Page 31 of Bitten By the Fae

I huffed.Well, it’s better than what they’re eating, I decided, taking my knife and fork to cut a sliver from the magically produced food.

Zephyrus ignored me, his focus on his own plate. Meanwhile, Kolstov’s brow furrowed as I brought the browned fluff to my lips and took a bite.

“What is it?” he asked, sounding appalled.

“Shroom loaf,” Zephyrus informed him. “Popular in their realm.”

“How the hell do you know that?” he demanded.

“You’re not the only one who took cultural courses,Your Highness.” Zephyrus gave him a look that resulted in a scowl from the Midnight Prince.

Such a strange dynamic.

Zephyrus struck me as older, not because of his title, but because of the experience underlining his features. Definitely not of Academy age, yet not too much older.

Headmaster.

Something told me that term didn’t mean the same in this world as it meant in others.

He wasn’t in charge of the Academy because he didn’t have the right air of authority for that. Too laid-back in his treatment of Kolstov. Not proper enough in my presence either.

But he could definitely pass for a professor.

“Do you teach?” I asked him while cutting off a large bite. It wasn’t the most amazing shroom loaf of my experience, but I liked the smoky flavor. It provided an exotic touch, as if Zephyrus had singed the ends himself with his Midnight Fae energy.

“That is what a headmaster does, yes.” He tapped his fork on the plate, staring at his food, and sighed. “Do you know anything about how Midnight Fae Academy is run? How our Houses of Magic work? The bloodlines that drive our course studies?”

My cheeks heated. “As I told Prince Kolstov, I haven’t taken a course on your political structure yet. It was on my calendar for this year, in addition to devoting my time to helping my fellow Earth Fae rebuild. Which I apparently won’t be doing now.”

Over half of my kind had perished in the last few decades due to a wicked abomination sucking the energy from our souls in an attempt to gain access to additional elemental sources. It left the Earth Fae in shambles. Something I expected to help nurture and fix over the next fifty or so years.

Then Shade bit me and turned my plans to dust.

“I’m aware of what happened in the Elemental Fae kingdom,” Kolstov murmured. “I supplied textbooks to Exos and Cyrus for?—”

“Master Kolstov,” a gravelly voice interrupted as the gargoyle swooped in over our heads.

My eyes widened at the breadth of his stone wings. For such a tiny body, I expected a few inches at most. But no, the width was as long as my arm.

Wow, where does he hide those while in the door?

“Yes, Sir Kristoff?” Kolstov prompted, arching a brow.

“A Sangré Blood is at the door for you, sir,” the gargoyle replied, bowing low before whirling around to return to the foyer.

“Ah, Chern must have sent us a party gift.” He dabbed his lips with a napkin, then excused himself. “Be back in a few minutes.”

“Party gift?” I repeated, glancing at Zephyrus. “And what’s aSangré Blood?”

“One of the Midnight Fae bloodlines.” He sipped from a glass of red liquid that was either wine or fresh from a human’s veins. I didn’t ask. Considering my glass contained water, I suspected it was the latter. “There are five active houses of our kind: Death, Elite, Sangré, Warrior, and Malefic. I’m a Warrior Blood. Kolstov is an Elite Blood. Shade, your betrothed, is a Death Blood.”

“Betrothed,” I muttered, hating that word. “Soon-to-be-dead betrothed.”

If Zephyrus heard me, he didn’t acknowledge my comment. “Each line has an affinity for different types of dark magic. It’s similar to your elemental assignments, except ours is defined in the blood more than in our souls. As your bond with Shade settles, you’ll likely join his line. But your Royal Fae essence may contradict it.”

“That’s why the Council wants her to take courses under all the houses,” Kolstov said as he returned. Rather than reclaim his seat, he moved to stand behind mine. “Lift your hair for me, gorgeous.”

The request sent a chill down my spine, my hands locking around my knife and fork. “Why?”