Ravenshollow - An elite boarding school

[RedQuill]

Hi all,

I am writing a long erotic story. I expect it to have about 40-50 chapters. The first few chapters are mainly to sketch the ambiance, the erotic content will follow! Hopefully, you'll like the story!

Epilogue​

March the 18th, in the Year Fifteen Hundred and Twenty-Five​

This night the wind moves like a sigh through the depths of Ravenshollow, and I, sleepless, am its willing echo.

I have written of him before, though never wholly. The page shrinks from truth as flesh shrinks from flame. Yet my heart insists for what burns within me will not be denied.

He came to me cloaked in the stillness of candlelight, and the air bent around him as if it knew a secret name. The hour was late; even the bells had ceased to keep faith with time. We spoke little. Words are the frailest of vessels for what passed between us.

His hand brushed mine, a small accident, perhaps, but the world seemed to tilt upon that touch. The warmth of him entered me as wine enters the blood: a soft, perilous rapture. I felt the rise of my own breath against his, the space between us trembling, thin as silk. When he drew near, I knew the taste of heaven and of ruin together. His lips were like spring upon winter and the sweetness that followed carried the salt of tears, the faint iron of fear. Our bodies connected and moved in the rhythm of our love. It were the juices of our love, both pure and forbidden, pressed from the fruit that God himself had hidden.

I remember the sound our hearts made, not thunder, but something deeper, as though the earth itself bore witness. The skin of his shoulder, the hollow of his throat, the radiance of his nearness, all were fire made flesh. In that small eternity, no crown, no faith, no sin existed; only the pulse, and the breath, and the trembling mercy of his body inside mine.

Yet even as I held him, I felt the world’s judgment gather like a storm behind the walls. We were two sparks in the straw, and the wind was rising.

He whispered that love was its own absolution; I answered that love was our damnation. Still we stayed, bound by the terrible beauty of our crime. His skin against mine was prayer and blasphemy both, a light too bright for any dawn to suffer.

And now the dawn comes. I hear voices below, the scraping of boots upon stone. I saw the flame kiss his robe. If fire must take us, let it take us as we were entwined, unrepentant, shining for one brief moment against the darkness that would consume us.

Thus ends the holiest of blasphemies: two hearts that dared to meet without God’s leave. Let no chronicle recall our names. Let history turn its face. But if some soul, should hear a whisper in the north wind let them know that once, in the secret heart of Ravenshollow, two men dared to love, and the world burned for it. The Crown feels heavy without you.

O cruel heaven, that love should bear such splendour and such ruin! If these ashes are all that remain, let them be sacred. Let them feed the roots of the earth, that future hearts might draw from them the courage to love without fear.


— R. IV​

 

[RedQuill]

Chapter 1: The Offer​

The room was dark, except for a narrow slit of daylight that crept through the barred window. Dust lingered in the air. The walls were damp, the floor smelled of metal and bleach. Noah sat on the narrow cot with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped loosely between them. From somewhere down the corridor came the distant clatter of keys and the heavy slam of a door. A sharp metallic scrape broke the stillness. The hatch in the cell door slid open.

“Hands,” said a low, firm voice.

Noah didn’t move.

“Hands!” the voice repeated, louder this time, impatient.

He rose slowly, expression unreadable, and stepped to the door. He pushed his wrists through the slot. The cuffs snapped shut around them, biting cold. Moments later the door swung open. A tall man in a dark blue uniform stood waiting. His face was impassive, eyes hidden beneath the shadow of his cap. “Walk,” he said, gripping Noah’s arm roughly.

The corridor stretched long and grey, lined with steel doors on both sides. The overhead lights flickered faintly. Noah moved without resistance, bare feet tapping against the cold floor. At the end of the corridor, the man opened a metal gate, then led him into a smaller, sterile room. A table was bolted to the ground, two chairs placed opposite one another. The guard pushed Noah into one of them and clipped the cuffs to a ring on the tabletop.

