Page 11

Before I can question what that cryptic statement means, a bell tolls throughout the hall—a sound that reverberates not just through my ears but through my entire body, rattling my bones from within. The faculty immediately begin moving toward a set of massive doors at the far end of the hall.

“Ah! Perfect timing. The welcoming ceremony summons,” Viel announces, his theatrical manner returning instantly. “Do try to keep up, Professor Morgan. The Great Hall has relocated those who dawdle—and the universe abhors tardiness.”

He rushes toward the double doors, and I follow in his wake.

The Great Hall staggers my senses the moment I enter. I stop short, just beyond the doors. Veil long gone.

Crystal chandeliers hang suspended without chains, rotating in opposite directions. The ceiling opens directly to night sky despite us being nowhere near the top floor. Torches ignite as we pass, flames shifting through impossible colors.

Three thrones dominate the far end—crystal refracting rainbows, obsidian swallowing light, and living wood with branches that sway to unfelt breezes.

The assembled faculty parts before us, some literally floating inches above the marble floor. I take my position on the platform beside other newcomers, hyper-aware of a presence watching from the shadows to my left.

My skin prickles where his gaze touches, like ice trailing down my spine.

I don’t look directly—tactical error to reveal awareness—but catch a tall figure leaning against a column.

His observation presses like atmospheric pressure against my skin.

Yet beneath the danger signals, something else responds. Recognition.

A presence materializes beside me—warm, solid, and unexpectedly grounding. I turn to find a man watching me with interest, his amber eyes containing flecks of gold that move independently.

“First Academy dinner?” he asks, his voice carrying the subtle lilt of an accent I can’t place but that settles into my ear like music half-remembered from childhood. “I’m Finnian Willowheart.”

Relief floods through me at finding someone almost normal. Almost—those golden flecks in his eyes move independently.

He’s tall, wearing neutral cream colors that complement his golden skin. Dark hair waves to his shoulders and a trimmed barely-there beard hides what I’m sure are dimples. Lips curve in a too-even smile that somehow remains breathtaking. He’s taller than my five-seven by at least a few inches.

He looks like a Hollywood hero who actually possesses book smarts.

“That obvious?” I manage, trying to look unfazed as floating candelabra and goblets that fill themselves appear on the tables before us.

“You have that particular wide-eyed look.” His smile reaches his eyes, crinkling the corners in a way that suggests genuine amusement rather than mockery. “One part wonder, two parts tactical assessment, with just a dash of existential crisis.”

“Accurate diagnosis.”

“Academic hazard.” His eyes sparkle with warmth. “Sit with me? I promise to explain anything that defies immediate classification.”

I nod, following his lead and taking a seat while ensuring I can keep an eye on all the exits.

The long table before us appears to be made of living crystal, surfaces refracting light in patterns that shift with our movements. Water in my goblet shifts through temperatures—pine-scented cold, honey-warm, then effervescent with tiny constellations identical to my childhood bedroom ceiling.

I set the goblet down with shaking fingers.

“University fare,” Finnian murmurs, leaning closer than strictly necessary. The subtle scent of old books and something herbal clings to him. I find myself leaning imperceptibly toward him. “I recommend the silver-leafed bread—relatively stable and compatible with human digestion.”

“Does food typically pose a hazard here?” I ask, watching a dish before me transform from savory to sweet as colors ripple across its surface.

The bread stays bread, but everything else shifts color and moves.

The scent changes with each shift, from herb-laden to dessert-sweet, making my stomach lurch with confusion.

“Not to health, no. But sustenance here carries... implications.” His voice drops confidentially, requiring me to lean closer.

His breath brushes my ear, sending an involuntary shiver down my neck.

“Accept the wrong offering from the wrong person, and you might find yourself bound in ways you never intended.”

“Magical food debt?” I raise an eyebrow, remembering Jason’s warnings.

“Among other things.” Finnian’s eyes sparkle with enthusiasm mixed with something warmer. “The nuances of Fae hospitality law could fill several fascinating volumes. Gifts, debts, obligations—all woven through the simple act of sharing sustenance.”

“I’ll stick to whatever you recommend then.”

“Wise.” His smile turns playfully protective. “I’d hate to see you accidentally betrothed to someone over an appetizer.”

From across the hall, Prince Kieran’s icy gaze remains fixed on me.

