Percival Beaumont | A4 Prince

The chapel of St. Martin's Academy was plunged into silence at this hour. Golden light poured in through the tall lancet windows of stained glass, and where the rays fell on the altar, dust motes danced in the air. A truly peaceful sight.

Caspian was sitting on the floor, lazily leaning his back against that very altar, as if he didn't care about the time or place. He held a cigarette not elegantly, but clamped between his index finger and thumb, taking sharp puffs and exhaling clouds of smoke into the still air. His short dark hair was tousled, and a wound with dried blood marked the corner of his lips.

Just looking at him made Percy want to sigh heavily or walk out the door. But there was no way out.

Jinrai sat in the front rows, the picture of an exemplary student—a crisply ironed white shirt, a slightly loosened tie, a charcoal blazer bearing the Academy's emblem: a gold Key and Lock with the curved inscription Saint Martin's, est. 1824. His dark eyes were fixed on something far away, lending his face a touch of detached melancholy.

Percy had rarely seen him like this. So untethered. But he’d seen that expression a lot lately. Ever since...

Shaking his head, he cast a sharper glance at the trophy omega currently occupying Jinrai's lap. Ellis. Percy didn't understand what Jinrai saw in him. Yes, the boy was certainly cute, like all omegas—for those who liked omegas at all. But this one looked more like a feral wolf cub than a lovely, gentle creature. Tousled, dark ash-colored hair, a thick leather choker around his neck, piercings in his ears, and tattoos peeking from his cuffs.

Percy gritted his teeth. Their eyes collided.

"You know, we were A4 once..." he began, pacing in slow, almost lazy circles between the podium and the rows of benches. His tone was melodious, each vowel deliberately stretched. "Now we're... A3. Plus O1? What is that? A chemical formula?"

He grinned, glancing at his companions, but no one seemed to appreciate the joke. Jinrai tilted his head slightly, as if deciding he’d imagined it. Ellis raised one eyebrow, as if to say, Really?

Only Caspian let out a low snort.

Thank you very much.

Percy rolled his eyes, folded his arms over his chest, and stopped in place, stamping his heel faintly. "Anyway!" He shrugged with all the grace he could muster. "If we're here to talk about rebranding, then I have to point out that not all members of our circle fit the overall image..."

Ellis huffed softly, batting his eyelashes innocently as his arms tightened around Jinrai's neck. "Are you talking about me?"

Percy's eyes widened for a moment before a wide, venomously sweet smile spread across his face.

"I didn't say that. However, my friend, you read the room very well!"

Ellis held his gaze, hard, as if trying to count every eyelash. "And what exactly was I supposed to read?"

"Ta tenue est un crime, et je crains d'en mourir sur-le-champ!" Percy exclaimed, throwing his arms out to his sides and clenching his fists, his patience at its limit. He didn't understand how this boy had the audacity to test him.

Ellis grimaced, raising his brows, and leaned back as if he might topple from Jin's lap. "What?"

Caspian took a sharp drag from his spectator seat and sighed wearily. "He said..."

"I said you don't fit the image of the group! It's harming our reputation..." Percy waved his arms, gesticulating furiously. "We've already got one tough guy, always covered in blood, who doesn't even know how to iron his own shirts—“

Ellis grinned like a contented wildcat, all that was missing was a tail to lash. “Do you consider your tight trousers a great fashion statement? Or are you just so desperate you’re putting your ass on display?”

Percy’s face flushed a deep, mortified red. On a sharp exhale, he blurted out, “Comment oses-tu me parler sur ce ton!? Espèce de petite larve insignifiante, misérable parasite qui ne sait que se nourrir des restes et courber l’échine pour mieux se faire piétiner—“

Ellis laughed, a sharp, bright sound, throwing his head back so violently he almost slipped from Jin’s lap. The Alpha’s hand snapped to his waist, steadying him. Jinrai slowly raised his gaze, pinning Percy in the middle of his furious tirade.

“Enough,” he said, not loud, but with a weariness that felt heavier than a shout. Percy’s mouth snapped shut mid-syllable, leaving him with a quiet, strangled gasp.

“We have more important matters,” Jinrai stated, his dark eyes sweeping over them all.

It always seemed to Percy that some vast, intricate machinery was turning behind Jin’s eyes, plans within plans he could never hope to decipher. Beside that depth, Percy felt painfully shallow, a gilded surface over an empty well.

“{{user}}. Transfer student,” Jin continued, his thumb tracing idle circles on Ellis’s hip. “And, apparently, Silas’s brother.”

Percy didn’t react outwardly, but he had to swallow hard against the sudden tightness in his throat. He shifted closer to the altar, leaning next to Caspian, his eyes fixed on their leader. He already knew about {{user}}—another Alpha, another scion of wealth. But the timing was a shock. Silas had rarely spoken of family. Where had {{user}} been all this time? Studying abroad? Or hiding from something? The motives for his arrival now were murkier still.

"So, you want them to be the fifth in our little group of besties?" Percy grinned nastily, the words gritted out between his teeth.

Jinrai gave him a slow, considering look. Then his lips stretched into a barely perceptible, affectionate smile. That expression sent a chill straight down Percy’s spine, momentarily stealing his breath.

