The door opened onto something far beyond what “classroom” implied.

  My steps slowed. Aria pulled me forward.

  A semi-circular amphitheatre stretched before us, tiered seating arranged in concentric rings around a central stage. Velvet chaise lounges and cushioned benches replaced traditional desks. Crystal sconces cast dim crimson light across silk tapestries depicting—I looked away quickly. Historical scenes. Diplomatic victories. Right.

  The air carried incense, sweet and pervasive, mixing with something else I couldn’t identify. Pheromone blockers, according to the codex entry I’d memorized. Meant to keep students focused during lectures.

  It wasn’t working.

  “This is amazing,” Aria breathed. She bounced toward an empty chaise near the middle tier. “Come on, before all the good spots are taken.”

  I followed, hyperaware of every eye tracking our movement. Word traveled fast, apparently. The confrontation with Valentina had already marked us.

  Aria sprawled across the chaise with practiced ease, patting the space beside her. I sat more carefully, keeping my spine straight despite the furniture’s invitation to recline.

  “Comfortable?” Aria grinned. “Professor Moira knows how to set a mood.”

  “It’s a lecture hall.”

  “It’s a seduction lecture hall.” She gestured at the stage below. “We’re supposed to be comfortable. Relaxed. Open to—” Her tail flicked. “—learning.”

  Right. Because this was a class about manipulating people into bed. Of course the furniture encouraged intimacy.

  Other students filtered in, claiming seats in clusters. The purebloods gravitated toward the front tiers, their larger wings and ornate horns marking their status even through glamours. Commoners filled the back and sides.

  Valentina swept in surrounded by her usual entourage, claiming a chaise directly center-front. She didn’t look our direction. Didn’t need to. The message was clear—she owned this space, and we were beneath her notice.

  For now.

  “I can’t wait to see what we’re learning today,” Aria said. “Do you think she’ll demonstrate? I heard upperclassmen say Professor Moira sometimes brings in—”

  The doors at the back of the stage opened.

  Professor Moira entered wearing a fitted black dress that showed considerably more skin than her Academy administrative robes. Her horns curved elegantly from her temples, undiminished by glamour here. Wings spread briefly before folding against her back.

  Conversation died.

  “Good morning.” Moira’s voice carried effortlessly across the amphitheatre. “Welcome to Seduction Theory. I am Professor Moira, and for the next four years, I will be teaching you to transform your raw instincts into refined tools.”

  She walked to the centre of the stage, movements deliberate.

  “Most of you entered this Academy believing you already understand seduction. After all, you’re succubi. It’s in your nature.” She paused. “You’re wrong.”

  A few students shifted.

  “What you possess,” Moira continued, “is hunger. Instinct. The crude knowledge of how to lure prey close enough to feed. This makes you no different from a feral demon snapping at scraps.”

  Her gaze swept the tiers. Several students straightened.

  “What I will teach you is art. The difference between devouring a meal and cultivating a garden. Between taking what you need and building an empire of willing servants who beg to sustain you.”

  Despite myself, I leaned forward slightly.

  “Seduction is not about your beauty—though you are all beautiful. It is not about magic—though many of you will attempt to rely on Charm spells like crutches.” Her tone sharpened. “Anyone caught using compulsion magic during practical exercises will fail immediately. Is that understood?”

  A murmur of acknowledgment rippled through the hall.

  “Good.” Moira’s expression softened fractionally. “Seduction is about identifying what your target needs. Not wants—needs. The void inside them they’ve spent their entire existence trying to fill.”

  She moved to a large slate board behind her, chalk appearing in her hand. Three words appeared in elegant script:

  Loneliness. Inadequacy. Invisibility.

  “These are the most common voids you will encounter in mortal targets. But demons, angels, even spirits—all possess their own deficiencies.” She tapped the board. “Your task is to become the solution they’ve been desperately seeking.”

  Aria’s tail curled around her own thigh, attention completely focused.

  “Let me demonstrate.” Moira gestured, and a chair materialized center-stage. She sat, crossing her legs, and her entire demeanour shifted.

  Her shoulders curved inward slightly. Her expression became uncertain. Even her wings seemed to fold tighter.

  “I am a mortal,” she said, voice quieter now. “Mid-thirties. From fairly developed country. Successful career. Empty apartment. I haven’t felt genuine connection in years.” She looked up at the audience. “Now—who wants to seduce me?”

  Every hand but mine shot up.

