Page 6

Keane

I kept my portals open as I led her across campus, each window showing a different angle of our progress.

Wisp slipped between them, my familiar’s spectral form alert and watchful.

Not just for security—though that was the excuse I’d give if anyone asked—but because I wanted to see how she moved through our world.

The Shadow Heir.

The cleaning girl who could command the dead.

Elio’s illusions had cut deeper than necessary, even for him. And Cyrus… well, his fire hadn’t exactly shown restraint. I’d stepped in before I had time to second-guess it. Something in the way she’d stayed standing, even when she was shaking, had struck harder than I expected.

Uncle would say I was being soft. He always did.

But watching her now, I knew I’d made the right call.

She walked like someone used to making herself small—shoulders tight, steps cautious. But her chin stayed lifted. Braced for the next hit.

Smart girl.

“This is the academic wing,” I said, indicating the classrooms we passed.

My voice sounded rusty from disuse. I hadn’t ever played tour guide, being new to Wickem myself, but better that I accompanied her than leaving her to more of their “welcome”.

Something about their eagerness to break her had stirred an unexpected protectiveness in me.

Maybe because I knew what it was like to be at someone else’s mercy.

Her fingers absently reached for a silver ring on a chain around her neck. I could feel power emanating from it. I wondered if she knew it was enchanted.

A sharp pain lanced through my temples, stopping me cold. I closed my eyes, breathed through it. Wisp nudged closer—silent, steady, familiar. The headaches had been worse lately. Ever since Uncle upped the stabilization sessions.

Eight years of that routine, like clockwork. Since the fallout. Since my magic cracked wide open at ten years old and nearly took me with it. Necessary, yes. The price of control.

Without them, my portals turned volatile. Too wide, too unstable. Too dangerous.

Uncle made sure I never forgot that.

At least he handled the sessions himself—one of the few things he did that felt like care, even if the rest of him was all edges and strategy.

I pushed the thoughts aside and turned my attention back to Marigold.

She was… beautiful. The kind of beauty that sneaks up on you.

Long honey-blonde hair, soft skin, curves that drew the eye before you could stop it.

My gaze lingered. Too long. Heat flickered low in my spine—sharp, unexpected. I looked away.

Wisp’s tail flicked once, slow and deliberate. She’d felt the shift in me. Of course she had.

Beauty didn’t matter here. Not at Wickem. Not with her name. Not with where she came from.

Marigold stopped at one of the display cases that lined the corridor and leaned in to look closer.

My gaze dropped—uninvited, automatic—to the curve of her ass. Tight jeans. Shapely.

I swallowed hard. Elio would laugh, say he didn’t think I noticed anything but spell theory and pocket dimensions. But I did. Apparently.

I turned to the display. Similar cabinets lined the academic wing—some held trophies and pictures of Wickem’s triumphs, and others held magical artifacts that were of particular importance to the school.

But here, her gaze seemed to linger on the smaller trinkets—carved stones, delicate charms; items others might overlook.

She especially seemed interested in an intricate gold key—also my favorite—her fingers tracing it in the air.

Perhaps she’d like to see my key collection sometime. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

Marigold nodded, then seemed to catch herself, and moved on. As we moved on, her eyes didn’t stop moving, scanning the floor, the corners, the spaces most people never noticed.

Searching for exits, I realized. For threats.

Another familiar survival instinct. I knew it well—the constant vigilance, the way your body learns to track footsteps, to read moods in the silence before a storm.

Uncle had taught me those lessons thoroughly after taking me in, his idea of “guidance” leaving marks that weren’t all visible.

The therapy helped keep my magic stable, even if nothing could stabilize his temper or soften his cruel streaks.

The very air seemed to stir around her, shadow magic reaching out with curiosity to investigate this new power. The school itself responded to her passage, ancient enchantments recognizing royal blood.

She paused near a suit of armor, her hand going to her chest. “There’s someone in there,” she whispered.

Wisp’s ears pricked forward with interest as I nodded. “A knight who died centuries ago. Most necromancers can’t sense him anymore.”

I never had—not directly. I’d only read about the spirit or heard others mention the presence. But she felt it instantly.

Her power was raw but extraordinary. Untrained but instinctive.

The wellspring had chosen well, whether anyone wanted to admit it or not.

Honestly, I didn’t think the other heirs, or even the councilors, had known that the wellspring could call someone, though it was right there in the histories if anyone bothered to look.

We exited the academic building and turned up the covered walkway toward the royal dorms. On our right, were the gardens, and beyond them the dome of the auditorium.

On our left, we passed the regular dormitories, their windows full of normal student life.

Students lounged on benches outside, sharing coffee and pastries while practicing simple spells.

Marigold’s steps slowed, her suitcase bumping on the sidewalk behind her, and I caught her unconsciously licking her pink lips.

I forced my focus back to the context—not the movement that lit up my nerves like a live wire. Attraction hit, fast and uninvited. Sharper than I was used to. I didn’t feel this often. And I hadn’t felt it like that in… far too long.

Turning to Marigold, I asked, “Are you hungry?”

“No, not really,” she said with a small smile. “But I wouldn’t say no to one of those chocolate croissant things.”

I opened a portal and pulled one from the cafeteria, then handed it to her.

Her smile widened. “Thank you,” she said, taking a bite and giving a little moan. “This is amazing.”

That moan made something stir in me that had no business stirring, and I pushed it back down. My interest in her was curiosity, nothing more. Could be nothing more.

Wisp made a soft chuffing sound behind me—barely there. Not a laugh. Not quite.

Just acknowledgment.

Music drifted from someone’s open window—some indie rock song I didn’t recognize—and her head bobbed slightly to the rhythm before she caught herself.

“Could I stay there instead?” she asked quietly, stopping to watch students practice simple illumination spells on the lawn. She took another bite of her croissant.

