Chapter Text
“Says who!? You have the dumbest voice here, uggo!”
“Ugh, Damian, you’re so rude, go crawl back under whatever rock you crawled out from, anyway!” Becky shot back, stepping protectively in front of her friend.
“My voice is way sweeter than yours, Second Son,” Anya crossed her arms with a huff. “I’m cuter than you so of course I have a better voice!”
“In your dreams!” Ewen shouted back. “Lord Damian is getting this solo, and your little raccoon face doesn’t stand a chance!”
The five Cecile Hall students glared at each other from across the choir room—the boys on their side, the girls on theirs, each side silently daring the other to keep going.
“Shut up, all of you—Mrs. Jody’s coming!” One of the girls hissed, peeking into the hallway. “Get to your spots or we'll be in big trouble!”
The sound of little feet scampering to their places on the risers filled the space until the door to the classroom opened and in stepped the choir director, Mrs. Jody.
“Good morning, class! Judging by those faces, I’ll take it you’re all ready for the vocal tryouts for our Winter Star Festival Anthem?” Mrs. Jody’s warm smile grew as she continued. “Each year, one grade is entrusted with the honor of opening the Festival in song. It sets the tone for the entire celebration and even features a special duet within the anthem. Being chosen is a tremendous honor.”
Excited murmurs rippled through the choir as Mrs. Jody moved to the piano. “Who would like to begin?”
“I will!” Becky shot to her feet, hand thrust high into the air.
“Wonderful! I’m always impressed by students brave enough to go first,” Mrs. Jody said brightly. “Let’s warm up.”
After a few simple vocal exercises, Becky sang the first verse of the anthem.
“Beautifully done, Becky,” Mrs. Jody applauded. “Excellent pitch, and your voice carries wonderfully. Thank you for auditioning.” She glanced around the room. “Who’s next?”
“I’ll go,” Damian said, rising from his seat and sending Anya a sharp glare as he passed.
“Oh! Master Desmond—how delightful!” Mrs. Jody smiled. “I do admire a young man unafraid to sing. Come on down.”
Damian completed his audition flawlessly and returned to his seat with a proud air.
“Anya next!” She chirped beside Becky, waving her arm and hopped down, hurrying to the piano.
“I love the enthusiasm!” Mrs. Jody laughed. “Whenever you’re ready.”
The room fell silent. When Anya finished her final note, she glanced at Becky—who was staring, slack-jawed. Her stomach flipped. Was that bad? She looked toward the boys’ side and met Damian’s gaze. His scowl was gone, replaced by something unreadable—eyes wide, mouth slightly open.
“Anya…” Mrs. Jody said gently. “That was…very, very good. Have you been practicing?”
“Uh—yes. With my papa,” Anya swallowed. “He said it was important for world peace…”
Mrs. Jody chuckled softly. “With a voice like that, my dear, we may be getting closer. Thank you for auditioning.”
Anya returned to her seat amid hushed whispers and lingering stares. As the next student stepped forward, Becky leaned in close.
“Anya, that was heart-stoppingly beautiful,” she whispered. “I had no idea you could sing like that! You’re getting the solo—no question.”
“You really think so?” Anya asked, eyes wide.
“If you don’t, I’ll eat my socks,” Becky scoffed. “And did you see Damian? If he wasn’t already madly in love with you, he definitely is now.”
Anya wrinkled her nose. “I wasn’t singing for Second Son. I was singing for Mrs. Jody,” she muttered.
><><><><
“A tree decorating contest?” Alice Paulette gasped during craft class. “That sounds like so much fun!”
“I know, right?” Meg chimed in eagerly. “I love making decorations! What do we get if we win?”
Master Henderson strode across the front of the room, cane in hand, his posture as dignified as ever. “Each class from every hall will compete. The completed trees will be displayed in the dormitory courtyards and judged by members of the Board of Trustees.”
“What a colossal waste of time,” Damian muttered under his breath, eyes rolling. “We could be doing something actually useful—like preparing for term finals—instead of this ridiculous fluff.”
“I strongly suggest you reconsider that opinion, Mr. Desmond,” Henderson said coolly, rapping his cane near Damian’s desk and making him jump. “Especially when you consider that the Hall with the most votes will earn an exclusive Winter Star Luncheon in the Imperial Scholar’s private cafeteria.”
A collective gasp rippled through the room as Damian’s jaw dropped.
“We get to eat with the super smart kids?!” Anya squealed. “So coool!”
“Precisely,” Henderson replied. “So I expect everyone to take this seriously. Today, you’ll begin by stringing garland. It’s a delicate task, and our class is responsible for preparing it for every tree. Each Hall receives one tree per class, forming a small grove outside the grounds. The judging is by Hall, so cooperation is essential.”
He returned to the front and produced two bulging trash bags of popcorn, along with several smaller bags of dried cranberries.
