Page 13 of Heir of Shadows

Marigold stopped at one of the display cases that lined the corridor and leaned in to look closer.

My gaze dropped—uninvited, automatic—to the curve of her ass. Tight jeans. Shapely.

I swallowed hard. Elio would laugh, say he didn’t think I noticed anything but spell theory and pocket dimensions. But I did. Apparently.

I turned to the display. Similar cabinets lined the academic wing—some held trophies and pictures of Wickem’s triumphs, and others held magical artifacts that were of particular importance to the school. But here, her gaze seemed to linger on the smaller trinkets—carved stones, delicate charms; items others might overlook. She especially seemed interested in an intricate gold key—also my favorite—her fingers tracing it in the air.

Perhaps she’d like to see my key collection sometime. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

Marigold nodded, then seemed to catch herself, and moved on. As we moved on, her eyes didn’t stop moving, scanning the floor, the corners, the spaces most people never noticed.

Searching for exits, I realized. For threats.

Another familiar survival instinct. I knew it well—the constant vigilance, the way your body learns to track footsteps, to read moods in the silence before a storm. Uncle had taught me those lessons thoroughly after taking me in, his idea of “guidance” leaving marks that weren’t all visible. The therapy helped keep my magic stable, even if nothing could stabilize his temper or soften his cruel streaks.

The very air seemed to stir around her, shadow magic reaching out with curiosity to investigate this new power. The school itself responded to her passage, ancient enchantments recognizing royal blood.

She paused near a suit of armor, her hand going to her chest. “There’s someone in there,” she whispered.

Wisp’s ears pricked forward with interest as I nodded. “A knight who died centuries ago. Most necromancers can’t sense him anymore.”

I never had—not directly. I’d only read about the spirit or heard others mention the presence. But she felt it instantly.

Her power was raw but extraordinary. Untrained but instinctive. The wellspring had chosen well, whether anyone wanted to admit it or not. Honestly, I didn’t think the other heirs, or even the councilors, had known that the wellspringcouldcall someone, though it was right there in the histories if anyone bothered to look.

We exited the academic building and turned up the covered walkway toward the royal dorms. On our right, were the gardens, and beyond them the dome of the auditorium. On our left, we passed the regular dormitories, their windows full of normal student life. Students lounged on benches outside, sharing coffee and pastries while practicing simple spells.

Marigold’s steps slowed, her suitcase bumping on the sidewalk behind her, and I caught her unconsciously licking her pink lips.

I forced my focus back to the context—not the movement that lit up my nerves like a live wire. Attraction hit, fast and uninvited. Sharper than I was used to. I didn’t feel this often. And I hadn’t felt it like that in… far too long.

Turning to Marigold, I asked, “Are you hungry?”

“No, not really,” she said with a small smile. “But I wouldn’t say no to one of those chocolate croissant things.”

I opened a portal and pulled one from the cafeteria, then handed it to her.

Her smile widened. “Thank you,” she said, taking a bite and giving a little moan. “This is amazing.”

That moan made something stir in me that had no business stirring, and I pushed it back down. My interest in her was curiosity, nothing more. Could be nothing more.

Wisp made a soft chuffing sound behind me—barely there. Not a laugh. Not quite.

Just acknowledgment.

Music drifted from someone’s open window—some indie rock song I didn’t recognize—and her head bobbed slightly to the rhythm before she caught herself.

“Could I stay there instead?” she asked quietly, stopping to watch students practice simple illumination spells on the lawn. She took another bite of her croissant.

“No.”

The word came out sharper than I meant, and she flinched—just slightly, but enough.

Wisp pressed against my leg—a silent nudge to rein it in.

“The royal dorm exists for more than tradition. We’re heirs to the Council seats—future rulers of our world. That makes us targets.” I hesitated, then added, “The wards in our tower are ancient. They’re designed to protect bloodlines our enemies would love to erase. The regular dorms wouldn’t hold.”

What I didn’t say—what I never said—was that sometimes, the real threats weren’t out there. Sometimes, they were inside. My rooms had become my first real sanctuary in years—the one place Uncle’s reach couldn’t follow.

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