Meddie woke slowly to the predawn rays of the sun coming in through his window. It was time for class, and he did not want to go. With a groan, he sat up and swung his legs out of bed, Ada and Gladys slowly stirring on his shoulders. He padded into the bathroom and ran the hot water, splashing it on his face to clear out the sleep crust from his eyes. Slowly, he started to brush his teeth, running his forked tongue over his teeth and flicking it out as the serpents on his head slowly began to wake, albeit grumpily.

Once his teeth were brushed, he went into his bedroom and started getting into his uniform for the swordsmanship course. He wanted to get down there early so he had more time to stretch out. Tristan had left him alone for the majority of his time yesterday, and he was grateful for that, but he was also suspicious. He was deeply suspicious. Ah, well. It was fine.

He got dressed and headed out of his room, on the hunt for the training yards, and walked down the stairs towards his class. The morning was quiet, with only a few students in the halls, yawning and shuffling about, and it seemed like they were getting used to him, because the majority of them were completely ignoring him. Which was a relief, because he desperately just wanted to be ignored.

Ah… Someone was walking towards him. Justin Emory was headed straight for him, and Meddie braced for a confrontation.

“Meduso,” Justin sneered, and Meddie yawned and rubbed a hand over his face.

“It’s too early in the morning for your grudges, Justin,” he said and walked right past him. Justin paused, likely not expecting that, and Meddie rolled out his shoulders as he continued on past him.

“Wait,” Justin said, and Meddie paused. “Come to the magic training yards after school.”

“Why would I do something so colossally stupid?” Meddie asked flatly, and Justin flushed.

“Just come,” he snapped, and Meddie smiled at him.

“No,” he said, flat, and turned to continue walking. Justin seized him by the arm, and Ada and Gladys reared up, hissing angrily.

“I have a letter from your father,” he whispered in Meddie’s ear, and oh, he was intercepting Meddie’s mail now?

“Oh,” Meddie said, flat, and then he shrugged him off. “Keep it. At least someone will read it.”

Justin looked absolutely flabbergasted, and Meddie continued on down the hall. He had three letters from his father now piled up, and he wasn’t planning on reading then anytime soon. It was just the war all over again. His father had his chance. Meddie wasn’t going to give him another one.

Meddie continued walking away, wondering idly when Justin was going to give it up. The kid was persistent, but Meddie wasn’t interested in that sort of thing. He had been a nobody, a useless extra, in the otome game, but now he was trying to make his mark as a bully. He just didn’t have the teeth in him. Seriously, why hadn’t he been expelled for the scene he made on orientation day? He didn’t have to do all of that. He could have seriously started another war, and yet, he was still here. Did they just not expel students here or something?

Meddie hit the training yards and sat down in the dirt to start stretching. No one else was out here yet, and for that, he was grateful. He wanted his alone time before he got started with his day. His muscles were pulled out slowly and steadily, and he finished up in record time, laying back in the dirt and staring at the dawn peeking over the horizon. A shadow loomed over him, and he squinted up at Isilda, looking very amused.

“You’re here early,” she said, and he sat up.

“Good morning,” he said, and she tilted her head.

“I heard you were studying with Michael yesterday,” she said, and he twitched. Was everyone just keeping tabs on him now?

“I was, yes.”

“I thought he hated you.”

“Listen, Isilda,” he said impulsively, out of fucking nowhere. “While I’m flattered,” and he wasn’t, “I’d appreciate it if you stopped pursuing me.”

Isilda stared at him blankly, and he stood and brushed off the seat of his pants.

“It makes me uncomfortable, and I dislike it. I have enough problems going on right now.”

“What, we can’t be friends?” she asked, and he twitched again. He’d heard that before.

“I’ve been warned of your proclivities, and no, we can’t be friends,” he said flatly, and she stared at him. A smile touched her lips, and her eyes flashed dangerously.

“What proclivities?” she asked, looking to trap him into explaining himself, and he was not about to be shamed for protecting himself right now.

“Your fetish for demons. I don’t even look like a demon, so I don’t know why you’re trying so hard,” he said, and she tilted her head.

“I’m sorry, do you have a problem with someone finding your people attractive?”

“You don’t view us as people, simply a vehicle for your desire, and you don’t see us as anything but a way to get off,” he said bluntly. “And I’m not into that. I have more self respect than that.”

“Self respect?” she echoed. “If you had any self respect, you would be having this conversation with Tristan.”

“I beg your pardon?” he asked as he bristled, and she grinned ferally.

