Chapter 57

Chapter 57: Chapter 57

A knock at the door interrupted their quiet.

Finn opened it and immediately stiffened. "Sword Sovereign. What an... unexpected honor."

"Finn." Soren’s voice was dry. "You’re a terrible liar."

"It’s a gift. Come in, I suppose. Don’t murder anyone."

Soren stepped into the dorm, still bandaged but moving more easily than he had the day before. His dark eyes found Nyra immediately, and something in his expression softened—just slightly, just for a moment.

"Thorne."

"Thornridge."

"Are you well enough to walk?"

"I just walked here from the healer’s wing."

"That’s not what I asked."

She smiled. "I’m fine. Recovering. The healer said light activity only."

"Good. Then you can join me for a walk. The grounds are quiet this time of day." He glanced at the others. "Alone."

Finn opened his mouth to protest, but Marek put a hand on his shoulder. "We’ll be here when you get back," Marek said quietly. "Don’t overexert yourself."

Jasper didn’t look up from his book. "If he tries anything inappropriate, aim for the ribs. The left side is still healing."

"Noted," Nyra said, suppressing a smile.

She followed Soren out of the dorm, feeling the eyes of her friends on her back. The corridor was quiet, most students still in classes or recovering from the aftermath of the mission. They walked in silence for a while, their footsteps echoing on the stone.

"You told them?" Soren asked quietly.

"What?"

"About us. About what happened in the forest."

"No. Not yet." She hesitated. "I don’t know how. Finn was just telling me that nothing I could say would change how he sees me, and I almost told him everything. But I couldn’t. The words just... wouldn’t come."

"Secrets are heavy."

"You would know."

He nodded. "I would."

They walked a little further, emerging into the garden where the first hints of green were beginning to show through the winter-bare branches. The air was cold but fresh, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth.

"My father is coming," Soren said. "The Proctor told me yesterday. He’s confirmed his attendance at the talent showcase."

"I know. You told me in the healer’s wing." Nyra paused. "Are you worried?"

"Terrified." The word came out before he could stop it. "My father is not an easy man. He expects perfection. Obedience. Absolute loyalty to the crown. If he finds out about you—about us—"

"Will he hurt you?"

"He’ll hurt you. To punish me. To remind me of my place." Soren’s jaw tightened. "I won’t let that happen."

"We have a month."

"A month isn’t long enough."

"It’s what we have." She stopped walking and turned to face him. "We’ll figure it out. Together. You and me."

He looked at her—the silver hair, the tired eyes, the stubborn set of her jaw. "You’re remarkably calm about this."

"One of us has to be."

He almost smiled. "I missed you."

"You saw me yesterday."

"I missed you anyway."

She reached up and touched his cheek. He leaned into her palm, his eyes closing briefly. "When this is over," she said quietly, "when your father has come and gone and the showcase is done, we’ll figure out what comes next. All of us. You and me and Corvin and whatever this bond means."

"Corvin." Soren opened his eyes. "Have you spoken to him?"

"Not yet. But I will. Soon."

"He came to see you yesterday. In the healer’s wing."

"I know. You were there."

"I was." He hesitated. "He and I... we’ve reached an understanding. A truce. I don’t know how long it will last, but for now, we’re not enemies."

"That’s progress."

"It’s something." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I should let you rest. The healer said light activity, and I’ve already made you walk halfway across the grounds."

"I’m not fragile, Soren."

"I know. But I’m going to take care of you anyway." He stepped back, his hand lingering on hers for a moment before releasing it. "I’ll come by tomorrow. If your roommates allow it."

"They’re not my guards."

"They act like it."

She smiled. "They’re good friends."

"They are." He turned to go, then paused. "Nyra? Whatever happens with my father—whatever happens next—I want you to know that I don’t regret any of it. The forest. The hut. Any of it."

"Neither do I."

He nodded once and walked away, his broad shoulders disappearing into the mist.

Corvin was officially released from house arrest that afternoon, though he suspected the Proctor had simply grown tired of the guards complaining about his escape attempts.

He went straight to the library.

The restricted section was cold and dim, the shelves packed with ancient texts that hadn’t been touched in decades. He had been researching the Moonblood lineage for weeks, ever since he’d first confirmed what Nyra was. But the mate bond—the double bond that tied both him and Soren to her—was something he still didn’t fully understand.

He pulled down a volume bound in cracked leather, its pages yellowed with age. On the Nature of Fated Bonds: A Study of Rare Mating Patterns Among the Sacred Bloodlines. He had read it twice already. He read it again.

"In rare cases, a single vessel of the Sacred Moonblood may be bound to two mates simultaneously. This phenomenon, known as the Dual Bond, occurs only when the vessel in question possesses exceptional spiritual dominion—a power so vast that a single mate cannot anchor it alone. The two mates serve as counterweights, balancing the vessel’s power and ensuring its stability. The bond is not competitive but complementary. The wolf provides strength. The serpent provides wisdom. Together, they complete what the vessel lacks."

Corvin leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. Complementary. Not competitive. The wolf and the serpent weren’t meant to fight each other. They were meant to work together.

That’s going to be a difficult conversation with Soren, he thought dryly.

He closed the book and stared at the flickering candle on his desk. Nyra was still recovering. Soren was still healing. There would be time to discuss the bond later. For now, he would wait. He would be patient.

