20. Morning Glimmer And Burning Lust
20
MORNING GLIMMER AND BURNING LUST
~GWENIVERE~
C onsciousness returns slowly, like honey dripping from a spoon.
The scents surrounding me are intoxicating — a perfect blend of forest after rain and wildflowers in full bloom. The combination is so soothing that fighting through the thick layers of sleep feels almost impossible.
I can't remember the last time I slept this deeply, this peacefully. Usually, my nights are haunted by dreams of Elena's deteriorating condition or memories of our parents that blur the line between comfort and torment.
But this sleep had been different — pure and uninterrupted as if wrapped in a cocoon of tranquility.
When I finally manage to open my eyes, gratitude floods through me at the discovery that I'm not naked.
Instead, I'm wearing what appears to be a dress shirt, the sleeves falling past my hands and the hem just barely covering my ass. The material is impossibly soft, probably worth more than everything I own combined.
A fleeting thought about the provocative nature of my attire crosses my mind, but I dismiss it quickly. These men don't see me that way — well, perhaps Cassius does, but he keeps his emotions locked away so tightly it's hard to be certain of anything with him.
My gaze wanders around the room, taking in details that paint a picture of carefully balanced luxury and comfort.
Unlike Damien's chambers, which screamed wealth and superiority from every surface, this space feels...lived in.
Welcoming, even.
Gold accents catch the morning light — picture frames, drawer handles, the edging on an antique mirror — but their obvious expense is softened by the abundance of plants.
Ferns cascade from hanging baskets, while potted orchids add spots of vibrant color to various surfaces. The overall effect is both opulent and organic, as if nature herself had decided to decorate a palace suite.
As I make my way toward what I assume is the bathroom, my attention is caught by the collection of photographs adorning one wall. I pause, drawn in by moments captured without pretense or posing.
These have to be Nikolai's quarters — his presence is the common thread running through each image. Some show him alone, standing before famous landmarks with that slight smile that seems to say he knows secrets about the place that others could never guess.
But it's the group photos that truly capture my attention.
There's one of him and Cassius that makes me pause, studying the rare sight of both of them genuinely smiling.
They're holding beers, their postures relaxed in a way I haven't witnessed yet. The comfortable camaraderie between them is obvious, even in this frozen moment.
Another shows Nikolai and Mortimer in what must be some vast library, caught mid-discussion.
Their expressions are animated, hands gesturing to emphasize whatever point they're debating. It's probably the most natural photo possible of their dynamic — two scholars lost in the pursuit of knowledge.
But it's the last picture that truly draws me in.
Cassius, Nikolai, and Mortimer stand in what appears to be an exclusive club, their attire speaking of wealth and refinement. The setting oozes luxury — crystal chandeliers casting golden light over rich wooden paneling and artwork that probably costs more than small countries.
Between Nikolai and Cassius stands a fourth figure, someone whose features trigger a sense of familiarity I can't quite place.
He's handsome in a scholarly way, wire-rimmed glasses framing intelligent eyes, his smile both genuine and slightly mysterious.
There's something about the way he fits into their group that catches my attention.
His hand rests casually on Nikolai's waist while the other grips Cassius's shoulder, but the placement doesn't feel random. The casual intimacy suggests a deeper connection, something beyond mere friendship.
But what truly captures my attention is the backdrop.
The ornate wallpaper, the specific pattern of the wood paneling, the unique design of the chandeliers — I've seen this place before. Not in person, but in books and newspapers, usually accompanying stories about the elite of supernatural society.
The setting alone speaks volumes about the connections these men possess. This isn't just any high-end club — it's one of the most exclusive establishments in existence, known for catering to only the highest echelons of paranormal society.
The fact that they were not only admitted but comfortable enough to take photos suggests levels of influence I hadn't fully appreciated.
My fingers reach out to trace the edge of the frame, noting the quality of the paper, and the professional nature of the printing. This wasn't some casual snapshot — it was a deliberate documentation of a moment that held significance for all involved.
The lighting in the photo is perfect, highlighting the easy companionship between them all. Even Mortimer, usually so formal and reserved, shows a hint of genuine warmth in his expression. They look like they belong there, in that rarefied atmosphere of power and privilege.
The contrast between the men in the photo and the ones I've come to know makes my head spin slightly. These aren't just students at Wicked Academy — they're players on a much larger stage, with connections and influences I'm only beginning to comprehend.