“Please. We both know he just wants to own you, like a dog,” she said, and he twitched again. “He doesn’t view you as a person. You’re an obsession to him.”

“We’re not discussing Tristan right now, and I don’t appreciate you deflecting the point,” he said stubbornly, and she rolled her eyes.

“You’re very well spoken for a demon, but the fact remains that all you are surrounded with are people that see you as a hole to fuck,” she spat out, and he stilled. “You might as well have some fun with it.”

“It’s not fun, though,” he said, and she laughed.

“Oh, please. I could make you cum four times in a row, and you think that’s not fun?” she asked derisively, and he pursed his lips. “Since we’re talking about sex, let’s talk about it. Who do you think could pleasure you better: me or Tristan?”

“It’s not a competition.”

“Yes, it is. And I’m going to win it,” she said simply, and he felt uncomfortable and gross. “Tristan may be obsessed with you, but I think a marriage between us might do better. After all, you can’t marry him.”

“I don’t want to get married to someone who doesn’t respect me when I say no,” Meddie said, and she tilted her head.

“Then, why are you entertaining Tristan?” she asked, and he swallowed.

“That’s different.”

“How so?”

“It’s different because he is the reason I’m here,” he spat out, and she slowly blinked at him. “It’s not so simple as telling him no. It’s complicated.”

“So, you’re a coward,” she said, and he inhaled sharply.

“I’m not a coward, I am tired,” he spat out, and she stared at him. “I am tired of fighting to live every moment of my life, and I am tired of fighting the waves that keep crashing in on me. I am sick of it, so pardon me if I pick my battles.”

Isilda looked a little shocked, and Meddie abruptly decided to cut class today. He was advanced, anyway, so his instructors wouldn’t look on him too unkindly---

“What’s going on here?” Tristan asked from behind Meddie, and Meddie whirled around him and marched past him, only for a hand to catch him around the middle and pull him back. “Whoa, where are you going?”

“Back to bed,” Meddie spat out, and Tristan tightened his grip.

“No, you’re not,” he said, and Meddie bared his sharp teeth at him.

“I’m going back to bed,” he snapped and ripped himself from Tristan’s grasp, and Tristan turned his gaze on Isilda.

“What did you do?” he asked, and Isilda held up her hands.

“I didn’t do anything. He’s just sensitive.”

“Of course he’s fucking sensitive, you’ve been harasssing him!” Tristan spat out, and didn’t he realize what a gigantic hypocrite he was being? “Meduso, wait.”

“No,” Meddie said as he continued to walk away, and Tristan hurried behind him and grabbed his arm.

“Hey, hey, don’t be like that,” Tristan said, and Meddie pulled his arm free. What was it with everyone and grabbing him?

“I will be however I want,” Meddie snapped, and Tristan grabbed him by the chin.

“Look at me,” he commanded, and Meddie lifted his eyes to stare into Tristan’s bright red eyes. “Are you really going to cut class?”

“Yes. I want to be alone,” Meddie said, and Tristan pursed his lips.

“Let’s go to the library to study, then,” he said, and Meddie pulled his chin free.

“I want to go back to bed.”

“Then, let me come with you.”

“To bed?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Too bad,” Tristan said and took Meddie’s hand. “Let’s go.”

Meddie ripped his hand out of Tristan’s grasp, and all of the frustration bubbled over.

“I don’t want to be here,” he said shakily, and Tristan paused. “I don’t want to be in Demonias Empire, but I don’t want to be here, either. I am trapped. At least give me the sanctity of my bedroom, or are you going to take that safe space, too?”

Tristan was silent, and Meddie felt tears sting at his eyes.

“I am overwhelmed,” he stated, as clear as he could. “I am overwhelmed, and I just want some fucking spicy food. If you really want to be useful to me, find me a chef that can make Demonias food. Otherwise, just leave me alone.”

With that, he turned and stalked away, trying to wipe the tears streaming down his cheeks. He could feel Tristan and Isilda’s eyes on his back, and he wondered why he was feeling so emotional. Was it because of his uterus? Was he going through another phantom period right now? Was that it? He didn’t know. He didn’t know, and he was scared. He was so scared.

He couldn’t sob right now. He could not sob, but he desperately wanted to. He just wanted to go home, even though home was a fucking death trap. At least he didn’t have to deal with all of this when he was home. Suddenly, the assassination attempts were a lot easier to deal with in his mind.

He would rather be dealing with his brothers trying to kill him, honestly. He would rather deal with his brothers trying to kill him than all of this.