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CHAPTER SIX

NOVA

T he classroom smells like old textbooks and something herbal— shocksage , maybe, or some other fae thing meant to sharpen minds and dull distractions. It doesn’t work. My attention is already splintering by the time the instructor starts droning on about magical theory for those of us still waiting on our powers to manifest.

Literally none of this means shit until we know what our orders are. What good is it to learn about elemental affinities or energy manipulation when I can’t even summon a spark? I stifle a yawn.

I tap the chewed end of my pen against the edge of my desk, my gaze drifting around the room. Half the students look as checked out as I feel, while the others, mostly born fae, sit upright, their noses practically buried in their notebooks. The humans are a mix—some nervous, others trying too hard to look like they belong.

And then there’s Callum.

He’s seated a few rows ahead, his red hair catching the soft glow of the enchanted lanterns. Maybe if I learn to get to class on time, I’ll be able to snag a seat next to him instead of me having to find the last seat in the room every time. He leans back in his chair, legs stretched out in that relaxed way he always has, like the rules of the world don’t apply to him. And gods, is he pretty. Not fae pretty, but ruggedly human, with carved cheekbones and a lopsided grin that’s far too distracting. It’s such an anomaly in this realm to not have perfect teeth, hair, and skin, that humans usually fall into one of two camps:

They’re a novelty because they’re still attractive despite not being fae perfect.

They’re really not very attractive at all.

Luckily for Callum, he’s in the former category.

The instructor calls for volunteers to answer a question about fae orders and how their magic aligns—or doesn’t. Callum raises his hand lazily, like he can’t be bothered but still wants the credit. When he gets called on, his accent rolls over the room like honey-dipped whiskey.

The instructor narrows her eyes, but nods. “Go on, then.”

“Well,” Callum begins, his voice carrying that easy, rolling lilt, “from what I’ve read, it depends on the order’s affinity, doesn’t it? Like, Luna fae magic provides magic to all orders, but Berserker magic has a habit of... interfering.” He grins as if he’s proud of himself. “Bit chaotic, that.”

The instructor blinks, clearly thrown off by the accuracy of his answer. She nods once, muttering, “Correct,” before moving on.

Callum glances back over his shoulder at me, his grin widening when he catches my eye.

“Show-off,” I mouth at him.

He winks before turning back around, clearly pleased with himself.

By the time the lecture ends, my brain feels like it’s been stuffed with all the boring details of fae orders I already know. He waits by the door, leaning casually against the frame like he has all the time in the world.

"Walk me tae class, then?" he asks, his grin widening.

“Do I look like a tour guide?” I quip, brushing past him.

“You look like trouble.” He falls into step beside me. “And I like that.”

I glance sideways at him, my smirk softening. “It’s as if you know me.”

“Not as much as I’d like.” His grin shifts into something softer. “But I’m looking forward to it. And besides, we’re practically family.”

He’s right. If it weren’t for Kieran, my brother-in-law; Callum and the rest of the humans would still be stuck in Espero, enslaved by the worst of the worst kind of fae. The kind that trade in human as though they were cattle.

My personal guard trails us, keeping his distance, which is exactly what I need to get over my stupid little crush on him. It would help immensely if he weren’t absolutely devastating.

It’s got to be his incubus genes.

This morning he’d stepped out of the shower all heat-flushed and panting, and it took everything in me not to ask if he’d just been topping off his magic. If he thinks about me while he does it. A selfish part of me hopes that’s true, that what happened between us wasn’t one-sided, and I’m not the only one still pining.

I’d have zero problem helping him refuel his magic. In fact, I’d be the first to sign up. But who am I kidding? He’s made it clear he’s not interested in me like that.

Callum and I end up paired together in combat training, which is both a blessing and a curse. He moves like he’s been in more street fights than he’ll admit, his punches quick and calculated. He’s not afraid to close the distance, either, though I notice he pulls back just enough to avoid actually landing a hit.

“Are you going easy on me?” I snap after dodging one of his jabs.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, lass.” He steps back with a grin. “You’re quick, though.”

“Quick enough to wipe that grin off your face,” I mutter, lunging forward.

He dodges, but just barely, his laugh deep, like honey pouring over hot stones. Human or not, he knows how to hold his own.

He dodges my next strike with ease, his movements quick for a human built like a tree. And not one of those skinny ones, either, but like each of his legs are tree trunks. Tall and wide.

He grins as I recover, his breath heavy. I lunge again, this time feinting left before sweeping his legs out from under him. He lands with a thud, his grin vanishing as he stares up at me.

"Aye, that was a right filthy trick." A slow smile crawls across his face as I put a booted foot on his chest, holding him in place for a beat before I stoop down, offering him a hand with a smirk.

“You’re welcome.”

He takes it, his grip tight as I haul him to his feet. He doesn’t let go right away, his hand lingering just long enough to send a flare of warmth up my arm. I snatch my hand back before Tai can notice.