Across from him sat a man in an expensive charcoal suit, clean-shaven, his hair perfectly in place. Everything about him, his calm posture, his spotless cuffs, looked out of place in this building. Noah leaned back in his chair, chains clinking softly. “What do you want?” he said flatly.

The man opened a file. “You’ve built quite a reputation, Noah,” he said. “Theft, organized crime, possession of stolen property. Not bad for someone who’s barely eighteen.”

Noah gave a thin smile. “You want me to sign it? Frame it for you?”

The man ignored the remark. “The British Museum is furious. They want to make an example of you. And the evidence, well, it’s solid. You know what that means, you will spend years in prison.”

Noah shrugged. “You rehearsed that speech?”

The man looked up from the file, his expression calm. “We both know you planned the heist. The others followed. You were the mind behind it.”

Noah clapped his cuffed hands together in mock applause. “So what’s next? You offer me a deal? Play the good cop with a fancy suit?”

The man didn’t answer right away. He studied Noah, then said quietly, “I know more about you than what’s in that file.”

He flipped a page, glancing down. “Born in Southwark. Top of your class at Galleywall Primary. Teachers called you exceptional. Until five years ago.”

Noah looked him straight in the eyes, saying nothing.

“Five years ago,” the man continued, “your mother was diagnosed with cancer. By the time they found it, it had spread too far. The doctors couldn’t help her. She died on September ninth.”

Noah’s jaw tensed. “You must be proud of yourself,” he said. “Digging up graves for fun?”

The man’s tone didn’t change. “That part’s public record. But what isn’t,” he paused, eyes steady, “is what happened before that. When you were eleven, you spent a few days in St. Thomas’s Hospital. Official report said you fell down the stairs. But that’s not what happened, is it?”

Noah’s stare hardened.

“Your father is a drunk,” the man said. “He hit your mother. You stepped in. He turned on you. Two broken ribs, one concussion.” He closed the file softly. “You’ve been fighting your way out ever since.”

Noah leaned forward, his voice low. “Who the hell are you and what do you want from me?”

The man leaned back slightly. “I am Professor Ravenshaw.”

“Never heard of you.”

“You weren’t meant to,” Ravenshaw said evenly. “I’m here because I want to offer you a choice.”

Noah’s tone was sharp with disbelief. “A choice?”

“Yes,” Ravenshaw said. “Between wasting your life in a cell or doing something meaningful with it.”

Noah let out a dry laugh. “And you’re the one offering redemption? You look more like a banker than a saint.”

Ravenshaw didn’t react. Instead, he tore the file neatly in two, the paper ripping cleanly in the quiet room. “I can make this disappear,” he said. “All of it.”

Noah stared at him, his composure cracking for the first time. “Why would you?”

“There’s a place,” Ravenshaw said, “in the Scottish Highlands. Ravenshollow. It’s not a school like you’d imagine. It’s old—older than the country itself, some say. Hidden, selective. Every three years, twelve young men are chosen. The brightest minds, the most promising talents.”

Noah looked down at his cuffed wrists. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” said Ravenshaw. “Just a choice.”

Silence stretched between them. The hum of the fluorescent light was the only sound.

Finally, Noah said, “No thanks. I’m not a rat, because that’s what you want from me, isn’t it?”

Ravenshaw stood, buttoning his jacket. “Then this conversation never happened. You’ll go to trial. You’ll lose. And you’ll spend the next fifteen years regretting this one moment.”

He stood up and walked to the door. Then he paused. “Does 107 Baker Street mean anything to you?”

Noah froze. His eyes flickered up before he could stop himself.

Ravenshaw smiled faintly. “Thought so. I know where the diamond went. I’m not interested in that or your lowlife accomplices. I’m interested in you.”

He walked to the door and knocked on it, signaling the guard to let him out.

Ravenshaw turned toward the door. “This was your chance to use your talent for something better,” he said. “But maybe you’re not as clever as I thought.”

The door opened and the guard walked in. Ravenshaw turned around and left the room

“Wait,” Noah said.

