Chapter one
Den of Vipers
Cya
Cyapreparedforschoolthe way soldiers prepped for war. Their armor wasn’t made of Kevlar but of delicate gold chains and shimmering stones. Their plan of attack was confidence and general aloofness. They didn’t carry physical weapons, but their withering gaze and family name were enough to stop enemies in their tracks.
Most of the time, at least.
Their survival strategy did not, however, protect from the rumors—that weren’t really rumors because rumors were usually false. No, those whispers skated over their skin likespydenlegs, but they were accustomed to pointed words hiding behind subterfuge. Cya had been squeezing through them their whole life, hoping they didn’t leave a lasting impression that forever changed their shape.
If they’d been raised anyone but a Vysov, they may have cowered under the hushed, hissed insults aimed at their back where their armor was weakest. But theywerea Vysov, so they held their head high, eyes forward, shoulders square, spine straight, above it all.
They would not cower. They would not bend. They would not break. Because they were Cylene Zoia Vysov, and they were godsdamned untouchable.
Ready for the minefield ahead, Cya made themself comfortable in the back of the sedan and stared out the window at the passing scenery of front gates, mansions surrounded by walls or fences, and impeccably gardened grounds. Everything in Pride was so perfect on the outside, whitewashed and pristine to cover the ugliness within.
Must have been why they felt at home here; they fit the bill flawlessly.
“Your parents will be weekending at the Envy Wellness Center,” Hemersyn said from the driver’s seat, pulling Cya from their dour thoughts. “Shall I reserve you a room as well? I hear they offer a new scale exfoliation treatment.”
Of course their parents couldn’t be bothered to invite them along themselves. They probably hadn’t even asked Hemersyn to invite Cya to accompany them to the spa at all; he was doing it of his own accord. Because he, more so than their own parents, actually seemed to care about them.
Hemersyn McKhaw was an Avia in his fifties, hired into the family to run the household before Cya had even hatched. Growing up, he had been the one to help them with homework, teach them etiquette, and sit by their sickbed when they were ill. He had their back when they argued with their parents, and he kept their secrets.
He was more than a butler or a driver; he was their friend. In a den of vipers, he was their only ally, and they adored him.
Meeting his gaze in the rearview mirror, Cya crossed their arms over their chest. “You speak as if they want me there with them.”
“They would be lucky to have your company.” He winked, neither of them acknowledging the way he didn’t disagree with Cya’s claim.
Since they didn’t want to dwell on the waythatsmarted, they shot Hemersyn an arched eyebrow. “Flattery only works when there is a kernel of truth to it, or if the recipient is too stupid to recognize the lie. Neither is applicable here.”
His feathered brows furrowed. “Come now. You don’t wear self-deprecation well, my dear.”
Cya smiled wryly and looked away. “I wear everything well.”
Instead of gracing that with a reply, he snorted. “I assume you do not wish to join them?”
“You assume correctly.”
As he guided the car to a stop near the campus entrance of Pride University, he put it in Park and half-turned to pin Cya to the back seat with his beady stare. “Is it too much to hope your refusal is due to other social plans? With friends? Or a date perhaps?”
With a scowl, Cya grabbed their purse and computer bag and made to leave the car. “Keep your beaked nose out of my personal life, old man.”
“Spoiled brat,” he chirped as they stood and hooked their computer bag over their shoulder.
Bending low enough to smirk at the Avia through the still open car door, Cya said, “Well, you raised me, so whose fault is that?”
“Get on with you,” he harrumphed as he faced forward in his seat, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “pain in my feathered ass,” under his breath.
Cya straightened and shut the door, still smiling as they headed toward the mathematics and science building. The campus was small compared to other universities within the Pentagram thanks to the extremely selective acceptance rate. Only the best attended Pride University.
Well, mostly the best. Or the most wealthy. Or the nepo-babies of alumni. Or those with connections.
Okay, fine, the school was ripe with privileged under-achievers whose parents had bought their way in, but not Cya. They had been accepted because they’d earned it. Sure, their Vysov name had given them an edge, perhaps, but they had worked their tail off in secondary and graduated top of their class, with a perfect GPA—well,nearperfect, but really, who actually excelled at maths? The entire subject could go fuck itself as far as they were concerned.
A weight landed on the tip of Cya’s tail, jerking them to an abrupt—and painful—stop, and they nearly fell. Clutching their computer bag to their chest to keep from dropping the expensive electronics to the pavement, they managed to stay upright. Their purse, however, was a lost cause, and its contents spilled out over the sidewalk as the students surrounding them froze to watch.
