Just as I’m about to throw my partner a confused look, a flock of ridiculously tiny birds shoot out of the holes and start circling the ball.
“Maybe we’re supposed to get them all back inside?” I whisper.
Before she can answer, the door flings open and I feel the air being knocked out of my lungs. Because I seehimwalk in.
“Ah, Your Majesty, how good of you to join us,” the professor cranes his neck, motioning for him to find an empty seat.
He doesn’t sound sarcastic at all, despite the fact that the Little Prince isinthis class, yet has never once graced us with his presence.
So what the fuck is he doing here, I scramble to make sense of it, watching him scan the room as he walks.
Shit, I scold myself when he catches my eye.
To my surprise, he stops for a split second and then stalks straight up to my partner, sending my heart racing. He leans to whisper something in her ear. I don’t hear what he says, but he’s smiling, one hand casually placed on her backrest. I see her blush and get up, walking away to find another seat. As soon as she’s gone, he slides into her seat and then turns to look at me. The smile is gone. He seems to be controlling himself, but it’s plain that he’s pissed off. And he seems to be waiting for me to speak.
My heart still pumping wildly, I just mouth, “What the fuck?”
“Exactly, what the fuck?” he snaps, keeping his voice low, but not quite enough.
“Now that you all have your assignments in front of you…” I hear the professor start.
I turn to look at him, fighting the shaking of my treacherous limbs, but the prince doesn’t let it go. “You going to pretend you didn’t get my text?”
“...who can tell me…”
My finger pressed firmly to my lips, I snap my head in his direction to shush him.
“...what the House of Lycan crest has to do with the theory about types of Magic?”
But now I can feel him staring at me, trying to get me to look at him. With rushed, angry movements, I open my notebook and I write, “I’m NOT talking to you right now. In case you haven’t noticed, we're in the middle of a class.”
My eyes are back on the professor, but I can tell he’s read it. He scoffs and leans back on his chair, folding his arms in protest. I don’t react. I try to pay attention to the exchange between Professor Byrne and the other students, but he’s making me so self-conscious, tapping his fancy shoes on the floor and thrumming his stupid fingers on the desk. I have to fight the urge to shift in my seat, smooth out my hair, lick my lips.
For a moment, I manage to focus on the words of the nerdy fae-blooded girl, probably about the third person trying to answer the professor’s question.
“The light side of the Moon on the crest signifies the spirit and the dark side signifies the body. Some say that this is one of the earliest understandings of the existence of Physical and Mental Magic.”
She goes on to talk about the uniqueness of the House of Lycan, at least from the perspective of shifters being the only ones that truly embody more than one type of Magic. And if things were different, I’d be gobbling that shit up.
But I’ve never been this close to him, at least not longer than three seconds. And I’m feeling just as breathless as the second he walked in. It’s just that, now, I can add to that a growing ache in my thighs and between my legs, urging me to keep glancing at him. I fight it, keeping my gaze fixed ahead. But even with the corner of my eye, I can see his chest falling up and down, the muscles putting a strain on the immaculately white shirt. And whenever I look down, there are his hands, the long fingers fighting for my attention by doing that pissed-off thrumming thing with deliciously deft movements.
Snap the fuck out, I tell myself. This is a royalassholeyou’re drooling over. And just as I think that, the fae-blooded girl stops talking and Professor Byrne takes over.
“Thank you for that lovely summary, Aywin,” he says. “Now, the point of all this, including the assignment, is to make you more aware of the thin lines between Physical and Mental Magic,” he continues as he takes a stroll between the rows of desks. “The birds you see before you are just echoes of actual birds, but real enough for you to be able to control them as either mind or matter. And the assignment,” he stops walking, pausing for effect as he so often does, “is to make them all return to their little nests at the same time, using whichever methods you have at your disposal.”
The professor pauses again, throws us all a smile and says, “Go.”
Almost instantly, the students around me break into a chatter as they get to work. Everyone except the two of us. I just focus on the assignment before me. I squint at the birds, hard, trying to make myself do the only thing I can. Use Sight.
Of course, he doesn’t let me. He leans in and demands, “Ready to talk?”
I don’t turn to look at him. I pretend I’m engrossed in what I’m doing as I say, “No. But if it’ll help me get rid of you…”
“Oh spare me,” he scoffs. “What was so important you had to miss themandatoryTrials meeting?”
I let out a deep sigh and decide I’m not letting him distract me. I turn back to the birds and I manage to invoke Sight. The scene before me turns liquid and I can see the little strings tying the birds to the ball.
With the corner of my eye, I see him snap his fingers at me.