Page 13

In the Company of Serpents

S amael pushed open the door, and we entered Professor King's domain. The circular room was bathed in soft, amber light from dozens of enchanted lanterns that floated near the ceiling.

Students sat on plush cushions arranged in a circle around a central dais where Professor King—a willowy man with long, sandy hair nearly to his waist—stood with his heterochromatic eyes—one blue, one green—twinkling with amusement. He was demonstrating the proper way to swirl tea leaves.

"Ah, Mr. Norwood, Miss Vale," Professor King called out with a quick glance in our direction. "How kind of you to join us. I believe there are two cushions available near the eastern window."

Samael shot me a knowing look that said, I told you so , and we made our way to the indicated spots. As we settled onto the cushions, whispers rippled through the classroom.

I caught Leander's wide-eyed stare from across the room, his expression a mixture of confusion and concern. Vivienne Devereux, seated a few spaces to my left, turned to glare at me with such venom that I nearly flinched.

"Now," Professor King continued, his melodic voice filling the room, "as I was saying, the leaves speak to those who know how to listen. The future is not fixed but flows like water, taking the path of least resistance unless acted upon by greater forces."

I tried to focus on the lesson, but my awareness of Samael beside me was overwhelming. His presence was like a gravitational force, pulling at my attention no matter how hard I tried to resist.

"You'll be working in pairs today," Professor King announced, clapping his hands once. The sound resonated with unexpected power, causing several students to startle. "Each of you will read the other's leaves and record your findings in your grimoires."

The teacups before us were delicate porcelain, adorned with intricate blue symbols that seemed to shift slightly when I wasn’t looking directly at them.

Samael reached for the teapot between us, his sleeve pulling back to reveal the edge of one of his tattoos—a dragon's tail that disappeared beneath the fabric, the muscles in his forearm tightening with the movement.

“Ladies first,” he murmured, voice pitched low enough that it was meant for me alone.

As he poured the steaming tea into my cup, I caught the way his hands moved—steady, precise, almost reverent. It was a quiet contrast to the sharp edges he showed the rest of the world.

“You seem surprised,” he said without looking up, placing the pot down with care.

“I didn’t expect you to have... manners,” I admitted, the words slipping out sharper than intended.

Instead of offense, a slow smile curved at the corner of his mouth—dangerous in how little it revealed. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, little raven.”

I sipped my tea, the herbal blend warming me from within. Across the room, Vivienne was whispering furiously to her partner, who kept glancing our way with undisguised curiosity.

Leander had somehow managed to spill half his tea onto his grimoire and was frantically trying to sop up the liquid with his sleeve.

"Drink to the bottom," Professor King instructed, wandering between the cushions. "Then pass your cup to your partner. Remember—the leaves don't lie, but interpretations are subjective. Trust your intuition."

Samael leaned forward, his dark eyes intent as he lifted my cup. Our fingers brushed, and I felt that same electric current race up my arm. His expression remained neutral, but I noticed his pulse quicken at his throat.

"Look deeply," Professor King continued, "not just at the pattern, but at the spaces between. The void often speaks louder than the form."

“Interesting,” Samael murmured, studying the dregs of tea like they were a coded message only he could decipher.

“An hourglass—passage of time, or maybe something slipping away. But here…”He tilted the cup toward me, pointing to a scatter of leaves near the rim.

“That’s a key. Usually means a secret. Or something locked that wants to be opened. ”

His finger traced a faint line bisecting the base. “And this? A crossroads. Or a bridge, depending on which direction you’re standing when it finds you.”

“You’re making this up,” I said, squinting into the cup and seeing only chaos.

His smile was faint—barely there, but unmistakably amused. “Perhaps.”

He slid the cup toward me with quiet finality. “Your turn.”

I took his cup, surprised by its warmth—as if it had retained his touch. The leaves formed an unmistakable pattern, and I couldn’t suppress a small gasp.

"What is it?" he asked, leaning closer.

Before I could answer, Vivienne's voice cut through the murmured conversations. "Professor King, I think I need to switch partners. Kara is hopeless at reading leaves."

Professor King smiled benignly. "Miss Devereux, the partners have been arranged with purpose. Perhaps there is something Miss Greene can teach you about patience."

Vivienne’s face flushed, and she shot another venomous look my way. I pretended not to notice as I returned my gaze to Samael’s cup.

