Page 12

Chapter 11

Selestina

M agical Theory drags on, each of Professor Thalor’s words dripping like molasses. I force myself to keep my gaze steady, absorbing every detail of the classroom, each face, every conversation. I need to look like I belong here—confident, unbothered, and already in the know. Alexander will expect thorough intel, and there can be no gaps, no missed details. I can’t afford to seem out of place.

I take a moment to pause and let my eyes truly roam while making sure I take in everything Thalor says, studying the intricate dynamics at play here in the Academy. It's a world that mimics similarly to the rigid structures of the kingdoms of Tonalli. Each kingdom may boast a mix of species within its borders, but in practice, the Tonalocas tend to cluster with their own kind, drawn together by shared nature or necessity. Rarely do they work side by side by choice; it’s more often dictated by circumstance, a reluctant collaboration to achieve some mutual goal. And humans always stick to themselves.

When I first arrived, I had been too exhausted from my trek to pay attention to the subtleties of who mingled with whom. My focus had been singular: finding a bed and surviving the night. Now, with fresher eyes, I let the room speak its silent truths as all first years are in attendance to this class. The thought makes me stop and scrunch my nose. Two princes are not in attendance, but I internally shrug. They’re probably skipping.

Some species are easy to identify, their traits bold and unmistakable. Demonios, for instance, bear their horns like dark crowns, curling and twisting in shapes and different sizes. Vampires, while varied in complexion, share an eerie pallor, their skin ghostly and cool, as though the warmth of life itself has abandoned them. Shifters and fae radiate a feral energy, a barely restrained wildness that clings to them like a second skin. Witches and mages are subtler but still distinct, their presence marked by the faint, earthy scent of patchouli and oakmoss, a whisper of their magic lingering in the air around them.

At the Citadel, species were blended with a cold precision that mirrored Alexander’s iron grip. His assassins came from every walk of life, though most were human—easier to mold, easier to control. Shifters were rare, but not unheard of. Their raw instincts turned into weapons under his guidance. But never vampires, fae, or demonios; their independence and innate power made them resistant to his brand of dominance. He preferred his tools compliant, not willful.

Here, in the Academy, the natural hierarchies and preferences of the kingdoms are on full display. The witches group together, their heads bent in quiet discussion, a soft hum of magic seeming to vibrate in their midst. Vampires sit with vampires, their gazes sharp and calculating as they watch the room with an intensity that feels almost predatory. Shifters gather in tight-knit huddles, their laughter and gestures broad, their movements fluid and instinctual, as if even in a classroom, they can't quite shake the pack mentality. Fae stand with their noses perched up high at everyone around them. Seeing anyone but other Fae as beneath them.

And then there’s Kaelion—the lone demonio. He sits apart from the others, his posture relaxed but exuding an unmistakable menace. He glares at everyone, his isolation not one of choice but command, his presence a reminder that demonios don’t need alliances to assert dominance.

“Did you hear?” a girl whispers from beside me, her voice low but carrying just enough to draw attention. I keep my gaze forward, but my ears prick up despite myself.

“What?” her friend mumbles, her tone practically quivering with excitement.

Evaline, I realize by the name on her leather notebook, sighs, as if reluctantly about to reveal a prized secret. “Nazriel,” she murmurs, drawing out his name with an air of satisfaction. “Last night was…well, let’s just say he’s everything a prince should be.” Her lips curl into a smirk, her gaze drifting toward the back of the room where Nazriel sits, oblivious; or maybe just pretending not to notice.

Her words settle over me, irritating as a grain of sand stuck in my skin. I know I shouldn’t care, shouldn’t feel anything about her seductive whispers. Nazriel’s life has nothing to do with me. But we literally just fucked four days ago.

Her tone, that smug gleam in her eye, stirs something sharp and unpleasant inside me. I can’t help the rage that comes to life at the thought of him giving her that kind of attention. It’s an anger I can’t quite explain. I know I shouldn’t feel like this, but it doesn’t stop it from happening.

