The Royal Curse

Thirty Three - Overseas and Underwhelmed

Zian Austruc

The mosaic windows of my library were finally finished. I slid in my final journal and took a step back, admiring the work of what could've been considered my greatest trauma. What seemingly were engraved leather spines of journals came together to resemble... a face. "How pitiful," Cadice whispered in my head. "You should have followed Nicholyn's instructions when you had the chance."

Ignoring him, I injected myself with the serum, knowing that it could be any day when I lost all control over my mind and body. No matter what he said, I'd never regret turning on him. I'd never regret the night I let her go, or the night I had her in my arms and could call her mine. My only regret was wishing I told her everything. Instead, I could only hope that the Warrior serum was enough immortality to keep the human part of me fighting—for her. 

Always for her.

"Work on the speech, Zian. You have a big duty tonight, so don't let me regret allowing you to journal," Cadice instructed. My muscles fought against his order, but eventually gave in. As the speech became longer, the woman's face in the shelf seemed to have a mind of her own. The face should've had midnight hair and obsidian eyes. 

But it manifested into my counterpart's worst nightmare.

*~⚜️~*

The panel of three professors stared at me like I ate a dozen of live horses right before their eyes. "Surely this doesn't mean the end of my program, right gentlemen?" I asked, my horrible attempt at composure slipping through a feigned smile.

The professor of alchemy spoke. "Austruc, you are amongst the greatest of minds that we have here. I mean, look around you. We're all here to find a solution for you." Yet they sat there, straight-faced, silent.

"I can't control someone burning down my apartment!" Ridiculous. Running a hand over the stubble now forming along my jaw, I continued. "My data is all gone. All. Of. It. All I'm asking for is an extension to rerun the data-collection procedure and more money."

"You have received the most money out of anyone in this program," the professor of pissing-me-off said matter-of-factly. "Entorre allocates a specific amount of money toward graduate studies here."

"So what? The patrol officers couldn't help me, and now you can't give money?" The situation only got more incredulous, and I was nothing like Nicholyn; I could not keep a straight face, demeanor composed. I side-eyed the chair, genuinely thinking about hurling it and myself out the frosted window.

As I regained some sense and semblance, I adjusted the sleeves of my coat, staring right back at the professor who hasn't stopped glaring at me. "Meaning," the professor to her right said, "we cannot give you more money. We spoke to the accountants, and it looks like we're already over our projected amount at this point in the fiscal year."

"Ah, I forget Entorre actually tracks money in the tabs," I mumbled, trying to make the tension in the room subside.

Instead, professor piss-me-off interjected, "It's understandable to forget. You're Kandosian, after all. Even if your looks don't pass."

I was not religious, but I seriously prayed to God for patience. "What about an extension on my thesis deadline?"

"We can do that for you." A sigh escaped me. Holding a hand over my heart, I practically skipped over to where the alchemy professor sat, his arm extended to hand me a file.