And somehow, I've managed to entangle myself with them all.
The thought should probably terrify me more than it does. After all, I came here with a simple goal: find the chalice, save Elena, and get out.
Instead, I've found myself bound to not one but two of them, wrapped up in politics and powers I barely understand.
And whoopie, now I get to attend the academy as a boy.
How grand.
The morning light streaming through nearby windows catches on the glass covering the photo, creating a prism effect that draws my attention to other details I might have missed at first glance.
Like a very familiar vampire in the background that I’m now just noticing.
A shift in the morning light reveals what I'd initially missed — Damien's presence lurking in the shadows of the photograph.
The revelation is so sudden it makes me wonder if it's the natural play of sunlight that finally exposed him, or if some magic had deliberately hidden him until now, choosing this moment to reveal another layer of truth.
He's dressed as elegantly as the others, his dark red suit and black tie speaking of the same refined taste. But it's his expression that catches and holds my attention.
The way he watches the group from his position in the shadows carries weight — something heavy with meaning that I hadn't noticed in our previous interactions.
Jealousy.
The realization clicks into place like a key finding its lock. The way he's looking at them...it's not the gaze of someone merely excluded from a moment. It's the look of someone watching something they desperately want but can't have.
Given Damien's personality and the hints I've picked up, it wouldn't surprise me if his preferences lean toward men. And among the three companions, Nikolai and Cassius would be the obvious draws. Though Nikolai seems his complete opposite in many ways, that very contrast could be part of the attraction.
My thoughts drift to Nikolai's features — the perfect balance of masculine strength and Fae beauty, the way he carries centuries of power with such casual grace. Even without my personal entanglement, I can understand the appeal.
Personal entanglement.
The thought triggers something — a memory trying to surface through the fog of recent sleep. There was a moment, wasn't there? When I wasn't quite unconscious but not fully awake either. Voices discussing... something important.
I frown, trying to grasp the fragments floating just out of reach. Words echo in my mind, disconnected from their context:
"No one will accept her as your Queen."
"Then let me die alone, as I was always destined to be."
The phrases ring with significance, but the full meaning stays frustratingly elusive. Like trying to recall a dream that dissolves faster the harder you chase it.
Sighing heavily, I pinch the bridge of my nose. A headache threatens to form, punishment for trying to force memories that aren't ready to surface.
Better to focus on immediate needs.
The bathroom beckons — the promise of basic hygiene and a moment to collect my scattered thoughts. But as I turn away from the photo, I can't shake the image of Damien in those shadows, watching his friends with such carefully hidden longing.
It adds another layer of complexity to an already complicated situation. Another thread in this tapestry of relationships I've somehow woven myself into. The political implications of my bonds with Nikolai and Cassius were daunting enough without adding emotional entanglements to the mix.
The morning light continues to stream through the windows, catching on the gold accents around the room. It creates an almost ethereal atmosphere as if I'm standing in some space between reality and dream. Fitting, perhaps, given how surreal my life has become since entering Wicked Academy.
My reflection in a nearby mirror catches my attention. The oversized shirt, my slightly disheveled hair, and the lingering softness of deep sleep still evident in my features — I look nothing like the determined infiltrator who first scaled these walls.
I'm not sure who I am anymore.
A sister on a desperate mission? Female Student in disguise in an all-male school? Mate to beings of incredible power that I barely know anything about? The roles blur together, each one carrying its own weight of responsibility and consequence.
Fragments of that half-remembered conversation continue to drift through my mind as I make my way to the bathroom. Something about queens and acceptance, about choosing solitude. The words feel important, but their true significance remains just beyond my grasp.
Another sigh escapes me as I reach for what I hope is a spare toothbrush. The mundane task of morning hygiene beckons, offering a moment of normalcy in what has become an increasingly extraordinary existence.
The crystal fixtures in the bathroom catch the morning light, throwing rainbow prisms across the marble surfaces. Even here, Nikolai's taste for balanced luxury is evident — everything elegant but not ostentatious, expensive but not gaudy.
It's a far cry from the utilitarian bathroom in my apartment back home. I should have been grateful to have something and not on the streets, but it carried its share of predicaments and burdens.
The thought of my sister sends a familiar pang through my chest, reminding me of my original purpose.
So much has changed in so little time.
I came here seeking a magical chalice, and instead, I've found...what exactly?