“Miss…?” Professor Thalor’s voice cuts through my thoughts, pulling me sharply back to the front of the room. His eyes narrow on me, and for a heart stopping moment, the entire class seems to turn in my direction. “Care to summarize the properties of arcane crystals?”

I feel the weight of Nazriel’s stare from the back row. My face remains perfectly neutral, my voice steady and measured. “Arcane crystals store the residual magic of ancient beings, acting as a conduit for specific spells. Their power depends on the magic source and the nature of the spell cast upon them.”

Professor Thalor’s eyebrows raise slightly, but he gives a curt nod. Satisfied. I exhale, careful to keep my expression even as he resumes his lecture. Evaline leans back, casting a lingering smirk in my direction, as if amused by my answer. Her voice is back at a low whisper, her words sliding between Professor Thalor’s lecture like venom hidden beneath silk.

Her conversation with her friend picks up again, snippets of words drifting my way.

I school my face to blankness, straining to hear her now, my senses tuned by years of survival. Evaline’s voice is hushed, but clear enough. There’s something sharp and delicate in her tone, a calculated edge that carries through the low murmur of the room.

“Did you enchant your room?” asks her friend, sounding slightly nervous. “My father told me the council is tightening up on surveillance, keeping track of…rare abilities. Abilities they thought didn’t exist anymore.”

Evaline’s answering laugh is soft, low, and full of a dangerous kind of confidence. “Please. Let them snoop. I’m not worried,” she replies smoothly, barely bothering to lower her voice. “Everything has been hidden well.”

I pretend to jot down notes, though my pen merely hovers above the page. Rare abilities. Surveillance. The council. The words circle in my mind, hooking into my thoughts like barbed wire. The council consists of every king and a few of their close advisors. Sometimes they include the heirs, sometimes they don’t. Alexander is typically in attendance of these meetings. I’ve already heard whispers of lost magic circulating, but nothing concrete.

Evaline has been here a day, no, less than that. And she’s already laying out protections, weaving spells to hide something she doesn’t want found. Something that, if discovered, could draw the council’s attention.

Her friend presses on, her whisper wavering, betraying her unease. “It’s not just snooping, Evaline. They’re making lists. Tracking…lineage. If they think you’ve got one of those powers—one of the old ones—they’ll come after you. My father said not even our family names would protect us.”

Evaline scoffs, a sound soft as silk but threaded with iron. “Then let them try, Camilla.”

My attention sharpens, though I keep my expression flat, eyes forward. Evaline’s confidence is maddening, but it’s also telling. If she’s hiding something, it’s something powerful enough to require layers of protection. I grip my pen tightly, unable to shake the sense that I’ve stumbled upon something important. Evaline’s voice is low and velvety as it carries a challenge, an assurance in herself that tells me this isn’t just empty posturing. She has something—maybe something dangerous. And she doesn’t care who knows.

If only she knew who she was talking in front of. If she had any idea who I really am, she wouldn’t be so quick to toss out careless threats and invitations to the council, she wouldn’t brush me off as another academy student, another nameless girl with a vague look of interest in her eyes.

I focus on the professor’s voice, forcing myself to tune her out, but her smug, sugary tone keeps pricking at me, each word winding tighter in my chest. Nazriel, Evaline—whatever petty games they’re playing, they’re nothing more than a distraction. I have no use for them. My focus has to stay clear, unwavering.

The moment Professor Thalor dismisses us, I’m up, my bag slung over my shoulder as I slip into the crowded hallway. The academy corridors teem with life and laughter.

I let myself sink into the crowd, weaving through the mingling students, listening, cataloging, blending in like a shadow. I breathe in the heady mix of magic, scents of herbs, traces of coppery blood, and something darker, more primal. Every detail matters, and I store each one away.

As I move through the hall, I can’t help but catch sight of Evaline’s blonde hair and triumphant smile as she chats with her friends. Whatever Nazriel is to her, it’s nothing compared to what I have to do here. I have my own mission, and no prince, no arrogant, charming noble, will distract me from it.