“You’ll work in groups of four,” he continued. “Each group will be assigned a section of garland. Using fishing line and these needles, you’ll alternate popcorn and cranberries, threading them through the center like so.”
He demonstrated, skewering each piece with practiced ease.
“Calling it now,” Damian sneered. “First one to stab themselves is Anya.”
“Yeah,” Emile snickered. “Then she can run crying to her feelings-doctor daddy.”
Anya shot them a sharp glare. “Oh? And who says it won’t be your blood on my needle?”
Their laughter died instantly. Damian’s smug grin collapsed into a scowl. “Tch. Whatever. Just stay out of my way.”
“We all know how that usually goes,” Becky giggled. “Last time you provoked her, it didn’t end so well, Damian.”
“Shut up, Becky,” Damian snapped. “No one asked you.”
“Group five,” Henderson announced, unperturbed. “Anya Forger, Becky Blackbell, Damian Desmond, and Ewen Egeburg. You may begin.”
“Why do I always—!” Damian groaned, clawing at his hair and throwing his head back. “THIS IS SO STUPID!”
“I’d advise you to calm yourself, Mr. Desmond,” Henderson said mildly. “You’re liable to skewer your finger.”
Becky and Anya stifled their laughter as they gathered supplies. Damian glowered at them from his seat, while Ewen sat silently—wide-eyed—carefully sliding his first cranberry onto the line.
“I wonder what the Imperial Scholar Cafeteria is like,” Becky said thoughtfully as she threaded popcorn and cranberries onto her fishing line.
“I bet they serve the best omurice,” Anya sighed dreamily, pressing a stubborn cranberry into place.
“I bet Boss Man’s been in there,” Ewen added, glancing at Damian, who was squinting at a particularly difficult piece of popcorn. “Demetrius eats there all the time, right? You’ve probably been invited at least once.”
“…Damian?”
“OW—DAMMIT!” Damian yelped, jerking his hand back and shoving his thumb into his mouth. “Why’d you distract me?! That hurt!”
“Guess I don’t need to stab you after all,” Anya snorted, wearing a smug little grin.
“Shut up, uggo!” Damian snapped, glaring at her as he hurled the mangled popcorn into the trash bag. “And you’re not moving any faster than I am! Besides, they don’t let morons into the Imperial Scholar Cafeteria anyway!”
“Ohhh, so that’s why you’ve never been,” Anya shot back with a smirk.
“SHUT UUUUP!”
“MASTER DESMOND. MISS FORGER.”
Master Henderson’s thunderous voice brought the entire group to a halt. “Since you are clearly incapable of sitting beside one another and completing a simple task, you will return to your desks and keep your heads down for the remainder of class. You will also report to my office after the all-school assembly this afternoon for further instruction.”
He punctuated the order with a sharp slam of his cane against the floor.
Damian swallowed hard, eyes wide. “Y-yes sir. Sorry, sir,” he said, voice tight, as he stood and trudged back to his desk, lowering his head onto folded arms.
Anya gently set her garland aside and glanced at Becky’s anxious face. “I’m sorry, Master Henderson,” she said softly before returning to her own seat.
><><><><><
“The Winter Star Soiree is a season of joy, celebration, and lighthearted delight,” the Eden Academy Headmaster’s voice boomed across the vast assembly hall. The space was packed wall to wall, filled with students and teachers from every primary grade.
“They must hold a separate assembly for the older students,” Becky whispered, leaning close to Anya. “I never really realized just how huge our school is.”
“Yeah…” Anya’s eyes widened as she scanned the endless rows of faces. Students all the way up through sixth year filled the hall, and she suddenly felt smaller than usual. “I guess Super Sy-on Boy isn’t here, then…”
“You mean Demetrius? No, he’s with the middle school,” Becky said, craning her neck to the right before stifling a giggle.
“What?” Anya asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Becky said quickly. “Just…someone paying very close attention to someone who isn’t at the podium.”
“What do you mean?” Anya started to turn, but Becky caught her arm.
“Don’t look yet! You’ll ruin it.”
“Ruin what?”
“Damian’s staring at you. He’s been doing it for at least thirty seconds.” Becky gave her arm a squeeze.
Anya huffed. “Becky, he’s probably just murderating me with his eyes because we got in trouble with Master Henderson earlier.”
“I don’t think so,” Becky replied, giving her a knowing look. “He watches you all the time.”
“He wants to murderate me all the time.”
Becky tilted her head to sneak a peek. “That’s not what murdering someone looks like.”
Anya opened her mouth to argue, but turned around anyway—and caught Damian mid-stare. He jolted and froze, eyes wide. For a beat, neither of them moved. Then he snapped his attention back to the Headmaster, shoulders stiff and ears bright red.
Anya turned back to Becky, her emerald eyes big. “Murder,” she mumbled, and looked straight ahead.
