Chapter Text
Ben wiped his hands nervously on his slacks, the sweat on his palms leaving a small, dark streak on the royal blue fabric. He nervously ground his teeth together, the noise driving his mother insane.
“Honey,” Belle said in a tone that was both soothing and irritated. “You’re grounding your fangs again,” she said.
Ben stopped pacing, not even realizing that his fangs had slipped out during his nervous ticking. “S-sorry, Mom,” he said, genuinely apologetic.
For months, he had been trying to find a way to convince the council to vote in favor of his most recent proclamation, bringing more kids from the Isle of the Lost. He knew too many of them would oppose his proclamation, so he had to find a way to prove to them that the current VKs in Aurodon were trustworthy. If he could get them to see that they had changed their ways and become good people, maybe he could convince the council that bringing more kids would end the same way.
He had finally come up with the perfect idea. The “Unity Initiative” would prove that the VK’s could be trusted. Over the course of a couple of months, each VK at Auradon Prep would be paired with either a royal or a high‑achieving student at the school. Not just as partners on one assignment, but as teammates in nearly everything. They would attend classes side by side, be seen at events together, and appear at public functions where people could see them laughing, talking, and working as equals. They would complete school projects, join clubs, volunteer for community work—always in pairs, always sharing the spotlight.
If it worked, the council wouldn’t just hear about change. They would see it.
He could already imagine the reports: teachers noting improvements in cooperation, students talking about how their partners from the Isle were clever, kind, funny, and talented. Articles in the Auradon Gazette showing photos of VKs and royals shoulder to shoulder, smiling, not because someone told them to, but because they actually wanted to be there together. The more people saw that, the harder it would be to cling to old fears.
Of course, there were risks. If even one pairing went wrong—if one VK slipped up, lost their temper, or caused trouble—the council would pounce. They would say it proved what they’d believed all along: that VKs couldn’t change, that bringing more kids from the Isle would only invite chaos. The thought made his chest feel tight, but he pushed it aside. He trusted the students who were already here. He’d seen their growth with his own eyes.
He just needed everyone else to see it, too.
He glanced toward the heavy oak doors at the end of the corridor, the ones that led into the council chamber. Beyond them, he could already hear the low murmur of voices, the scrape of chairs, the rustle of papers. Every sound made his stomach twist tighter.
“I just…” Ben exhaled and ran a hand through his hair, trying to smooth down a stubborn curl. “What if they don’t listen? What if whenever they look at them, they just see their parents?” He said, referring to Mal, Evie, Carlos, Jay, and every other suffering child on the Isle.
Belle stepped closer, straightening the lapels of his jacket the way she had when he was little and about to give a presentation at school. “Then you remind them that you are their king,” she said softly. “And that the children from the Isle aren’t ‘them’ and ‘us’ anymore. They’re part of your kingdom. You’ve shown them that.”
Ben swallowed. Images flashed through his mind—Carlos laughing with Dude on the palace lawn, Jay teaching the younger knights how to disarm opponents without hurting them, Evie bent over her sewing machine, making gowns for girls who never thought they’d own something pretty, Mal helping a group of first-years levitate candles with more patience than she’d ever admit to.
He knew what they had become. The problem was getting everyone else to see it.
“But the council remembers what their parents did,” he said. Images of Maleficent attacking the palace, Uma attacking the ship, the curses, the battles, the monsters, all of it. None of it would go away just by asking nicely.
“They do remember,” Belle agreed, and for a moment the softness in her eyes hardened into something sharper, older. Her mind flashed back to Gaston and how he had almost killed Adam. “I remember too.”
Ben looked up at her, startled. His mother rarely spoke about the battles. Not to him. Not like this.
She smoothed a wrinkle from his sleeve that wasn’t really there and went on, her voice quiet but steady. “I remember Maleficent standing right where you’re standing now, with your father turned into a beast and your friends in danger. I remember wondering if we’d made a mistake bringing anyone from the Isle here at all.”
His stomach lurched. “Mom—”
“But then,” Belle interrupted gently, “I remember a girl with purple hair choosing to do the right thing when it mattered most. Not because anyone forced her. Not because she was scared. Because she wanted to. Because she loved you. Because she loved this kingdom.”
Ben’s throat tightened. “Mal isn’t her mother,” he said quietly.
