Meilin
If magic had a location, it would be here.
I stood just outside the grand iron gates of Ellesmere University, my suitcase wobbling behind me and my heart thudding louder than it should. The building ahead looked like something plucked straight out of a period drama—old stone walls, endless towers, windows like stained glass masterpieces.
This wasn't just a university. It was a castle.
I tugged my suitcase with one hand and clutched my campus map with the other, trying not to let my jaw drop. The air was cooler than back home, filled with the scent of old books and early autumn leaves. It was all so… intimidating. But still, I smiled. Because somehow—against all odds—I was here.
Scholarship kid. First time abroad. Walking into a place owned by actual royalty.
I was so busy looking at the buildings, the way the sunlight caught the gold crest over the main hall, that I didn't even notice I was about to crash into someone.
Thud.
"Ahh!" I gasped, stumbling backward and bumping into my suitcase.
Something sharp and bitter hit my nose—cigarettes.
"Careful, love," a deep voice said, smooth and lazy like he'd just rolled out of a black silk bed.
I looked up. And then further up.
Tall. Toweringly tall.
And intimidating as hell.
He had messy brown hair like he'd run his hands through it one too many times, a piercing on his eyebrow that caught the sunlight, and silver glinting all along his ear—three, four, five… I lost count. His bottom lip had a ring too, and he twisted it casually as he stared down at me.
But it was the tattoos that really made my brain short-circuit.
Ink curled out from under his sleeves, across his throat, even peeked above his collarbone. Script, thorns, skulls, ravens. Black and bold and unapologetic. He looked like a rockstar that accidentally walked onto a college campus—or maybe a villain from a movie that somehow made you root for him anyway.
"Oh god, I'm so sorry," I said, flustered, taking a step back. "I wasn't watching where I was going."
"No kidding." He took a slow drag from his cigarette, then exhaled smoke off to the side. "You new?"
"Yeah. First year," I said, adjusting my backpack straps. "Meilin Chen."
He tilted his head and gave me this crooked smile, like he knew a secret I didn't.
"Theodore Ashford. But everyone calls me Theo."
Theo. Even his name sounded dangerous.
And then, just as I was about to ask him something—anything—he looked around lazily and said, "You're standing on my property."
I blinked. "What?"
He flicked the cigarette into a nearby stone ashtray and shoved his hands into the pockets of his black coat.
"Ellesmere. It's ours. Family thing."
He said it like it was nothing. Like owning a university was normal.
Before I could respond, he turned and walked off like he had somewhere better to be. Like he hadn't just casually ruined my entire sense of reality.
I stood there staring after him, heart still racing, lips slightly parted.
Welcome to Ellesmere, Meilin.
Apparently, this is what royal nightmares look like.