips. The audience remained polite and moderately quiet before I started. Now the room held nothing but breath and the occasional sway of banners on the walls, stirred by a draft.

  “The belief in the inherent superiority of one race over all others and thereby the right of dominance of one over all others.” I continued, my voice carrying to every corner of the suddenly attentive room. I admit, I borrowed some language from speeches I remembered from my previous life, their power undimmed by the journey across worlds.

  “My response to racism is anger.” My clawed fingers curled into fists at my sides. “I have lived with that anger burning in my chest like hot coals, sometimes smoldering beneath the surface. I’ve tried to douse that anger, but instead have ended up harnessing its heat to forge something useful. And so I’ve been carrying that anger like a second heartbeat for most of my life, however short that might be.”

  “Yet I fear that one day this fire might consume me from within, leaving nothing but ash.” My tone switched to a solemn whisper. "And I think most of you would agree, the Morne Isles have had enough ash for several lifetimes.” The hook to remind people about Ashen War was in. Good speech must follow the rule of three. Repeating key ideas at least three times helps them stick.

  I swept my gaze across the hall, nobles with jeweled fingers pressed to parted lips, scholars with furrowed brows, and my fellow students with their silver-flecked collars gleaming in defiance. “I say all this with a sad awareness of the gulf that stretches between us.”

  “Do you honestly think the divine family sees us differently? Are we not all their creation? Do we not all have souls? Out of curiosity, I checked with Professor Irleophiss. He confirms it, I do have one!” A few people chuckled. “And so does everyone in this hall.”

  “I find a lot of joy in attending this Academy. I learned many things, but this doom looming on the horizon makes me itchy with fear. Fear that in two years, once I leave these esteemed halls, I might be chained and put into labor camps where all that knowledge and potential I have will be wasted. Because someone is afraid. Just like I am afraid. Yet another shared trait among us all, even if it comes from different places.”

  “Three kingdoms don’t practice slavery. You know who does? The Empire. The same Empire whose crimson-armored soldiers trampled our wheat fields to mud, whose siege engines reduced our homes to rubble, whose blades left our mothers bleeding into the scorched earth.” I locked eyes with Luciana for a moment, they were watery. I silently apologized to her before continuing. “And now certain kingdoms seem eager to mirror that same Empire in their governance, forgetting what made us strong to begin with. Forgetting how ‘all’ of our parents, mine included, defeated it in the Ashen War.”

  I raised my paw, three clawed fingers extended toward the vaulted ceiling, thumb and pinky pressed to my palm, a gesture of defiance borrowed from fiction yet perfect for this moment. The gesture flowed through the crowd, first picked up by my students with their silver-flecked collars, then more hands rose in solidarity as I continued my speech.

  “Look around you,” I commanded, my voice falling to a fierce whisper that projected to every corner of the hall. Mistress Cecile’s vocal classes certainly paid dividends now. “The three kingdoms and every soul within them, from highest noble to lowest commoner, no matter their race, must stand as one unbroken wall. Not for some poet’s idealistic dream, but because divided, we are kindling for the Empire’s ever-hungry flame.”

  More hands went up, more students who were not previously members of my movement.

  “I beseech all my fellow students, from the general studies course all the way to the lordship course, to think about this. I ask the same of their parents. Think not just of this moment, but also of the future, not just of your future, but ‘our’ future. Many here are not just naive observers, but actors.” I pivoted towards Thomin, my gaze lingering on his flushed face just long enough for the crowd to follow the invisible thread between us, his jaw tightening visibly under the pressure of hundreds of eyes.

  “You sit among us with signet rings heavy enough to drive change, yet I fear your vision for the Morne Isles would leave our lands as barren as the war-scorched plains of the eastern territories. If you are among those who can’t think of anything else but your own selfish interests, think of this. The fewer in numbers we are, the weaker we are. If we are divided, the only winner is the Empire.”

  Even more hands rose in the three-finger salute, palms weathered and soft alike, trembling with emotion or resolve. Silver rings of mages and battle scars of veteran knights caught the light as adults joined the gesture. Their faces now bore doubt and dawning conviction. From my vantage at the podium, the trend started to take shape, not yet a storm, but certainly more than a breeze.

  I bowed my head, my ears flattening briefly in a gesture of respect. “Thank you all for listening. Freshmen, welcome to the Academy! Graduates, good luck out there! Fellow students, have a great second and third year at the Academy.”

  The applause crashed over me like a wave, starting at the front rows and rolling backward until it filled the vaulted hall with thunder. Hundreds of hands striking together transformed my words from mere breath into something real, something alive. The work wasn’t over. I caught Luciana’s eye across the crowd and nodded slightly. Together, we would navigate the hall’s marble expanse, every conversation, every shared glance, every firm grip of palm against my paw. They all needed to count for something.

  Dear X.,

  There has been an occurrence in my part of town.

  A certain ally (the same one I mentioned in my last letter) gave a tremendous speech during our annual grandeur. I truly believe his words had an impact on young hearts and minds. More importantly, the speech made an impact on participating nobles, knights, and merchants.

  Some of the nobles were caught off guard and, under peer pressure, even publicly denounced the idea of repealing the Accords. I will send you their names in a separate letter with my personal aide.

  I believe the momentum is just right, and we should coordinate our joint efforts. In two weeks, I will be meeting “Her.” If you have anything I could use, please share it now. I advise you to put additional pressure on your contacts in V. to sway their opinion further away from this potential disaster.

  Sincerely yours,

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Shimmering Peafowl

  One month after my speech at the ceremony, the ripples I created have become waves crashing against the shores of power. When the word arrived that the Queen of Sonem had publicly pledged to uphold the Lokertals Accords, the dining hall erupted with such jubilation that even Professor Irleophiss heard it in his underground caverns.

  Our movement could breathe easier, though we wouldn’t disband just yet. Sonem’s stance left Veridia isolated. It couldn’t quite risk being the only kingdom to break the Accords at the risk of two kingdoms responding with legal and economic sanctions. The threat has receded, at least for now.

  As the urgent pressure eased from my shoulders, I now turned toward a long-held ambition. It was time to join a holy order, and if memory served me right, a certain captain from the Order of the Silver Helmets extended me an invitation a little over a year ago. Maybe it was time for that long-overdue chat.