“No,” Belle agreed. “And Carlos is not Cruella. Evie is not the Evil Queen. Jay is not Jafar. The council knows this. They’ve seen it too. Some of them are just too hard-headed and small-minded to choose to remember it.”
Ben let out a humorless laugh. “That’s comforting.”
Belle raised an eyebrow. “Benjamin.”
He winced. Full-name territory. “Sorry.”
She sighed, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “You’re asking them to do something hard. To admit that the world isn’t as simple as they’d like it to be. It’s always been easier to lock the door and pretend the Isle doesn’t exist.”
“And leave kids there to rot,” Ben muttered, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He saw it too clearly—the rusted metal, the cracked concrete, the permanently gray sky over the Isle. The way the kids flinched when anyone raised their voice, the way they watched food like it might vanish if they blinked.
In the short time he had spent on the Isle while searching for Mal, he had truly seen how terrible it was to live there. The way some kids were passed out on the streets, and how someone ran off with clearly stolen goods. Some of them had seen through his disguise, had noticed his face. He could hear their whispers about Auradon, about him. About the council.
“They didn’t ask to be born there,” he said, more fiercely now. “They didn’t ask for their parents. They didn’t ask to be punished for someone else’s mistakes.”
Belle’s gaze softened again, and she cupped his cheek with one hand. “Then tell them that.”
He blinked. “What?”
“In there.” She nodded toward the council doors. “You don’t need a perfect speech or a clever law or the right phrasing to trick them into agreeing with you. You need to tell them the truth. The way you just told me.”
Ben swallowed. The truth. His heart started pounding faster again, but this time it wasn’t just fear. There was something else threading through his chest—a familiar stubbornness, the same feeling that had made him jump off a boat to swim toward Mal on the Isle, the same feeling that had made him sign the very first proclamation.
“What if they still say no?” he asked, almost in a whisper.
Belle’s hand dropped back to his lapel, giving it one last straightening. “Then you try again,” she said simply. “And again. And again. Being a good king isn’t about everyone agreeing with you the first time. It’s about fighting for what’s right even when they don’t.”
He let out a slow breath and glanced back at the doors. The murmuring inside seemed louder now, as if the room itself were impatient. He could practically see the council members already—Fairy Godmother with her hands folded, trying to look neutral; Queen Aurora pursing her lips; Adam at the far end of the table, his expression a careful mask that didn’t quite hide the worry in his eyes. King Charming would have his usual sneer, murmuring something hateful to King Phillip, who would agree with him. Queen Cinderella quietly seething at her husband’s blatant lack of respect for the courtroom. Queen Snow would be shifting in her seat uncomfortably while King Eric reassured her.
Fairy Godmother, Snow, Aurora, and, of course, his father, Eric, would be the easy votes.
It was Charming that worried Ben. No matter what Ben did, Charming was always against it. Ben knew it was because he was with Mal. Charming had made his hatred towards the VK’s evident since they first arrived. Whatever Charming said, Phillip would agree with. Eric was the wild card; he always seemed to think logically rather than with hate.
“They’ll bring up the attacks,” Ben said. “Uma. Maleficent. The barrier almost falling. They’ll say it’s proof that we can’t trust anyone from the Isle.”
“Then remind them,” Belle said, “of who stopped those attacks. Of who helped save this kingdom. Because it wasn’t just princes and princesses in that fight.”
Images flashed again—Mal standing between Auradon and her mother, magic crackling at her fingertips; Uma forcing a truce when the barrier was in danger; Harry, Gil, and the others throwing in with them when they didn’t have to.
Ben straightened his shoulders.
“And if they say it’s too dangerous?” he pressed.
Belle’s eyes glinted. “Then you ask them if they’re protecting the kingdom… or their fear.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The torches along the corridor flickered, golden light dancing across the stone walls. Somewhere deeper in the castle, a clock chimed the hour.
Ben inhaled once, deeply. His fangs slid back into place, the last of his nerves focusing into a sharp line instead of scattered static.
“Okay,” he said. It came out steadier than he felt. “Okay.”
Belle smiled, proud and a little sad. “There’s my king.”
He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched up. “I’m still your son too, you know.”
“Always,” she said.
He turned toward the doors. For a heartbeat, his feet refused to move. Then he remembered Carlos’s laugh, Jay’s easy grin, Evie’s soft hum when she sewed, Mal’s hand in his—warm, real, solid.
