Page 28

Chapter 27

Selestina

S itting on my bed, I find myself face to face with Nasarea, an odd and rare occurrence in this strange shared space we call a dorm room.

Both our heads are bowed, as if this conversation, this almost truce, is something too delicate to look at directly. I can’t help but think that, for once, it feels like we’re both fighting the same battle, though gods know we’d never admit it.

Nasarea clears her throat, still looking down, her fingers tracing some invisible pattern on her lap, a nervous habit I’ve never seen from her. “Thank you,” she says, her voice barely more than a murmur. The words seem to scrape out of her, as if she’s forced each syllable to climb over the walls she’s built. “For saving my life.”

I blink, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. This is Nasarea, cold, calculating Nasarea, offering gratitude as if it’s a rare and precious thing she’s had to dig out from under layers of armor.

I almost want to laugh, but I keep it in check, my expression just a touch softer than usual. “I would never have let you die, Nasarea,” I say, half smiling. “I don’t hate you, you know. Annoying as you are, I’d miss our fights.” I smirk, letting just a hint of mischief slip into my voice. “Who else would piss me off every day?”

That earns me a glance—no, a glare—but it softens after a heartbeat, her eyes finally lifting to meet mine. Nasarea’s gaze is as piercing as ever, but there’s something beneath it, something fragile. Vulnerability, maybe, like a crack in a wall that’s stood for years. She looks away almost immediately, a sigh escaping her lips. “I just… I can’t trust anyone,” she murmurs, voice tinged with bitterness. “I only trust my brother.” She clenches her fists, a shadow darkening her face. “But… only trusting him…” She hesitates, and I can see the struggle as she forces herself to finish. “It gets… lonely.”

It’s the smallest admission, but it lands with surprising weight. I study her, really study her, and I feel something shift inside me. There’s a mirror here, a reflection I’d ignored or refused to see until now. Nasarea, in her quiet, guarded way, is just as trapped as I am. We’re both prisoners of our own walls, our own silence.

“I know exactly what that feels like,” I say softly, meeting her gaze with an honesty that surprises even me. There’s no mockery, no smirk, just a simple truth. I want her to know I mean it, that I understand.

She squirms, clearly uncomfortable, her expression somewhere between a scowl and surrender. “I… I want a friend,” she blurts out, looking like she’d rather swallow a knife than admit this. Her voice is hesitant, unsure, and it almost makes me want to laugh again, though not unkindly. “But I’ve never… I don’t even know where to begin.” She pauses, fidgeting with the sleeve of h er shirt, her eyes flicking to the side as if she’s embarrassed to even be seen wanting something as simple as a friend.

And I can’t help it. I laugh. It bubbles up, unexpected, and it’s so freeing, so ridiculous, that she stares at me, wide eyed, like she’s just realized I might actually be mad. “You’re not the only one who doesn’t know how to do this, Nasarea,” I say, grinning. “I have no idea how to ‘have friends’ either.” I shrug, still chuckling. “Guess we could start by not trying to kill each other, maybe?”

For a split second, she’s silent, and then, by some miracle, she laughs too, a sharp, reluctant sound that’s more genuine than anything I’ve ever heard from her. There’s a small, guarded smile tugging at her lips, a little glint of amusement in her usually cold eyes. It’s like watching ice crack, just a tiny fissure, but it’s there.

She looks at me, more openly now, her shoulders relaxing, and there’s a softness to her voice I’ve never heard. “My brother… he’s a dick,” she mutters, and I raise an eyebrow, suspicious of this sudden honesty. “I know we can be… alike,” she adds, rolling her eyes, a bit of her usual bite slipping back in. “But I’m not him. Just… just know that.” She crosses her arms defiantly, like she’s challenging me to argue, her eyes narrowing. “But if he finds out… if he sees us as friends, he’ll do everything in his power to make sure it doesn’t last.” She shrugs, forcing a nonchalant expression, but I can see the worry in her eyes, the fear she’s trying so hard to mask. “So if you can’t handle that, then… maybe we shouldn’t start this… whatever this friendship is.”

