Mated to the Alpha Emperor

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udents regardless of bloodline. I'd put Valerius's name on the waiting list some time ago, never really believing a spot would open. "Today? Right now?" "Right now. Ella, this is the only opening. If we miss it-" "I just started. I can't just leave on my first day-" "You can, and you will." Brenna's eyes were fierce. "This is for your son." She was right. Of course she was right. I found Claire in the corridor outside. My palms were sweating. "Madam - I'm sorry to ask this. I know it's my first day, and I understand if the answer is no. But my son has an interview at the academy this morning, and it's the only available slot, and-" Claire raised a hand, stopping my ramble. "How old is your son?" "Four." "And his father?" I swallowed. The question I always dreaded. "There is no father. Not - not in any official sense." My voice dropped. "It was a single encounter. Years ago. During a Moon Prayer ceremony. I never learned his name." The silence that followed felt like standing on the edge of a cliff. Claire studied my face. I braced for judgment - the tightened mouth, the disapproving glance, the subtle shift in tone that told you exactly where you stood in someone's estimation. Instead, she said, "You raised a child alone while teaching yourself several languages and working for a man who wouldn't promote you past his own prejudice." I blinked. "I - yes." "That isn't shame, Miss Elara. That's courage." She nodded toward the door. "Go. Take the time you need. I'll hold the fort." Relief hit me so hard my knees nearly buckled. "Thank you. Thank you, Madam." "Don't thank me. Just be back by early afternoon." I practically ran. Brenna had Valerius waiting in the academy courtyard. He sat on a stone bench, legs swinging, wearing the little gray vest I'd mended twice. His dark curls were - for once - somewhat tamed, though one stubborn lock sprang free over his forehead. "Mommy!" He launched himself off the bench and into my arms. I lifted him, pressing my nose into his hair. Honey. Always honey. "Are you ready, sweetheart?" He nodded solemnly, then leaned close to my ear. "The big kids look scary." "You're scarier," I whispered back. "You have the frog song." He giggled. A sound that could fix anything broken inside me. The aptitude test took place in a sunlit classroom. Brenna and I watched through a window as Valerius was placed with a small group of children his age. An instructor - a woman with kind eyes and a no-nonsense posture - guided them through a series of tasks. Problem-solving. Social interaction. Leadership response. I watched my son. He didn't hang back. Didn't cling to the edges the way I always had at his age. When a smaller girl dropped her puzzle piece, he picked it up and handed it to her, then showed her where it fit. When two boys started arguing over a toy, Valerius stepped between them, said something I couldn't hear, and within moments all three were playing together. The instructor noticed. I saw her write something down. She looked toward the window where I stood and gave a small, approving nod. After the session, she met us in the hall. "Your son has a remarkable quality," she said. "A natural authority. The other children responded to him instinctively - not out of fear, but out of trust. That kind of leadership can't be taught." She paused. "You've raised him we