He was not walking in there alone.
Ben pushed the heavy oak doors open.
The murmur inside cut off almost instantly. Dozens of eyes turned toward him—some curious, some wary, some openly disapproving. The long table stretched out before him, scattered with parchment and quills and glittering goblets. At the far end, Adam sat straighter, a flicker of encouragement in his gaze.
“Your Majesty,” Fairy Godmother said, rising to her feet with a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We were just reviewing the text of your proposed proclamation.”
Ben stepped forward, the echo of his footsteps filling the chamber. He could feel the weight of every gaze, the press of history in the carved stone and stained glass.
“Thank you all for coming,” he said, forcing his voice to carry. “Before you vote… I’d like to say something.”
Ben let his gaze sweep over the council, lingering just a fraction of a second on each familiar face. Fairy Godmother. His father. Aurora. Snow. Eric. Phillip. And, of course, King Charming—arms folded, jaw tight, eyes already suspicious.
“I know you’ve all read the proclamation,” Ben began. “But the words on the page don’t tell you why this matters. Not really.”
He drew a breath, steadying himself.
“When I went to the Isle to bring Mal back, I saw what it really is for the kids who live there. The hunger. The fear. The way they look at Auradon like it’s some kind of impossible story. Like it’s something that was never meant for them.”
A few of the council members shifted, uncomfortable. Ben didn’t let up.
“They didn’t choose their parents. They didn’t choose the Isle. But every day, the kids we’ve already brought here choose something different. Mal, Evie, Jay, Carlos. They choose kindness when they were taught cruelty. They choose loyalty when they were raised on betrayal. They choose to protect a kingdom that still isn’t sure it wants them.”
His voice rang out more clearly, gaining strength as he spoke.
“I’m not asking you to forget what happened. I’m asking you to remember who stopped it. When Maleficent attacked this castle, it was Mal who stood between her and Auradon. When Uma threatened the barrier, it was Carlos, Evie, and Jay who chose to help us, not destroy us. They are not their parents. They are our students. Our citizens. Our people.”
He let the words hang in the air for a moment, meeting the council’s eyes one by one.
“The Unity Initiative isn’t a risk we’re taking for them. It’s a responsibility we have to them. To show this kingdom that they belong here. That they are part of us now.”
He exhaled slowly. “That’s all.”
Silence pressed in around him. Then the murmurs started—whispers exchanged behind hands, the rustle of papers shuffled as if they might somehow shield their owners from having to take a real stance.
Adam cleared his throat. “Thank you, Benjamin,” he said. “That was—”
“Emotional,” King Charming cut in, his voice sharp as a drawn sword. “But emotion does not make policy.”
All eyes turned to him. Charming sat straighter, his hands folded neatly on the table, but there was a hard glint in his eyes.
“You speak of responsibility, Your Majesty,” Charming went on, as if the title were something sour in his mouth. “Our first responsibility is to the safety of this kingdom. We have already seen what happens when we are… generous.” His gaze flicked pointedly toward Adam. “We brought one child from the Isle, and nearly lost everything. We brought more, and nearly lost it again.”
Ben’s jaw tightened. “And we also gained allies who saved it,” he said.
Charming ignored him, turning to address the room at large.
“If we are to entertain this… Unity Initiative,” he said, “then we cannot pretend we are not playing with fire. If we must allow these pairings, they must be controlled. Structured. Supervised.” He looked back at Ben, lips curling in a thin smile. “By someone who understands what is at stake.”
Phillip nodded immediately, as expected. “Charming has a point,” he said. “If this goes wrong, it’s not just a few school projects at risk. It’s all of Auradon.”
Fairy Godmother’s brow furrowed. “I do agree supervision is important,” she said carefully. “But Ben’s proposal already includes faculty oversight and regular reports—”
“And who pairs which child from the Isle with which royal, or which high-achieving student?” Charming pressed. “Who decides those matches?”
Ben hesitated. In his original plan, he’d wanted input from the students, some say in who they’d be paired with. A chance to build on existing friendships, or at least mutual respect. He opened his mouth.
“I do,” he started. “As king—”
“Is it not a conflict of interest,” Charming interrupted smoothly, “for you to choose, when you are romantically involved with one of the very subjects under consideration?”
