Page 13

Chapter 12

Selestina

A s much as I love acting as a normal student, the exhaustion of having to put on a front, to be polite all day, has weighed heavy on me. I need my place of solitude and I’m giddy as I walk towards it.

The path curves before me, narrow and shrouded in mist that leaks out from the edge of the Dark Forest. My footsteps echo softly, swallowed by the looming shadows of ancient trees as I approach my destination.

The Tower of Vigilance. The library waits up ahead, its presence a silent promise at the end of this trail. My pulse quickens, drawn to it by an almost magnetic pull, as if the building itself knows I’m coming.

Libraries have always held a strange magic for me, even beyond the spells and stories they contain. In each kingdom I’ve visited, there’s been one, quiet, endless, a place outside of time. Shelves stretching up to arched ceilings, the air thick with the smell of old paper and leather. I remember how, even in the grandest Citadel libraries, the smell always felt the same: earthy and comforting.

The one in the outer city of Itzalli has endless rows of books as far as the eye could see, each book a door waiting to be opened, a new reality ready to unfold. Then there was the one in the northern mountains in Metztli, where the cold air drifted in through open stone windows, mingling with the scent of parchment and candle wax. Each library had its own character, its own spirit woven into its walls.

But none of those memories can prepare me for this library.. I catch sight of it now—a looming stone structure, half overgrown with ivy, standing as though it’s emerged straight from the shadows of the forest. It feels like an extension of the forest itself, as though the trees chose to shelter it, keeping it hidden and safe from the outside world.

I pull open the massive wooden doors, and a cool rush of air greets me. The scent is overwhelming and comforting. The ceiling looms high above, supported by thick stone columns.

The library is a large maze of towering shelves where shelves jut out in every direction, forming narrow pathways and hidden alcoves. Row upon row of volumes rest upon the shelves, bound in rich, old leathers, their spines cracked from the weight of time and secrets.

I close my eyes and inhale the silence; an old memory stirs in my mind, reaching back to a library in the Citadel when I was eight years old. I am standing there, like an ant against the giant shelves, feeling small and unimportant under the load of all that history. I remember the tone of his harsh voice, his fingers relinquishing my first book as if he was sad to part with it; the tracing of the faded gold lettering that danced around the cover in some long-forgotten language my fingers struggled to decipher.

As I opened the book, words leapt off the page, carrying with them secrets of a world I could hardly conceptualize. I read about the origin of Tonalli, when gods and mortals walked together, where magic flowed freely, and power was not a tool of manipulation. They told stories of Mictlantecuhtli, the god of the underworld, and of Coyolxauhqui, the goddess of the moon in whose silver brightness the world was bathed. United in their ruling, they were lovers until the wars that shattered their fate and broke the realm into the fractured kingdoms we know today. Mictlantechuhtli was married to another and left her for Coyolxauhqui, which is what caused the divide among the gods.

My fingers trail over the spines of the nearest books, the leather cool and smooth under my touch, each volume humming with a quiet energy that seeps into my skin, electrifying my veins.

I move deeper into the library, seeking a quiet alcove where I can lose myself in this sanctuary of knowledge. As I settle into a worn leather armchair, the weight of a book resting on my lap, I release a long breath and feel the tension leave my shoulders.

I crack open the book in my hands. The pages crackling with age, I dive into the words, letting them wrap around me like a cloak.

“Interesting choice,” a low, gravelly voice says, breaking the silence. The tone is rich, laced with something dark and dangerous. I snap my head up, fingers tightening instinctively around the heavy book in my lap.

Tomas .

The vampire prince from Itzcalli.

Tomas is all light and charm, an infuriating mix of arrogance and ease. His silver hair falls in careless curls around his face, catching the light in a way that seems almost unfair, each strand gleaming like precious metal. He moves with a fluidity that borders on feline, all lean muscles and poised, confident strides, as though he owns every room he enters.

