The Raven's Gilded Cage

Alessia

The champagne flute feels flimsy in my hand, like I could crush it with a thought. Around me, the future leaders of the world laugh, their voices a high, bright sound that grates against my nerves. The great hall of Moretti University is a cathedral of legacy, all marble columns and vaulted ceilings painted with forgotten myths. It smells like old money and new perfume.

“Well, well. Look what we have here.”

The voice is slick with manufactured charm, the kind that costs a hundred thousand a year in tuition to perfect. I don’t look up from my sketchbook. I keep the charcoal pencil moving, tracing the line of a column’s capital. Observation. My father’s first lesson. Know your environment, from the exits to the egos.

“Talking to you,” he presses, his voice louder now, drawing the attention of his little circle. I can feel their eyes on me. I am a foreign object in their pristine world. A smudge on the glass.

I finally lift my head, blinking as if waking from a dream. I let a touch of confusion color my features. Feign weakness. Lesson three. “I’m sorry?”

He’s exactly what I expected. Blond hair artfully messy, a navy blazer with a crest I don’t recognize, and a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. His name is Julian Vance. I heard it whispered earlier, attached to the words “legacy” and “Aegis Society.” He’s a prince in this little kingdom. And he has found his peasant for the evening.

“I said, I was talking to you,” he repeats, gesturing with his own glass. “Or are scholarship students not taught basic manners?”

His friends titter. The sound is like mice skittering behind a wall.

“I must have been focused on my drawing,” I say, my voice soft. I hold up the sketchbook slightly. It’s a drawing of the column, perfectly rendered, but what he can’t see is that I’ve also noted its structural load points. I know exactly where to place a charge to bring the whole ceiling down.

Julian scoffs, taking a step closer. He peers at my sketchbook with exaggerated disdain. “Doodling. How quaint. Is that what you do? Sketch your way through a world you don’t belong in? You think a paintbrush gives you the right to be here? To breathe our air?”

*Breathe our air.* My grip tightens on the pencil in my hand. The tip threatens to snap. I know a dozen ways to stop a man from breathing. None of them involve a paintbrush. My father made sure of that. This freedom, this ‘normal life,’ was supposed to be my escape from that kind of thinking. But the old lessons are carved deep.

“It’s a scholarship for the arts,” I say, keeping my eyes wide and my voice even. “I was just trying to capture the architecture.”

“The architecture,” he repeats, drawing the word out as if it’s ridiculous. “This hall was built by my great grandfather. My family’s name is on half the buildings on this campus. What’s your family name? Let me guess. It’s not on a building, is it?”

My family name is Volkov. It’s not on any buildings. It’s on gravestones. It’s whispered in back rooms and screamed in warehouses. It’s a name paid for in blood and fear, a legacy far heavier than any cornerstone he can point to. This arrogant boy is playing with a loaded gun and he thinks it’s a toy.

I need to play the part. The quiet, unassuming Lia. The girl who is grateful just to be here. So I drop my gaze. I let my shoulders slump a little. “No. It’s not.”

“Of course it’s not,” Julian says, triumphant. He turns to his friends. “She’s probably never even heard of the Aegis Society. That’s for people whose names mean something. For people who matter. We don’t waste our time with charity cases.”

I know all about the Aegis Society. A secret club for the elite, the powerful, the connected. My research before coming here was thorough. To the rest of the campus, it’s a myth. To people like Julian, it’s a birthright. To me, it’s a potential threat. A variable I need to control.

“I’m sorry to have bothered you,” I murmur, closing my sketchbook. I make a move to slip away, to melt back into the crowd.

Julian puts a hand on my arm to stop me. His touch is light, but it feels like a brand. Every instinct in my body screams to break his wrist. Instead, I freeze, my eyes darting to his hand and then back to his face. I let him see fear. A flicker of it. It’s what he wants.

“Not so fast. I’m not done with you,” he says, his smile turning cruel.

“Julian.”

The name comes from behind me. The voice is different. Not loud, but it cuts through the chatter of the hall like a razor. It’s calm, smooth, and laced with an authority that Julian’s can only imitate.