 

[RedQuill]

Chapter 2: Ravenshollow

The car glided silently along the cobblestone road. Noah sat in the back seat. The leather smelled expensive. He hadn’t spoken a word since the journey began.

He still couldn’t quite believe it, two days ago, he’d been behind a steel door, and now he was here, riding through the Scottish countryside in a car that cost more than everything he’d ever owned combined. The driver hadn’t said much beyond his name and destination. There was no paperwork, no explanation. Just a release form shoved into his hands and the words, “You’re free to go.”

The trees thinned, and suddenly, a large iron gate appeared ahead. Black spires curled upward, the metal crowned with the emblem of a raven in flight. The car slowed and the gate opened with a slow, deliberate groan.

They passed through. Beyond the gate stretched a long, winding drive, lined with oaks. The sky was pale, and in the distance, rising out of the mist like something pulled from another century, stood Ravenshollow.

It wasn’t just a school. It was a fortress with towering stone walls, high turrets, narrow windows, and a clock tower that cut through the clouds. Parts of it looked ancient, almost crumbling, while others gleamed faintly where newer stone had been added.

Noah leaned forward, his pulse quickening. For a moment, he wondered if this was real, if he’d fallen asleep in his cell and was still dreaming. The car pulled to a stop before a grand staircase of grey stone. Waiting at the top was a man dressed in black robes. His face was pale but kind, framed by thinning silver hair.

The driver got out first and opened the back door. Noah stepped into the cold air, his worn sneakers crunching on gravel. The robed man smiled warmly. “Welcome to Ravenshollow, Noah,” he said, his voice calm and measured. “I am Father Merrin, the school chaplain.”

Noah gave a small nod. “Thanks,” he muttered.

“Please, follow me.”

They climbed the wide steps together. When Father Merrin pushed open the massive oak doors, Noah had to blink.

The entrance hall was enormous. Marble floors stretched out beneath a vaulted ceiling painted with fading frescoes, scenes of scholars and kings. A grand staircase spiraled upward, its banisters carved into ravens with outstretched wings. A huge chandelier of iron hung overhead, its candles flickering.

“I’m sure you’re overwhelmed,” Father Merrin said, his voice echoing gently through the hall. “Ravenshollow is an ancient place, an institution that has survived for centuries. It has been a school to kings, princes, and those considered… exceptional.”

Noah followed in silence, his eyes scanning every corner. Everything about the place radiated wealth and secrecy. They began to climb the broad staircase. The red runner beneath their feet muffled their steps. Portraits lined the walls.

At the top, Father Merrin led him through a pair of oak doors into a large common room. The change in atmosphere was almost comforting. The room was warm, lit by a fire roaring in a vast stone hearth. Heavy armchairs were scattered around it, and long tables stretched across the far side. The walls were lined with bookshelves and tall windows that looked out over the misty hills. The ceiling was covered in painted constellations.

“This,” Father Merrin said, turning toward Noah, “is your common room. You’ll spend much of your time here with the other pupils.”

Noah nodded slightly. “It’s… impressive,” he said quietly.

The chaplain smiled. “I’m glad you think so.”

They left the room through another hallway, narrower and lined with doors. For a moment, the dim lighting and the repeating pattern of brass numbers made Noah’s stomach twist, a flash of the prison corridor returning uninvited.

“These are the dormitories,” Father Merrin said. “Each room is shared by two students.”

They stopped at a door halfway down. A small golden plaque gleamed beside the handle. On it were two names: Henry and Noah.

Father Merrin opened the door.

The room inside made Noah stop in his tracks. It was round, the walls curved in smooth stone, with two canopy beds draped in rich red-and-gold curtains. The windows stretched from floor to ceiling, showing the endless green hills below.

“This is my room?” Noah asked, his voice catching slightly.

“That’s correct,” said Father Merrin with a faint smile. “And that is your bed.”

Noah walked toward it, running a hand over the fine sheets. He’d never felt fabric like that before. Everything the rugs, the carved furniture, the heavy curtains screamed of luxury.