She says “friendship” like it’s a foreign word, something distasteful yet unavoidable.

I roll my eyes, laughing again, but there’s warmth in it. “Please. I can handle your brother,” I say, still chuckling. Little does she know how well I can handle her brother. “I welcome it, actually. I need some extra banter in my life.” I wave a hand, dismissing her concerns with a grin. “Besides, I didn’t ask for a room change for a reason. Fighting with you is fun.”

Nasarea’s lips twitch into a grin, and this time, there’s no mask, no shield, a small glimpse of the woman beneath all the layers she’s built around herself. “I do enjoy our fights,” she admits, almost reluctantly, her eyes glinting with a mischievous spark that mirrors my own.

For a moment, there’s silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s the kind of quiet that feels shared, like a tentative understanding, fragile but real. I can feel the walls between us shifting, just a little, like cracks in stone. I don’t know what this “friendship” will look like, or if it’ll survive whatever trials lie ahead, but in this moment, it feels like two souls who are battling different but similar wars, and needing someone to lean on when it feels too heavy.

It strikes me how similar we are, two people trapped by duty, bound by survival, each of us holding onto walls built from necessity, not choice.

I sigh, the weight of suspicion heavy on my chest, before asking, “Are you just using this as an excuse to get close to me and gather intel for your father?” My voice is steady, but the words feel sharp, cutting through the fragile tension between us.

She sighs too, mirroring my weariness. Her expression is calm, as though she’s been expecting this question all along. “I won’t lie to you and tell you that I can’t give him something,” she admits, her tone even and unflinching. “But I can give you a witch’s word that I won’t betray you.”

Then without hesitation, she begins to whisper a spell. The syllables are soft, lilting, and I can feel the power in them before I even see its effect. The air around us shifts as she speaks, vibrating with her magic.

And then it happens. A dazzling burst of color and light explodes above us, brilliant and mesmerizing, like a private firework display. The sparks drift downward, shimmering like confetti as they settle over us, melting into my skin with a gentle warmth. It feels…safe. Comforting. Like the kind of reassurance words alone could never provide.

I stare at her, dumbfounded. She didn’t just make a promise; she made it binding. The magic she unleashed seals her words, making them unbreakable. If she ever dared to betray me, the spell itself would consume her. I can’t help but feel the enormity of what she’s just done.

She lets out a low, quiet laugh, shaking her head as though amused by my shock. For the first time, there’s a glimpse of something real between us, genuine warmth, not forced or layered with hostility.

It’s strange, almost surreal, to realize that the girl I once thought of as my archnemesis could somehow become… well, not quite a friend yet, but something closer than I expected.

“I want a friend, Selestina,” she says softly. Her voice falters slightly, the softness to her voice, a sound I haven’t heard once since arriving here. “And I think today made me realize we do work well together. And…” She pauses, swallowing hard before continuing, her courage visibly steeling itself. “And it made me realize, for the first time, that we could really be friends. You won’t placate me, you’ll challenge me. I know you wouldn’t lie to me.”

Her honesty feels startling and raw. I nod, a genuine smile tugging at my lips. “I could really use a friend,” I reply.

As she looks at me, there’s a new light in her eyes, cautious but hopeful, as if she’s just as surprised by this connection as I am. I realize, with a hint of surprise, that maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of a friendship. Most likely a toxic one if you go by our great and unstubborn personalities. I almost giggle at my own joke.

“Should we head to the party?” Nasarea’s voice cuts through the quiet, breaking my focus.

I wince, already bracing for the argument I know is coming. “I wasn’t planning on going,” I reply flatly.

Nasarea’s jaw drops, her expression equal parts shock and exasperation. “Are you kidding me? This is the party of the year! You have to go!” she insists, as though I’ve committed some kind of social crime by suggesting otherwise.

I level her with a deadpan look. “You hate people. Why would you want to go to a party full of them?”

She rolls her eyes so dramatically I’m surprised they don’t get stuck. “Because everyone is going,” she says, as if that’s the most obvious answer in the world. “We can’t be the only students who don’t go. Then you would really be on people's radar.” Giving me a pointed look that screams idiot , as she marches over to my closet.