Finnian notices the direction of my gaze and the sudden chill. His expression shifts subtly, a flicker of something like concern—or perhaps jealousy?—crossing his features.

“Prince Kieran seems unusually interested in our new combat instructor,” he observes, his tone carefully neutral though his body language shifts subtly—angling slightly more toward me, protective without being obvious.

“Is that unusual?” I ask, forcing myself to look away from that piercing blue stare.

“Very.” Finnian selects his words with visible care. “The prince’s attention is selective and rarely... benevolent.”

“Should I be concerned?” The question comes out steadier than I feel.

“Probably,” Finnian admits with surprising candor. “Though not necessarily for the reasons you might think.”

Before I can ask what he means, the table erupts into chaos as a platter of what appeared to be roast birds suddenly takes flight, the cooked fowl sprouting fresh feathers and winging around the hall. Faculty react with varying degrees of alarm and amusement.

“PROFESSOR VAELWYN!” Lady Shimmerwell shrieks, batting away a drumstick that attempts to nest in her elaborate hairstyle. “THIS IS COMPLETELY INAPPROPRIATE!”

Viel, seated several tables away, affects an expression of wounded innocence, though his eyes glitter with mischief and spiritual mirth.

“I assure you, Lady Shimmerwell, I have absolutely no idea what you’re implying.

Perhaps the universe simply felt our main course needed a bit more.

.. animated discussion? The cosmic forces work in mysterious ways. ”

The momentary chaos is interrupted by Kieran’s approach. Conversations stop. Three professors leave quickly. He’s built like a predator—tall, lean, moving with lethal grace. His skin is too pale, eyes burn cold, and shadows crawl over his hands. He’s dangerous. I lean closer anyway.

Up close, he radiates cold that should make me shiver but doesn’t. Those eyes fix on me with an intensity that should trigger every combat instinct I possess. Instead, my body responds with a rush of heat that has nothing to do with fear.

He reminds me of that guy from a vampire show I once binged with my cousins.

“Professor Willowheart,” comes a voice like shards of ice wrapped in velvet. “How predictable to find you playing shepherd to lost lambs.”

“Prince Kieran,” Finnian acknowledges with a formality that masks obvious tension, his body subtly shifting to place himself between us. “I wasn’t aware you took interest in orientation procedures.”

“I take interest in anything that doesn’t belong.” Those ice-blue eyes lock on mine with predatory focus. “Particularly when it pretends to be something it’s not.”

Pretending ?

“Professor Morgan is hardly pretending anything,” Finnian counters smoothly. “The Academy has hosted human instructors before.”

“Has it?” Kieran’s smile shows all teeth, sharp and dangerous. “How fascinating that I can’t recall a single one who survived their first semester.”

I should feel threatened.

He shifts, and snowflakes flickers across the stone near my boots. His frost touches my skin but doesn’t hurt. It burns others, but on me there’s nothing. He notices, pupils dilating.

I find myself leaning slightly toward him, drawn by something I can’t name but that calls to the wildness awakening beneath my skin.

“Prince Kieran.” I meet his stare directly. “I wasn’t aware royalty monitored academic staffing decisions.”

His eyes widen fractionally at my direct address—apparently not the response he expected from a human newcomer. Something that might be approval flickers across his features before the mask of cold disdain returns.

“I monitor anything that might prove... disruptive to Academy balance.” His smile turns predatory. “Especially when it has a habit of surviving impossible odds.”

“Good thing I’m here to teach, not to disrupt.” I reply easily.

“We’ll see which proves more accurate,” he replies, and the specific knowledge in that statement sends ice water flooding my veins.

Before I can respond, he turns to leave, but not before adding in a voice meant only for me, “Sleep lightly, Specialist Morgan. The Academy reveals what we most wish to keep hidden.”

“Thanks for the advice.” My voice stays level despite my racing heart. “Though I’ve found secrets have a way of cutting both directions.”

“Indeed they do.” His smile turns genuinely predatory now. “I do so enjoy watching them unfold.”

The words carry both warning and threat, delivered with such perfect precision that I can’t tell which he intended. He moves away in a whisper of shadow, the temperature gradually normalizing with his departure. Several nearby faculty visibly relax, conversations resuming at normal volume.

“That was... unusual,” Finnian says, watching the prince’s retreating form with a frown. “He rarely addresses newcomers directly.”