I hesitated, fingers tracing the coiled shape at the bottom of the cup. “A serpent,” I said at last, the word tasting strange in my mouth. “It can mean betrayal… hidden danger. Or transformation.”

My voice barely rose above a whisper, but it hung there between us like smoke.

Samael’s gaze met mine, and everything around us seemed to quiet. The faint clink of china, the rustle of pages, the hum of candlelight—all dimmed beneath the weight of that look. Then his hand reached forward, slow and deliberate, and his fingers brushed mine as he took the cup back.

“A serpent,” he echoed, his voice low, rich, edged with something that made my skin prickle. “It speaks of peril. Deception that wears a beautiful face. And sometimes…” He paused, his eyes never leaving mine. “Sometimes it whispers promises meant to lure. Or seduce. Before it strikes.”

The words hit like ice water—cool, precise, unflinching.

The tension between us sharpened, not from heat alone, but from something deeper. Wariness. Distrust. Fascination coiled too tight.

He was watching me now not as a classmate, not even as an adversary—but as a threat he couldn’t quite name.

As if behind my quiet voice and pretty smile, I carried teeth I hadn’t yet shown.

Across the room, Vivienne’s glare intensified, her quiet jealousy nearly palpable as she watched us. Though her posture remained poised, the tension in the room was unmistakable—a silent battle between the allure of the man seated in front of me and the quiet reminder that he was dangerous.

I broke eye contact first, staring down at my grimoire as I hastily jotted notes about the serpent in his cup. My hand trembled slightly, betraying the calm I was trying so desperately to project.

“You should be careful,” Samael said quietly, his voice barely audible beneath the low hum of classroom chatter. “Not everyone at Drakestone is who they pretend to be.”

“Including you?” The words slipped out before I could catch them.

A shadow flickered across his face, his expression unreadable. “Especially me.”

He didn’t look at me again. Just turned his attention back to his cup, as though I’d already ceased to matter.

The rest of the lesson blurred—whispered interpretations, faint gasps from students dramatizing omens in the leaves—but I couldn’t focus. Not on the readings. Not on the patterns. Only on the weight of Samael’s voice still lingering in my ears.

A warning… or a dare.

Maybe both.

As students gathered their belongings, Leander appeared at my side, grimoire still damp from his earlier mishap.

“Care to explain why you’re suddenly playing tea party with Norwood?” Leander whispered, leaning in close. “Last I checked, we avoided his crowd like the Whispering Plague.”

“It wasn’t exactly planned,” I murmured, eyes flicking to where Vivienne sat across the room, clearly watching. “We were just paired together.”

Leander arched a brow. “And arriving together? That part random too?”

“Coincidence,” I said—too fast, too flat.

His look said he didn’t buy a word of it.

As we filed out of the classroom toward the Great Hall for dinner, the corridor buzzed with conversation. Most students were discussing their studies, but a different kind of whisper caught my attention—urgent, worried.

"—second one this month—"

"—just vanished from his bed—"

"—Headmaster says it's nothing to worry about—"

I slowed my pace, tugging at Leander's sleeve. "What are they talking about?"

His expression darkened. "Liam Musette. He didn’t show up for any of his classes today. His girlfriend says his bed wasn’t slept in last night."

A cold dread settled in my stomach. "That’s the second student disappearance since term began."

The dining hall was abuzz with activity when we arrived. Bethany and Lydia had saved seats for us at our usual table, and I slid gratefully into the chair beside Bethany while Leander took his usual spot between Lydia and me, eager for the normalcy of their company.

“Did you hear?” Bethany leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper that practically buzzed with urgency. “Another student’s vanished.”

“I filled Elvana in on the way,” Leander said, waving a hand like he was checking it off a list. “Figured I’d get ahead of your dramatic reveal.”

Bethany narrowed her eyes. “You’re ruining my moment.”

Leander smirked. “You’ll survive.”

Across the hall, I caught sight of Samael sitting with Julian, Edric, and Vivienne. He was leaning back in his chair, seemingly disinterested in whatever animated discussion the others were having. Vivienne kept touching his arm as she spoke, but he barely acknowledged her.

As if sensing my gaze, Samael looked up and our eyes locked. Even from across the crowded hall, I felt that same electric current pass between us. He inclined his head slightly, a gesture so subtle I might have imagined it.