Page 49

Chapter 48

Selestina

I sit on my bed, the pages of the prophecy spread out before me like pieces of a puzzle I cannot seem to solve. My fingers trace the faded lines of text in search of meaning from the cryptic words. Nasarea told me not to take the book back, to leave it in its home, but I know it holds the answers. It has to.

Nasarea is downstairs in the academy library, not the forbidden one, rummaging through whatever books she can find to hopefully shed some light on it. We are drowning in questions. I told her I’ve read any book the library has on the subject, but Nasarea just scoffed and said I didn’t try hard enough.

Then the air shifts. Shadows ripple in the corner, gathering and twisting until they take shape.

Diego.

I look him in the eyes, already bracing myself. He steps forward, the grace of his movements fluidly predatory, the shadows clinging to him like a second skin. His face is impassive, with no trace of warmth or humor .

“Selestina,” he says shortly. “I have a mission for you from Alexander. It's urgent.”

I lean back, crossing my arms. “What does he want this time?” There is a growl in my tone, and it's intentional. My frustration bubbles just below the surface. I would never dare to speak to Alexander like this, but Diego allows me to show a little bit of my discontent.

Diego doesn't flinch. Doesn't react at all. He's a stone, unyielding. “Kill Prince Nazriel. Tonight.”

The words land like a slap. All I can do for a moment is stare at him, the meaning sinking in like poison. “What?” I sputter, shooting to my feet. “I can't kill a royal! That's treason,” I snap, my voice sharp and barely controlled.

Diego rolls his eyes in a gesture so casual it makes my blood boil. “I don't have time for your theatrics, Selestina. Either do it, or face the consequences.” His tone is final, as if he has already dismissed me.

“Diego, wait—” I start, but he's already fading back into the shadows, his form dissolving into the darkness like he was never here.

It was just a little too quiet, too still after he'd left. My heart racing with anger, I fell back against the bed, my head spinning.

Kill Prince Nazriel.

But this time it's different. Not a faceless target, not some corrupt official hiding behind his mask of power一this was Nazriel.

Nazriel.

I pace the length of my dorm, the cool floor beneath my bare feet, wrestling with what to do. Refuse Alexander, and it's a blade in my back. Follow through, and… well, that's assuming I can follow through. Nazriel's blood on my ha nds一the thought alone churns my stomach, a sensation I am not used to.

Panic rises, washes over me like a wave. I feel like I'm smothering. The walls are closer than they should be, the air too thick; my thoughts, gods, my thoughts everywhere.

Nazriel.

Alexander.

Nasarea.

I drop down onto the edge of my bed and slap my palms on my thighs, but it does nothing to stabilize me. My heart is galloping, bumping hard against my ribs as if it would get out. I couldn't do this. I just couldn't kill him. What the hell am I supposed to do if I don’t?

I start glancing around the room as though an answer would magically appear in the crack of the stone walls.

It doesn't.

All I see are the pieces of my life, the structure that threatens to crumble all around me.

“This is a disaster,” I whisper into an empty room.

Nazriel is a prince. A prince. We don't kill royals. That's the unspoken rule, the line even Alexander's assassins don't cross. Taking out a prince isn't just murder; it's treason. It's a declaration of war.

But Alexander doesn't care about that, does he? No, all he sees is his mission, his orders, his perfect weapon. Me. And if I don't follow through…

I can almost hear the voice in my head. Failure is not an option, Selestina. You know what happens if you disappoint me.

My stomach twists violently. What would happen? Would he kill me? Strip me of everything he's trained me to be? Or worse, make me wish he'd killed me? Alexander is a master of punishment, of breaking people down until they're nothing but shattered pieces for him to rebuild. The thought sends a shiver down my spine.

And then there is Nasarea. Gods, what would she do? Nazriel is her twin, her blood. Killing Nazriel would destroy her. She'd never forgive me, and rightly so. I couldn't betray her like that.

I run my hands through my hair, digging my fingers deep into the strands as if the pain somehow might clear my head. “Think, Selestina. Think.”

But there is no clear cut answer. If I follow through with Alexander's orders, I cross a line I can never uncross. But if I don't, then what? What happens to me? What happens to the fragile balance I've managed to keep?

I rise abruptly and pace the length of the room. My mind continues to whirl around the same questions, none of which have answers.

Why Nazriel? Why does Alexander want him dead? He never gives reasons, never explains himself, but this… this feels different. It's not just a mission. It's personal. There's something big involved, and I don't understand the dynamics.

I cease my pacing, leaning against the hard wall. The cool stone presses against my back, unwavering. I close my eyes.

I groan. What the fuck is wrong with me?

I can’t kill him. But neither can I disappoint Alexander. I will not fail Alexander.