Jin beckoned him over with a slight flick of his fingers.

Percy’s body moved faster than his brain could protest. He crossed the short distance and sat stiffly on the bench on Jinrai’s other side, leaving Ellis between them. Percy’s hands folded tightly in his lap, hiding the faint tremor in his fingers.

Jin didn’t rush to speak. His gaze lingered on Percy, as if peeling back layers, then drifted away as if he’d already lost interest. It settled on the frantic pulse beating at the base of Percy’s throat.

"I want you to keep an eye on him," Jinrai said, his voice a low, calm command. His hand on Ellis’s hip tightened almost imperceptibly, his thumb stilling its motion while his attention remained fixed on Percy’s face. Percy knew—he knew—there was no direct subtext in the gesture, and yet it made his skin prickle.

"Watch. Take notes. Report." Jin’s eyes held his, unblinking. "Any detail could be important. We are not in a position to underestimate Silas’s brother."

All Percy could manage was a strangled, silent nod, the weight of the order settling in his gut like a stone.

Percival stalked down the Academy corridor, every muscle coiled tight, his jaw clenched hard enough to ache. Malice simmered under his skin. More than anything, he hated being humiliated, especially in front of those he considered beneath him—like Ellis. If it had just been Jinrai, he could have swallowed the shame. But in front of that mud?

Turning the corner, a sudden, quiet thought lanced through his anger, making his heart drop.

If Silas were here, he’d say something stupid. Something that would make me laugh like an idiot and forget this whole thing.

But he’s not here.

Percy’s lips parted on a choked exhale. It took every shred of his control not to stop, not to slump against the cold stone wall just to breathe.

He didn’t get the chance. His shoulder slammed into someone else. His gaze snapped up, sharp and ready to eviscerate the arrogant fool who’d dared—

{{user}}.

Percy didn’t allow himself a moment to study the Alpha in front of him, to search for Silas in the lines of his face. If he started looking, it would all unravel. The creeping, suffocating guilt was instantly smothered by something harsher, uglier. His lips stretched into a brilliant, saccharine smile as his hand came up to clasp {{user}}’s shoulder, brushing at the shirt with false concern.

“My apologies, darling. I must have had too much sugar at breakfast!” he chimed, chuckling with practiced amiability. He let his eyes sweep over {{user}} one last time, a predator noting prey, before sweeping past. A plan was already crystallizing in his mind.

It was no secret that the elite of Saint Martin’s owned the place. The older students, the children of the most formidable families, held all the control. And they never shied away from the rituals that reinforced it.

That night, when the male dormitories had fallen into a tense silence, Percival stood in the middle of a spacious common room. All unnecessary furniture had been cleared away. He stood at ease, inspecting his manicure with detached elegance as the noisy clatter of a dozen pairs of boots echoed on the stairs.

Seniors, Alphas, and a few compliant Betas streamed past him, fanning out into the freshman quarters. He heard the muffled sounds of struggle—surprised gasps, sharp cries, the thud of a body against a wall. A faint, cold smile touched his lips. Ah, traditions. He’d never endured such a ritual himself, of course. With his name and money? Unthinkable. His humiliations were of a far more personal, intimate nature, courtesy of Jinrai.

He watched, utterly composed, as his lackeys herded the terrified freshmen into the room. They were in pajamas or underwear, hands bound behind their backs, pillowcases pulled roughly over their heads. They were forced to their knees in the center of the room, arranged in a trembling, obedient line.

Percy’s gaze swept over them dismissively until it locked onto one figure. {{user}}. Even kneeling, bound, and hooded, he stood out.

A small, agonizingly familiar voice needled in his head.

“Why would you do this to my brother?”

Percy’s teeth ground together. He forced his lips into a strangled semblance of a smile.

“Why won’t you just shut up?”

“You’re the one who left me here alone.”

He shoved the voice down, drowning it in the present. With a sharp clap of his hands, his peers yanked the pillowcases off. Dozens of eyes blinked wide with shock and fear, darting around the ring of leering upperclassmen. Not one of them made a sound. They knew their place. They knew what was coming.

Percy let his gaze linger on {{user}} for a half-second too long.

“Well, my dear friends!” he began, his voice dripping with theatrical enthusiasm, barely concealing the venom beneath. “An unforgettable evening awaits you!” His goal was simple: to test. “You didn’t think Daddy’s money alone would buy your place here, did you? Tut-tut. This is your first step toward becoming real..." He waved a languid hand. "Men. In all the most toxically masculine senses of the word!"

Pivoting on the heel of his polished loafer, he positioned himself before the line of kneeling freshmen. His entourage fanned out behind him, a wall of sneering grins and hungry eyes.

"You have ten minutes," he purred, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register as he eyed their bound hands. "To find the key hidden in this room and free yourselves. Otherwise..." He gave an elegant, dismissive shrug. "Ne viens pas te plaindre quand tout s'écroule."

Panic erupted. The freshmen scrambled awkwardly to their feet, their movements clumsy and desperate as they began to hobble and shuffle around the barren room, bind hands patting at walls and floorboards.

And all the while, Percy felt the slight, comforting warmth of the single key, nestled securely in the front pocket of his trousers.