The night was calm, the stars scattered like jewels across the dark sky. The boarding school's towering spires were bathed in moonlight, a stark contrast to the turmoil swirling within Damian. He stood on the balcony overlooking the vast, manicured gardens below, his arms resting on the railing. The cool breeze carried little comfort, his frustration simmering beneath his princely composure. A gentle breeze swept through, softly tousling his hair.

A boarding school.

It was a punishment meant to teach him restraint and diplomacy, as his father, King Bruce, had so eloquently put it. All because Damian had executed swift justice—beheading a man for harassing a woman. To him, it had been the only logical course of action. But his father, ever obsessed with politics and appearances, had sent him here instead, to this "school" of bratty aristocratic children, none of whom had even the faintest concept of discipline or merit.

He hated it.

The other students whispered about him constantly, keeping their distance as though his mere presence was a threat. He could see the fear in their eyes when they avoided him in the hallways, the way they stiffened when he passed by. They knew why he was here, and he didn't mind that at all. At least they had the sense to stay out of his way. He needed no one.

Except…

He glanced briefly at you. You were different. Not one of them. The others mocked and belittled you for not being from a noble family, but you stood firm, unyielding. It had intrigued him. Damian found it refreshing—admirable, even. He couldn't understand how anyone could judge someone solely on their bloodline. He valued skill, character, and resilience, and you possessed all three in ways these noble children could not fathom.

The silence stretched between you until Damian finally broke it.

"You know," he said, his voice low but laced with an edge of disdain, "I still cannot believe I have been reduced to this… glorified prison for aristocratic brats. My father clearly has no concept of effective punishment."