What the heck did I do this time to get summoned by the dean himself? He’s not exactly my biggest fan, and the feeling’s mutual, but we’ve got to put up with each other and pretend everything’s just peachy. I tolerate him because, well, he’s the dean, and he puts up with me because I’m one of the top students in my class. Still, for the sake of keeping the peace at the academy, we usually stick to communicating from a safe distance—often through his assistant or my advisor.
It’s not like there’s some deep personal grudge between us. It’s more about clashing views on equality within the academy’s walls. This tension goes back to a little public spat we had over the rules for witches. I thought they were downright unfair, especially since other departments didn’t face any restrictions. In the end, I managed to stand my ground and make my case. But ever since then, there’s been this unspoken strain between me and the dean. We both figured it’s best to steer clear of each other to avoid making an already tricky situation worse.
Why am I even bringing this up? Because the sky would have to fall and dragons would need to rise from the Dead Valley before Professor Gregor Watkins would call his least favorite student, Maeve Cass, into his office for a chat.
Unless, of course, he’s finally found a way to kick me out and forget me like a bad dream.
“Maeve, sweetheart,” said Tira Kwon, the dean’s assistant, looking up from the stack of papers she was always sorting for him, a warm smile on her face.
Tira Kwon was a kind, older woman who’d dedicated her entire life to the academy. Despite having seen a dozen deans come and go, and lacking even a speck of magical talent, she was utterly indispensable thanks to her exceptional skills as an assistant. Somehow, miraculously, she’d managed not to grow bitter toward either the students or the administration—a feat I consider practically supernatural. With her motherly warmth, she wasn’t just liked; she was downright adored by everyone.
“Professor Watkins called for me,” I mumbled, trying—and failing—to hide the tremor in my voice.
“Yes, yes,” Tira nodded, adjusting her glasses. “Go on in. He’s waiting.”
“Thanks,” I said with a nervous smile, hoping it didn’t look like a grimace. I hesitated for a moment before whispering, “Do you know what’s going on?”
Tira took off her oversized glasses and gave me a look that seemed tinged with pity. She sighed and shook her head.
“Probably nothing too serious.”
I guess she was trying to reassure me. Fair enough.
I took a deep breath, clutched my notebooks tighter to my chest with one hand, and knocked firmly on the door with the other.
“Come in!” the dean barked from inside.
“You called for me?” I asked, unable to think of anything better to say as I poked my head through the slightly open door.
The dean was right where I expected him to be—behind his desk. He looked pale, a bit worn out, and as jittery and irritable as ever, which was nothing new. His small, deep-set eyes were bloodshot, either from exhaustion or the tense atmosphere. His thin lips, marked by an old scar, trembled unnaturally.
“Yes, I did,” he snapped. But then he cast a quick, almost nervous glance to the side, cleared his throat, and softened his tone considerably. “Yes, Maeve, please come in. I need to speak with you.”
That was the second thing today that threw me for a loop. Normally, Professor Watkins wasn’t exactly polite or generous with kind words. He always knew just what to say to cut deep. Complaints about his unprofessional behavior poured into the Ministry like snow on a long winter night, but they never seemed to affect his position. I guess old friendships with the Minister helped him smooth over any missteps. Sometimes, I even imagine the two of them sitting by a roaring fireplace with a glass of something strong, reading those complaints aloud and laughing at the futile attempts to oust him from his precious chair.
Anyway, I can’t remember the last time I saw the dean in such a good mood, so calm and… nice. That’s probably why I was stunned. I just stood there, frozen, unable to even hide the shocked expression on my face.
So, the professor decided to take matters into his own hands.
“Dear Maeve,” he began, and my eyebrows shot up so fast I thought they’d hit the ceiling. What the heck is happening? Should I start panicking now? “I won’t beat around the bush. You and I both appreciate getting straight to the point. So, congratulations, you’ve earned a spot at Staurtlaide.”
And just like that, everything clicked into place. Even the dean couldn’t resist a smug little smirk as he watched my jaw drop in shock, followed by my face flushing red with anger. The thing is, the last place I wanted to end up was in an academy crawling with wizards. And snobs!
By the way, now’s a good time to explain why the dean and I have been at odds for so long. Professor Watkins is a Staurtlaide alum. Not the brightest, not the hardest-working, not the most talented, but definitely the most nitpicky. For some reason, he thought Staurtlaide’s rules restricting witches would fly here at Herend. But there are too many of us here. Herend is one of the few academies where witches feel safe and can get an education on equal footing with mages. So, his restrictions on study hours, physical training, library access, dress code, and available literature… well, let’s just say the student body reacted with so much hostility that he had to back off.
And if the dean was looking for revenge for my outspoken stance, this was his moment to strike.
“For what merits?” I asked, barely holding back from saying something I’d regret.
Watkins’ smirk widened. His gaze darted around the room before settling on the window, and I couldn’t help but follow his line of sight.
