Page 10 of A Witch and Her Dragon
“Shh, girl,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.”
She snorts and gives me a side-eye—rightly so.
“Sir Ashvale,” one of the young squires says, drawing my attention to where he’s now standing beside my horse. “Would you like us to transport your belongings to your quarters?”
My stomach twists at the reminder.
Because I’m Alina’s only assigned guard, the king wanted to ensure I would always be within close proximity of her, and he therefore made certain I would have a room right next to hers in the dormitory.
Part of me thinks the king is actually trying to kill me, to push me so hard my dragon has no choice but to rip me apart from the inside in its effort to get to the princess. Maybe this is a terrible test. If he knew the truth—that Alina is my fated mate—he’d probably not allow me within a square mile of his granddaughter.
I’m determined not to let him—or anyone else—find out.
“Yes,” I say when the squire starts to squirm under the weight of my long silence.
He nods before departing, and I shake myself internally. I have a job to do here, and I have to do everything I can not to get distracted.
If only my dragon understood how dire the situation is.
Alina and her mother, Princess Rowena Ravenscroft, head up the stairs to the castle’s entrance, accompanied by a number of guards and many squires carrying all of Alina’s belongings. Two young squires strain beneath the weight of a mahoganytrunk, their foreheads glinting with perspiration in the summer sun.
It’s good for them. Builds character. And muscle.
A woman with long silver hair meets the princesses at the top of the stairs. I focus my hearing, homing in on her.
“Princess Rowena, Princess Alina.” The woman dips her head in a show of respect. “Welcome to Coven Crest. I’m Headmistress Lysandra Moonhart. Please come this way. I’ll show you to your dormitory.”
Before stepping through the grand double doors, Alina glances back, and her eyes find mine again. A tingle rolls down my spine. But she’s swept away so quickly that I can’t even think to school my facial expression into professional disinterest, and when Alina is finally out of sight, my dragon calms down, disappointment flooding through me.
I let out a heavy sigh.
After swinging down from my horse, I remove my helmet and motion for a squire to assist me. “Take her to the stables,” I say as I pass him the reins. “Brush her well, then turn her out with the herd. It won’t do having her cooped up. Makes her grouchy.”
Of course it does. My dragon knows how it feels to be caged. It’d drive anyone crazy.
“Yes, sir,” he says, already starting away, Penelope’s polished hooves clopping along behind him.
The whispers from the onlookers have died down some, but the staring still makes my skin prickle. I turn my back on the students and their parents and cast my gaze up at the towering double doors into the academy. And with asteadying breath, I force myself to climb the stairs and pass into the heart of Coven Crest Academy.
THE CASTLE IS A MAZE of corridors and classrooms and hallways with dead-ends. Portraits hang on the walls, plants reach for stained glass windows, and there’s a comforting coolness to the air despite the summer heat outside.
After trying and failing to find my way around, I finally flag down a young witch and ask her to point me toward the north tower, where Alina is to live for the duration of her four-year stay at Coven Crest. I believe the other three dormitories—south, east, and west—are occupied by the older students.
The witch’s cheeks flare pink, and she ducks her head as she says, “The castle can be hard to navigate. B-but I can show you the way, if you’d like. I’m here to help the first-years find their way around.”
I give her a single nod, and she turns on her heel, her academy-appointed black robe fluttering about her calves. Despite her small stature, she moves at a quick pace, forcing me to stay focused on her and not get distracted by all the sights and sounds the castle has to offer. In time, I’ll explore the castle fully, ensuring I know it well. It won’t do to get myself—or Alina—lost in the twisting passageways.
Without meaning to, I picture Alina alone in a candlelit hallway, her blue hair fluttering around her cheeks, her lips pursed as she turns to look at me. And then I imagine whatit might feel like to touch her skin, to draw my fingertips across her face.
My dragon flares to life again, eager and willing, and I flex my fingers and bite back a grunt.
“What’s that?” the young witch asks, barely slowing her pace to glance over her shoulder at me.
I grind my teeth and force out, “Nothing.”
Seeming startled by my brusque tone, she turns back around, and I have to remind myself that I’m going to be surrounded by students now, witches and warlocks here from all over Wysteria and its outlying villages and hamlets. I’ll need to adjust my tone. These aren’t knights and squires and pages, like I’m used to.
“Here it is,” the young witch says, stopping at the bottom of a spiraling staircase. “The north tower. Would you like help finding the right room?”