Father Merrin gestured toward the bed. “Your uniform is laid out for you. It is to be worn at all times during the term.”

On the bed lay neatly folded clothing: a crisp white shirt, dark jacket, black trousers, and a blue tie. Beside them, a folded kilt in dark navy tartan.

“The kilt,” Father Merrin said, noticing Noah’s raised eyebrow, “is reserved for formal occasions.”

Noah gave a small nod. “Right. Got it.”

“Come,” Father Merrin said, “I’ll show you the showers.”

The chaplain opened a door in the room. Two rows of open showers lined the walls, and beyond them, a large stone pool glimmered under soft light. There were more doors that led to the bathroom, of the other dorms.

“Any questions?”

Noah hesitated. He had a hundred, about the place, about why he was here, about what kind of school this really was, but none of them seemed right.

“I’m sure it’s overwhelming,” Father Merrin said kindly. “Get settled in, change into your uniform. We’ll meet again at the opening dinner tonight.”

With that, the chaplain gave a polite nod and disappeared down the corridor, his robe whispering against the floor. Noah returned to his room. For a moment he just stood there, taking it all in, the bed, the silence, the view of the hills through the window.

He undressed slowly, folding his old clothes that the prison returned to him and setting them aside. When he caught sight of himself in the mirror, he paused.

Noah turned, startled. A boy stood in the doorway, tall, well-kept, blond hair slightly tousled, a polite awkwardness in his face.

“Oh, I’m awfully sorry,” the boy said quickly when he realized Noah was still standing there in his boxers. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. I guess we’re going to be roommates.”

For a second, Noah just stared. He recognized the face instantly. “That’s fine,” Noah said, pulling on his jacket. “Guess we’ll have to get used to this.” He extended a hand. “I’m Noah.”

The boy smiled faintly and shook his hand. “Henry.”

“I figured,” Noah said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Your royal highness.”

Henry’s smile grew, embarrassed but genuine. “Just Henry is fine.”

 

[RedQuill]

Chapter 3: Opening Dinner​

The bells rang from somewhere high in the east tower, a slow, solemn toll that rolled through the stone corridors. Noah followed the sound, he adjusted his tie while he walked through the hallways of Ravenshollow. When he stepped through the carved doors into the Great Hall, he stopped.

The room was vast with vaulted ceilings hung with banners in midnight blue and silver, tall windows draped with heavy velvet, and hundreds of candles suspended midair, their flames casting soft, golden light across the long oak table set for twelve. At the far end stood a raised dais where a smaller table sat, that of the faculty.

A grand fireplace dominated the wall behind them, above which hung the emblem of Ravenshollow: a black raven, wings spread wide, clutching a silver key in its claws. Students were already gathering, their voices low and curious.

Henry stood near the table, straight-backed and poised in his dark jacket and tie, speaking politely to a boy with copper hair and a nervous smile. When he saw Noah, he gestured him over.

“Noah,” Henry said, “this is Julian.” Tobias smiled quickly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Hey. Noah”

Noah raised an eyebrow. “Nice to meet you Julian.”

A taller boy approached them, his uniform neat to the point of perfection. His dark hair was slicked back, his smile charming but calculated. “Lucien Devreux,” he said smoothly, offering his hand to Prince Henry before glancing at Noah. “And you must be the... scholarship student.”

Noah gave him a look that could cut glass. “Something like that.”

Lucien’s grin only widened. “I do hope you’ll find yourself comfortable here. Ravenshollow isn’t exactly… forgiving.”. Julian smuggled at his remark, which Lucien greatly appreciated.

Before Noah could answer, a deep voice cut through the air. “Gentlemen, please, take your seats.”

Father Merrin stood near the dais, gesturing toward the long table. The students obeyed. Noah found himself sitting between Henry and a quiet, dark-skinned boy with intelligent eyes and calm posture.