Oh! How did I not notice this sooner? I definitely didn’t think much of it at first, but we weren’t alone in here. At least now I understood the dean’s sudden friendliness.
Near the window, next to a decorative tree that had somehow survived Watkins’ toxic energy thanks to Tira’s care, stood a tall man. I couldn’t quite figure out who or what he was. His plain travel pants and dark shirt didn’t reveal much about his status. His build and short haircut could belong to a warrior just as easily as a wizard. But his accessories? That was a different story. Wizards usually deck themselves out with countless amulets and charms. This stranger only wore a large ring with a black gemstone. And my witch’s intuition told me it wasn’t just for show.
Still… a wizard. And deep down, that realization disappointed me a little. Because, overall, the man was pretty attractive. Probably not from a highborn family—most of the ones I know are either scrawny and pale or the complete opposite. This guy was neither. Tall, tanned, likely spending a lot of time outdoors. Dark hair cropped short. Deep brown, almost black eyes framed by long, thick lashes. His cheeks were a bit hollow, in my opinion. But now I’m just nitpicking.
Anyway, if I’m right and he is a wizard, I’d better keep my distance from this guy.
“Do you think you’re unworthy of a spot at the best academy?” the stranger asked out of nowhere.
I have to admit, his voice was nice too—deep, slightly raspy. But his tone? It felt like he was talking to a little kid, trying to either coax out a secret or convince them to do something they didn’t want to.
“Actually, I wasn’t planning on transferring anywhere. I’m perfectly fine with OUR academy,” I said, locking eyes with our dear dean.
If anyone knew that once I’d made up my mind, not even mountain trolls could budge me, it was him.
“Unfortunately, dear Maeve,” the professor replied, spreading his hands as if he genuinely felt bad about it, “you don’t have many options. Our academy is becoming a military institution. And witches definitely aren’t needed here. There’s just nothing for them to do.”
I flared up with anger for the second time. For two reasons. First, we’d already hashed out the equality issue. If he’d given me any other reason, I might’ve agreed. But not the fact that I’m a witch. Second, his condescending, almost triumphant tone pissed me off to no end.
“I don’t think that’s a good enough reason for a transfer,” I said through gritted teeth, barely holding back from starting another argument with the dean. “We’re no worse than wizards. I thought we settled this a long time ago.”
“Maeve… this is nonsense,” Watkins snapped, his true nature quickly overriding any attempt to seem nicer than he really was. “You always blow things out of proportion when you should just fall in line and know your place.”
I’ll admit, it’s not in my nature to hold back when someone starts yelling at me. Why can he do it, but I can’t? And all the pent-up frustration was begging for an outlet. So… I confess, I wanted everything around me to burn just as fiercely as the fire raging in my chest.
“And where is it? MY place?! Huh?” I exploded.
“Your place…”
“Where? Come on, show me my place already!” I fired back, getting more heated with every biting word. “If I don’t belong here, then kick me out! You’ve wanted to for ages, haven’t you?”
“That’s exactly what I’ll do,” Watkins shot up from his chair, practically spitting the words in my face. “You’re arrogant, conceited, and full of yourself, only good for…”
I’m pretty sure he was about to say something you wouldn’t repeat in front of kids or pregnant women. And I was mentally gearing up to tell him exactly who in his family tree got trampled to produce such a pathetic mess. But it wasn’t meant to be. For better or worse. Because a direct insult to the dean would’ve gotten me expelled for sure, whether the academy went military or not. I might’ve won this battle, but I’d definitely lose the war. Still, the unspoken words burned in my throat…
“Professor Watkins,” the stranger’s calm tone hit us both like a bucket of cold water, dousing the fire that was rapidly spreading.
We both faltered, looking away. But neither of us backed down from our positions.
“Sorry,” the dean muttered.
“You should be apologizing to the young lady,” the stranger pointed out, someone no one had even bothered to introduce to me. “However, if Ms. Cass is so determined to stay at this academy, why not let her try? Ms. Cass, you’ll be given a spot in one of the new academy groups. But… I hope you understand there will be no special treatment for you.”
For some reason, his words made me uneasy. Sure, I’d stood up for my beliefs again. But the dean’s smug expression was starting to get under my skin.
“Of course!” I nodded. My stubborn streak wouldn’t let me back down after a fight like that. And one day, that stubbornness is going to cost me dearly.
“She’ll be out in a month,” Watkins snorted.
“Such unwavering faith in your own students. And if I don’t flunk out? Maybe then you’ll finally step aside for someone more competent?” I couldn’t help but snap back.
“You’ll be begging not to be expelled, but transferred,” the dean flared up again.
“We’ll see about that,” I shot back with a huff. “Now, if there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave. I’ve got studying to do,” I said, shaking my notebooks at the dean, trying not to look at the stranger.
It wasn’t until I’d left the office that perfectly reasonable questions started popping into my head—questions I couldn’t even begin to answer. And the biggest one of all was, who the heck was that guy? How did he just override the dean’s objections and make the call himself?
Damn… I hope he’s not the new rector.