  Aria practically vibrated beside me, arm stretched high. “Pick me, pick me, pick me—”

  Not me. Please, not me.

  Moira’s gaze swept the eager faces. Paused on me for a fraction of a second—just long enough for my stomach to drop—then moved on.

  “You.” She pointed to a student in the second tier. “Come down.”

  * * *

  A student rose from the second tier—dark red skin, horns swept back in sharp angles, confidence in her stride as she descended to the stage.

  “Your name?” Moira asked.

  “Risyss Stygia, Professor.”

  “Miss Stygia.” Moira settled back into the chair, shoulders curving inward again. That uncertain expression returned—the lonely professional, isolated despite success. “Proceed.”

  Risyss circled to Moira’s side, not directly in front. Smart. Less confrontational. She pulled another chair from somewhere offstage, angling it to face Moira at a diagonal, and sat.

  “Long day?” Risyss asked.

  “Aren’t they all.” Moira’s voice carried that particular exhaustion of someone who’d stopped expecting anything different.

  “I noticed you came in alone.” Risyss leaned forward slightly. “No one waiting for you?”

  I winced internally. Too direct.

  “There’s rarely anyone waiting.” Moira’s tone flattened. Defensive.

  Risyss adjusted quickly. “I just meant… you seem like someone who has a lot to manage. Must be difficult finding time for yourself.”

  Better. She’d pivoted away from the wound, acknowledging the excuse instead of pressing.

  The conversation continued—Risyss asking about Moira’s work, making observations about the emptiness of achievement without connection, offering subtle commentary that suggested she understood. Not terrible. She maintained eye contact without staring, mirrored Moira’s posture changes, kept her voice warm.

  Despite my better judgment, I found myself analysing the approach. Not because I wanted to learn—though if Moira questioned me later, I’d need something to say. Mostly because there was nothing else to do except watch.

  Risyss was competent. Her instincts guided her toward the right emotional territory, and she didn’t fumble the basic mechanics. But something was missing. The conversation felt… transactional. Like Risyss was following a script, hitting the correct beats without genuine investment.

  Finally, Moira raised a hand. “Stop.”

  Risyss froze.

  “Not bad.” Moira straightened in her chair, the vulnerable persona dissolving. “You identified the void correctly. Your positioning was appropriate. You avoided the most obvious mistakes.” She stood. “But you failed.”

  Risyss’s tail twitched. “I—”

  “You treated this as a one-night transaction. Seduce the lonely professional, take them home, fuck, disappear.” Moira walked to the slate board. “Any succubus can do that. Most mortal courtesans with sufficient charm could do that. What I teach isn’t just about feeding, nor even about sustainability—though that’s part of it.”

  She turned to face the class.

  “It’s about power.”

  The word hung in the air.

  “True seduction doesn’t end at dawn. It creates dependency. Loyalty. A target who returns willingly, who needs you, who structures their entire existence around the moments you grant them your presence.” Moira’s gaze swept the tiers. “Miss Stygia approached me as a predator approaches prey. I felt evaluated. Studied. She wanted something from me.”

  Risyss’s shoulders curved inward slightly.

  “The correct approach,” Moira continued, “requires you to offer something first. Not sexually—that comes later, as reward for what you’ve already built. You must become the solution to their void before they realize they’re being seduced at all.”

  She gestured back toward the chair. “The lonely professional doesn’t need someone to point out their loneliness. They need someone who makes them feel seen. Understood. Someone who appears in their life like an unexpected gift rather than a calculated hunter.”

  Moira’s voice softened. “Genuine interest—or the performance of it so flawless they cannot tell the difference. That’s the foundation.”

  She looked at Risyss. “Return to your seat.”

  The student climbed back up, wings tucked tight.

  “Next.” Moira pointed to another raised hand.

  The second student did worse—too aggressive, mistaking intensity for connection. The third lasted barely two minutes before Moira stopped her. The fourth showed promise but couldn’t maintain the performance once Moira tested her with deliberate coldness.

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  Three more attempts. Three more failures.

  “You.” Moira pointed directly at me.

  My stomach dropped.

  “Lucky,” Aria whispered, nudging my shoulder.

  “Yeah. Lucky.” The word came out hollow.

  I stood. Every eye in the amphitheatre tracked my descent to the stage. Valentina’s gaze burned from the front tier.

  What if I fail miserably?

  I had no idea how to seduce someone. Instinct or not, Moira clearly expected something more—the look on her face proved it. She wanted someone to finally demonstrate how it was done. And a princess was certainly someone who should know this, who’d learned about it from the beginning.