“I’m Finn,” he said. His accent carried the faint melody of the northern coast. “You’re the one who came in yesterday, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve lived near here all my life,” Finn said, his gaze briefly lifting toward the vaulted ceiling. “My father says Ravenshollow was built where the old abbey once stood. Some say it’s older still.”

Noah tilted his head. “You believe in that sort of thing?”

Finn gave a small smile. “I believe places remember things, even when people forget.”

At the far end of the table, a pair of identical guys were laughing quietly, one louder, more confident, the other composed, almost reserved. They were mirror images except for their expressions.

“That’s Mike and Lachlan,” Finn murmured beside Noah. “Sons of General Carmichael. You can guess which one he favors.”

The louder one, Mike, was telling a story about a boxing match, all wild gestures and flashing teeth. Lachlan smiled faintly but said little, sipping his drink in silence.

Two other students sat close together, already deep in conversation, one blond, one dark-haired, both with that particular closeness of fast friendship.

“Caspar and Tobias,” Julian explained quietly. “Over there is Sebastian, he is the youngest. They say he was accepted early because of his father’s donation.”

Noah’s gaze drifted toward the last student at the far end. A boy with brown hair sat apart, silent.

The heavy doors at the back of the hall swung open again. Every conversation fell quiet. A man stepped through. A man that Noah recognized, neatly dressed in a fancy suit.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said. His voice filled the hall effortlessly, rich and precise. “Welcome to Ravenshollow.”

He stopped behind the faculty table, resting a hand on the chair in its center. “For those who do not know me, I am Professor Alaric Ravenshaw, Headmaster of this institution.” He glanced down the line of students, his eyes sharp but not unkind. “Each of you was chosen for a reason. Ravenshollow does not recruit by chance.”

He gestured slightly to the two men and one woman seated beside him. “Allow me to introduce the staff who will guide you.”

He motioned first to the man on his left — thin, with gold-rimmed glasses and a distant, academic air. “Professor Dalton, Master of History and Records. He keeps our archives, some of which, I suspect, will be of great interest to certain curious minds.”

Caspar grinned faintly at that.

“To my right,” Ravenshaw continued, “Dr. Whitmore, our physician and instructor of physical disciplines.” The broad-shouldered man nodded politely. “And of course, Father Merrin, whom most of you have already met, oversees spiritual matters and the welfare of your souls.”

A faint chuckle rippled down the table.

Ravenshaw smiled slightly. “Now, a word on Ravenshollow itself. This school was founded nearly six hundred years ago. Its purpose has always been to educate not only the mind, but the will. Knowledge is not power, gentlemen, it is potential. What you do with it determines everything.” He paused, his gaze sweeping over them.

“You will be challenged here. Intellectually, physically, and morally. You will be tested in ways that cannot yet be explained. But if you endure… you will emerge changed. Not all who come to Ravenshollow stay. But those who do, never leave it unchanged.”

The fire crackled in the silence that followed. Then he lifted his glass. “To Ravenshollow.”

“To Ravenshollow,” the students echoed.

At once, the room seemed to exhale. Platters appeared along the table: roasted pheasant, glazed carrots, bowls of bread still steaming. Conversation picked up again, awkward at first, then warmer as the wine flowed.

Henry spoke easily with everyone, polite and measured, the perfect prince even here. Noah watched him for a while before joining a quieter conversation with Finn and Tobias about the castle’s strange layout.

Across the table, Lucien’s laughter carried. “So, we’re meant to believe this place makes men of us,” he said with a smirk. “Sounds like a cult with better tableware.”

“Maybe it is,” Julian murmured beside him, earning a sharp look from Father Merrin.

Ravenshaw, seated at the high table, watched them all with calm interest, like a chess master studying the first moves of a game. When the meal ended, the candles had burned low. Ravenshaw rose once more.

“Tomorrow, classes begin. For tonight, rest. Ravenshollow watches over its own.”

He inclined his head slightly and left the hall. Noah glanced once more at the crest above the fireplace, the raven and the key.

Whatever this place was, it wasn’t just a school.

