Chapter 1: Welcome to Coveén
Blair Blightsteen hated velvet.
The ruby-red dress clung to her like a second skin, itching and suffocating under the silver-stitched corset that her mother had insisted she wear. Her hair had been braided and twisted into something that looked like it belonged on a wedding cake, and her matching heels clicked too loudly on the polished marble as she stalked through the endless hallway of House Blightsteen's estate.
"You will not embarrass us, Blair," her mother had said that morning, brushing nonexistent lint from Blair's shoulder while refusing to meet her eye. "You are a High Fae of respectable lineage. You will smile. You will be charming. You will make Vain like you."
She hadn't said what happens if he doesn't. She hadn't needed to.
Blair tugged at her gloves, the silk clinging to her palms, and fought the urge to scream.
Vain Liraeth. A name she had heard since childhood, whispered at formal dinners and political functions like a prophecy. The perfect match. The future leader. A highblood from one of the Thirteen Royal Houses, and unfortunately, her betrothed.
She'd never met him.
Now, thanks to a brilliantly manipulative scheme from her parents, she was being sent to Coveén, the prestigious academy for highborns and outliers alike, to "spend time" with him. Read: marinate in awkward arranged courtship while trying not to punch him in the face.
As her carriage rolled through the iron gates of Coveén, Blair leaned out the window and stared.
The academy looked like it had been carved from starlight and bone. Spires of shimmering stone reached into the sky, veined with raw magic that pulsed like veins under moonlight. Giant stained-glass windows glittered in the early evening sun, and shadowy figures—students—flitted across the sweeping courtyard.
The place felt alive. Hungry, even.
A faerie in dark robes opened her carriage door, giving a polite bow as Blair stepped down.
"Welcome to Coveén Academy," the woman said. "You'll find your orientation packet inside your dorm. Please follow the path to House Atrius—your quarters are there."
"Lovely," Blair muttered, hoisting her satchel over her shoulder. "Let's get this arranged nightmare started."
She barely had time to admire the ancient carvings lining the walkway before a gust of wind knocked into her. Hard.
She stumbled, catching herself, and glared at the source.
A tall High Fae, wings folded behind his back like a disgruntled crow, stood in the courtyard. His silver eyes flicked to her and then away like she wasn't worth noticing.
"Oh look," Blair said flatly. "A winged pig in its natural habitat."
The male turned slowly, brows arching.
"Excuse me?" His voice was rough velvet, annoyed and aristocratic.
"You heard me, featherbutt," Blair shot back. "Try not to crash into people when you're too busy brooding."
He stared at her like she'd grown horns.
"Do you always introduce yourself by insulting royalty, or is today just special?"
"Depends," she replied sweetly. "Are you always this arrogant or is the wing-span compensating for something?"
Something flickered in his expression, but he said nothing else. Just turned and walked away, wings flaring as if on purpose.
Blair glared at his back.
"Well, he's delightful," she muttered. "Please tell me that's not Vain."
It wasn't.
That was Riziel Veidryn—the heir to the ruling house of the Thirteen. The most untouchable, moody bastard in the realm.
And as luck would have it, he was her combat partner this semester.
The halls of House Atrius were too quiet.
Blair walked with slow, deliberate steps, resisting the urge to yank off her gloves and scream into the walls. The portraits here didn't just stare—they judged. Looming figures of ancient fae in ceremonial armor lined the walls like silent guards, their gazes seeming to follow her as she searched for her assigned suite.
Suite 213.
The plaque bore her name, spelled in looping High Fae script she barely recognized. Inside, the room was annoyingly perfect: thick velvet drapes, a bed that could swallow three people, and enough space to make her feel like she was being watched even when alone.
She found her orientation folder on the desk.
The usual boring crap—schedule, map, rules, "a letter from home."
She opened the envelope, already grimacing.
Blair,
Make a good impression. Spend time with Vain. This is for your future. Don't ruin this like you ruin everything else.
—Mother
Blair crumpled the letter and lobbed it across the room with a snarl.
A knock came immediately after.
She froze, glanced at the letter still rolling across the floor, and dragged herself to the door.
The boy standing there didn't smile.
He leaned against the frame like he owned it, platinum-blond hair falling artfully across his brow, dressed in black robes tailored so precisely they looked painted on. His eyes were ice—brilliant, detached, and entirely unimpressed.
Vain Liraeth.
"Well," he said. "I see you're settling in with enthusiasm."
Blair blinked. "Do you eavesdrop on all your fiancées, or am I just lucky?"
Vain smirked, stepping inside without invitation. "If you were lucky, you wouldn't be engaged to me."
He strolled in like he wasn't walking into the room of a stranger. His gaze swept the furniture, the bed, the discarded letter on the floor—he didn't comment on it, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
Blair crossed her arms. "You're not exactly what I expected."
"I get that a lot."
There was silence for a moment.
Then Vain turned to face her, expression cooling. "Let's make something clear: I didn't ask for this either. But I don't plan on embarrassing my family, and I assume you don't want yours to disown you publicly."
"Oh, they're close already," she said cheerfully.
Vain quirked a brow. "Then we might get along after all."
Blair tilted her head. "Really? You seem like the type to call people 'darling' and stab them in the back with a smile."
"I only stab people I like," he said. "You're safe."
Blair blinked, then laughed.
Vain just watched her.
There was something strange in him. Not soft—but hollow. As though he had learned how to say all the right things, wear all the right expressions, and none of it reached the inside.
She recognized the feeling. She lived with it, too.
"We've got a few shared classes," he added, gesturing to her schedule still half-tucked into the folder. "Try not to make me look bad in combat. I don't feel like bleeding in front of nobles."
"Try not to look so smug while I beat you," she replied.
He smirked again. But this time, there was something like relief in his eyes—just a flicker.
He turned to leave.
At the doorway, he paused. "You're not what I expected either, by the way."
Blair blinked. "Oh?"
"I thought you'd be more… obedient."
Then he was gone.
.