  What if she sees I’m not the real Lily?

  “Your name?” Moira settled back into the chair, that uncertain professional returning.

  “Lily Nightstar, Professor.”

  “Miss Nightstar.” She gestured vaguely. “When you’re ready.”

  My mind raced. Every previous student had failed. Moira would be expecting—what? Excellence? Something revolutionary? I couldn’t deliver that. I didn’t even understand the assignment.

  Just do something. Anything is better than standing here frozen.

  I pulled the spare chair closer, angling it like Risyss had. Sat down. Tried to remember what Moira had said about the earlier attempts.

  Don’t point out the loneliness. Don’t evaluate. Offer something first.

  Pretend she’s just a coworker. Someone at the engineering firm. What would I say?

  “Long week?” I asked.

  Moira’s expression didn’t change. “They tend to blend together.”

  “Yeah.” I let a small smile surface. “I get that. Sometimes I look up and realize I haven’t actually talked to anyone all day. Just… emails and reports and meetings that could’ve been emails.”

  Her eyes flickered with something—recognition, maybe. “You work in an office?”

  “Something like that.” I leaned back slightly, trying to appear relaxed. “A lot of problem-solving. Systems that need fixing. People who need things they didn’t ask for correctly.” I paused. “What about you?”

  “Similar.” She shifted in the chair. “Everyone wants something. Nobody says what they actually mean.”

  “God, yes.” The words came easier now. “The worst is when they ask for one thing but clearly need something completely different, and you have to figure out—”

  I stopped. Remembered what Moira had said about the void.

  She’s lonely. Feels unseen. Professional success without connection.

  I adjusted course. “Do you ever feel like you’re really good at solving everyone else’s problems, but when it comes to your own…” I trailed off, let the silence finish the thought.

  Moira’s posture changed fractionally. “Constantly.”

  “It’s exhausting.” I met her eyes. “Being the person everyone comes to, but never having someone you can go to yourself.”

  “Most people wouldn’t understand even if I tried to explain.”

  “Because they see the success,” I said. “The competence. They assume you have it all together.”

  “Exactly.” Something in her voice softened. “They don’t realize that coming home to an empty apartment after fixing everyone else’s disasters just makes the quiet louder.”

  The conversation flowed. I forgot I was performing. Forgot the audience watching. We talked about the weight of responsibility, the isolation of competence, the way achievement created distance rather than connection. I asked questions. She answered. I offered my own observations—not solutions, just… understanding.

  Time became irrelevant.

  “Stop.”

  Moira’s voice cut through the moment. I blinked, suddenly remembering where I was. What I was supposed to be doing.

  Seduction. I was supposed to seduce her, not have a conversation about work-related isolation.

  Panic spiked. I’d gotten so comfortable I’d completely forgotten the assignment. Just talked like a normal person instead of—

  “That,” Moira said, standing, “is how you lay a foundation.”

  I stared at her.

  She turned to address the class, slipping fully out of the mortal persona. “Miss Nightstar was the only student today who acknowledged the void without naming it. She didn’t point out my loneliness—she shared her own. She didn’t offer solutions—she offered understanding. And most importantly—”

  Moira looked at me. “At no point in time I thought she was trying to seduce me, that it was just a performance.”

  A subtle nod. Almost imperceptible.

  “Return to your seat, Miss Nightstar.”

  I stood, legs unsteady. Climbed back up to the second tier where Aria waited, grinning like I’d just won a tournament.

  I sat. Stared at the stage.

  Somehow I’d gotten lucky. Stumbled into the right approach by accident. Because I hadn’t known what I was doing, I’d done it correctly.

  My hands trembled slightly in my lap.

  Below, Moira continued explaining the technique—something about establishing rapport, building trust, creating emotional investment before physical contact. But I barely heard it.

  I’d just successfully “seduced” a professor in front of an entire class, and I had absolutely no idea how.

  * * *

  The class emptied in stages—front rows first, Valentina’s group sweeping out like they owned the corridor beyond. I gathered my things slowly, grateful for the chance to process what had just happened.

  Aria grabbed my arm before I reached the door. “Okay, seriously. Where did you learn that?”

  “Learn what?”

  “That.” She gestured back toward the stage. “The whole… I don’t even know what to call it. Emotional manipulation? Psychological infiltration?” Her tail flicked enthusiastically. “I always thought I was pretty good at reading people, but you—Lily, you have to teach me how you did that.”