 

[RedQuill]

Chapter 4: Morning Exercise*​

The night was long at Ravenshollow. Noah was turning in his bed, unable to fall back asleep. He wanted to look at his phone to see the time, but then he realised that he had to hand over his phone, as they were not allowed at Ravenshollow. He tried to adjust his eyes to look in the dark, trying to catch the time from the clock hanging at the wall, 5 a.m.

He turned over, Henry’s bed was empty.

“Probably couldn’t sleep either” Noah muttered. The absence of Henry didn’t feel lonely, it felt more like an… opportunity.

Alone. Finally, completely alone.

His hand drifted down, sliding over his boxers. His morning wood was as awake as he was. He ached. It had been long since he had some pleasure. The tension was a wire running straight through him. But this was the moment.

With a decisive move, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband and pushed the boxers down. He was fully exposed now, the hard line of his cock standing stiff against his stomach. He spat into his hand, a quick motion, and closed his fingers around himself.

The first touch was electric, a jolt of pure sensation that made his toes curl. His hand, still slick, began a slow, steady rhythm. Up. Down. A twist of his wrist on the upstroke was something he developed after years of experience. His other hand joined. Fingers traced the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, making his muscles tremble. They moved up cupping his balls, rolling them gently in his palm. A soft squeeze sent another shockwave of pleasure radiating through him.

He bit his lip, stifling any sound. The castle was silent, but he definitely wasn’t alone. The need for quiet made it all more intense. His hips began to move of their own accord, a shallow, rocking motion that met the stroke of his hand. The pace quickened. His breathing grew ragged.

He could feel it coming, the inevitable, the goal. His hand moved faster, the sound of his own arousal now loud in the utter stillness. The pleasure mounted.

And then it broke.

A low, groan escaped him. His body went rigid, back arching off the bed as the first pulse hit him. A hot streak landed on his stomach. Then another. And another. It seemed to go on and on, a release so profound it left him dizzy, each shuddering jet a relief from the pressure that had been building for a long time. He kept his hand moving, slower now, gentler, milking out the last few drops as the intense waves of his orgasm finally, slowly, began to recede.

He relaxed his body while a profound satisfaction settled over him. His heartbeat thudded in his ears, a slowing drum. He could feel his dick softening in his still, sticky hand. He lay there for a long moment, just breathing, floating in the hazy aftermath. Eventually, he cracked his eyes open and looked down.

Oh, fuck.

His stomach and chest were a mess, splattered with the stark, pearlescent evidence of his release. A lot of it. He looked around the dark room, the reality of the situation dawning on him. This wasn’t his room. There were no tissues on the nightstand. No towel slung over a chair. Nothing.

Fuck, he murmured again, the word a soft, frustrated exhale.

His gaze landed on the only solution: the door to the adjoining bathroom. He pushed himself up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He wiped his slick hand clean on his already-soiled stomach. He took a step toward the door, then paused, listening for any sound, but he didn’t hear any. He walked into the bathroom, but was surprised immediately.

“Well,” said Henry, “someone looks like they’ve had an eventful morning.”

Noah froze mid-step. “Jesus Christ, you scared me.”

Henry was leaning against the wall, already under the spray of one of the showers. There was that smirk, not cruel but just sharp enough.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt your… early exercises,” Henry said, a spark of laughter in his tone.

Noah looked down his chest and stomach and laughed. “Well, denying is not an option I guess”.

There was a long beat, then Noah shook his head and laughed under his breath. “Well, your highness, this is how the commoners have to deal with their loneliness.”

Henry grinned. “Not only the commoners. Let’s say I’m equally guilty this early morning.”

Noah laughed, recovering quickly. He didn’t know why, but he looked down at Henry’s dick, which indeed had the typical redness and shine he recognized from himself when he had just worked his own magic. “So, self-control not part of the royal curriculum?”

Henry gave a short laugh. “Apparently not. ”

Noah blinked, then caught the playful glint in Henry’s eye. “You’re human after all,” he said with a crooked grin.

Henry chuckled. “Barely.”