She throws open the doors and rifles through the sparse collection of clothes, only to find what I already know. “Ugh.” She clucks in disapproval, stepping back as though offended. “You don’t have anything to wear.”

“That’s kind of the point,” I mutter.

She ignores me, snapping her fingers like she’s solved the riddle of the universe. “It’s fine. You can just borrow one of my dresses.”

I arch an eyebrow at her. “You are literally three sizes smaller than me. How’s that supposed to work?”

“Stop being so dramatic, Selestina,” she says, waving off my objection like it’s irrelevant. “I have the perfect dress for you.” She dives into her own closet with the intensity of a warrior preparing for battle. After a moment, she emerges triumphantly, holding a piece of fabric that looks suspiciously smaller than my thigh. The black material gleams as she scrunches it up and tosses it in my direction.

“Go change,” she orders .

I catch it midair, glaring at her. “I’m going to change because I decided to, not because you just told me to,” I grumble, heading toward the bathroom. Behind me, I hear her mutter something about my stubbornness and how I’m a stupid bitch, but I ignore her.

Once inside, I hold up the dress. If you can even call it that. The sleek black fabric looks like it belongs in the wardrobe of someone far more daring than me. With a sigh, I slip it on, bracing myself for disappointment.

To my utter surprise, the dress hugs my curves perfectly, as if it was made for me. It’s short— really short—and exposes far more skin than I’m comfortable with. My scars, usually hidden under layers of fabric, are glaringly visible.

I stand in front of the mirror, torn. Part of me wants to rip it off and throw on leggings and a long sleeve sweater, but another part, the part I hate to admit exists, thinks I might actually look… good.

Just as I decide to take it off, the bathroom door bursts open, and Nasarea barrels in like a tornado.

“Holy shit, girl! It’s perfect !” she shrieks, her eyes lighting up.

“What?” I stammer, flustered. “It barely covers my butt!”

“And that’s exactly why it’s perfect!” she declares, grinning mischievously. Her excitement is so contagious it almost convinces me. Almost.

I search desperately for an excuse, a way out, but one look at Nasarea’s determined expression tells me resistance is futile. I sigh, resigning myself to my fate. “I…I need a cardigan,” I whisper softly.

Nasarea’s eyes sharpen before really looking me over. I see the moment it clicks for her. She gasps and I square my shoulders ready for the attack. I don’t hate my scars. I know they are a testament to what I have been through, what I have endured. I feel this friendship already slipping from my grasp, realizing I wanted this more than I realized.

Nasarea squares her shoulders before leaving the bathroom. Fuck. I’ve ruined this.

Before I can drown in the pity party I’m throwing myself in my head, she pops her head back in with a huge grin. “I even have a black sweater,” she says, her eyes soft. “One day, we will be close enough where you feel comfortable telling me what happened, but until then, let’s finally have some fun.”

I let out a small laugh, “Alright. Let’s go talk to people.” I try to hide the disgust on my face of having to mingle. “But I’m wearing my fishnets and black heeled boots.”

She scoffs, but concedes with a shrug. “Fine. But you’re going to be the hottest one there, and you’re going to thank me later.”

I highly doubt that. But as I catch my reflection one last time, I can’t help but feel something I haven’t felt in a long time—confidence. Even if it’s just a little, it’s enough to push me out the door.

The night wraps around us as Nasarea and I step off the cobblestone path, heading toward the outskirts of campus where the bonfire's glow soars high, just beyond the line of trees. The campus fades behind us, replaced by the haunting whisper of the Dark Forest nearby. The scent of pine and woodsmoke mixes with the distant hum of laughter and music, pulling us forward.

Nasarea strides ahead, her steps confident, as if she’s the one leading us into this world of chaos. I, on the other hand, feel a prickling unease. Her dress is very similar to mine, but it’s a bright blue, to match her eyes, paired with black high heels that make her almost a foot taller than me. Her black curls fall effortlessly down her back. Her gold piercings and jewelry are on full display.

I don’t belong here, among the dancing lights and careless revelry. But I came anyway, because of her. Because she asked.

