Page 106 of Academy of the Wicked: Year Three
“Eventually.”
We stay that way, naked and sated and unashamed, for what feels like hours.
Maybe it is hours.
In this place, time bends and folds. I wish it were a moment that lasts forever.
Duty calls, though, and reality is about to set in.
The next trial awaits, but we won’t be at a disadvantage now that I can use my powers to our own advantage, in a way that will play in our favor in a floating world of broken chaos that wishes for our failure.
I know that despite the challenges, we’ll face them together.
Equal. Matched. Marked.
And I can’t wait to see what she teaches me next.
The Scholar's Guidance
~GWENIEVERE~
The aftermath of our connection leaves the air charged with more than just residual magic.
I can feel the bond settling into place—not violent like with Cassius, not desperate like with Atticus, not accidental like with Nikolai.
This is deliberate, chosen, a connection forged through desire rather than necessity.
Mortimer stands by the floating window, his appearance still devastatingly different from the scholarly elder I'd grown accustomed to. The leather pants sit low on his hips, his shirt barely buttoned, silver-white hair falling loose around shoulders that speak of battles won through strength rather than strategy alone.
"This floating space outside," he says, gesturing toward the impossible architecture beyond my door, "is definitely some sort of mass library."
His voice carries the particular certainty of someone who recognizes home even when it's been rearranged into a nightmare.
"A library?" I move to stand beside him, careful not to touch. The new bond makes proximity dangerous—every accidentalbrush of skin threatens to reignite what we just barely managed to contain. "How can you tell?"
He points to the floating books, the way they move with purpose rather than randomness.
"See how they reorganize themselves? That's not chaos—that's cataloging. The Academy's knowledge is trying to maintain order even through dimensional collapse."
The observation makes me look at the space differently. Not random floating rooms but sections of an impossible library, each one containing different categories of knowledge that the Academy has accumulated over centuries.
"It could hold the information we need to escape this labyrinth," he continues, dragon eyes tracking patterns I can't see. "Could potentially hold magical artifacts that were stored for safekeeping or study."
"How do you know all this?"
The question emerges with genuine curiosity. Even for someone who's lived centuries, this seems like specific knowledge about impossible situations.
His smile is different on this younger face—less paternal, more mysterious.
"I'm a scholar, after all. I've spent centuries in various libraries, learning their hidden secrets."
He turns from the window, those golden eyes holding depths that speak of knowledge accumulated across lifespans I can barely imagine.
"Libraries aren't just repositories of books. They're living things, especially magical ones. They have personalities, preferences, and protective instincts. Learn to listen, and they'll tell you their secrets. Learn to ask properly, and they'll share their treasures."
The way he speaks about libraries makes them sound like dragons to be courted rather than buildings to be entered.
"I've thrived on their hidden knowledge, the artifacts they keep for those wise enough to listen to the hints they whisper."
