Page 21 of Shadowed Fate

I furrow my brow, finally setting down the pencil. "Why is it different here?"

The question hangs in the air, unanswered. I stare at the finished page, a rambling dump of feathers and darkness. It's strangely beautiful, and creepy, just like everything in this place.

"What the hell am I doing here?" I whisper, exhaustion finally catching up to me. I put down my sketchbook and crawl back to bed, slipping under the heavy down-filled comforter, my eyes finally closing.

I sleep until sunlight streams through the window, casting long shadows across the room. Pushing back the blankets I stand, stretching my stiff limbs. I look in the mirror. Dark circles rim my eyes, starker than ever against my pale skin.

"Shit," I mutter, running a hand through my tangled hair. "I look like death warmed over." I get dressed quickly, knowing that today is the day I get some answers from Dean Charling. I pull my clothes on as fast as I can, aware that it’s later than I thought.

There’s a sharp tap on the door and I open it to find Callen standing there casually, a lazy smile on his lips. His eyes sweep over me.

"Good morning, beautiful," he drawls. He eyes the clothes I’m wearing, the same jeans and shirt I wore yesterday evening, with my yellow cardigan. "We can do better than that," he mutters.

Gee, thanks. “Why are you here?” I’m too tired to be polite.

He chuckles, pushing past me into the room. "Now, now. Is that any way to greet your personal escort?"

"I didn't ask for an escort, Callen," I snap, but I’m not at all certain that I could find Dean Charling’s office on my own.

Callen's gaze lands on my open sketchbook, his eyebrows rising. "Interesting," he murmurs.

I move to stand in front of it, blocking his view. "It's nothing."

"Oh, I doubt that."

Before I can change my mind, he's ushering me out into the hallway. The stone corridors of Grimstone loom around us, shadows dancing in the corners despite it being daytime. As we walk and pass other students, whispers follow like a hissing tide.

My jaw clenches. It's all too familiar, the burning stares and hushed conversations. I keep my eyes forward, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

Callen, however, has no such reservations. His gaze sweeps the hallway, meeting each set of curious eyes with a look that could freeze blood. One by one, the whispers die.

"Impressive," I mutter.

He winks. "One of my many talents. There are a few perks to being a prince."

Riiight. I’d actually forgotten he was supposed to be royalty.

We round a corner, and I spot a familiar face. Laria, the blonde from the dining hall, leans against a doorway. Her pale eyes narrow as we approach, lips curling into a sneer.

"Slumming it today, Callen?" She calls out in a voice dripping with venom.

I tense, waiting for the barb to sink in. But Callen merely laughs, the sound rich and warm.

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, Laria dear," he says smoothly. "Though I suppose you can't help it when you look at Brigid."

Laria's face contorts, but Callen's already steering me past her. I can feel her glare boring into my back.

"Friend of yours?" I ask dryly.

Callen's smile is razor-sharp. "Oh, Laria's bark is worse than her bite. Usually."

We stop in front of an imposing oak door. A brass plaque reads "Dean Charling."

My stomach twists.

Callen's hand finds the small of my back, guiding me forward. "Best not to keep him waiting," he murmurs.

The door swings open, revealing an office that looks like it was plucked from another century. Dark wood paneling, leather-bound books, and the faint scent of pipe tobacco. Behind an enormous desk sits Dean Charling, his probing gaze fixed on me.

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