Despite his hunger, Thirtyx was eager to avoid the overcrowded dorm building for as long as possible. He turned instead toward the recreational hall, hands in his pockets, head down—a survival mechanism to deflect any unwanted attention his pointed ears and long-pupiled eyes might attract. The older students might have adjusted to having the prince and princess as their classmates, but they sure never adjusted to him. They'd be trickling into the courtyard soon, many of them toward the rec hall for last-minute supply shopping or to find a quiet place to exchange summer stories. Thirtyx was confident he could beat the rush.

The post would be opening in a few fractions.

Thirtyx's feet flagged the cobblestone path that had probably been there longer than one of Lamiakk's moons. According to the history books, the new celestial body had thrown the tides into such disarray that the Dragonfolk managed to seize the throne from the Selkies, ending the shapeshifters’ twenty-year reign. It had been the longest any group had held consecutive power in the world’s history.

Until King Grimmary.

Thirtyx was all too familiar with the maelstrom of emotions King Grimmary evoked, but today, it was more tumultuous than normal. In the eight school holidays Thirtyx had been stuck here between terms, the benevolent monarch had let Rhea and Benn come back early to keep him company for seven.

But the prince and princess hadn't returned a week ago. They hadn't even returned a few days ago to dodge the rush of caravans currently overtaking Wydewood’s gates. Nor had they sent a single letter since their carriage rolled away, bound for the palace, at the end of last term. Something was wrong. He knew it in his gut, despite his attempts to convince himself otherwise.

So, he had to keep hoping today was the day they’d break their silence. A royal training course ran late. Their caravan was delayed because of sick staff. Grimmary needed their help with a peace treaty or a military briefing or any number of things far more important than school. The possibilities were endless, and they were all acceptable as long as they told him.

Thirtyx sucked in a deep breath of the magically-cooled air inside the rec hall. The door echoed as it clambered shut—he had, indeed, beat the rush. Thirtyx headed right, toward the stalls for supply shops and uniform tailors and non-cafeteria food. Most hadn’t opened yet, their shuttered counters resonating with thuds and low voices. The only visible being was a lone Troll, clearly disgruntled even from several paces away.

Thirtyx plastered on his typical polite smile as he approached the open stall. "Good day, Mr. Blackstone."

Effective condescension was rare from a creature that would have been a full head shorter than Thirtyx if he wasn’t seated on a tall stool, but somehow, Mr. Blackstone managed. "Venmagalion."

"Daily mail service resumes today, doesn't it?"

The Troll grunted. Thirtyx took it as an affirmative one.

"Great. I figured I'd come early and snag anything with my name on it so you don’t have to worry about delivering—"

"Nothing new for you."

Thirtyx pursed his lips. The dismissiveness of the statement made him question its accuracy. He inhaled a deep breath and centered himself, forcing his focus onto the uncomfortable rumble of hunger he’d been trying for weeks to ignore. “You’ve checked? You’re absolutely sure?"

"Why would I lie to you?" he snapped.

Apparently, he wouldn’t. Thirtyx was certainly hungry enough to feel the rush of relief that would accompany a blatant lie, and he hadn't felt a thing. No deception. No secrets. Nothing misleading in the impatient man's intentions. Thirtyx gave a disappointed nod. "Thank you, then."

Blackstone snorted. "Are you still looking for letters from your royal buddies? Do you honestly think they don’t have better things to do than write to you?"

Thirtyx physically couldn’t deny either statement, and Blackstone knew it. Thirtyx thought longingly of Mrs. Wiggins' sharp but kind demeanor and went through his annual process of reminding himself that she was the exception, not the rule. He squared his chin and maintained eye contact with Blackstone for a moment longer than necessary. "I appreciate your time."