The Crownwell Academy

Content Warning

This book contains themes that may be distressing to some readers, including bullying, homophobia, and emotional and physical violence. It also includes mentions of past abuse, assault, and self-harm (including cutting). These elements appear or are referred to throughout the story.

Reader discretion is advised.

Aslan

“Mr. Rivers, welcome to Crownwell Academy. We hope you’ll feel comfortable among us.”

The dean shook my hand, congratulated me on my scholarship, and smiled the kind of smile people reserve for charity galas and rescued puppies. 

Comfortable.

That word and I had a complicated history.

Comfortable hadn’t described my first high school—the one that ended in trauma and scandal and adults suddenly whispering my name like it might stain their mouths. It hadn’t described the second one either, where I had to earn popularity by working my ass off where no one knew me. 

Comfort, for me, had always been temporary. Conditional. Revocable.

So yeah, at Crownwell Academy, comfort was probably not in the cards.

I nodded anyway because nodding was a survival skill I’d perfected early. 

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate the opportunity.” All the right words, delivered cleanly. People loved that. 

Outside the dean’s office, Crownwell looked exactly like it knew how much it cost. Stone buildings with names carved into them, lawns so perfectly manicured they didn’t look real, and students drifting across campus with their heads high. Confidence hanging on them like it came standard with tuition. I wore a jacket I’d altered myself from a thrift store find and tried not to think about how obvious the stitches probably were up close.

I came from a town in Maine small enough that everyone knew everyone else’s business. My mother was a community librarian, which meant our house had more books than furniture and a standing belief that knowledge could save you if you loved it hard enough. I did. Books, art, quiet things. 

Living on campus was going to be a whole new level of exposure. Full Cinderella experience. Except there was no fairy godmother—just a scholarship letter, a dorm assignment, and the expectation that I should be endlessly grateful for the privilege of existing here. Smile pretty. Don’t break anything expensive. Don’t remind them you came from somewhere else.

I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder and stepped out of the dean’s office with a folded campus map in my hand, already trying to decode the labyrinth of buildings and dorm wings printed on it. I took exactly three distracted steps before colliding hard with another body.

The map slipped from my fingers and fluttered to the floor.

“Hey! Watch it.”

The words hit before I could get my apology out. Flat. Sharp. Not loud—worse. Like he expected the world to move around him and was annoyed it hadn’t.

I looked up.

Big mistake.

His icy blue eyes locked straight onto mine without the slightest flicker of hesitation. There was nothing friendly about his stare—no softness, no humor. Just intensity. Unapologetic. Dangerous in a way that didn’t need to announce itself.

For half a second, my brain completely shut down.

He was tall—taller than me by a lot—with broad shoulders that stretched the fabric of his jacket like it had been tailored to show them off. Athletic without trying. Long, wavy blond hair fell forward over his forehead, catching the light in a way that felt unfair. 

I should’ve apologized. I probably opened my mouth to do it, but nothing came out.

Whatever that look did to me was immediate and deeply unsettling. My pulse kicked up, sharp and stupid, and suddenly I was very aware of how close we were—close enough that I could smell something clean and expensive, close enough that I felt exposed in a way I didn’t like.

So I broke eye contact first.

I dropped down to pick up my map, pretending I was very invested in not staring like an idiot.

When I straightened again, the hallway was empty.

No footsteps. No lingering presence. Just the map crumpled in my hand and the unpleasant certainty settling in my chest that I’d just met someone who was going to ruin my life in at least three different ways.

By the time I found my dorm, someone was already there.

He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, folding clothes with surgical precision. He looked up when I stepped in, eyes widening just a little before a soft smile took over.

“Oh—hi,” he said quickly. “You must be Aslan.”

He was slight, delicate in a way that felt intentional. Pale skin dusted with freckles, almost pink, ginger hair styled in loose curls, a sleeveless top that clung to his narrow shoulders. There was something unmistakably feminine about him—not exaggerated, just there, like he’d stopped trying to sand it down years ago.

