Chapter Text
CHAPTER 1 — THE GIRL WHO DIDN’T WANT TO BE CHOSEN
(Modern AU — Enemies to Lovers)
The envelope arrived on a Wednesday, which Agatha thought was rude.
Life-changing news shouldn’t come on a weekday. Wednesdays especially didn’t deserve that kind of responsibility.
It was slid under the door sometime before sunrise, crisp and white and sealed with a gold crest: two circles, one etched with a swan in flight, the other with a coiled serpent. The symbols shimmered like they were alive.
Agatha stared at it while drinking her tea.
Her mother, Callis, hovered behind her, hands twitching with excitement.
“Open it,” Callis urged.
“I’m drinking,” Agatha said.
Her mother’s voice went breathless. “Aggie. It’s from them.”
Agatha didn’t need clarification.
Because only one academy in the world bothered sending enchanted envelopes that glowed like they’d been dipped in stardust.
THE SCHOOL FOR GOOD & EVIL ACADEMY
— the elite boarding school for the heirs, the gifted, the magically inclined, and the terminally privileged.
Future CEOs, world diplomats, politicians, celebrities, and every kind of rule-maker and rule-breaker went there.
Agatha had not applied.
She picked up the envelope like it might explode. With how her week was going, it probably would.
Callis practically vibrated. “Maybe they scouted you! You’re brilliant, dear. And your skating—”
“I didn’t apply,” Agatha repeated. “I didn’t ask for this.”
“You don’t always have to ask for opportunity to knock.”
“Sometimes,” Agatha muttered, “opportunity knocks on the wrong door.”
Still, she slid her thumb under the seal. It melted at her touch, dissolving like warm honey. Inside was a single letter, written in looping silver ink.
Miss Agatha Srocjaves-woods,
You are here by awarded a full scholarship to the School for Good & Evil Academy for the next academic year. Due to exceptional ability, you have been placed in the Accelerated Honors Track. Dormitory placement attached. Classes begin Monday.
Congratulations.
Dean Dovey & Dean Sader
Agatha nearly choked on her tea.
“A full scholarship?!” Callis gasped. “Aggie, this is—”
“A mistake,” Agatha said flatly.
She flipped the page, scanning the fine print. Everything was official. Signed. Sealed. Irrevocable.
She tried not to think about her father.
Maxwell Srocjaves — billionaire, international business tycoon, insufferable perfectionist, and unfortunately her biological parent.
He would love this.
Connections. Prestige. A school perfect for sculpting an heir.
Agatha’s stomach twisted.
Her phone buzzed on the table.
A text from Sophie.
YOU.
BETTER.
NOT.
HAVE.
TAKEN.
MY.
SPOT.
Agatha sighed. Of course. Sophie had applied to SGEA for months — essays, interviews, video portfolios, the works. Her dream was to become the next face of the Evergirl image: polished, perfect, pink.
Agatha hadn’t even wanted to go.
Another text:
I SWEAR TO GOD, AGATHA, IF YOU STOLE MY SCHOLARSHIP—
Agatha set her phone face down. “Mom… I don’t even want this. Sophie will kill me.”
“Sophie doesn’t get to decide your future.”
“Neither does a glowing envelope.”
Callis stepped behind her and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “You deserve more than this old house. More than hiding yourself away. More than skating at midnight because you don’t want anyone to see how good you are.”
Agatha swallowed.
Her mother always knew exactly where to stab gently.
“I’m not built for elite academies,” Agatha said. “I’m built for… libraries. And maybe lighting my father’s company on fire.”
“That school has a library.”
“Not the same.”
Callis squeezed her shoulders. “Aggie… you’re scared.”
“Yes. Because it’s obviously the wrong person.”
Her mother turned her by the chin. “What if it’s the right one?”
Agatha had no answer.
She just looked again at the envelope, at the intricate crest of swan and serpent swirling together in impossible balance.
It didn’t matter whether she wanted it.
The letter felt like a knife slicing the air around her.
A doorway she didn’t ask for — opening.
MOVE-IN DAY
The campus was too big.
That was Agatha’s first thought as her new school loomed before her: lush lawns, towering glass buildings, courtyards filled with statues of legends and alumni. Everything glittered with quiet wealth and loud magic.
Her duffel bag suddenly felt stupid.
She walked across the courtyard, hand gripping her ice-skate case, heartbeat pounding too fast. People streamed past her in polished uniforms — pastel “Evergirl” blazers, sharp “Nevergirl” jackets, the boys in matching navy or charcoal.
