Bodies fall like autumn leaves when you wear the Corbyn-Hale crown, and I’ve run out of white dresses to bleach.
After an attempt on my life, my dad ships me to St. Sebastian’s at Cravenmoor Academy. With its Gothic arches and enough mafia heirs to staff a small army, he gifts me a shadow: Viper. Twenty-five, tattooed with sins, answering only to himself.
But I hate cages, even the breathing kind. So I make my own rules.
Rule One: Control the heirs. Blake Locke wears a smile sharp enough to cut throats. Rafferty Warrick drifts past guards the way poison slips past lips—quiet and fatal.
Rule Two: Keep Viper on a short leash. A man who kills without blinking shouldn’t make my pulse trip, but I’ve always loved venomous things.
Rule Three: Survive the year. Assassins lurk in lecture halls, and someone keeps slipping toxin-soaked lilies onto my pillow. Each petal is a countdown.
If St. Sebs wants a queen, it will take my venom along with my blood, and when the final bell tolls, the men who circle me will learn: I’m not the girl worth saving. I’m the empire worth burning the world down for.