Beneath his flirtatious smirk and casual gestures, there’s a spark of something sharper, a glimmer that betrays the predator lurking just below his easy demeanor. He’s a prince, after all, a vampire who could remind everyone exactly what that means. And yet, he wields his charm like a shield, using humor to soften his edges and distract from the darkness that even he can’t hide. He reminds me of a wolf wearing the mask of a golden retriever, charming, playful, but with teeth that could tear you apart if you’re not careful.

He’s leaning casually against the nearest bookshelf, his arms crossed, a smirk curling at his lips. His red eyes gleam with curiosity, or maybe mischief, as they travel from my face to the book in my hands. “ Magia Extinta .” He reads, almost lazily, his voice rolling over the words like he’s savoring them.

“Um, yes?” I raise an eyebrow, trying to sound nonchalant, though every nerve in my body is humming.

A hint of amusement in his expression as he uncrosses his arms and steps closer. “You’re reading about extinct magic from a thousand page book. Not exactly light reading.” His gaze lifts to meet mine, a flash of something like recognition in his eyes. “Then again, I suppose that suits you.”

My pulse quickens, though I’d rather die than let him know it, so I force it to slow. “Can I help you?” I manage, keeping my tone even, but I can’t resist adding a hint of annoyance. The last thing I need is to be caught up in another prince’s sight.

He tilts his head, a gleam of intrigue in his gaze. “You are the talk of the academy, Selestina,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

I tense. Well, I wasn’t exactly wanting my name spread that quickly, but okay, whatever. “Okay? And?” I keep my voice sharp.

His smirk widens, his fangs just barely peeking out in a way that sends a strange thrill through me. “Everybody can’t help but talk about the student who came out of the Dark Forest, looking worse for wear,” he drawls, his gaze flicking over me, lingering on the bruises and scars that are still fresh. “You’re hard to miss.”

“People have too much time on their hands.” I roll my eyes, folding my arms, pretending like his intense stare isn’t making my skin tingle. “Is there something else you need? Instead of stalking me to the library?”

His laugh is low, dark, and sends a ripple of something warm and unsettling down my spine. “Stalking?” He steps closer, until he’s looming just over me, close enough that I can catch the smallest hint of smoke and iron. “Only the interesting ones.” His voice drops to a whisper, each word dripping with that dangerous charm.

“Interesting?” I scoff, trying to ignore the fluttering in my chest. “I’ve literally never talked to you. You can’t possibly find me interesting.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Well…” His gaze travels back to the book, his lips quirking into that devilish smirk again. “You’re in here, alone, reading a book about magic no one has probably touched in centuries. I find that… curious. So yes, princesa, interesting .”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes again at the nickname, though I can feel my face heating under his relentless scrutiny. “And I find it curious that a prince has nothing better to do than talk to some nobody.”

“A nobody? Who are you trying to fool?” He chuckles, looking me over again, slowly, his eyes a molten red that makes my skin prickle. “Maybe I just like solving puzzles, and you are quite the puzzle.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be solved.”

“Is that so?” He quirks an eyebrow, taking a slow step closer, his eyes never leaving mine. “Because I think, deep down, you’re dying for someone to figure you out.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re a cocky bastard, who is entirely wrong.”

His grin widens, his fangs glinting in the low light. His voice drops to a low, seductive purr. “Tell me, why are you reading about extinct magic, anyway? Planning to bring back the dead or something?”

“Maybe.” I raise my eyebrow in defiance.

Tomas saunters over, sliding into the chair across from me with a casual grace that’s infuriating. He crosses one long leg over the other, resting his hands in his lap as if he's settling in for his own private show. The corners of his mouth tug into a knowing smile that makes me wonder if he's enjoying this far more than he should. Then, without warning, he scoots his chair closer, the sound of wood scraping against the library’s polished floors shattering the quiet and earning a few annoyed glances from the various students and librarians milling about.

“So, where are you from, princesa?” His voice is low, smooth, with an edge that makes the word “princesa” feel like both a compliment and an insult.

He leans in, and his face is close enough that I can see the flecks of silver in his red eyes. The intensity behind them flares—dark, enigmatic, and unreadable. Something coils in my stomach, thrilling and unnerving at once. “I can usually tell which kingdom everyone is from,” he murmurs, his eyes narrowing with that hungry, assessing gleam. “But I can't quite place you. Your accent is hard to place.”

