Page 54 of Academy of the Wicked: Year Three

The admission surprises us both. Not denial, not deflection, just acknowledgment that yes, something about the female form triggers reactions I can't control. Yet.

We sit in silence that stretches like taffy—sticky, sweet, potentially suffocating if extended too long. The purple-gold fire crackles between us, casting shadows that dance independently of their sources. Around us, the others sleep with the deep unconsciousness of those pushed past all reasonable limits.

Nikolai sighs, the sound carrying the weight of decisions made and unmade. He pats the ground beside him, the gesture gentle despite the strength in those transformed hands.

"Come here, Gwenivere."

"Why?" I ask, suspicion coloring my child-voice. "I'm comfy with Cassius."

My shadow prince hasn't stirred, but his darkness continues to cradle me even in sleep. It feels safe. Known. Mine in a way few things that have ever been.

Nikolai rolls his eyes with exasperation that somehow makes him seem younger.

"That's obvious. But I'd like to ensure I'm real and not in the afterlife."

The words should be light—a joke about near-death experiences and the uncertainty that follows. But I catch the tremor in his hand as he runs fingers through golden locks, see the way his shoulders carry tension that speaks of barely maintained control.

He's afraid.

Not of external threats or guardian trials, but of something far more insidious—the possibility that survival might have been the dream and death the reality.

I look at Cassius, confirming his deep sleep. His face at rest loses some of its careful control, becoming something softer. Younger. The shadows that usually writhe with conscious intent now simply exist, moving with the rhythm of his dreams.

Making my decision, I crawl over to Nikolai. My child-body moves with the particular gracelessness of limbs that haven't quite figured out their proportions, but I manage to settle beside him without too much difficulty.

His hand comes to rest on my head immediately. Not possessive or controlling, just... present. Confirming. His fingers stroke through silver strands with gentleness that speaks of practice with fragile things.

"So I am alive," he says, and the words aren't meant for me.

They're confirmation to himself, repeated like a mantra or prayer. Alive. Present. Still here despite the universe's apparent desire for otherwise.

He takes a breath that shudders on the exhale, looking away as if the sight of me might break something he's barely holding together.

I pout, tilting my head to look up at him. The angle makes my neck ache, but I need to see his face. Need to understand what storms rage behind those golden eyes.

"Are you scared?"

The whisper escapes before I can stop it, carried on breath that tastes of smoke and possibility.

Nikolai looks back at me, and I see it immediately—the glassy surface of eyes fighting not to spill. He blinks rapidly, trying to clear what threatens to fall, but biology doesn't care about pride.

I frown deeper, standing with the sudden urgency children possess when something must be addressed immediately.

"Why are you about to cry?"

"I'm not going to cry," he argues, but his voice cracks on the denial. "Nor am I scared."

The lie hangs between us like a banner advertising its own falsehood.

"When I'm scared, I cry," I inform him with the particular certainty of childhood wisdom. "Then I feel better."

The memory comes unbidden—sitting in Mother's lap while tears soaked her dress, her hand stroking my hair with the same gentleness Nikolai just showed.

"My Dad doesn't like it," I continue, surprised by the clarity of recollection. "But my Mom said it's good to release your emotions so you let them free and aren't burdened carrying them everywhere."

The memory feels strange—too clear for something I shouldn't remember at all. These fragments of childhood that were stolen, buried, erased by Elena's cruel magic and our forced merging. Yet here, in this child-form, they surface like bodies in water—inevitable, undeniable, carrying truths I'd forgotten I'd lost.

It makes me wonder: if I can remember lessons about crying, what else lies buried in the depths of who I was before I became we? Could I unravel the mystery of Elena's betrayal? Understand why she failed our family and plagued us with... whatever this cursed existence has become?