Heat prickled at the back of Ben’s neck. He heard a few soft gasps, the scrape of a chair as someone shifted.
“King Charming,” Aurora said, lips pressed thin, “that was uncalled for.”
“It was necessary,” Charming snapped. “We have already seen the… influence… certain relationships can have on policy.”
Adam’s hand clenched on the table, knuckles whitening. “Mind your tone,” he said quietly.
Cinderella shot Ben an apologetic glance for her husband’s words.
Charming smiled, all teeth. “I am minding the kingdom.”
Ben forced himself to breathe. He wouldn’t give Charming the outburst he clearly wanted.
“So what are you suggesting?” Ben asked, keeping his voice level.
Charming folded his hands again. “If this council is to approve the Initiative,” he said, “the pairings should be made by someone with no… sentimental entanglements with the Isle. Someone who can be objective.”
His gaze swept the room, but everyone knew where it landed.
“By me.”
The words dropped like a stone into the chamber.
Snow shifted uncomfortably as she and Cinderella exchanged glances. Eric’s expression tightened, thoughtful and wary. Aurora’s eyes narrowed.
“That’s hardly impartial,” Eric said slowly. “Everyone in this room knows your stance on the Isle. Objectivity requires more than distance. It requires fairness.”
Charming shrugged one shoulder. “And yet, your Majesty, can you name another council member who has no child at this school, no close attachment to these Isle kids, and no magic that clouds their judgment with… optimism?” His eyes flicked, for the briefest moment, toward Fairy Godmother.
Fairy Godmother bristled. “Hope is not a flaw, Charming.”
“No,” Charming agreed. “But it is not a safeguard.”
Ben’s heart thudded. This was exactly what he’d feared: the Initiative twisted into a weapon instead of a bridge.
“If you choose the pairings,” Ben said, “you’ll stack them to fail.”
Charming’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “If your little Isle friends are as reformed as you insist, then surely they can withstand a bit of challenge. Or are you afraid they’ll show their true colors when faced with scrutiny?”
Ben opened his mouth, but Belle’s earlier words echoed in his mind.
Tell them the truth. The way you just told me.
He drew a breath. “I’m not afraid of them showing their true colors,” he said quietly. “I’m afraid you’ll refuse to see them.”
A heartbeat of silence. Queen Snow’s shoulders slumped, something like shame flickering across her face.
Cinderella cleared her throat. “Perhaps,” she said carefully, “there is a compromise. King Ben’s Initiative moves forward, but the council approves the structure.”
“Meaning?” Eric asked.
“Meaning we set conditions,” Aurora said. “Limited duration. Regular reports. And… we allow King Charming to propose the pairings, but they must be reviewed and signed off by the full council. Not imposed unilaterally.”
Charming’s jaw twitched. He didn’t like the word propose. Still, he spread his hands. “I have nothing to hide. Let the council see my reasoning. If they object to any particular pairing, they may vote to amend.”
Ben’s mind raced. It wasn’t what he wanted. But it was something. And if he refused, they might shut the Initiative down entirely.
Adam caught his eye, giving the smallest of nods. Take the ground you can, then fight for more.
Ben straightened. “If that is the only way the Initiative moves forward,” he said, “I accept the council’s oversight.” His eyes locked with Charming’s. “But I will not accept cruelty disguised as caution. Any pairing made in bad faith will answer to me, not just this council.”
Charming’s smile was almost pleasant. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
Fairy Godmother rose. “Then we proceed to a vote,” she said. “All in favor of approving the Unity Initiative under these conditions?”
Hands went up. Adam. Cinderella. Belle, as queen consort. Eric. Snow, after a visible hesitation. Aurora. Phillip glanced at Charming, then lifted his hand reluctantly. Fairy Godmother herself raised hers last, decisive.
“All opposed?”
Only Charming’s hand remained firmly down.
“The ayes have it,” Fairy Godmother announced. “The Unity Initiative is approved.”
Ben’s chest loosened, just a little. It was done.
“Excellent,” Charming said calmly, as if he hadn’t just tried to kill it. “I’ll have a list of proposed pairings delivered to the headmistress by tomorrow morning.”
The list arrived at Auradon Prep at dawn.
Fairy Godmother stood in her office, the parchment unfurled on her desk, her wand hovering just above the ink as if the right spell might change the names written there.
It didn’t.