Ugh . Maybe I’m not actually cut out for this friend thing. I let out a deep sigh and stay close to Nasarea’s side. We look at each other and she gives me a soft nod that I return.

The party sprawls out like a painting come to life. The bonfire roars at the center, flames licking skyward, casting a golden light on clusters of people. Laughter ripples through the air, punctuated by the occasional burst of shouted conversation. Groups form their own territories: some lounging on blankets, others hovering around coolers filled with drinks. The shadows of the forest press in close, a reminder that not everything here is as carefree as it seems.

Where, on campus, Tonalacas stick to mostly their own, it seems parties lighten up the rivalry of species. I see witches dancing with naguals, vampires hanging all over demonios, and fae laughing with everyone .

As we step into the firelight, I feel them. The princes.

All five of them are here, scattered among the students, each commanding attention in their own way. Nazriel, of course, draws my eye first. He’s standing near the bonfire, Evaline practically draped over him, her laughter too loud, too shrill. He leans back against a log, his expression neutral, but the way she clings to him like a vine makes me roll my eyes.

“Of course she’s here,” I mutter under my breath.

“What?” Nasarea turns back, arching an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head.

She shrugs and peels off toward the drink table, leaving me standing at the edge of the crowd. It’s then I feel it—the weight of all of their gazes. Like a physical touch, it sweeps over me, stealing the breath from my lungs.

Nazriel’s dark, piercing eyes lift from Evaline and lock onto mine. There’s no warmth in them, just the sharp intensity I’ve come to expect. A challenge. A dare.

Tomas leans against a nearby tree, drink in hand, his lips curling into a sly smile as his red eyes rake over me. He tilts his head slightly, as if appraising a puzzle he’s eager to solve. Girls surround him, laughing and caressing his arms.

Kaelion, shadowed and brooding, lounges near the edge of the forest. His tattoos shift, alive with magic, and his gaze lingers on me like a question he already knows the answer to.

Matheus is standing on the other side, near the forest. He’s sipping from a canteen. His eyes staring right through me.

And then there’s Rhyker. His stare is the heaviest of all, bright green eyes glinting with something wild, something primal. He doesn’t hide his interest, like Tomas. It’s written in the way his lips curve, the way his head tilts, daring me to look away first.

My skin prickles under their collective scrutiny, heat rising in my cheeks despite the cool night air. I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t feel anything at all. But the weight of their attention settles like a brand.

Nasarea returns, shoving a drink into my hand, breaking the spell.

“Here,” she says, grinning. “You look like you need it.”

I take a sip, the alcohol burning a path down my throat, and let it steady me. I really shouldn’t be drinking, I should be alert. Especially so soon after Etzli’s revelation of knowing who I am. But gods, I am desperate for just one night of normalcy of being a student attending Obsidian Academy.

The music shifts, louder now, pulsing with a beat that vibrates through the ground. A band plays near the fire, but not too close to where it is uncomfortable for them. Two guys approach us, grinning like they’ve just won the lottery.

“Dance with us,” one of them says, his voice slurred from too much beer.

Nasarea doesn’t hesitate. “Sure. Let’s do it.” She grabs my arm before I can protest, dragging me toward the makeshift dance floor near the fire.

I let her pull me along, the drink still clutched in my hand. Maybe this is what friends do. Maybe this is what I’m supposed to do. I’m not sure, but I go along with it, anyway.

The boy spins me into his arms, his hands on my waist, his breath too close to my ear. He’s talking, but I’m not listening. The words blur into the thrum of the music, into the crackle of the fire.

Dancing. I let my body sway to the rhythm of the music the way I always used to do. Dancing was as much a part of me as killing for Alexander was. I don’t even care who is holding me as we say, my mind is completely on the music.

My mind drifts, tugged back to the intensity of the princes’ stares.

Their attention is no longer passive. I glance up and see them, scattered yet united in their focus. Nazriel’s jaw tightens, his hand curling into a fist at his side. Tomas’s playful smile is gone, replaced by a sharp edge that gleams in his crimson eyes. Kaelion’s horns catch the light as he straightens, his tattoos flaring. And Rhyker—his wildness is barely contained, his green eyes burning like forest fire.

