Coveting the Duke

Beneath the Halls of Ashwood Academy

Elena didn't dare look back after saying goodbye to her mother. Her thoughts churned, heart still hammering from the sight of Sebastian—and the realization that he was the Duke's son. How? she wondered, bewildered.

At the bookstore, Professor Frowde would often argue with students who were vocal about their dissatisfaction with the Duke and his policies. And Sebastian? He'd always been there too, sitting silently on the second floor, his eyes skimming the pages of whatever book he was engrossed in. She remembered his quiet, almost detached demeanor, as if the criticisms meant nothing to him. How could he stay so indifferent when people spoke of his own father?

Had it been a façade? Or did he simply not care?

The unease within her deepened. And now, here they were at Ashwood Academy—the Duke's son and the girl from Valtara. She was supposed to blend in, stay unnoticed like her mother had insisted. But how could she possibly do that when the first familiar face she encountered was someone like him?

Following the flow of students, Elena made her way through the halls of Ashwood Academy, greeted by the staff who lined the corridors, ushering everyone inside. She watched as many students seemed familiar with each other, exchanging effortless smiles and casual conversations. Slowly, the creeping tendrils of imposter syndrome began to take hold. She became hyper-aware of how different she looked—how different she was.

Elena's long, curly black hair cascaded down her back like a wild waterfall, resisting her mother's countless efforts to tame it. Catherine's hair, equally dark, had become sleek and elegant over years of refinement. But Elena—stubborn as always—loved the wild beauty of her curls. Now, walking in a sea of sleek, straight, refined hairstyles, her untamed locks stood out like a beacon.

Every glance at her reflection in the polished mirrored glass panes reminded her that, despite her best efforts, blending in was impossible.

Her mother had warned her not to stand out, but standing out seemed inevitable. Elena clenched her jaw. Not only because of her appearance but also because of Sebastian—the one person she recognized in this vast, intimidating academy. The duke's son. Would he acknowledge her when their paths crossed? And if he didn't, would ignoring him somehow be worse? She would still be working part-time at Frowde's Fine Books—would their paths cross there too?

"You're making my life hard, Mother," Elena murmured to herself, following the signs leading to the assembly hall.

Ahead, Elena noticed a girl watching her, eyes lingering for a second too long. There was something in her gaze—curiosity, maybe suspicion—that sent a prickle down Elena's spine. She quickly averted her eyes, but the unease remained. What if everyone here could see that she didn't belong?

Elena entered the hall, already brimming with students who had taken their assigned seats, with more still filtering in. The grandeur of the assembly hall left her breathless; she had never been in a room so magnificent. As her eyes scanned the unfamiliar faces, a wave of uncertainty washed over her. How will the next four years unfold? she wondered.

When it was her turn to register, Elena squared her shoulders and approached the desk, her curls bouncing with each step. Despite the nervous energy coursing through her, she tried to appear composed. The registrar, a stern-looking woman with a tight bun, raised an eyebrow as she took in Elena's appearance.

"Name, please?" she asked, her tone crisp, eyes already judging.

"Elena Rose Sinclair," Elena replied, her voice clear and confident, though a storm of doubts churned beneath her composed exterior.

The registrar's eyes flicked down to the list, her expression shifting ever so slightly as recognition dawned. A hint of knowing. "Ah, Viscount Sinclair's daughter. Welcome to the Academy, Miss Sinclair."