She pursed her lips, then conjured a second copy with a flick of light blue sparkles. If the council had agreed to this, Ben needed to see it too.
By the time the students started flooding the halls, word had already spread: new Initiative, mandatory partners, council’s orders. Everyone craned their necks toward the main notice board, anticipation and dread mingling in the air.
Carlos elbowed his way through the crowd, clutching his bag to his chest. Dude trotted at his heels, tail wagging, tongue lolling.
“What’s going on?” he asked, glancing up at Jay, who was leaning against a column like he hadn’t a care in the world, though his eyes were sharp.
“Ben’s big plan,” Jay said. Partnering us up with the royals for the semester. Like lab partners, but with more judgment.”
Evie appeared at Carlos’s other side, fingers already dyed faintly blue from early-morning sketching. “And more fashion emergencies,” she added. “You know some of these royals barely know what a mirror is for.”
Mal shoved through behind them, purple hair swinging. “Let me see,” she muttered, eyes already narrowed in suspicion.
Fairy Godmother’s neat, looping handwriting covered the parchment, listing names in pairs down the page. Some made sense—Evie with Doug, Mal noticed with a faint easing of tension; Jay with Lonnie, which drew a pleased little grin from Lonnie herself when she spotted it; Mal with a serious-looking student from the debating society whose name she vaguely recognized.
But then her eyes snagged on a pairing at the bottom of the list.
Carlos De Vil — Chad Charming
The air seemed to thin.
Carlos stared at the words for a full three seconds, his brain apparently refusing to process them. Then he blinked. Blinked again.
“…Nope,” he said weakly. “Glitch in the system. Magic misprint. Fairy Godmother’s quill slipped.”
Jay let out a low whistle. “Yikes.”
Evie’s jaw dropped. “They did not just put you with Chad,” she breathed, as if the very idea were an obscenity.
Behind them, as if summoned by his own name, Chad’s voice rang out.
“Are you kidding me?”
They turned. Chad Charming stood a few feet away, staring at the parchment, as it had personally insulted him. His blond hair was immaculate, his jacket perfectly pressed, his expression a mix of confusion and outrage.
“Carlos?” Chad sputtered, pointing at the board, then at Carlos, as if one of them might magically transform into someone more acceptable. “This has to be a joke.”
Carlos’s stomach twisted. “Trust me, I’m not exactly thrilled either,” he said quickly. His hands were already rubbing at the back of his neck, a nervous habit. “There’s gotta be a mistake, right? I mean, there’s, like, a million other people you could stick me with. Why me? Why you? Why—”
“Why don’t we ask?” Mal cut in, eyes flashing.
She pushed forward, the crowd parting just enough under the weight of her glare. Students watched with poorly hidden curiosity. VK drama was always entertainment, until it wasn’t.
Fairy Godmother emerged from the hallway just then, clearly having anticipated this. She smoothed down her robes and put on her best, everything’s-under-control smile.
“Good morning, students!” she trilled. “I see you’ve all found the Unity Initiative pairings. How exciting!”
“Exciting isn’t the word I’d use,” Mal said. “Care to explain why Carlos is stuck with Chad ‘I-reported-Mal-for-breathing-too-close-to-a-trophy’ Charming?”
Chad bristled. “Hey, I was within my rights. That trophy was family property.”
“It was school property, you glorified hair product,” Mal snapped.
“Language,” Fairy Godmother said, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of sympathy as they landed on Carlos. “The council approved the Initiative with specific conditions,” she said. “One of those conditions was that King Charming would propose the initial pairings, which the council then reviewed.”
Carlos felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.
“Your dad did this?” he asked Chad quietly.
Chad’s jaw clenched. “He… made the suggestions,” he said stiffly. “The council signed off.”
“So they know this is a bad idea,” Jay muttered under his breath.
Fairy Godmother clasped her hands. “The goal,” she said, “is to foster understanding between students from the Isle and students from established royal families. Sometimes that means pairing people who… may not naturally spend time together.”
Mal folded her arms. “Or, you know, people whose families hate each other’s guts.”
“Mal,” Fairy Godmother warned. “This was the compromise that allowed the Initiative to exist at all. Without it, there would be no pairings and no possibility of bringing more children from the Isle. King Ben agreed.”