I feel their anger as if it’s my own, radiating off them in waves. It’s ridiculous. Hypocritical. They don’t own me. They have no right to feel this way. But their jealousy crackles in the air, undeniable.

And then, suddenly, he’s there.

Matheus.

He stalks into the firelight, his fiery hair ablaze, his presence magnetic. The crowd parts for him instinctively, their chatter fading as he approaches. His eyes find me instantly, and the fury simmering beneath the surface is palpable.

The boy at my side falters, sensing the shift in the air. Matheus doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. He, alone, is enough to command the space, to suffocate any protest.

The song ends, and I step away from the boy without a word, leaving him to stammer in confusion. Nasarea appears at my side, her drink sloshing as she laughs.

I can’t help but laugh too. The absurdity of it all spilling out in a burst of drunken humor. The alcohol is starting to hum through my veins from the few sips I have taken, and the tension of the night begins to melt away. For a moment, it doesn’t matter who’s watching or what they want. For a moment, it’s just Nasarea and me, laughing like we’ve been friends forever. Not like we have hated each other’s guts since we laid eyes on each other.

Balance. It’s all about balance.

I look up at Matheus who is still standing next to me with his fists clenched. He meets my eyes before nodding to me and then to Nasarea, and walking away.

“Did you see their faces?” she says, giggling uncontrollably. “They looked ready to tear that guy apart.”

I laugh too, because it really is ridiculous.

“Besties,” she says, raising her glass in a mock toast. “Who would’ve thought?”

“Not me,” I admit, clinking my glass against hers. We can’t stop laughing at the stupidity of it all.

We spend the next few hours dancing with each other and drinking entirely too much. The princes’ stares never leaving me. No other guys approach us for the remainder of our night, and I like it that way.

All the girls at this party are trying to get their attention, but no matter what, their gaze never leaves me. Gods. Why does that make me feel hot? Why are all five of them staring at me like that, anyway? I don’t get it. One of them hates me, one of them hates everyone and everything, one of them never talks, one is a stalker, and the other is a notorious flirt. I shake my head at the sudden stupid thoughts. Ugh! Why am I letting men boggle my brain?

The cool night air feels sharper now, but I’m just too drunk to care. Nasarea is giggling uncontrollably next to me, her arm slung around my shoulders as we stumble away from the bonfire. The forest looms around us, but in our inebriated state, it might as well be a decorative backdrop.

“Do you think...” Nasarea hiccups, leaning so close her hair tickles my face. “Do you think sprites get drunk? Like...like...what if a sprite finds fermented berries, huh? What then?”

I blink at her, trying to focus on the absurdity of her words while simultaneously navigating the uneven path. “A drunk sprite,” I say, testing the words like they’re some profound revelation. “Imagine it. Just...flying but diagonally. Chirping like, ‘Hey guys, check this out!’ OH MY GOSH. That’s drinking and flying which sounds so dangerous.”

Nasarea cackles, and it’s so contagious that I join in, our laughter echoing through the still night. “What if—wait, what if there’s a little sprite bar?” She gasps, wiping at her eyes. She’s laughing so much, tears are dripping down her face “And they’re all sitting there, wings up like, ‘Pour me another round, Carl.’”

I snort so hard I nearly trip over a rock that’s protruding out of the ground. “Carl the bartender. He’s a woodpecker, obviously. Pecking into barrels for everyone.”

“Oh, totally,” Nasarea agrees, clutching her side as we wobble along. “But there’s a seagull who keeps trying to steal everyone’s drinks. You can’t trust seagulls, trust me. They’re shifty.”

We both dissolve into hysterics again, nearly collapsing against each other as we try to regain some semblance of balance. My cheeks hurt from laughing, and I can’t remember the last time I felt this...free. It’s ridiculous and nonsensical, and I don’t care. For once, I’m not thinking about missions, or Alexander, or the princes and their stupid smoldering stares. It’s just us, two drunk idiots wandering through the night.

