Page 41

Chapter 40

Selestina

I went the rest of the night, in and out of sleep. I don’t even remember the moments that I was awake.

I wake and the room is quiet.

Nasarea's still sleeping across from me. I slide out from under the covers quietly, my feet touching the cold floor. In the little mirror by the wardrobe, I catch a glimpse of my reflection and wince. A dark bruise splashes across my cheekbone from when my face caught my fall, a reminder of last night's encounter. Other bruises line my arms and disappear under my shirt, a map of where each blow landed.

Breakfast is out of the question. The last thing I need is to go into the dining hall and have every pair of eyes turn to me, the whispers creeping up when they notice the marks. I slide my things together, toss a dark cloak over my shoulder, and head out early to class, crossing my fingers that the halls will still be relatively empty.

By the time I get to Magical Theory, the room is just starting to fill, the low hum of conversation a blanket of sound easy to slip into .

I slide into a seat at the back and hope that from here, I can blend into the dim edges of the classroom. Every bruise and ache begs me to lean back, to shut my eyes and sleep for ten days straight.

But even the faintest hope of hiding is shattered as the door opens, filling the room with an abrupt silence. I don't have to look to know who it is.

I feel him, and I know that scent.

Against my better judgment, I look up, meeting Nazriel's gaze. His eyes lock onto mine instantly, fierce and unforgiving, and for a heartbeat, he's utterly still, his expression inscrutable. Then his gaze sharpens, moving over my face, tracing the edges of bruises and scrapes as his features harden. I watch his jaw clench, his fists curling at his sides, the anger bursting from him in tangible waves.

He does not stop at the edge of the room. Nazriel strides towards me. Each step is an act of will, as though some compulsion born from that anger carries him forward. His gaze doesn't break; he watches me like he’s afraid he will lose me by the time he walks over here.

As he makes his last step towards me, I can feel the weight of the whole class staring at us, whispers dying down like they could sense the air was thick with tension around him, fire coiled tight in his eyes. He comes to a stop inches away, his heat radiating to mine while his eyes bore brazenly into my skin, almost making me flinch.

“Who. The. Fuck. Did. This. To. You?” he growls out in a low, guttural tone, every word a harsh demand.

I blink, taken aback by the raw fury in his gaze. His anger seems too personal, too tight, and for one moment, I'm at a loss, unable to summon any of my usual defenses. But then I recover, summoning a casual smile, forcing myself to meet his gaze with feigned nonchalance. “Just a little accident. No need to go all angry on my behalf.” I’m hoping my joking will ease him up and he will go sit the fuck down so everyone will stop staring at us.

Nazriel's jaw clenches further, eyes narrowing as he takes in my casual response. Tense muscles in his neck string taut, and for a moment, I swear he's holding himself from grabbing me, from demanding the truth. His voice, when he finally speaks, is a low, dangerous rumble. “An accident?” he repeats, disbelief laced with something raw, something dangerously close to vulnerability. “You think I'm just going to believe that? Look at yourself, Selestina.”

His gaze is relentless, searing into me, leaving no room for the half smile or careless shrug. I look away, feeling the weight of his anger like a physical force, pressing down on me and making it hard to breathe.

He is making a scene.

I take the chance to look up, hiding behind my hair, and see every single pair of eyes in the classroom on us. Fuck me.

He is close, so close that his presence feels alive, and I find myself getting pulled into it, caught in the whirlpool of his rage and frustration. We stare for a moment, locked in silence while the world outside fades and unspoken tension holds us hostage.

“Who hurt you?” His voice is no more than a whisper, but it's laced with a rawness that sends surprise jolting through me, a softness that somehow manages to cut through his unhinged nature. The words hang between us, his gaze pleading, almost desperate, begging me to answer, to trust him with something real.

The tone catches me off guard, in a way I'm not used to from him. I cannot tell if his concern is genuine or if he's angry for reasons even he doesn't understand .

I tilt my head, forcing a small smirk, meeting his gaze with defiance. “Why do you care, Nazriel? Last I checked, you hate me. You think I've cast some fucking spell over you.”

His jaw clenches. “I do hate you.” He grinds out, the words strained, like they hurt coming out of his mouth.