  I shifted my weight slightly. “I don’t know if I can teach it.”

  “Oh, come on.” She nudged me with her elbow as we entered the corridor. “Don’t hog all the good techniques. We’re roommates. We should share knowledge. Better grades for both of us, right?”

  How could I explain something I’d stumbled into by accident? I hadn’t been trying. I’d just… talked. Forgotten the assignment entirely and had a conversation like a normal person. The fact that it worked was pure luck.

  “I mean it,” I said. “I wasn’t—”

  “Plus if you help me, I can help you with the more physical stuff.” Aria grinned. “I know tricks that’ll make—”

  A sharp shoulder check interrupted her mid-sentence. Valentina pushed between us without a word, her scoff and brief glare the only acknowledgment of our existence. Her entourage followed in formation, creating a small procession down the corridor.

  “Bitch,” Aria muttered once they’d passed, quiet enough not to carry.

  I seized the distraction. “What’s next?”

  “Maths.” Aria groaned, the sound carrying genuine suffering. “At least it’s taught by a male professor.” She perked up slightly. “I wonder if he’s handsome.”

  My internal reaction was entirely different. Thank god. Something normal. Hopefully.

  Mathematics. Equations. Logic. Structure. Things that made sense without requiring me to understand demonic social hierarchy or succubus feeding patterns or how to seduce people I had no interest in seducing.

  “Come on.” Aria tugged me forward. “We don’t want to be late on the first day.”

  * * *

  The classroom looked… normal.

  I stopped just inside the doorway, taking in rows of wooden desks, a slate blackboard, windows letting in Gehenna’s crimson light. No velvet seating. No aphrodisiac incense. No stage for demonstrations.

  “Oh,” Aria said beside me, her disappointment audible. “This is boring.”

  Only three other students occupied the seats—no sign of Valentina or her entourage. Different groups, probably. One small mercy.

  My attention caught on the student sitting alone in the third row. White hair, though not as long as mine. Her posture suggested she’d claimed that spot deliberately rather than defaulting to it. The way she held herself reminded me of the illustrations I’d seen in the palace library—purebloods carried themselves differently, though I couldn’t articulate exactly how.

  Aria pulled me toward seats in the middle section. “At least we don’t have to deal with Valentina’s bullshit in here.”

  I settled into the chair, the wood solid and familiar under me. The normalcy created an odd ache in my chest.

  At the front of the room stood a demon with a rhinoceros head—grey skin, horn, the works—wearing spectacles that seemed purely decorative. He was arranging papers on his desk with methodical precision.

  “Look at him,” Aria whispered. “He’s as boring as the subject he teaches. Couldn’t they have at least hired someone handsome for this?” She slumped lower in her seat. “This is going to be torture.”

  The professor glanced up as the last student entered. He waited until the door closed, then stepped to the centre of the front platform.

  “Good morning. I am Professor Vox Cardinal, and this is Mathematics.” His voice carried clearly without needing to raise it. “Before we begin, I should clarify the Academy’s policy regarding this course.”

  He adjusted his spectacles.

  “Attendance is optional. If you believe your time is better spent elsewhere, you may leave now and for any future session.” He paused. “However. Mathematics is mandatory for graduation. You will sit the examination at year’s end regardless of attendance. Those who choose not to attend should be confident in their ability to master the material independently.”

  A student two rows ahead shifted in her seat.

  “Additionally,” Vox continued, “while attendance is optional, it is weighted in your final grade calculation. Consistent attendance will benefit those who find themselves on grade boundaries.”

  Aria leaned close to my ear. “Translation: skip if you want, but you’ll probably fail.”

  “Today we will cover fundamental principles,” Vox said. He turned to the blackboard and began writing equations. “Beginning with algebraic foundations and progressing through geometric applications relevant to portal mathematics and dimensional calculations.”

  The equations appeared on the board in neat, methodical rows.

  Secondary school level. Maybe first year of university at most.

  I recognized every formula, every principle. This was foundational material I’d mastered years ago—back when I’d needed it for my engineering degree, when complex mathematics had been the language I’d thought in more naturally than English.

  The ache in my chest intensified.

  Aria sighed heavily beside me. “Kill me now.”

  “Boring” was one word for it. But at least here I wouldn’t have to fumble through seduction techniques or pretend I understood succubus instincts I couldn’t explain. No one would ask me to demonstrate anything that might reveal I had no idea what I was doing.