“Oh, Anya, you are hopeless,” Becky sighed, rolling her eyes and turning her attention back to the Headmaster, who was now outlining the big evening’s festivities and the Winter Star Court.
“The graduating class will elect the King and Queen of the Winter Star, along with the Starlight Court,” the Headmaster continued. “Each class will nominate two representatives: a Prince and a Princess of Starlight. The King and Queen will cut the ribbon to open the Soiree and lead the evening’s first Starlight Skate. They and their Court will take the rink for the inaugural group skate before the floor opens to all.”
“Oh! One day I want to be Queen of the Winter Star,” Becky breathed, clasping her hands to her cheeks. “It sounds so romantic!”
“I don’t know how to skate,” Anya admitted quietly.
“Oh, skating is easy! And fun,” Becky insisted, squeezing her arm. “I’ll teach you—you’ll get it in no time.”
“Okay!”
“And we still get to vote for the Prince and Princess of each class!” Becky squealed. “I’ll vote for you if you vote for me!”
“Okay… being a princess does sound kind of fun,” Anya said thoughtfully.
“Ooooh, and what if you were the princess and Damian was the prince?” Becky swooned all over again. “Wouldn’t that be dreamy?”
Anya’s eyebrows shot up. “Would that make him like me? That could help with Plan B!”
“Oh, absolutely,” Becky nodded enthusiastically. “It’d be like that dance you two had—only a hundred times more romantic!”
Anya wrinkled her nose. “Romance not necessary. Friends is good.”
Becky sighed, patting her knee. “Oh, Anya… I’d say you’re playing hard to get, but I think you’re just too young to know what’s happening.”
“And now, we are ready to announce the soloists for this year’s Winter Star Festival Anthem. The honor has been awarded to the first-year class,” the Headmaster announced. “At this time, I’d like to invite Mrs. Jody to the podium.”
“Oh my stars!” Becky gasped. “I can’t believe it—they’re announcing it already!” She seized Anya’s hand and squeezed. “Hold my hand until it’s over!”
“Good afternoon, students,” Mrs. Jody said warmly into the microphone. “I want to commend every student who auditioned for the duet. Each of you was wonderful, and choosing was no easy task. Any one of you could have stood before our school community with pride. That said, two students stood out and made a lasting impression, and they will serve as this year’s Winter Anthem soloists.”
Becky’s grip tightened. “This is it. I don’t think my heart can handle it!”
“For the Winter Star Anthem, I am delighted to announce that our soloists will be Miss Becky Blackbell and Miss Anya Forger. Would you please stand and be recognized?”
Applause erupted across the hall as the stunned girls slowly rose to their feet, eyes wide and mouths agape, their hands still locked together. Becky’s face split into a radiant grin as she bounced in place.
“Anya! Anya, Anya, Anya! We did it! We got it! We really got it!”
“We did!” Anya squealed. “We get to sing together!”
Mrs. Jody gently cut through their celebration. “We will also have two alternates who will learn the duet alongside them. Alternate One will be Damian Desmond, and Alternate Two will be Narcis Hubrisse.”
The girls’ gazes snapped to Damian. His face had gone scarlet, jaw tight, eyes fixed squarely on them.
“Okay, now he’s definitely murderating me with his eyes,” Anya groaned. “No romance. No way, Becky. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“He’s just jealous,” Becky whispered back. “There’s absolutely no way that boy isn’t completely, hopelessly in love with you. Trust me.
><><><><><
“Frankly, the two of you are exhausting my repertoire of methods for encouraging cooperation during class,” Master Henderson said evenly. His calm, measured tone was often more unsettling than outright anger. “As such, I’m afraid I’ll have to employ more…decisive measures.”
“D-decisive measures, sir?” Damian echoed, his voice faltering.
Anya could only stare at the Cecile Hall housemaster, eyes wide and unblinking.
“Indeed. Beginning immediately, you will both report to my office after classes each day for cooperative work exercises. These sessions will be conducted at my discretion—and they will be graded.”
“What?!” Damian spluttered. “Th-that isn’t fair!”
Henderson turned on him sharply. “What is unfair, Master Desmond, is that I chose not to issue you a Tonitrus Bolt for your inexcusable conduct earlier today. Unless you would prefer that consequence instead of the one I’ve outlined, I suggest you refrain from interrupting me until I have finished speaking.”
Damian swallowed, gaze dropping to his folded hands. “N-no, sir. I apologize, sir,” he muttered.
“Good. You will attend these sessions for thirty minutes at the conclusion of each school day,” Henderson continued. “I will notify your parents, Miss Forger, and arrange transportation accordingly. The lack of decorum you display during shared lessons is unacceptable and will be corrected. Though you are assigned to separate classes for most subjects, whenever you are together—and during extracurricular activities such as the tree-decorating—civility and proper conduct are not optional. Am I understood?”
“Yes, Master Henderson,” they answered together.
“Excellent. I expect to see you tomorrow. You are dismissed.”