Power? Connection? Complications I never could have anticipated?
The mark on my neck pulses faintly as if responding to my thoughts.
Another mystery in a growing collection of them, but when a second pulse — this one radiating warmth through my chest like sunlight breaking through clouds — makes itself known, I freeze mid-brush.
My reflection stares back at me, toothpaste foam forgotten as my attention darts between the two marks.
The first one, Cassius's bond mark, I know well enough by now. Its presence on my neck has become almost comforting, a constant reminder of that intense connection forged in blood and shadow. The way it pulses with cool energy has become familiar, like the touch of frost on a winter morning.
But as my gaze drifts lower, drawn by that second pulse of warmth, I notice one of the shirt's buttons has come undone.
The gap reveals something that definitely wasn't there before — a mark glowing with pure golden light just above my cleavage, its radiance impossible to ignore.
An infinity symbol, perfectly rendered as if drawn by master artists, pulses with gentle warmth. The lines flow with impossible grace, each curve speaking of eternity and possibility. On either side, flowers bloom in stark contrast — one crafted in pure darkness, its petals seeming to absorb light itself, the other in blinding radiance, as if a star had been captured and transformed into botanical form.
The magic emanating from it feels different from Cassius's mark, yet somehow complementary. Where he carries notes of shadow and frost, this one radiates warmth and vitality.
The combination should feel discordant, but instead, they harmonize like instruments in a perfectly tuned orchestra.
The toothbrush slips from my suddenly nerveless fingers, toothpaste dripping into the pristine sink. The soft plop of bristles hitting porcelain barely registers through my shock.
"No fucking way," I whisper, my eyes wide as realization dawns. My fingers drift to the mark, and the moment they make contact, warmth floods through me — like stepping into the sunlight after too long in shadow.
Two marks. Two bonds. Two princes.
The implications send my head spinning, but before I can fully process them, my body is moving.
I follow the enticing scent of pancakes and bacon, bare feet sliding across polished floors until I skid into what must be the kitchen.
The domestic scene that greets me feels surreal in its normalcy, like stepping into a painting of impossible things.
Mortimer occupies one end of a heavy wooden table that could easily seat twelve. His tall frame is bent over what appears to be a newspaper, but the way the pages shimmer faintly at the edges suggests glamoured content.
Knowing him, he's probably studying some ancient text about forbidden magic while pretending to read the morning news.
His usual formal attire has been replaced by something closer to casual — though for him, that still means perfectly pressed slacks and a sweater that probably costs more than my entire wardrobe. His pale eyes scan whatever he's reading with intense focus, while one hand absently stirs a cup of what smells like Earl Grey tea.
Cassius hunches over a plate of scrambled eggs at the opposite end of the table, prodding them with his fork as if they've personally offended his entire bloodline.
His shadows writhe sluggishly around his shoulders, suggesting he's not fully awake yet — which might explain why his usual perfect posture has given way to something almost resembling a sulk.
He's dressed down as well, wearing black sweatpants and a tank top that shows off the intricate runic tattoos covering his arms. The marks shift and move across his skin like living things, responding to his mood even if his expression remains carefully neutral.
And Nikolai — he stands at a gleaming counter, pausing in the act of pouring coffee into a mug that steams with promising warmth.
His golden hair cascades past his shoulders now, catching the morning light in ways that make it look alive. The sight of him sends another pulse of warmth through the mark on my chest, leaving absolutely no doubt about its origin.
He's wearing loose linen pants and nothing else, his bare chest decorated with runes that pulse with the same golden light as my new mark. The casual display of skin and power should probably embarrass me, but after everything that's happened, it feels almost natural.
His mark. His claim.
His Queen?
The fragments of that half-remembered conversation suddenly feel much more significant, pieces of a puzzle I'm only beginning to understand.
The three of them create a tableau that shouldn't work — a death magic scholar pretending to read the morning paper, a Duskwalker prince fighting with breakfast, and a Fae royal casually making coffee while half-naked.
Yet somehow it feels right as if I'm glimpsing something precious and rare: a moment of true comfort between beings who usually maintain careful distances.
And now I'm part of it.
Bound to two of them in ways I never could have anticipated when I first scaled these walls.
Nikolai's gaze trails down my body with deliberate slowness, his desire unconcealed and overwhelming.
When our eyes finally meet, the intensity nearly buckles my knees. Every fiber of my being screams to cross the kitchen, to press against that golden skin and forget everything else exists.