I swallow, fighting the urge to lean back or look away. Instead, I sigh, keeping my face carefully composed, but indicating enough that this conversation is annoying the fuck out of me. “I’m from Metztli,” I reply, my voice steady, though my pulse thrums a dangerous rhythm. I deliberately slow it down. A trick I’ve mastered over the years. He’s a vampire, which means he can hear the blood pulsing through my veins. I can’t, for a second, let him think I am nervous. “But I’ve spent time in Xochitlalpan too, in the outer city. Took odd jobs here and there with other orphans.” A story I memorized years before stepping foot on campus.

A lie tangled with truth, just as Alexander taught me. Blend it well enough, and no one would ever catch the deception in your words.

Tomas’s lips twitch, barely concealing his amusement. “No time in the Stone Kingdom?” he asks, his voice dripping with amusement as if he’s caught on to the game I’m playing, but isn’t ready to call me out. Not yet, anyway.

I shake my head.

“Fascinating,” he says, drawing the word out as though tasting it, his gaze lingering on my mouth before snapping back to meet my eyes. “So mysterious.” His voice is quiet, low, almost reverent, but there’s a mocking undertone beneath it.

“More like I was just trying to survive,” I retort, lifting my chin defiantly, though my fingers tighten around the edges of the book in my lap.

His scent wraps around me, metallic, leather, and an herb that I know most Tonalacas smoke. It floods my senses, making it hard to concentrate on anything but him. “I also believe in people minding their own damn business,” I add, my tone sharp, hoping it cuts through whatever spell he’s trying to cast over me.

The smirk playing at his lips only deepens, and he leans in, close enough that his breath fans across my skin, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. “You seem like someone with a lot of secrets. And I’ll be damned if that doesn’t make me curious.” His voice drops to a whisper just for me. “Tell me, princesa, do you always surround yourself with danger?”

I meet his gaze head on, though it takes every ounce of strength not to give in to the magnetic pull of his stare. “Dangerous things are my specialty,” I say, voice low and steady, challenging him to see if he really understands what he’s dealing with.

His laughter is soft, rich, like velvet draped in shadows. “Oh, I don’t doubt that.” He reaches out, and before I can react, his fingers brush a strand of hair away from my face, his touch cool and fleeting, like the whisper of a ghost. “But I wonder…” He trails off, his gaze never leaving mine, his eyes gleaming with a predatory glint. “Have you ever met anyone who could be dangerous to you?”

The question settles between us, thick as fog, heavy and charged with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe. I don’t look away, though part of me wants to. The glint in his eyes, something wild, something that wants to know just how far I’ll go, is enough to set my skin tingling with a mix of fear and excitement.

“Are you trying to be dangerous?” I murmur, my voice low, daring him to show his hand, to prove he’s more than just talk.

“Trying?” He chuckles softly, his hand dropping back to his side, though his gaze remains locked onto mine, unyielding. “Dangerous is just part of the package, princesa.”

For a moment, the world around us fades, leaving only his red eyes and the smirk on his lips as the space between us shrinks with each second. Every breath we take, I’m painfully aware of the thud of my heartbeat, which he can probably hear, but for whatever reason, I can’t seem to pull myself from this trench. Each beat echoes in my ears, drowning out the silence of the library. His presence is overwhelming. It’s filling every inch of space, pressing against me, demanding my attention and my focus.

And damn him, he has it.

I tear my gaze away, glancing down at the book in my lap, hoping the words on the page will somehow ground me and pull me back from the edge of whatever dangerous game we’re playing. But even as I look away, I can feel his eyes on me, burning with an intensity that threatens to unravel me.

“So, survival,” he says, voice smooth as it curls around the word as if testing its weight. “Is that all you’re after? Just staying one step ahead?”

I look up, meeting his gaze with renewed resolve. “Isn’t everyone?” I reply, my voice steady. I don’t flinch, don’t waver, even as he leans closer and his gaze dips to my lips, lingering there before rising back to meet my eyes.