Agatha kept her hood up.
Kept walking.
Pretended not to panic.
And then someone stepped directly into her path.
Tall, broad shoulders, blond hair like a shampoo commercial, jaw so sharp it could cut diamonds. His uniform fit too well. His aura screamed annoyingly important.
He looked her up and down like she was gum on his shoe.
“Lost?” he asked.
His voice was smooth, low, and dripping with something that wasn’t quite arrogance — but definitely flirted with it.
“No,” Agatha said, stepping aside.
He stepped the same way, blocking her again.
“New?” he tried.
“No.”
He frowned. “I don’t recognize you.”
“Tragic.”
His eyebrows flew up. A few people passing behind him snickered quietly. He shot them a glare that made them scatter.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“Someone who doesn’t have time for this.”
She moved to pass him, but he matched her pace, walking backward effortlessly like he was built in a training montage.
“You have to be new. I would’ve remembered the attitude.”
“I’d hope so,” she muttered. “It’s my worst trait.”
“Not even close.” He smirked. “Your hair does that.”
She stopped walking.
His smirk deepened.
He thought he’d won something.
Agatha took a breath. “Your flirting is outdated, and your face doesn’t work on me.”
His smile dropped instantly.
An offended prince without a crown.
“I wasn’t flirting,” he snapped.
“Oh, so you’re just naturally annoying?”
His jaw tightened. “Listen, I’m trying to—”
“Be in my way?”
“No—”
“Insult me?”
“No—”
“Collect new victims?”
That got a real reaction. His face flushed, surprised, insulted, and—in some weird way—amused.
“You talk a lot for someone who doesn’t even know my name.”
“I don’t want to know your name.”
“Well, too late.” He held out a hand. “Tedros Pendragon.”
Agatha blinked.
She did know that name.
Everyone did.
The prince.
Son of King Arthur.
Heir to a fallen legacy.
Agatha stared at him for a moment longer than she meant to.
He mistook it for awe.
“You’re welcome,” he said smugly.
She brushed past him.
He looked outraged.
“That’s it? You’re not even— you’re not going to say anything?”
“Yes,” Agatha said.
“I’m going to say goodbye.”
She walked off.
Tedros stayed frozen for a good ten seconds, mouth hanging open like a confused statue.
Behind her, she heard him mutter:
“…What the hell just happened?”
DORM ROOM — LATER
Agatha unpacked silently in her new dorm, which was nicer than any hotel she’d ever stayed in. Kiko was on her bed rearranging glitter pens and pastel notebooks.
“You talked to him?” Kiko asked, eyes wide with gossip hunger.
“Who?”
“Tedros.” She giggled. “The prince of the academy.”
“I didn’t talk. He annoyed me.”
“So… you talked.”
Agatha groaned. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”
Kiko flopped back dramatically. “Sophie is going to combust when she hears.”
“Please don’t tell her.”
Kiko paused. “She’s still mad about the scholarship?”
“She thinks I stole it.”
“You didn’t even apply.”
“I know,” Agatha said. “But Sophie only needs the idea.”
Kiko sat up, face softening. “She’ll get over it.”
Agatha wasn’t so sure.
She tied up her skates. “I’m going to the rink.”
Kiko perked up. “You skate?”
“No,” Agatha deadpanned. “I slide elegantly.”
Kiko laughed. “Go. Do your broody princess thing.”
Agatha rolled her eyes—but smiled.
THE RINK
The ice welcomed her like an old friend, cold and honest. She glided fast, cutting through the crisp air, finally breathing again.
Here, no one expected anything.
No power.
No perfection.
No royalty.
No Srocjaves.
Just motion.
Just peace.
She didn’t know someone was watching.
On the other side of the rink, Tedros leaned against the glass, breath fogging the pane, eyes wide.
He had come to clear his head.
Instead, he found the strange girl from the courtyard slicing through the ice like she owned winter.
Something in his chest flickered.
Dangerously.
He whispered, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
BACK IN HER ROOM
Agatha’s phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number:
That skating was ridiculous.
—Tedros
She stared at it, horrified.
She texted back:
How did you get my number?
His reply came instantly:
I’m resourceful.
She typed furiously:
Lose it.
He sent back:
Make me.
Agatha threw her phone on the bed.
She already hated this school.
And she had a terrible feeling it was only going to get worse.
Or… far more complicated.