Page 16

Marigold

Friday afternoon, I found them in the common room—Cyrus in an armchair by the fire, Elio sprawled across a velvet sofa, and Keane lurking by the windows with a book. The moment I entered, the temperature rose, and the air shimmered with barely contained magic. They’d clearly been waiting for me.

Elio’s usual elegant sprawl looked forced today, tension coiling in his shoulders.

His perfect mask was brittle around the edges, and when he saw me, his light eyes flashed with something darker than his usual calculated disdain.

Beneath that polished veneer, I glimpsed wounded pride—he still hadn’t forgiven me for seeing through his illusions.

“Ah, our little half-breed arrives,” Elio drawled, stretching lazily as if he hadn’t just been watching the door. “We were just discussing the deplorable state of our shared space.”

Scout stirred in the front pocket of my sweater—he didn’t like the heat, and neither did I.

Cyrus’s magic radiated in slow, curling waves, but he kept his gaze fixed on the papers in his lap, feigning disinterest. Keane, still by the window, didn’t look up from his book.

But he wasn’t reading. He was listening.

“Someone isn’t maintaining the proper magical standards,” Cyrus said without looking up. “This dorm has centuries of tradition in its maintenance.”

I twisted my ring on its chain. “The room looks fine to me.”

“Oh, but that’s exactly the problem.” Elio stood in one fluid motion, and despite everything—despite how much I loathed him—my breath hitched at how effortlessly graceful he was.

Damn him.

“You can’t even feel the enchantments woven into this space, can you?” He stepped closer, his voice dipping into mock pity. “Centuries of refinement, generations of our families strengthening the foundation. But to you, it’s just a room.”

Magic crackled in the air around me, and suddenly, my comfortable jeans and sweater vanished. In their place, an outfit materialized—a maid’s uniform, the skirt indecently short, the bodice tight enough to make my breathing shallow.

Heat flooded my skin, but I refused to flinch. I turned toward the door, but Cyrus’s flames flared, sealing my exit.

The dead things stirred at my call, ready to answer.

I shoved them back. No. If I lashed out, if I let them see me break, I’d never earn their respect. Never prove I belonged here.

Chin lifting, I faced them again.

Their reactions made my stomach twist.

Elio’s gaze dragged over me, his smirk widening. Cyrus, who had barely looked at me before, now watched with darkened amber eyes, his fingers clenched around his papers. And Keane—Keane flicked his gaze over me, then quickly looked away, the muscle in his jaw ticking once.

He wasn’t stopping this. That betrayal cut deeper than any of Elio’s taunts.

“Keane,” Elio commanded. “Fetch our new maid appropriate supplies.”

A portal shimmered open, its edges wavering slightly before steadying, and a cloth and bottle of lemon cleaner fell at my feet. I looked at Keane. He still hadn’t met my eyes.

The silence stretched. Then, finally, he turned a page in his book.

A sharp, cold thing lodged in my chest.

Fine. They wanted a show? Then they’d get one.

I bent to gather the supplies, gripping the cloth too tightly. The bodice of the uniform cinched across my ribs, stiff and unforgiving, shoving my breasts upward until the neckline bordered on obscene.

Their gazes tracked every movement as I wiped down the mantle. The too-short skirt shifted against my thighs, the fabric whispering across bare skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake.

My heart hammered—not just with humiliation, but with something sharper, something hot and coiled in my veins.

Cyrus sent me to clean under Ember’s perch, where the phoenix deliberately scattered ash. Every time I bent down to wipe the soot, I felt his gaze pressing against the back of my thighs.

“You missed a spot,” he said, voice rougher than before. His fingers were still curled around his papers, but he hadn’t moved a page in minutes.

I forced my gaze away.

Elio, of course, was worse. He stretched lazily across the sofa, forcing me to step around him. When I tried, his fingers brushed against my bare calf, slow and deliberate.

“Careful now,” he murmured. “Wouldn’t want you to fall.”

The moment his magic nudged me, I knew what he was doing—but I refused to give him the reaction he wanted.

Instead of scrambling, I let my fall be controlled, landing lightly on my hands and knees.

I knelt there for a long moment, just to watch his smirk twitch in surprise before I pushed myself up slowly.

“Predictable,” I murmured, brushing imaginary dust from my skirt. “For an illusionist, your tricks lack originality.”

Elio’s smirk twitched, just slightly. His fingers dug into the velvet cushion, as if holding the moment still. He hadn’t expected me to recover so smoothly.

I kept moving, cloth in hand, but something strange prickled at the edges of my senses. The air in the common room didn’t just hum with magic—it vibrated, like threads stretched too tight. I couldn’t name what I was feeling, not yet.

But I could tell the differences.

Cyrus’s magic burned in slow waves, thick and hot like coals under my feet. Elio’s shimmered, slippery and too perfect. And Keane’s… his was quieter. Deep and shifting, like the silence before a storm.

I didn’t understand how I was noticing it, only that I was. The patterns overlapped, tangled, fighting for dominance in a space none of them were willing to share.

Whatever spellwork had been built into this dorm over generations—it wasn’t at rest.

Elio leaned forward, his smirk laced with something darker. “Such a shame. All that raw power, reduced to menial labor. Though you do have experience with that.”

My stomach churned, but I made myself keep watching.

I didn’t understand what I was seeing—just that each type of magic left its own echo behind.

Fire sparked in heavy waves, illusion shimmered like glass bending light, and portals pulsed with sharp, shifting edges.

I couldn’t read the patterns, not really.

But sensing them gave me something to hold onto. Something that wasn’t their eyes tracking my every move.

By the time I finished, my frustration had reached its breaking point.

“Adequate,” was all Cyrus said when I finished.

The illusion shimmered away, leaving me in my real clothes, covered in dust and ash. The relief was instant, but the heat of their attention lingered.

I turned to leave, pulse thrumming. “I hope I gave a good show,” I muttered, bitterness slipping out before I could stop it.

Elio laughed. “Passable, darling. Passable.”

I didn’t wait for more mockery. Didn’t look back.

Scout curled into my shoulder as I fled the common room and headed up the stairs to my suite.

Once I had slammed my suite door behind me, only then did I let myself breathe. Only then did the shaking start.

I hated that they got to me. Hated that part of me had wanted their attention, even as it made my skin crawl.

They wanted a spectacle. They wanted submission.

But I was still standing. And I wasn’t done.