CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE: OF UNIFORMS, UNEXPECTED ARRIVALS, AND THE DAY THE COURT WALKED IN
RIYEE's POV
It was supposed to end quietly.
The last morning of the Arcanum Festival should've been simple—papers turned in late, a few panicked committees scrambling to fix typos before the awards, maybe an overconfident host dragging out announcements nobody asked for. Then, the usual prep for Grand Illumina Night at 7 p.m. in Solencia Courtyard.
That was it.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing dangerous.
Nothing worth bracing for.
So why did it feel like the air was holding its breath?
Allievo Commons was packed—every student, every house, every scholar stuffed into the massive loune and cafe while Solencia remained locked off for final light rigging. The floor vibrated with leftover festival energy: sugar rushes, sleep deprivation, and the kind of gossip that melted through walls.
And yet, at the very center, the High Chamber sat silent.
Bianchi stood there like a dagger in committee heels, scanning the Commons with that trained brand of disdain only she could pull off. She'd been chewing the inside of her cheek since breakfast—probably just waiting for fate to hand her the next disaster.
And in the middle of it all, calm as moonlight, sat Khaizer Dylan Dela Vega.
No uniform. Just a soft grey button-down, sleeves rolled, top buttons undone. Legs crossed, hands steepled like he had all the time in the world. His hair was a mess—could've been intentional, could've been the wind—but it worked. Gave him that reckless edge, like he'd just walked out of a storm and decided fixing it was beneath him. He didn't look like the President. Didn't even look like a student.
He looked like someone who'd already won.
Reclaimed.
That was the word stuck in my head. Because the truth was—whether anyone here realized it or not—he already had.
Jodie leaned in, her elbow brushing mine, voice low enough to pretend she wasn't gossiping.
"Where are the chaos twins?"
"You mean Saichel and Xythe?" I murmured, scanning the crowd like they might suddenly sprout above the sea of heads.
"They should've been loud by now," Xylia added, worrying her bottom lip. "It's weird when they're not being disruptive."
She wasn't wrong. With those two, silence didn't mean peace—it meant they were plotting.
"Probably sleeping in," I replied, trying for casual. "Or building fireworks behind the gym."
"Or poison," Jodie added grimly. "Feels like a poison kind of day."
That's when Bianchi swept past us, heels clicking like punctuation marks, her voice as cold and polished as marble. "Or plotting something mafia-esque. Should we be worried, Del Rio?"
I didn't even flinch. "Maybe they'll sabotage you in your sleep. We can only hope."
Jodie and Xylia snorted. Bianchi didn't.
Before she could shoot back, the loudspeaker cracked to life overhead.
The Commons froze.
The air—already strung tight with something I couldn't quite name—pulled taut, like the whole room was holding the same breath.
The Headmaster's voice came through—distant, deliberate, the kind of tone that made people sit straighter without realizing it.
"As of today, the Ardent Court of Celestine Ardent Academy is officially participating in the Sovereign-Ardent Alliance Exchange Program."
YOU ARE READING
STRINGS BETWEEN US
Teen Fiction"A slow-burn teen romance threaded with secrets, rivalries, and a dangerous past neither of them remembers-until it comes for them." ✧ STRINGS BETWEEN US ✧ She left her crown behind. He ruled with silence. But some strings pull-no matter how far you...