The laughter echoed lightly between the tiled walls. Then another voice joined in.

“You guys always this talkative before sunrise?”

They turned to see Rowan, walking through the steam, towel draped over one shoulder. He looked amused, if a little sleep-heavy.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Henry admitted.

“Same here,” Rowan said, stepping under a stream of water. “First night in a place like this, too quiet. My room felt like it was listening.”

“That’s a comforting thought,” Noah said.

Rowan smiled faintly. “Old buildings keep secrets.”

They stood under the showers, the sound of the water filling the silence. There was no embarrassment now, only an easy, youthful energy. Henry ran a hand through his wet hair. “So, I’m guessing we don’t have morning classes at five?”

“Maybe this is the first class,” Rowan said.

It felt absurd, standing half-awake and joking about something that would normally make anyone want to die of embarrassment, but somehow, it worked. For the first time since arriving or maybe even long before that, Noah didn’t feel like an outsider.

They talked as they enjoyed the hot water small things at first. Rowan asked where they were from; Henry deflected questions about the palace with practiced humor; Noah shared that he’d grown up in Southwark, which drew a thoughtful look from Rowan and a nod of respect from Henry.

When they were done, they lingered by the mirrors, the air still thick with steam.

Henry caught Noah’s eye in the reflection. “You know, for someone who pretends not to care, you handle embarrassment remarkably well.”

“Practice,” Noah said dryly. Rowan smiled. “That might come in handy here.” Noah raised a brow. “Why’s that?”

Then Tobias and Finn entered the bathroom, both looking half-asleep and clutching towels.

“Morning,” Finn mumbled. “What’s everyone doing up?”

“Character building,” Henry said.

“More like trauma bonding,” Noah added.

Rowan laughed quietly. “Same thing.”

By the time they left, the sun was rising, lighting the corridor with soft amber. The castle was waking up, footsteps echoed in the distance, doors opened, the smell of baking bread drifted faintly through the halls.

 

[RedQuill]

Chapter 5: The First Trial​

The air that morning bit like glass. Mist drifted low over the grass, and the spires of Ravenshollow pierced through it. After breakfast, the twelve boys were ordered to report to the main field, dressed in the dark-blue athletic training uniforms. The crisp fabric still smelled new, too clean for what awaited them.

Noah walked beside Henry, Caspar, Tobias, and Sebastian as they crossed the courtyard. The sound of boots on gravel echoed faintly between the stone walls.

“Any idea what kind of training this is?” Tobias asked, pulling his collar tighter against the chill. “I’m hoping it involves a fire and a cup of tea,” Caspar muttered, drawing a laugh from the others.

Henry gave a small smile. “My tutor once said cold air builds character. But I think I’ve got enough character already.”

“Right,” Noah said, smirking. “You might lose your royal glow out here, Your Highness.” Henry rolled his eyes good-naturedly, but the tension broke. They laughed together, a short, genuine burst of warmth in the morning fog.

When they reached the training field, Dr. Whitmore stood waiting. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and exuding easy authority. His dark hair was swept back, and his voice carried a cheerful, confident tone. He couldn’t have been much older than thirty, but his presence commanded immediate respect.

“Gentlemen!” he called out, hands on his hips. “Welcome to your first physical lesson at Ravenshollow. You’ll find that excellence here is not a birthright, it’s earned. And today, you begin earning it.”

Lucien Devreux let out a quiet scoff behind them. “Here we go,” he murmured.

Whitmore’s sharp eyes flicked to him. “Something amusing, Mr. Devreux?”

Lucien straightened slightly. “Not at all, sir.”

“Good. Then you can lead the first lap.”

The group burst into muffled chuckles as Lucien’s face tightened, but he obeyed. Whitmore raised the whistle to his lips and blew.

The ground was slick with dew, the cold air slicing into their lungs. One lap became three, three became five. Their boots sank into the soft earth, their legs burned, and their breath came in short bursts. Whitmore kept shouting encouragement, half drill-sergeant, half teacher, his voice echoing across the hills.