“Perhaps,” he murmurs, and there’s something almost wistful in his voice. It’s gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that ever present smirk. “But some of us live for more than survival. Some of us… well, we’re looking for something worth the risk.”

His words hang in the air, and for one fleeting moment, I look beyond the charm, the jesting humor into something far darker, raw and unshielded. It's transient, but enough that I begin to wonder whether Tomas can be more than just the sharp tongued, arrogant prince he has posed as.

“Risk isn’t always worth it,” I say softly, almost to myself.

His eyes darken as he leans in just a fraction more. His voice barely more than a whisper. “Sometimes, princesa, it’s the only thing that is.”

I glance up at him and the moment our eyes meet, it’s like we’re caught in some unspoken spell. Neither of us moves, neither of us looks away, as though the world around us has just dissolved into nothing.

The silence stretches until he finally clears his throat, breaking whatever strange hold had settled between us.

“Are you ready for the first trial in the Dark Forest?” Tomas drawls.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I reply flatly, looking back at my book. My tone makes it clear: I’m over this conversation, and I’m even more over him. But Tomas doesn’t take the hint. Or chooses not to.

Obsidian Academy thrives on throwing its students into the worst situations imaginable, and the infamous Dark Trials are no exception. They’re designed to test us—to break us. Each trial is a different kind of hell, from scavenging for a lost relic buried deep in the forest to facing down the horrors that stalk the night. And yes, students have died out there. Plenty of them.

I try to focus on what I’m doing, but Tomas keeps lingering, his presence impossible to ignore. “Don’t you have anyone else to annoy?” I finally snap, glancing at him with a glare sharp enough to cut.

He grins, utterly unbothered. “Not when you’re so entertaining, princesa.”

“Would you two mind shutting up? ”

The voice is deep and cutting, each word laced with a barely restrained irritation. Tomas and I both turn, and my eyes land on Matheus, the dragon prince from Tepetl. He’s sitting a few rows down, and as he swivels in his seat, I’m momentarily taken aback. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard his voice.

His wild, fiery red hair catches in the low light, falling in waves around his face. His amber eyes tinged with barely concealed annoyance. There’s something about him, something distant, like he’s got a fortress around himself that no one can touch.

Tomas, of course, is completely unfazed. “Oh, lighten up, Matheus,” he drawls, grinning in that easy, irritating way of his. “It’s a library, not a monastery. Besides, we’re just keeping things interesting for you.”

“Some of us came here to read, not listen to your obnoxious flirting.” Matheus’s voice is clipped, and as he speaks, I notice the book he’s holding. He tries to discreetly tuck it beneath his arm, but not before I catch the title: The Bond of Fated Mates .

A strange pang of irritation flares up in me. Of all things for him to be reading, why that ? I swallow, my gaze fixed on the book even as he tries to hide it, the muscles in his jaw tight. It’s none of my business what he reads, yet something about it needles at me, as if he’s overstepping some invisible line.

Tomas snorts, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh. “Ah, there he is. The loner dragon. Always so serious. You could use a little more fun in your life, you know? Might actually do you some good.”

“Fun?” Matheus’s tone is ice cold, and he looks at Tomas like he’s something he scraped off his boot. “Your version of ‘fun’ is meddling in everyone’s business and pretending you know more than you actually do. Some of us have real work to do.”

“Real work?” Tomas laughs, an easy, carefree sound that’s almost infectious, even if it is grating on Matheus. “Mate, you’re reading about fated mates. Don’t try to act like you’re above it all.” He leans in closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

Matheus’s cheeks darken, a blush rising just below the surface, though he keeps his composure. “It’s for a class,” he mutters, tucking the book further under his arm and looking away, as if he can ignore both of us entirely.

It’s oddly satisfying to see him flustered, and I can’t help the small smirk that forms on my lips. But at the same time, the sight of that book tucked so possessively under his arm still bothers me, and I can’t quite shake the feeling. I don’t know why it matters, but something about it feels… personal.

Tomas nudges me with his elbow, his grin widening as he glances between us.

“Drop it, Tomas,” Matheus warns, his voice hard, his eyes sharp as flint.