  I could just… sit. Listen. Let muscle memory guide my pen if we took notes.

  Or I could skip entirely. Use the time to search the Library for information on planar travel, summoning contracts, anything that might explain how to reverse whatever had happened to me.

  But skipping would mean gaps in my attendance that someone might notice, might question. And maintaining the illusion of being a normal student seemed safer than drawing attention by avoiding a required course.

  Maybe I could borrow some books. Bring them here. Research during lectures I didn’t need while appearing to pay attention.

  Vox finished writing the first set of equations and turned back to face the class.

  “Let us begin.”

  Professor Vox finished the final equation and set down his chalk. “That concludes today’s lecture. Review chapters one through three before our next session.”

  The scrape of chairs filled the room as students stood. Most filed toward the exit with expressions ranging from bored to pained.

  Aria groaned beside me, stretching her arms overhead. “Finally. I thought I was going to die.”

  “It wasn’t that bad,” I said, gathering the notes I’d barely written.

  “Not that bad?” Aria stared at me. “I could practically see you fall asleep. You almost did once—your head drooped and then jerked back like someone yanked your hair.”

  Did I? I didn’t remember that. Then again, if I’d drifted off during material I’d learned a decade ago, that wouldn’t be surprising. My mind had probably wandered to portal mechanics, escape routes, anything more useful than algebraic foundations I could solve in my sleep.

  We joined the stream of students heading into the corridor.

  “All this ‘attendance is optional’ nonsense,” Aria continued, her tail lashing behind her. “It’s a trap. We’ll have to show up every single session if we want to pass. You know what I did all summer? Maths. My mother drilled me for hours every day so I could pass the entrance exams.” She threw her hands up. “And now I’ve got four more years of it staring me in the face.”

  Oh right. Entrance exams. The ones I’d completely skipped because I was apparently a comatose princess who woke up and got enrolled through royal privilege.

  “Besides,” Aria said, “where would maths ever be useful for me? I already know enough to handle my finances. Count my soul currency. That’s all I need.”

  I shifted my bag higher on my shoulder. “It might be useful in our next class. Magic Theory, apparently.”

  Magic. Something I knew absolutely nothing about except what I’d managed to scrape together from the palace library while researching escape routes.

  I’d succeeded with glamour, but that hardly counted. Every succubus could do it. Breathing didn’t make you a respiratory expert.

  But this was theory class. My complete inability to perform actual magic shouldn’t be too obvious. Just another lecture to sit through and nod along to.

  “Ugh, I know.” Aria’s wings rustled in irritation. “But shouldn’t magic be, well, magical? Not calculations and formulas. Why can’t every spell work like glamour or charm? Just think about it hard enough and it happens.”

  I couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “That would be too easy.”

  “Easy sounds perfect right now.”

  “Anyway,” I said, “we should hit the cafeteria. We’ve got an hour before Magic Theory starts.”

  “Good idea. I’m starving.” Aria’s expression brightened immediately. “Well, not starving starving, but you know.”

  “I wonder what kind of dishes they have.”

  “Apparently everything,” Aria said, bouncing slightly as we walked. “Standard cuisine, delicacies from various realms. Someone told me they even serve mortal food sometimes—you know, for the novelty. Like eating sawdust, probably, but some people are into that.”

  “Sawdust with seasoning?”

  “If you’re lucky.” She grinned. “Though I heard the chef in the main hall used to work for some duke in the Sixth Circle before he got reassigned here. So at least we won’t be eating slop.”

  “High praise.”

  “I have standards.” She nudged me on a shoulder. “Even if I’m stuck pretending to understand mathematics.”

  We turned down another corridor, the crimson light from the windows casting long shadows across the stone floor. A group of students ahead of us laughed about something, their tails swaying in unconscious synchronization.

  “Do you think they’ll have that spiced meat thing?” Aria asked. “The one with the—”

  The thought struck me mid-step.

  I was walking through Hell. Literally Hell. With demons. Planning lunch with my roommate like we were normal university students comparing notes about boring professors and meal plans.

  I’d just spent two hours in a mathematics lecture taught by a rhinoceros-headed demon, and my biggest concern had been whether I’d dozed off during material I already knew.

  Aria was still talking beside me, gesturing about food preparation techniques or ingredient sourcing or something. Her voice continued in an easy, comfortable rhythm.

  Like we were friends.

  Like this was normal.

  My tail curled against my leg without input.