Headmaster Volneir Basalin did not waste time with meaningless pleasantries.
Once we were seated around the table in the inn's private room, a pot of something warm set between us and the others discreetly holding back, he turned his full attention to me. The calm smile he had worn at the entrance faded into something more neutral, more serious.
"Theodore," he began, lacing his fingers together on the table, "there is something you must know before you step into the academy."
The way he said 'must' made the air feel a little heavier.
"You will not be attending as just another noble's son," he continued. "Your class, specifically, will be… special."
A dozen possible problems flashed through my head. My divine symbol. My black bone reverting. My status as a transmigrated soul nobody knew about. The kind of 'special' that usually meant 'trouble magnet' in every fantasy story I had ever consumed.
I swallowed. "Special how?"
"There is a student in your intake whose identity is not what it will appear to be," Volneir said. His voice dropped a shade lower, though no one else in the room made any move to listen in. "You will know her as Aeriel."
Aeriel.
The name felt soft on my tongue.
"She will be introduced as a high-ranking noble lady," he continued. "Talented. Well-educated. Favored by certain factions. That is what everyone else will know." His gaze sharpened. "In reality, she is the kingdom's princess."
Princess.
The word landed in my mind with a weight out of proportion to its length.
"The king has chosen to alter her public identity," Volneir said. "Officially, for the academy's purposes, she is not the princess, but a noble lady with distant royal ties. Unofficially…" He allowed the word to hang between us, unfinished but understood. "He does not wish for new chaos to begin. Not now. Not among the next generation of nobles, not in the academy, and not in the capital."
New chaos.
So that meant there had been old chaos. Enough of it that hiding his own daughter's identity in an academy made more sense to the king than announcing her presence with fanfare.
"Why tell me this?" I asked quietly. "Why me, specifically?"
"Because you will share classes with her," he answered. "You will work with her. Train with her. Be seen beside her. Whether you like it or not, people will watch you both." His expression remained composed, but there was a glint of something else there now– calculation, maybe. Or expectation. "And because the king requested it."
I blinked. "The king…?"
Volneir inclined his head once. "His Majesty is aware of your… circumstances. Your former condition. Your sudden change. He takes an interest in pieces that move differently on the board."
That sent a quiet chill down my spine.
"You are not being told this for your benefit alone," Volneir went on. "This is trust, but also responsibility. No one in the academy is to know Aeriel's true identity. No teachers. No students. Not even the other nobles in your year."
He held my gaze, his eyes steady and unreadable.
"No one other than you and your butler, Gol Banner, are to know the truth."
The room felt smaller suddenly. The sound of the inn beyond the door dimmed, like someone had turned down the world's volume.
"Gol has already been briefed," Volneir said. "He understands the weight of the king's decision. I am now briefing you. What you do with this knowledge, how you carry it, will say much about the kind of person you are."
"I won't tell anyone," I said. The answer came out before I could dress it up or overthink it. "I understand."
"Good," he replied simply. "That is all that is required of you for now. Protect the secret. Treat Aeriel as you would any other noble classmate. Do not reveal, even by accident, that you know anything more."
He leaned back slightly, the intensity of the moment easing by a fraction.
"The academy is a place of learning, yes," he added, "but it is also a stage. Masks are worn there as often as they are in court. Remember that, Theodore."
I nodded, my thoughts spinning. A hidden princess in my class. A king who knew I was different. A headmaster who spoke like a man placing pieces on a game board only he could see clearly.
After a few more practical instructions about enrollment, schedules, and the time I was expected at the academy gates tomorrow, Volneir rose.
"Rest well tonight," he said. "Your life will change again tomorrow, whether you are ready or not."
He offered a final, polite nod to everyone, then left the room with quiet footsteps, the door closing softly behind him.
Silence settled, broken only by the faint murmur of the inn beyond.
Gol moved first. "Young master," he said, "your room is prepared upstairs. The others will rest on the same floor. We depart for the academy at first light."
I stood, suddenly aware of the weight in my chest that had nothing to do with divine symbols or enforcement fields.
"Thank you," I said.
The group dispersed little by little, each person peeling off toward their own assigned space. I climbed the stairs with Gol, who walked one step behind me, the way he always did.
At the door to my room, I paused. "You knew about the princess," I said quietly.
"Yes," Gol replied. "I was informed earlier today by the headmaster. I apologize for not telling you sooner, young master. It was not my place to speak before he did."
"It's fine," I said. "We both know now."
He inclined his head. "Indeed."
Inside, the room was simple but comfortable. Bed, desk, basin, small wardrobe. A window overlooking a narrow street where the last light of evening clung stubbornly to the stone.
I lay awake longer than I expected that night, staring at the ceiling, thoughts looping.
A hidden princess. A king watching from afar. An academy where masks were almost mandatory. And me, an intruder from another world, pretending to be a noble heir while holding secrets that weren't mine to begin with.
Morning came faster than I was ready for.
Soft light pressed against the curtains when I opened my eyes. My body felt heavy from travel and training, but there was a restless energy underneath the fatigue. This was it. Academy day. The kind of moment entire story arcs in my old world would build up to.
I dressed in clothes Gol had laid out for me, each piece precise and fitted. Tunic, jacket, trousers, boots polished enough to catch a ghost of my reflection.
As I was adjusting the cuffs, there was a knock at my door.
Three taps. Evenly spaced. Controlled rhythm.
Not frantic. Not hesitant.
The kind of knock that belonged to someone who understood timing, boundaries, and formality.
"Young master," came Gol's voice from the other side, calm and steady. "It is time."