“Push through it, gentlemen! This land has trained kings, soldiers, and scholars. It will test you all the same!” By the time they finished running, several of them were bent over, hands on knees.

“Not bad,” Whitmore said with a grin. “Now, let’s see what you do in the water.”. The boys looked confused at each other. It was stone cold and he was talking about water. Lucien looked at Julian, “This man is crazy, I’m not doing this”.

Everybody followed him down toward a stream that wound through the northern edge of the property. It was narrow, fast-moving, and looked freezing.

“You’ll swim to the other side, climb the slope, and run back,” Whitmore announced. “If you can’t swim—well, today’s the day to learn.”

Tobias groaned. “You’ve got to be joking.”

Whitmore blew the whistle. “Move!”

Noah didn’t hesitate. He dove in first, slicing through the icy water like a blade. The shock of the cold stole his breath, but he kept moving, his strokes sure and steady. One by one, the others followed, yelping and cursing as they hit the freezing stream.

Henry gasped audibly when he surfaced. “Bloody hell!”

Caspar and Tobias struggled behind them, laughing despite themselves, while Lucien thrashed through the water, furious at being outpaced. By the time they reached the other side, their clothes clung to their skin, and their muscles ached. Lucien stormed up the slope, dripping and shivering, only to find Noah already waiting at the top.

“You enjoy showing off, don’t you?” Lucien hissed.

Noah shrugged. “I enjoy finishing first.”

Lucien shoved him hard in the shoulder. “Watch your mouth.”

Before Noah could respond, Whitmore’s whistle cut through the tension. “Devreux! Brown! Unless you plan to wrestle for entertainment, save it for the ring. Move!”

The group kept going, running, climbing, crawling through mud. They pulled ropes, carried stones, and by the time they finished, most could barely stand.

“Well done,” Whitmore said at last, his voice approving. “Remember this feeling. It’s called exhaustion. Get used to it.”

They stumbled back toward the locker rooms, bodies aching, uniforms soaked and heavy with mud. The steam from the showers hit them before they even entered, the air thick and warm after the chill outside.

Laughter filled the room as they stripped off the wet clothes, joking about the swim, the mud, and Whitmore’s boundless energy. Noah turned on a shower and stepped under the hot water. The warmth hit him like salvation, melting the ache from his muscles.

Henry groaned beside him. “I’ll never complain about the palace gym again.”

“Guess this is your first real workout,” Noah teased.

Henry laughed weakly. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Maybe a little.”

The steam rose, blurring the room into shapes and laughter. One by one, the others finished and dressed, until only a few remained. Noah shut off the water, drying himself off, feeling that deep, bone-heavy fatigue that was strangely satisfying. He pulled on his clothes and was lacing his boots when Sebastian stumbled in, still red-faced and panting.

“You made it,” Noah said with a grin, slapping him lightly on the shoulder.

“Barely,” Sebastian replied, his voice hoarse but good-natured, as he turned toward the showers. The others began to leave, voices fading down the corridor until the room grew quiet. The sound of running water echoed from the far side, and soon even that seemed distant.

Then there was a faint rustle.

Sebastian turned his head slightly. “Who’s there?” he called out.

Silence. Just the hiss of water and the drip of pipes.

He frowned, shut off the tap, and stepped out, the steam curling around him as he grabbed his towel. The locker room was empty, rows of open lockers, benches glistening with condensation. He walked to his locker, twisting the handle.

As the door swung open, something fluttered out and landed at his feet.

It was a small folded piece of parchment, edges uneven, the surface discolored like something impossibly old.

He bent down, water dripping from his hair, and picked it up. The paper was thick, soft beneath his fingers, and the ink that bled through the fold looked dark, almost brown, almost red.

He unfolded it slowly. Sebastian stared at the page, his pulse hammering. The letters seemed to move slightly, as though alive, the red ink glinting faintly in the dim light.

Inside, written in a sharp, elegant hand, were the words:

“Time for redemption is near.
Lie with another man before the third moon,
or die in fear.”