I slide to the floor, my back against the wall, my knees up to my chest. For the first time in so very long, I am at a complete loss. There's no path forward that doesn't end in ruin, no decision that doesn't destroy something一or someone.

My chest tightens, and I draw in a shaky breath. “Gods, what do I do?”

There is only silence in the room, an ineffectual hum against my ears. I feel like I'm drowning.

I look out the window. The moons hang low in the sky, perfect to slip unnoticed across campus. Perfect for what I do best.

I dress quickly. Not as the Shadow Reaper, but someone who doesn’t want to get caught.

I grasp my dagger, the weight familiar in my hand as I tuck it into the sheath at my thigh. My reflection catches my eye in the mirror, the girl staring back is…someone I don’t recognize. She looks every bit the assassin Alexander trained her to be. But beneath the steel of my gaze, I see the cracks forming. The cracks Nazriel has placed there, unwittingly. All of the princes really.

“Get it together, Selestina,” I mutter, yanking my hair back into a tight ponytail. It is just another mission. Another target.

But I don't even believe me.

The halls are silent as I move, my footsteps soundless against the stone floor. The air feels colder here, heavier, like the academy itself is holding its breath. I follow the trail of magic that always seems to linger in Nazriel's wake. It leads me to one of the towers, the faint glow of candlelight spilling through the cracks of a door left slightly ajar.

I slip inside, my movements precise. Nazriel is there, sitting at a desk with his back to me, his broad shoulders hunched as he scribbles something into a book. The soft glow of the candle brings out in bold planes the sharp angles of his face, the line of his jaw slicing through the light as if it were cut for the purpose.

I catalog the room. It’s organized and clean, and he doesn’t have a roommate, I stifle an inappropriate laugh as I think about how this is probably exactly what Nasarea wanted. The thought of Nasarea is enough to make me nauseous. A reason why I shouldn’t be here.

I draw my dagger, the blade glinting in the light, as I close in on him. My heart beats loud in my ears, yet my movements are sure.

One clean blow and that's it.

Then he speaks in that low, calm tone. “I know you’re here.”

I pause, the dagger stopping midway through the air.

Nazriel twists in his chair, his glacial blue eyes clamping onto mine. There is no surprise on his face, only the tug of a smile pulling at the corner of his lip. “If you're going to kill me, Selestina, at least have the decency to do it quickly.”

The dagger shakes in my hand, and I grind my teeth, forcing it to hold steady. “How did you一”

“You're not as subtle as you think.” He cuts me off, standing slowly. His gaze lowers to my lips and a sad smirk pulls at his lips. “You’re nervous.”

“I'm not nervous,” I snap, hating how my voice catches slightly. It's the way he looks at me, though, like he knows something I don't. And that irritates the fuck out of me.

Nazriel raises one eyebrow, his tone level with meaning, and takes another step towards me. Instinctively, I take a step back, keeping my blade sharply pointed in a safe position between us. He drops his gaze to the steel and back up to my eyes, and he utters in a voice low and soft, threaded with an uncomfortable wisdom. “You do not want to do this, either, do you? ”

I glare at him, trying to disregard the shiver down my spine. “You don't know what I want.”

“Don't I?” His gaze goes from the blade in my hand to my face. “Because if you really wanted me dead, you would have done it by now. My words wouldn’t have distracted you or slowed you down.”

I open my mouth to argue, but the words get stuck in my throat. He's right, and we both know it. All he needs is my hesitation.

Nazriel steps closer again, and this time, I don't move away. His hand reaches out, until his fingers curl gently around my wrist. The dagger feels like dead weight in my hand. His touch is warm, steady, and it's the only thing anchoring me to this moment.

“Who sent you?” Nazriel asks, his voice low.

“I can't tell you,” I reply, barely above a whisper.

He nods, his grip on my wrist tightening slightly. “Do you want me dead, Selestina?”

I meet his gaze, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of us. His blue eyes bore into mine, but there's something else there, too. Something softer. I hate that it makes my chest tighten, that it makes my resolve crumble.

“No,” I admit, the word slipping out before I can stop it.

Nazriel's eyes glance to my lips, just for a fraction of a second, and it's enough to make my breath hitch.

Before I can think, before I can stop myself, his hand moves to the small of my back, tugging me closer. The dagger clatters to the floor, forgotten as my hands find their way to his chest. His lips crash against mine, demanding every inch of my mouth, and the kiss is everything I didn't know I needed.

I hate myself for the ease with which I melt into him, desperate, clinging to him as if he's an anchor that keeps me moored. His fingers tangle in my hair, his grip possessive and sure. I can feel the anger, the confusion, and the want bleeding into every touch.

When we finally break apart, we are both panting; our foreheads lying against each other. His voice, a whisper against my lips. “What now?”