Larkspur | ONC 2023

Chapter 1

"Larkspur!" A high-pitched voice draws my attention away from my thoughts.

A tall stately woman dressed in a plain navy teagown is standing right in my way. Her hooded eyes are done up deeply with kohl and her lips are drawn into a line thinner than her eyeliner. There's an unmistakable little plant tattoo on her neck. I wonder if anyone in the royal family knows who she really is.

"They sent you!" she exclaims, her blood-red lips curling in disdain. "I was promised a seasoned assassin. And you are—"

"Well hello to you too!" I retort, reading the tiny white badge on her blazer, engraved with the same sun logo in yellow threads. "Miss Skullcrest, I am the best bet you have." I raise my gaze and meet her eye, steady and unflinching.

Her steely grey eyes study mine with caution. "Why you?"

Voices wail up in my ears, ringing through my brain—helpless cries for help, all piled on top of each other till it is one entire hum of pain and a cry for survival. A tingling sensation starts climbing down from my forearm and accumulates on my fingertips. I can feel the magic thrumming through every cell of me. I know it won't take me even a second to annihilate the entire school but I clamp down on my magic and forge a small smile.

"Because I was there—" She raises one eyebrow, her face otherwise unmoving. I don't break eye contact. "—at Shimmervale."

I hear her take in a sharp breath. The disdain quickly turns into something I am tired of seeing—pity. Somehow it makes her seem more human and less of a beast. But I'd rather she loathe me than pity me. I am not a victim. I never will be.

"So personal vendetta I see." She moves closer and stands beside me, putting a hand on the small of my back. "Call me Ivy. Let's get you introduced to the class, shall we?"

"So where are you from? Royal, Noble, Foreigner?"

I stop fidgeting with my phone and look up. A guy about my age is sitting opposite me in the cafeteria milling with post-graduate students in a variety of avatars. A flash of black lights up in my peripheral vision. I spot Hemlock, two tables away, his hostile gaze trained on the back of the guy.

I turn away quickly and focus on my new companion. His hair is a rich shade of hazel and the deep-set eyes seem to only bring out his prominent nose and cheekbones. He smiles genially at me, waiting for an answer.

"Sundale!" I answer crisply, not interested in casual chit-chat. Rule number one of being an assassin is to 'never form attachments'.

"I know all the royals—"

"What is it to you?" I snap. Arrogance and display of connections are common features of nobles and something I absolutely detest.

"Because he is just a curious lad!" another voice joins our table. Our third companion puts down two cups of latte, drags up a chair and flops down opposite me. He looks like he has been loved by the sun all his life. His rich almond complexion and dark luscious hair compounded with chocolate eyes make him look exotic, probably from the tropics.

"And I am not a gossip kind of girl." I meet his eyes levelly, making certain there was a veiled threat in them. Don't humans have survival instincts like other animals? They can sense a predator from miles away and here these two dumb boys are, sitting and chatting with someone who can wring their necks with a flick of her fingers.

"He was just trying to be friendly." Mr Exotic shrugs.

"And I am not the friendly type." I take a sip of my coffee.

"What kind of a fairy are you?"

"Dude!" the other guy narrows his eyes at him. "You shouldn't—"

"Relax. She's one of us." Mr Exotic thumps the other guy on his shoulder.

"One of what?"

"The fae folk obviously. There's hardly any fairy royals anymore." He gulps down the rest of his coffee in one breath, crumples the cut and tosses it into the dustbin on the other side of the room.

His aim is incredibly accurate from such a long distance. I am impressed, but I keep my face neutral.

"And what makes you think I am a fairy royal?" I lean closer.

"Your eyes. They have this purple glow that lights around the irises sometimes." He leans in too. Our faces are just inches apart. A distinct amber glow sparkles in his eyes for a second and then it is back to brown.

"I don't know what you are talking about. I am not a fairy." I break his gaze and stand up. "I have to go."

"I can see you have magic." This is the other guy who has hardly spoken anything except for when he approached me. "Why are you denying?".

I eye him closely. His skin is pasty and so pale that he could camouflage in the snow. We've all heard rumours of how the prince was never allowed to step out of the palace because he was allergic to the sun. The commoners never saw the prince who was kept away from media attention and public appearances. The palace insiders might have but they are loyal to death.

So my employers sent me on a wild goose chase. My mission—pretend to be a student, find the prince, befriend him, kill him and escape. The plan was simple except for the fact that the prince's identity is a secret guarded way too closely by the royal family.

Could this guy be the Prince?

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Hemlock wave a napkin three times in the air. It is my sign to back off. I place my hands on the table and lean closer. I see Mr Pale flinch a little. I can feel my lips turning up at the corners. I narrow my eyes into slits—dangerous yet seductive.

"Because I have never declared a magic."

I turn away swiftly and walk away with my head held high. I can feel their eyes on my back.

Yes, it isn't a lie. I have never declared any magic because I never had a ceremony. I am not registered in the records. According to the registry of Sundale, I was never born.

A tiny wisp of purple flames light up in between my fingers and I blow it out like a candle.