Julian’s hand drops from my arm as if he’s been burned. He straightens up, his smug posture shifting into something more deferential. “Dante. I didn’t see you there.”

I turn slowly. And there he is. Dante Moretti. The true prince of this university. His family doesn’t just have their name on the buildings; they own the ground underneath them. Moretti. Our name, Volkov, is a curse on their lips, just as theirs is on ours. The Moretti family. Our rivals. The only people on this continent who could match my father’s organization in scope and brutality.

And here is the heir. He’s taller than Julian, with dark hair that falls perfectly over his brow and eyes so dark they seem to absorb the light. He wears a simple black suit, no crest, no pretense. He doesn’t need it. The power rolls off him in waves. It’s a language I understand better than English.

He ignores Julian completely. His gaze settles on me. It’s not a condescending sneer or a predatory leer. It’s… an assessment. He looks at me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve. His eyes flick down to my sketchbook, then back to my face. For a terrifying second, I feel seen. Not as Lia, the art student, but as something more.

“Are you enjoying the welcome event?” Dante asks me, his voice a low murmur.

I clutch my sketchbook to my chest. “Yes. The hall is beautiful.”

“It is,” he agrees, his eyes still locked on mine. “My grandfather had those frescoes restored. He said art is the only legacy that lasts.” He says the word ‘legacy’ while looking right at me, a subtle challenge. A test.

Julian, desperate to get back into the conversation, forces a laugh. “We were just discussing legacies, Dante. And how some people… don’t have them.”

Dante’s gaze finally slides to Julian. He doesn’t frown, he doesn’t scowl, but the temperature around us seems to drop a few degrees. “Is that so, Julian? I find everyone has a legacy of some kind. Sometimes, the most interesting ones are those that aren’t carved in stone for everyone to see.”

My heart beats a little faster. He’s talking about me. He has to be.

He turns his attention back to me, and a faint smile touches his lips. It transforms his face, making him dangerously charming. “You have charcoal on your cheek.”

I instinctively raise a hand to my face. “Oh.”

“Here.” Before I can react, he steps closer. He’s so close I can smell the faint, clean scent of his cologne, something expensive and subtle. He raises his hand and gently brushes his thumb over my cheekbone. His touch is surprisingly soft, but an electric current shoots through me. It’s the proximity to danger, the nearness of a natural predator. He doesn’t just see me. He recognizes me. Not my face, but my nature.

He pulls his hand back, showing me the grey smudge on his thumb. “There.”

“Thank you,” I whisper. My voice is steadier than I feel. My training keeps my exterior calm while a war rages inside me. This was not part of the plan. The plan was to be invisible. The plan did not involve Dante Moretti, the crown prince of my family’s sworn enemy, looking at me like he knows my darkest secrets.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” he says, his smile lingering. “I’m Dante Moretti.”

“Lia,” I say, offering only the name I’ve chosen for this life. “Just Lia.”

“Just Lia,” he repeats, tasting the name. He holds my gaze for a long moment, his dark eyes searching mine. “I have a feeling there’s nothing ‘just’ about you.”

With a final, lingering look, he gives me a small nod and then turns, melting into the crowd as silently as he appeared. He leaves a vacuum in his wake. Julian and his friends are staring after him, momentarily forgotten.

Julian quickly recovers his swagger, but it’s a cheap imitation now. He glares at me, his brief humiliation curdling into resentment. “Don’t think that means anything,” he sneers. “He’s just being polite to the charity case. You’re still nothing.”

He stalks off, his cronies trailing behind him like pilot fish. I’m left alone in the swirling currents of the party.

My hand goes to my cheek where Dante touched it. The skin still tingles. I let out a slow, controlled breath. My father warned me this would be difficult. He said trying to pretend to be a sheep when you are a wolf is a dangerous game.

I thought the danger would be slipping up, revealing my training, letting my true nature show. I never imagined the danger would have a name. I never imagined the danger would be Dante Moretti. And I never imagined he would see the wolf in me on the very first day.