The tension crackles between us like lightning waiting to strike.
Mortimer clears his throat, lowering his "newspaper" slightly.
"Should we leave?" he asks Cassius dryly. "It feels as though we're disturbing something rather...intimate."
"I don't mind," Cassius mutters, still poking at his eggs. "I hate these eggs anyway."
Nikolai's attention snaps away from me, his eyes narrowing at Cassius.
"You're not leaving this table until you eat those eggs," he states firmly, every inch the commanding Fae prince despite his casual state of undress.
Cassius's pout would be comical if it weren't so genuine.
"No," he grumbles, shadows writhing with increased agitation.
"Why do you even hate eggs?" Mortimer asks, genuine curiosity coloring his tone.
Before anyone can answer, Grim materializes — but not in his usual imposing form. Instead, a miniature version appears, complete with a tiny scythe that he points at the offending scrambled eggs with dramatic flair.
Purple flames erupt from the plate, casting an eerie glow across the kitchen.
Holy fuck!
We all stare in shocked silence for a moment before I break first, a squeal of delight escaping me as I rush forward to scoop up the diminutive death being.
"You're like a little doll!" I exclaim, cradling him close. Mini-Grim maintains his emotionless expression, though the slight pout makes him even more adorable. He seems content to be held, even as his magical flames continue to consume Cassius's breakfast.
"Put out the fire!" Nikolai groans at Cassius.
"I can't," he responds, frustration evident. "It won't go out."
Mortimer's frown deepens as he watches the purple flames spread.
"We have approximately one minute before this gets out of control," he notes with academic detachment.
Cursing erupts as they scramble to locate a fire extinguisher, their usual grace abandoned in favor of panicked efficiency. The fire alarm's shrill warning finally pulls me from my appreciation of Mini-Grim's cuteness.
The scene before me is chaos incarnate — three powerful beings frantically spraying foam at magical flames that seem utterly unimpressed by their efforts.
"Would you like me to put it out?" I ask, trying not to laugh at their disheveled state.
They freeze mid-action, turning to stare at me with varying degrees of desperation.
"YES!"
I snap my fingers, Mini-Grim settling onto my shoulder to watch the show. Water materializes above them, then descends in a torrential downpour that leaves all three thoroughly soaked.
"Oops," I say, fighting back a smile. "Water is the element I have the least control over. My bad."
Cassius spits out a mouthful of water while Nikolai sighs heavily, his golden hair plastered to his chest.
"That was entirely deliberate," Mortimer accuses, looking like a drowned cat in his expensive sweater.
I shrug, not bothering to hide my amusement.
"Maybe."
The cleanup process begins, all of us working to restore order to the kitchen.
When I approach Nikolai with a towel, I'm struck again by his physical presence. This close, I can appreciate the intricate tattoos decorating his chest — designs I wouldn't have expected on a Fae, each one pulsing with barely contained power.
Our eyes meet again, but his gaze drops to the mark glowing above my cleavage. His teeth catch his lower lip, an unexpectedly human gesture from such an otherworldly being.
"Would you prefer answers now or later?" he asks softly.
I bite my own lip, overwhelmed by the tension crackling between us. A quick glance around reveals we're suddenly alone — Mortimer, Cassius, and even Mini-Grim have vanished, leaving us in charged solitude.
"Wouldn't it be..." I hesitate, voice dropping to a whisper, "slutty of me to just want to kiss you? A Fae…gleaming in perfection and completely opposite from a hybrid like me?"
He huffs out a laugh, fingers capturing my chin and drawing me closer until our eyes lock.
"If you’re slutty, I'll be Wicked Academy's ultimate player," he murmurs, "if it means I get to kiss the hell out of you right now."
The intensity in his gaze makes my breath catch. The mark on my chest pulses with increased warmth, responding to his proximity like a flower turning toward the sun.
“Can I?” it’s such a simple request, and yet it means a lot more than I realize because he doesn’t need to ask permission. This man could be a god in these realms and get whatever he wishes with a simple demand, but he asks me.
Gives me the chance to say yes…or no.
"Y-Yes,” I say almost breathlessly, unable to fight this pull any longer.
I want him…need him…and I guess who gives a fuck if we’re just two strangers.
Destiny must want us to come together now.
And I’m not one to fight what Fate has for me…especially bliss.