“But that doesn't mean.” He trails off, taking a steadying breath, and when he meets my eyes again, there's such sadness there that I almost wish I hadn't seen. “Baby, please just tell me who hurt you.”

My heart stops. Literally.

Before I can get a word out, Evaline steps forward, her eyes flashing bright with annoyance as she wraps her arm around his, yanking him backward. “Nazriel, enough,” she says, her voice honey laced with venom. “We should sit. You're making a scene.”

Nazriel barely spares her a glance; his gaze fixed solely on me, unwavering, as though he's willing me to answer, willing me to let him in.

Evaline's grip tightens on his arm, and I can feel her hostility radiating, a sharp cold edge in the air between us. With a huff, she finally lets him go, sliding into the seat beside me.

When I continue to keep quiet, not giving him the answer that he is desperately in need of, a heavy sigh slips through his lips. It's a sound laced with frustration and disappointment. For a moment, he lingers there, his gaze dropping to the floor as if wrestling with his own emotions. He finally turns away, shoulders tense, the anger still simmering in every line of his posture. He moves toward his seat in the back.

I glance around the room, and it's impossible to ignore the weight of three pairs of eyes burning into me. Rhyker, Kaelion, and Matheus—all staring, their expressions are different shades of rage.

No Tomas. I swear he’s never in class. I don’t understand how he doesn’t flunk out, but I guess he is a crowned prince.

Rhyker looks like he’s holding himself back by sheer force of will, his jaw clenched so tight it’s a wonder he hasn’t cracked a tooth.

Kaelion, on the other hand, glares at me like I’ve single handedly destroyed his life, his rage is personal. Then there's Matheus. His eyes betray a mix of devastation and barely contained anger.

Finally, my gaze turns to Nazriel. His pencil is gripped tightly in his hand. I'm surprised it hasn't snapped in half. His ice blue eyes are fastened on me. My heart speeds up, but I make a conscious decision to look back up front, and lower my head, breaking the contact, and tune into the professor.

Evaline, my favorite person in the whole wide world, leans in close, her voice low. “Trying to play the damsel in distress? Pathetic. It won't work.”

I raise an eyebrow, forcing a bored expression onto my face as I look at her. “I'm not trying to be anything, Evaline. Actually, I'd much rather you all just leave me alone.” I punctuate the words with a loud, exaggerated sigh, just for good measure.

Evaline's eyes narrow, her gaze flashing with spite as her voice dips even lower. “Enjoy his attention while it lasts, because I assure you, it won't be long.”

I meet her glare with a steady, unflinching gaze, my voice calm. “Good to know. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to actually focus on the class.”

She snorts, crossing her arms as she settles back into her seat, and irritation practically radiates off her. In all actuality, it's hard to focus with the prince's gazes fixed on me. I can feel the anger rolling off them.

In class, I do my best to disregard it, trying to listen to every last thing the professor says, detailed notes in front of me, anything but the intensity of their stares. But it's impossible to shake the feeling that every time I shift or wince, their eyes narrow, cataloging every bruise, every sign of discomfort.

The instant class dismisses, I stand, gathering my things as quickly as possible, trying to slip out before he can corner me again. But Nazriel is quicker, slicing across the room and blocking my path just as I reach the door. His face is unreadable, a mask, but his eyes are angry. The other three princes at his back, almost like they’re backing him up? Which is very odd.

“Don't think this is over,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, but filled with dark intensity. “We're going to talk about this.”

I lift my chin, meeting his gaze with a smirk. “Oh? I didn't realize you were so invested in my well-being.”

His jaw clenches, but he doesn't answer right away. His eyes glance over my face, and lingers on the bruises with a look that's somewhere between anger and something else, softer, almost concerned. “Believe what you want, Selestina,” he says finally, voice rough edged with frustration. “But this is the last time I'm letting you walk away without answering me.” His growl making my skin shiver. A feeling deep in my belly, which absolutely shouldn't be going on right now. In no way, not with him.

I don’t stay a moment longer in their bubble, as I back up to leave quickly. I keep my head up, my footsteps steady.

Have I mentioned lately that I’m fucked?