That stung more than Carlos expected. Ben had agreed. He believed in them. Carlos knew that. But knowing and feeling were two very different things, and right now, all he could feel was a creeping, familiar dread—the kind that smelled like cold stone and wet fur and Cruella’s perfume.
“So I’m basically… a test,” Carlos said slowly. “A… what, stress test? To see if I crack?”
Fairy Godmother’s face softened. “No,” she said gently. “You’re a bridge. And I know you, Carlos. You’ve crossed harder ones.”
Chad scoffed. “You’re all being dramatic. It’s just for a few months, right? Classes, events, some charity nonsense—”
“Charity work,” Evie corrected sharply.
“Whatever,” Chad said. He looked Carlos up and down, as if assessing a particularly complicated piece of equipment. “Look, I’m not thrilled either, but I’m not going to flunk my classes because some council geezer thinks sticking me with a villain kid will make me noble or something.”
Carlos flinched at the word, but Chad barreled on.
“So here’s the deal, De Vil,” Chad said, planting his hands on his hips. “We get through this. We do the projects. We show up to the photo ops. You don’t get me in trouble, and I don’t… I don’t make your life harder than it already is.”
It was the closest thing to an olive branch Chad had probably ever offered anyone from the Isle. It still came out more like a contract than an offer.
Carlos swallowed. His heart was pounding, but under the fear, there was something else—Belle’s words, filtered through Ben, filtered now through Fairy Godmother.
You’re a bridge.
He thought of the kids still on the Isle. Of their faces pressed to the barrier, of the way they’d looked at him—at the royal crest on his jacket—as if it meant he could change something.
He straightened a little.
“Fine,” Carlos said. His voice was surprisingly steady. “We get through it. We do the work. But I’m not going to pretend to be someone I’m not just to make you look good in pictures.”
Chad blinked, taken aback by the steel in his tone. “I didn’t say you had to—” He stopped, exhaled. “Look. Just… don’t make me regret this, okay?”
“Pretty sure your dad already does,” Jay muttered.
Chad shot him a glare, but there was a crack in his usual smugness now. For the first time, Carlos realized that Chad wasn’t just angry—he was cornered. Stuck in a pairing he hadn’t chosen either, with a father who would be watching every move he made.
Carlos’s shoulders loosened by a fraction.
“Look,” he said, quieter now. “You don’t like me. I get it. My mom tried to turn your mom into a coat. Your dad hates all of us. But we don’t have to like each other, not to make this a disaster.” A faint, awkward smile tugged at his mouth. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll figure out I’m not as terrible as my family press releases.”
Chad huffed. “And maybe you’ll figure out I’m not as dumb as everyone thinks I am.”
There was a brief, surprised silence.
Mal’s eyes flicked between them, something calculating—and faintly hopeful—behind her gaze.
Fairy Godmother clapped her hands. “Wonderful!” she said, seizing the moment. “That’s exactly the spirit we’re looking for. Now, remember, you’ll be attending most of your core classes together, and you’ll also choose at least one extracurricular activity and one community service project to complete as a team. I’ll have your detailed schedules by the end of the day.”
“Wait, most classes?” Chad repeated, horrified.
Carlos couldn’t help it. A tiny laugh escaped him.
“Guess you’re stuck with me, Charming,” he said.
Chad groaned. “This is my villain origin story.”
“Too late,” Jay said cheerfully. “We already took that title.”
Evie looped her arm through Carlos’s. “Come on,” she said. “You’re going to be late to our first period if you stand here panicking all morning. Besides, if he gives you trouble, we’ll just hex his shampoo.”
“Evie,” Fairy Godmother warned again.
“Kidding,” Evie said sweetly. “Mostly.”
As they moved away from the board, Carlos glanced back. Chad was still standing there, staring at the parchment, his shoulders just a little more slumped than usual.
He didn’t ask for this either, Carlos thought.
Ben’s plan was in motion. King Charming had chosen the pairings, and the council had let him. But whatever Charming intended this to be—a test, a trap, proof that the Isle kids weren’t fit for Auradon—Carlos felt something stubborn uncurl in his chest.
He’d spent his whole life being told what he was—kicking puppies. Skinning dogs. Just like Cruella.
He tightened his grip on his bag and squared his shoulders.
This time, he was going to show them who he actually was.
And if that meant surviving a semester glued to Chad Charming?
Well. He’d faced worse monsters.
He’d just have to make sure Chad didn’t become one of them.