By the end of the session, we’re both breathless, his hair damp with sweat, and my muscles burning in the best way. He tosses me a towel from the rack, his grin softening as I catch it.

"Fit for a throne, that." He leans against the wall as he watches me, and then bows as I approach. “Princess.”

I roll my eyes, wiping my face. “You call me that again, and I’ll show you just how un-royal I can get.”

His laugh is genuine—more like whispers tangled in rumpled sheets than a sound meant for the sterile echoes of a training room.

“And wait until we get to use knives, that’s where I really shine.”

He raises a brow. “Is that so?”

"You bet.” I toss the towel back to him. "I've been training with blades since I could walk."

Callum catches the towel effortlessly, his eyes sparking with intrigue. "Aye, that’s a sight I’d no mind watchin’ up close. Fancy showin’ me how it’s done?"

I lean in, licking my lips, and he traces the path my tongue makes. “Sure, I could give you some private lessons.”

"Flirtin’, are we? Dangerous game, lass, but I’m willin’ tae play." He props a forearm against the wall next to my head, his green eyes heavy-lidded as he picks up a lock of my hair, feeling it between his fingers.

Heat creeps into my cheeks as I flush, but don’t back down. “Maybe.” I grin. “Is it working?”

His emerald eyes darken, and he leans in closer, his breath warm on my cheek. "Och, if only ye knew, Princess."

I ignore the fact he’s calling me Princess again because fuck, he smells good . His cologne, his natural scent, whatever it is, I could drown in it. I want to close the distance between us, but I hold back, savoring the delicious tension threading through my core.

"Oh?" I murmur, tilting my chin up. "And what are you going to do about it, Callum Mackenzie?”

His attention lands on my lips, then back to my eyes. His tenor is low, husky. "All depends how persuasive ye can be."

My heart skitters in my chest, and I startle when a throat clears. I whirl around, my cheeks burning as I see Tai standing in the doorway, his arms crossed and an unamused expression on his face.

Is he annoyed because he’s my guard and thinks I should be taking this more seriously? Or because he just watched me flirt with Callum?

The second thought sends a thrill down my spine, and I shove it down just as fast. He had his chance.

“You’re going to be late for your next class.”

Callum and I share that one, too. We both take off running, making it just before the bell chimes, each of us sliding into our seats.

The classroom is warmer than the last, but the heat only makes the lecture more unbearable. I’m stuck in the middle row, surrounded by fae who look far too eager for a class on the properties of magical relics. I prop my chin in my hand, my pen idle on the paper before me as I stare out the window, watching snowflakes twirling in the gray sky.

A soft nudge against my foot jolts me from my trance. I glance sideways, finding Callum smirking at me from the seat to my right. His notebook is as blank as mine, though he’s at least pretending to listen. He leans back, his hand slipping under the desk to tap his fingers on his thigh. Casual, like the lecture is just background noise to whatever’s running through his mind.

He slides a folded scrap of paper onto my desk, his movements subtle enough that the instructor doesn’t notice. I unfold it with a flick of my thumb, already biting back a grin.

You look thrilled. Should I alert the healers? You might not survive this.

I glance at him, rolling my eyes, then scribble my response beneath his note.

If boredom could kill, I’d already be dead. But thanks for your concern. I need a shower. It’s unfair we have no magic to clean ourselves between classes.

He scans my reply, his smirk widening. He’s about to write back when the instructor calls on someone at the front, the sudden question silencing the room. Callum holds my stare for a beat longer than necessary, then straightens in his seat, his grin lingering as he pretends to focus on the lecture.

I hate how much I like that grin. It’s not perfect, which makes it a little disarming.

The class finally ends, and as the students shuffle out, Callum falls into step beside me. He doesn’t say anything, just lets his shoulder brush mine as we exit into the courtyard. The cold hits like a wall, the wind gnawing at my face, but before I can complain, he shrugs off his scarf and tosses it over my shoulders.

I told Tai he was no longer allowed to use his magic to warm me. So far, he’s been keeping his word.

“It smells like you,” I mutter, pulling the scarf tighter anyway.

He smirks. “Good.”

By the time we meet again for the last class of the day, I’m too tired to care where I sit. Callum, apparently, does. He drops into the seat beside me without hesitation, his elbows resting on the desk as he leans closer.

"Tell me that look means ye need a drink—‘cause I sure could use one."

I glance at him, my brow arching. “You offering?”

“Maybe.” The slight upturn of his lips is infuriatingly charming, and I hate how easily it makes me forget how exhausted I am.

The lecture drags, the instructor’s voice a constant drone that fades into the background as Callum scribbles something on his paper. He slides it toward me, his handwriting far neater than mine.

Dinner after this? My treat.

I stare at the note for a moment longer than necessary, then glance at him as I chuckle and raise a brow. Meals are part of room and board, the arch of it seems to say.

His half-smile has softened, and there’s something unguarded in his expression that makes it hard to say no.

Fine. But only because I’m starving.