But deep down, he wasn’t satisfied. The bond might be complementary, but his feelings for Nyra were his own. He wanted her—not as a counterweight, not as part of some ancient prophecy, but as a woman. And he intended to tell her that, when the time was right.

Just not today.

Today, he would let her rest.

Killian’s hands were still shaking when he cornered Draven in the empty training hall.

It had been an hour since he’d learned the news—Thorne alive, Soren alive, both of them back at the academy and recovering in the healer’s wing. The mission had failed. Draven had failed. And Killian’s carefully constructed world was crumbling around him.

"You," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You were supposed to kill him."

Draven backed up against the wall, his eyes wide. "I tried. The earthquake—the rogues—everything went wrong—"

"I don’t want excuses." Killian stepped closer, his hand shooting out to grab Draven’s collar. "I gave you one job. One simple job. Lead him into the trap. Make it look like an accident. And you couldn’t even do that."

"I’m sorry—"

"Sorry?" Killian’s laugh was hollow and horrible. "You’re sorry? Thorne Astrlyn is alive because of your incompetence. Soren Thornridge is alive because of your cowardice. And Corvin—Corvin is still looking at Thorne like he’s the only person in the world who matters—"

His fist connected with Draven’s jaw before he even realized he’d thrown the punch.

Draven staggered, blood blooming on his lip. "Killian—"

Another punch. Another. Killian’s fists were a blur of rage and desperation, each blow fueled by weeks of jealousy and longing and the unbearable knowledge that Corvin would never look at him the way he looked at Thorne.

"Killian, stop!"

Hands grabbed him from behind, pulling him off Draven’s crumpled form. Xavier’s voice was sharp in his ear. "Enough. You’re going to kill him."

"Maybe I want to kill him."

"And expose us all?" Nikolai appeared in front of him, his cold eyes assessing. "The Proctor is already investigating the Mistwood incident. If Draven turns up dead, they’ll trace it back to you. To us. Lord Varek’s entire operation will be compromised."

Killian’s chest heaved. "I don’t care."

"Yes, you do. You care about Eldritch. And if you’re exposed, you’ll never see him again." Nikolai’s voice was calm, reasonable, utterly devoid of sympathy. "You want Thorne dead. We all do. But this—" he gestured at Draven’s bloodied face, "—is not the way. It’s sloppy. Emotional. Unprofessional."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"I suggest you clean yourself up, tend to your pet, and wait. The talent showcase is a month away. The King is coming. Everything will be in chaos. There will be opportunities." Nikolai’s eyes glittered. "Be patient. The prince will die. But it will happen on our terms, not yours."

Killian stared at him for a long moment. Then he nodded slowly. "Fine."

"Good." Nikolai released him. "Clean this up. And Killian? Don’t make me intervene again."

They left him alone in the training hall, Draven groaning at his feet. Killian knelt beside him and pressed a cloth to his bleeding lip.

"I’m sorry," he murmured, though his eyes were still dark with fury. "I lost control. It won’t happen again."

Draven looked at him with something that might have been love or might have been fear. "I’ll do better next time. I promise."

"Yes," Killian said, his voice soft as silk. "You will."

But in his mind, he was already forming a new plan. One that didn’t rely on Draven. One that didn’t rely on Nikolai or Xavier or anyone else.

If he wanted Thorne dead, he would have to do it himself.

That evening, Corvin was in the potions lab, cataloguing ingredients for the research he’d been doing. The room was quiet, lit only by a few flickering candles, the shadows pooling in the corners.

He didn’t hear the footsteps behind him.

Killian watched from the doorway, his dark eyes fixed on Corvin’s back. The way he moved. The way his hands handled the vials with such precision. The way his hair fell across his forehead when he bent over his work.

He’s beautiful, Killian thought. He’s perfect. And he doesn’t even know I exist.

"You’re working late," Killian said, stepping into the light.

Corvin looked up, startled. "Drak. I didn’t hear you come in."

"I was quiet." Killian moved closer, his eyes never leaving Corvin’s face. "I heard about the Mistwood. About your teammate—Lucian. Is he recovering well?"

"He’s fine. The healers say he’ll be back to training within the week." Corvin’s gaze was assessing, curious. "I didn’t realize you two were acquainted."

"We’re not. I was just... concerned." Killian paused. "About you. You must have been worried. Carrying him through the forest like that."

Corvin shrugged. "I did what needed to be done."

"Of course you did. You always do." Killian’s voice was soft, almost reverent. "You’re brilliant, Eldritch. Everyone knows it. The potions. The research. The way you’re always three steps ahead of everyone else."

Corvin raised an eyebrow. "Is there a point to this flattery?"

"No point. Just an observation." Killian smiled—a careful, practiced smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "I should let you get back to work. Goodnight, Eldritch."

"Goodnight, Drak."

Killian retreated into the shadows, but he didn’t go far. He found a dark corner of the corridor and stood there, watching through the crack in the door as Corvin returned to his vials.

Soon, he thought. Soon you’ll see me. When Thorne is gone and there’s no one left to distract you, you’ll finally see me.

The candle in the lab flickered. Corvin worked on, unaware of the eyes still fixed on him from the darkness.