“Okay, okay, serious question,” Nasarea says, holding up a finger as if she’s about to deliver a groundbreaking thesis. “If you had to fight...one giant duck or...a hundred tiny horses, what would you pick?”

I stop dead in my tracks, my brain struggling to process the scenario through the haze of alcohol. “How giant is the duck?”

“Like...horse sized,” she says with the gravity of a scholar defending her dissertation.

“Okay, but are the tiny horses, like, angry? Or are they just normal tiny happy horses?”

“Oh, they’re furious,” she says, eyes wide. “Like, you stole their tiny hay or something.”

I hum thoughtfully, swaying slightly as I consider my options. “I think I’d take the duck,” I decide, nodding sagely. “Because...one big target. Plus, I could climb on its back and steer it like a really weird horse.” Even drunk, my battle strategy is spot fucking on.

Nasarea looks at me like I’ve just revealed the secrets of the universe. “Selestina. That’s genius. You’d be the duck queen.”

“ALL HAIL THE DUCK QUEEN,” I proclaim, saluting with my middle finger. My voice carries through the trees, and Nasarea doubles over, laughing so hard she nearly drags us both to the ground.

As we trudge onward, the laughter fades into a comfortable buzz, replaced by the soft crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant hum of water sprites and Alebrijes playing. The path back to the dorms is quiet, the kind of quiet that feels...wrong. My senses prickle, a warning whispering at the edges of my awareness. I pause, turning to scan the shadows behind us.

“What’s up?” Nasarea slurs, leaning heavily against me.

“I feel like...” I shake my head, trying to clear the fog. “Like we’re being watched. ”

Nasarea’s expression morphs into exaggerated panic. “Oh no. It’s probably the angry tiny horses. They’ve come for revenge.”

“Be serious,” I snap, though her comment sends a fresh wave of giggles through me. I glance around again, my eyes combing the tree line. Nothing moves. No shadows shift. And yet...the feeling remains. Eyes watching. Waiting.

I shake it off, blaming the alcohol. “It’s nothing,” I mutter, starting forward again. “Just my imagination.”

Nasarea hooks her arm through mine, her giggles bubbling up once more. “Maybe it’s the princes. They’re probably following us, being all broody and mysterious. ‘Oh no, Selestina might be dancing with a peasant boy! How scandalous!’”

I roll my eyes but can’t help laughing. “They wish. They’re too busy glaring at each other to glare at me.” I half lie. Clearly these staring contests that I keep having with them are getting noticed by others, if Nasarea, even in her drunken state can see right through it.

We fall into another fit of laughter, our steps uneven as we navigate the final stretch to the dorms. The building comes into view, its warm light spilling onto the path like a beacon. Relief washes over me; the idea of collapsing into bed is almost as appealing as a giant duck mount. Almost.

“You’re a cool bitch, you know that?” Nasarea asks as we stumble up the steps. “Like, I think I shall keep you as my best friend.”

“I think...” I fumble with the door handle, finally shoving it open. “I think that I totally agree. You are also a bad bitch, I feel like together, we can make a lot of people cry.” I cackle.

Nasarea gasps, like I’ve offended her. “That’s brilliant! Nobody will mess with us.” She stares at the sky, smiling from ear to ear, like the psychopath she is.

We tumble into the room, kicking off our shoes and shedding layers as we go. Nasarea flops onto her bed with a dramatic groan, spreading her arms wide. “This is it. This is my kingdom now. The land of...what’s a good drunk queen name?”

“Queen...Tipsy of Sloshedonia,” I suggest, collapsing onto my bed with a laugh.

“Perfect,” she says, rolling onto her side to face me. “And you’re Duchess Dizzy of...what’s a good duchy name?”

“Stumbleton,” I say immediately. “We’re an unstoppable duo.”

She snorts, burying her face in the pillow. “Besties forever.”

The room spins slightly as I settle in, the warmth of the alcohol and the comfort of the moment pulling me under. For the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself laugh without restraint, let myself feel something other than the weight of my own survival.

Her soft laughter is the last thing I hear before sleep claims me, deep and dreamless. For now, the world and its dangers can wait.