49 The Crown Prince (1/2)
”Someone, something, will open the doors to the Dream and Nightmare Planes. And the critical moment will be here, in the Imperial Academy.”
A blessing or a curse, the ability to witness an unalterable future often ransacked men's minds with wild bouts of fear. And as his trembling eyelids opened to the light of the real world, Kilian didn't doubt the precision of his Revelation.
Oddly, instead of the cold ground, a cushy bed sheet supported Kilian's back, with a warm blanket wrapping his form. Jezebel lay at his right, while Lena sat at his left.
”Morning, sleepyhead,” Jezebel began, supporting her cheek in her left hand as she stared at Kilian's face. Seeing her master awaken, Lena's Hellhound heart teemed with joy, and she pounced onto Kilian, wrapping her arms around his neck.
”Master!” Lena screamed with glee. Although Jezebel ensured that this was nothing more than a temporary condition, she couldn't help but dread the worst—fearing that before she could prove her value, her master would vanish from this world.
”Hum, hum, not that I dislike the show of affection or the comfort of your breasts, but if you bury me under them for too long, even I may not survive,” Kilian jested, and instantly, Lena leaped back, smacking her face in shame.
”I'm s-”
”You apologize for wrongdoings, I didn't see any,” Kilian cut, preventing Lena from finishing her words. He then turned to face Jezebel, who all along stared at his eyes with her lips curved in a warm smile.
”Such an angelic smile does not befit a demoness,” Kilian jested, and seeing how his way of simultaneously complimenting and cussing remained unchanged, she heaved a sigh of relief.
”Humph, I'm a daemoness, not a demoness, which de facto makes me a deity. Get your facts straight,” the minx snorted in a tone mixing false loftiness and amusement.
”Humble, just how I like them. How long have I been out for?”
”Three hours, you missed the whole disembarkment, and an opportunity to befriend von Skoll blood,” Jezebel replied, and alongside Lena, proceeded to tell Kilian all that occurred during his blackout. Tristan von Skoll again attempted to pay him a visit but met his unconscious form instead.
To prevent needless talks, Jezebel blamed it on overexertion and drug abuse mid-sex. Hearing this, Kilian felt a plethora of black lines contort his brows, a frown took form.
”How many heard that explanation?” A man of clear priorities, Kilian never missed the core point, and as his hazel eyes darted between Jezebel and Lena, the former relished in her move, while the latter dared not face him.
”Everyone, of course. Due to the disembarkment, we had to give the officials an explanation. To prevent further probes, I even stressed that for you, this is a common occurrence. Fortunately, we weren't particularly discreet last night, so all bought the words.
Congratulations, you have not even set foot in the academy proper that you hold the title of number one rake and debauched lowborn student. No need to thank me,” Jezebel replied, spinning her head with impish delight. Considering that since they left the cabin, Jezebel, in public, disguised as a man, one could only imagine the current rumors.
At first, Kilian didn't know whether to laugh or cry. But then he reckoned that considering his background, such a reputation changed nothing.
At worst, it would put him in the limelight for 72 hours. Why did he keep his hair tied in dreadlocks when he knew full well the kind of attention it'd draw? Three reasons.
First, it'd serve as a signal for a certain someone. Second, reminiscence. Kilian's dreadlocks reminded him of his lost parents, they mirrored Viktor's style and were tied following Alina's guidance. Every time he faced a mirror and tied his hair, warmth surged in his chest.
Third, it didn't matter.
As long as the ”Kilian” name was followed by ”zu Verden,” the best he could hope for in the academy was ostracization. The great majority of twilight children came from a commoner background, with only a scant few picked from fallen houses.
Orphaned nobles often held disturbing claims to land and titles, or carried with them ancestral enmity. Adopting them required too many political considerations. Arcane-gifted commoners, however, brought no such burdens and had nothing to rely on beside their new parent. The choice spoke for itself.
”Never mind, better to live as Don Juan, than die the Commander,” Kilian stated, triggering a wave of confusion in Lena's mind. It was one of those moments where she wholly couldn't relate to her master's words—and if she didn't know better—would think him insane.
”The banquet should be starting as we speak. Let's go.” Without further ado, Kilian stood up, not bothering to discuss the Revelation he just went through. That could wait another time.