“Guess that makes you James,” I said.

He smiled brighter at that. “Roommates.”

Instant ease. No tension. No measuring looks. Just relief.

We chatted while I unpacked. 

He’d been at Crownwell since he was twelve, which explained how settled he seemed.

Once I’d shoved my clothes into drawers that were already losing the battle, James hopped off the bed. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you around before you get completely lost.”

As we walked, he pointed things out with the casual familiarity of someone who’d memorized every corner. Class buildings. Practice fields. The dining hall. Then he lowered his voice slightly.

“And… those guys.”

He nodded ahead.

A group of boys stood together near the quad. Laughing. Relaxed. Untouchable.

“The Constellation,” James said. “The elites. They’ve all known each other forever. Four heirs to four empires.”

“Sounds… fun,” I said.

James snorted. “Oh, they’re lovely.” Then, quieter, “If you fit.”

I clocked the way his shoulders tightened, just a little. 

“Judgmental?”

He hesitated. Just a beat.

“Well… yeah. But not all of them are terrible. Their leader—Garrett—he’s not really like that. They just…” He shrugged, lips curling into a resigned smile. “They care about appearances. That’s all. It’s the way it goes. They’re the royalty. We’re the subjects.”

Riiiight.

I woke up to an empty room.

“Shit,” I muttered, squinting at my phone.

I carefully unpacked my uniform—the only semi-valuable thing I owned—and got dressed in record time, wrestling with the tie before bolting out the door with my bag half-zipped, following the growing noise straight to the cafeteria.

That was when I saw James.

He stood near one of the long tables, shoulders drawn in, hands clenched at his sides. He looked smaller than he had the night before. Cornered. And he wasn’t alone.

The Constellation had formed a loose circle around him, cruel and menacing, as someone held a worn notebook so everyone could see.

“Read this part,” he said, already laughing.

A boy cleared his throat and pitched it high, mocking.

“Oh my God, Garrett Williams is soooo hot,” he drawled, stretching the words until the cafeteria erupted. “I swear, every time he walks by, I—”

Laughter exploded around them.

“Put the sissy in his place, Garrett,” someone added, grinning. “You gonna let him write about you like that?”

Garrett’s jaw tightened. “I’m straight,” he snapped. “A guy liking me just makes me sick.”

The room seemed to tilt.

I recognized him instantly. That overwhelming presence from the hallway. That dangerous calm… now had a name. 

James’s face had gone white.

Something old and ugly stirred in my chest. Trauma. Scandal. The echo of laughter that never quite leaves you. I saw myself where James stood. Saw Kate stepping in when no one else would.

So I did the same.

“Is mocking someone’s genuine feelings amusing,” I said, loud enough to cut through the noise, “or is your ego so fragile you need to trample people to feel tall?”

Every head turned.

Garrett’s eyes locked onto mine.

Those blue eyes burned—furious, startled, alive in a way that felt too sharp for words. Heat crackled between us, unwanted and undeniable, and for one stupid second I forgot where I was.

Then his expression hardened.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

“The guy telling you to back off,” I said. “Give it back.”

The boy with the diary hesitated, then dropped it like it burned. I snatched it up and pressed it into James’s hands, steering him away before anyone could stop me.

Behind us, I caught movement—dark eyes softening just slightly. Aitor, I’d learn later. He looked… unsettled. The other two watched with interest, as if this was better entertainment than they’d expected.

James clutched the diary to his chest. “Thank you,” he whispered once we were clear. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I get that a lot.”

He warned me then—about Crownwell, about the hierarchy, about how people like Garrett Williams didn’t forget being challenged. 

I almost laughed.

By the end of that day, before I dragged myself to the room, I found a silver star pinned neatly to my locker.

Beneath it, a note in precise handwriting:

Welcome to Crownwell, commoner hero.

I stared at it for a long moment, my pulse still refusing to calm.

Garrett Williams… I was sure.

And somehow, I already knew this was only the beginning.