“Oh, come on, dragon prince. Admit it.” Tomas chuckles, undeterred. “You’ve got a bit of a soft spot under that moody, mysterious act, don’t you? Probably fantasize about a damsel to swoop in and save?—”

“Keep going,” Matheus says , voice low, “and I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Tomas only laughs, clearly enjoying every second of riling him up. “Alright, alright, relax. We’re all friends here.” He gives Matheus a look that’s almost fond, as though he genuinely enjoys Matheus’s silent, stoic company, even if it’s mostly met with resistance.

Matheus lets out a frustrated sigh, finally turning back to his book, and for a brief moment, his eyes meet mine. I catch a glimpse of uncertainty, maybe even a hint of vulnerability, buried deep beneath his guarded exterior. But then, just as quickly, he looks away; the book pulled protectively against his chest like a shield.

I find myself staring, unsettled by the strange twist of emotions bubbling up inside me. I don’t know why it bothers me that he’s reading about fated mates, of all things, but it does. Maybe it’s the way he’s so intent on hiding it, as though the very idea of someone seeing him with such a book is intolerable.

“Whatever,” I mutter, forcing myself to look away, my voice harsher than I intend. “Both of you should stop acting like children. I’m here to study, not listen to… whatever this is.” I gesture to both of them with my hand.

“Gladly,” Matheus says, his voice cool, but I can tell he’s eager to end the conversation. He retreats into his book, his expression closed off and unreadable as ever.

Tomas, on the other hand, is still grinning, clearly enjoying the tension that lingers in the air between us. “You two really are something.” He chuckles, giving me a wink before leaning back in his chair. “But fine, I’ll leave you lovebirds alone. Try not to kill each other while I’m gone.”

I roll my eyes.

Matheus doesn’t look up, his focus entirely on the words in front of him, but I can’t ignore the tightness in my chest, that unfamiliar, almost unsettling anger simmering beneath the surface.

An uncomfortable silence settles over the library, as Tomas’s footsteps echo down the aisles. Matheus, still clutching his book as if it’s some sort of shield, refuses to meet my gaze. I can feel the tension radiating off him in waves, the hard line of his jaw, the way his shoulders are drawn taut beneath the weight of whatever he’s holding back.

His fingers tighten around the cover, and he hunches forward, as if he could fold into himself and disappear. It’s an odd look on him, someone who typically carries himself with the fierce pride of a dragon prince. And yet, here he is, trying to become invisible under my gaze, caught between irritation and… something else. An ache pulses in my chest, something I can’t quite name, and I wonder why it bothers me so much to see him like this—so reserved, so guarded, as though he’s holding a secret that he doesn’t trust anyone else to keep.

I clear my throat, hoping to break the strange spell that seems to have settled between us. “You know,” I murmur, trying to sound casual, “someone once told me that fated mates weren’t merely a myth. That every soul was destined to be bound to another, or perhaps even to more than one. But after La Guerra de Dioses, the fates, enraged by Tonalli’s actions, stripped it away. Leaving behind a world devoid of love—the cruellest punishment the fates could bestow.” My eyes widen at my words.

I quickly lower my gaze, embarrassment flooding me with the admission of what Mara told me ages ago.

Matheus’s gaze snaps to mine, his amber eyes hard, simmering with barely restrained frustration. For a second, I think he might respond, might say something to contradict what I said. Instead, he presses his lips into a thin line, his brows furrowed in confusion, and lets out a huff of resignation. He closes the book slowly, his fingers lingering on the cover before he rises from his seat. The sound of his sigh fills the silence between us, heavy and filled with the frustration he seems unable to voice.

As he strides toward the checkout desk, his back straight and steps purposeful, I can’t help but watch him. When he hands over the book to the librarian, he glances back at me one last time, his gaze fierce and conflicted. It’s an unreadable mixture, anger and something else, longing perhaps, hidden beneath his usual mask, but that makes no sense. The sight unsettles me, and before I can decipher it, he’s gone, leaving only the scent of smoke and the hollow echo of his departure in the quiet library.