“No.”

The word came out sharper than I meant, and she flinched—just slightly, but enough.

Wisp pressed against my leg—a silent nudge to rein it in.

“The royal dorm exists for more than tradition. We’re heirs to the Council seats—future rulers of our world.

That makes us targets.” I hesitated, then added, “The wards in our tower are ancient. They’re designed to protect bloodlines our enemies would love to erase. The regular dorms wouldn’t hold.”

What I didn’t say—what I never said—was that sometimes, the real threats weren’t out there. Sometimes, they were inside. My rooms had become my first real sanctuary in years—the one place Uncle’s reach couldn’t follow.

Her chin lifted again, stubborn as ever. “Enemies like vampires?”

“Among others.” I chose my words carefully. “Power draws threats. The separation isn’t about being better—it’s about staying alive.”

“But they’re good enough for them?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “For the regular student?”

“It’s not a fair system,” I said honestly. “But it is the way it’s always been.”

She frowned.

“Still, it’s not like we’re totally isolated,” I said. “We still go to classes with everyone else, and these dorms have a cafeteria on the first floor—I often grab lunch or dinner there.”

Marigold didn’t respond, but I saw how her eyes lingered on a group of girls sharing coffee and textbooks. Normal students who didn’t have centuries of politics and power weighing on their shoulders.

I’d never wondered what it would be like to be one of them, and for the first time, that felt strange to me. Why hadn’t I? I’d never been one to accept the way things had always been in my studies, why had I accepted it in my life? I sighed.

But as we continued on our way, the royal dorm was already calling her—I could see it in the way shadow magic swirled around her feet, ancient enchantments recognizing one of their own.

Each person’s magic had a unique signature, based on their family and their strength, and the royals were always strong—even a half human witch like Marigold.

At the end of the covered walkway, the royal tower rose before us—ancient stone stretching toward the stars, its circular shape both elegant and forbidding.

Massive doors dominated the entrance, their dark wood intricately carved with our emblems of power: Cyrus’s leaping flames, my silver-edged portals, Elio’s overlapping masks, and her skull sigil.

“The skull’s yours,” I said. “It’s like a key.”

She approached slowly, almost reverently, tracing the carved skull. Green magic sparked at her touch, following the paths her fingers took like phosphorescent trails. The doors recognized her, swinging open with a deep resonance that reminded me of funeral bells.

The entrance hall rose around us—crystal gleaming, marble polished to a mirror shine, and light from the chandelier scattering in fractured rainbows across the floor. I’d walked through it before. Twice. Maybe three times. Never really looked.

But she did.

She slowed just inside the doorway, eyes wide, head tilting as the light caught in her hair. Her fingers skimmed the stone like she needed to make sure it was real. No mask. No performance. Just wonder.

And the strangest part? I hadn’t seen any of it until she did.

“Through there,” I indicated a discrete archway beneath the sweeping staircase, “you’ll find the kitchens, and your rooms…” I gestured up the spiral steps where Wisp already gilded ahead, her ethereal form painting the stone with ghostly blue light.

“The common room.” I gestured to it as we passed. “We share it as a kind of living room, and breakfast will be served here in the morning.”

I followed her up the stairs, keeping my eyes fixed on the light ahead instead of the way her jeans fit or the subtle sway of her hips.

Easier that way. Safer.

The skull motif appeared again on her door. Unlike the others, these rooms had been sealed since the day her father graduated Wickem. No one else had been powerful enough to claim them.

She pressed her palm to the door. Magic flared, ancient locks recognizing her blood. The door opened with a whisper of power that made Wisp’s form flicker.

I could have left then. Should have left. But I found myself lingering in the doorway, watching as she stepped into her inheritance.

Watching her explore, gently touching each item with quiet reverence. Her necromancy responded to the ancient magic in the room, dead things emerging from the shadows to welcome their new mistress.

“Thank you,” she said softly, turning back to me. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, but her voice was steady. “For showing me the way.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Wisp pressed against my leg again, her usual nudge of comfort—but this time, she lingered. She knew what this moment meant, even if I couldn’t name it yet.

“I’ll be going now,” I said, “Close the door behind me.”

She crossed back to the threshold.

But before she could close it, I found myself speaking. “Once that door shuts, no one can enter without your permission. Not even other heirs.” I hesitated, then added, “Not even our illusions or portals can breach it. The rooms are yours alone.”

She paused, hand on the doorframe. “Why are you telling me this?”

I recognized that look in her eyes—the desperate need for a space that was truly safe, truly hers.

I’d worn the same expression just days ago when I discovered my uncle couldn’t enter my rooms, despite holding a Council seat.

The protections didn’t think he was “family” enough.

That small victory had felt like my first real breath in years.

“Everyone should have one safe place,” I said finally, the words carrying more weight than I intended. Something shifted in her expression—understanding, maybe. Or recognition.

She studied me for a long moment, then nodded. The door closed with a whisper of ancient magic, sealing her into her sanctuary. My portals showed only darkness where her rooms should be—the protection spells already at work.

Despite myself, I opened another window to watch her door.

Just to observe, I told myself. But there was something intriguing about her.

The way she noticed things others missed, like the dead knight in the armor.

Or perhaps it was how she’d flinched at certain sounds as we walked, a reaction I recognized too well.

Wisp curled up beside my desk, her knowing eyes fixed on the portal. My familiar had always been good at sensing when something—or someone—might be important. Even now, her attention remained fixed on Marigold’s door with unusual interest.

Uncle wouldn’t like it. He’d be with the Council as usual, already viewing her as a threat to their control. I should stay away, focus on my studies, be the proper heir he demanded.

But as I finally closed the portal, that expectation felt… different. Like something had shifted.

And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to fall back in line.