Chapter 30 Dorian
THIRTY
DORIAN
Mortals always look the same when fear ripples through a room—wide eyes, stiff shoulders, that instinctive huddle toward safety.
But she doesn’t.
The girl with the faint Veil-mark on her wrist and the three protective shadows orbiting her like sentinels—she goes very still. Stillness born not of fear, but readiness. Her gaze sharpens. Her spine straightens. She looks like she could run or fight or unravel a spell with her bare hands.
Interesting.
Her magic hums beneath her skin like something half-awake. Half-wild. It brushes against my senses—lightning-soft, instinctive—and for the first time in a very long time, I feel it: Curiosity. And something dangerously akin to attraction.
Two things that normally do not touch me.
I mark her immediately.
Not because of the rawness of her power—though it pricks like static along my fingertips—but because of the tethers.
I see them. All three.
Two of them glow near her now—dim threads of connection, faint but undeniably there.
The human-looking one beside her is no mere mortal. His magic is soft gold, scholar-bright, threaded with sigils like a story written in light.
Warlock, I note.
But a warlock with a strange resonance to the Veil. Rare. Valuable. Dangerous.
The other male—is unmistakable.
His aura crackles, a controlled wildfire. A shifter. But not any shifter.
Kitsune magic leaks from him in thin, fraying threads—power cut at the root but still bleeding. An interrupted bond.
I inhale sharply.
Someone severed him from his ancestral magic. Recently. Violently. And he’s still standing.
That earns a flicker of respect.
But the third tether…
My eyes follow it and shift to the dais.
Kael stands beside the headmaster, a pillar of shadow and cold restraint. And connected to her by a thread of magic so dark and ancient I feel it resonate in my bones.
A Reaver prince. Tethered to a human-born girl.
Unusual. Impossible. Delicious.
I smile slowly.
Very, very interesting.
The tethers don’t lie. They whisper truths long before mouths speak them.
A warlock bound by light. A shifter bound by instinct. A shadow prince bound by something older than his bloodline.
And she—she stands at the center of them, unknowing, unclaimed, and powerful enough to make the Veil take notice. Oh, this is better than I expected. I thought I was in for a boring trip. But this is so much more.
I can’t help the soft laugh under my breath.
“Fascinating,” I murmur.
My gaze drifts back to her—and she feels it. She looks up, eyes wide, startled…and then locked on mine.
And just like that—the game begins.
Veyne’s office smells like old books, iron-rich ink, and desperation.
Perfect.
The headmaster gestures the three students inside—Lindsay, the warlock boy, and the wounded shifter. Kael is already here, pressed into a corner, doing his best impression of a shadow pretending to be obedient.
I take the chair opposite Veyne’s desk, lounging comfortably. Every other male in the room stands like they’re ready for battle.
I suppose they are.
The girl speaks first.
“Guess it’s good they couldn’t bind my magic, huh?”
The air stills. My nostrils flare, magic coiling low in my spine like a creature preparing to strike.
The Council attempted to bind her? Her? A girl with Veil resonance dripping from her skin like stardust? A girl with three tethers—one to a Reaver prince, one to a warlock with a rare attunement, one to a severed kitsune heritage?
Idiocy. Spectacular, dangerous idiocy.
I let a slow smile pull at my mouth—sharp at the edges. “Well,” I murmur, “that explains the instability.”
Veyne flinches. He should. Does he even know what he has attending his school?
I wasn’t sure at first…but now, this close to the girl, she’s—special.
I would be willing to bet she can communicate with the monsters of the Veil.
Possibly control them if given enough time to learn the skill.
But she very well may die instead with the poor training they have obviously given her so far.
I shift my focus to the boy standing next to her. The warlock—is earnest, nervous, and too bright for a place like this. And easy.
“Tell me,” I say softly, turning toward him, “what is your name, beam of sunshine?”
His breath catches. “N-Nolan.”
Adorable.
I let my voice warm, just enough. “A warlock with Veil sensitivity is a rarity. A treasure, really.”
He pushes up his glasses so fast they nearly embed in his nose. His cheeks flare pink, his ears not far behind.
Then my gaze drifts—slow, deliberate—to the shifter. His aura crackles like scorched cedar. But beneath it, I smell something else.
Foxfire. Faded. Bleeding out of him from the severed lineage, but healing all the same.
Fascinating.
“Raiden Tsukino, Kitsune clan,” I murmur. He might not be a prince, but if he weren’t cut from the clan he would be leading it soon.
He stiffens. “Not anymore.”
“Mm. So you keep telling yourself.” I tilt my head. “Cut roots still remember the tree. And some even grow new roots.”
Raiden bristles. His reaction is delicious. The girl’s eyes flick to him, worry creasing her brow.
I note that.
I note everything.
And then there’s Kael still trying to blend in with the corner. He hasn’t said a word. But his shadows are restless. Whispering.
A prince of darkness tethered to a Veil-touched mortal girl…Oh, this story will be exquisite.
I meet his gaze—cold on cold, night meeting night—and incline my head.
“Still hiding from your father here, I see,” I say softly.
Kael’s shadows hiss. Lovely.
But it’s the girl who I’m truly interested in. She hasn’t said another word. She hasn’t reacted to my flirting—not overtly.
But every time I direct my attention toward her companions, her shoulders tighten. Her jaw sets. Her pulse jumps.
She feels every shift in the room.
And she watches me as much as I watch her. Perfect.
Veyne finally finds his voice. “You will all be assigned to Night Rounds. Effective tonight.”
The three students go still. Kael bristles, and Nyssa tilts her head, like her father’s announcement was expected.
I rise slowly, brushing imaginary dust from my sleeves.
“One request,” I say.
Veyne tenses. “Yes?”
“I would like to be added to the patrols.”
He blanches. Nyssa’s magic spikes with alarm. Kael’s shadows curl tighter.
“P-Patrols?” Veyne stammers. “That is usually—”
“I wasn’t asking,” I remind him with a pleasant smile. “I’m an envoy, not a decoration.”
Silence.
Then Veyne bows his head. “As you wish, Prince Dorian.”
Of course he does.
I look back at the girl one last time—and catch her watching me with that same intensity, trying to figure out if I’m here to help or destroy everything she loves.
I give her the faintest smile. Let her wonder.
Because I haven’t decided yet.
The moment Veyne dismisses us, I slip out the door ahead of the others—not to leave, but to breathe. The corridor is dim, lantern-light flickering against old stone. The air feels thick with tension and old magic.
Nyssa follows a breath later, closing the door behind her with the soft click of someone trained to move like a whisper.
“Dorian,” she says, voice low.
I turn slightly, offering her a half-smile. “You disapprove.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” Her arms fold across her chest in a very un-royal, very irritated gesture. “Patrolling the Veil perimeter isn’t safe right now. You shouldn’t be out there, even with another person.”
I arch a brow at her. “Alone? My dear, I’ll be with three chaos magnets and a shadow prince. Hardly alone.”
She doesn’t laugh.
I soften my tone—slightly. “Nyssa. If it isn’t safe for me…” I gesture back toward the office, where students argue softly through the door. “Then it certainly isn’t safe for any of them.”
Her jaw tightens. “The creatures stirring now aren’t like the lesser shades. They’re older. More cunning.” A beat. “You weren’t trained to face things like this.”
Better.
“Trained?” I echo lightly. “Nyssa, I was forged for this.”
Her magic trembles—not visible to mortal eyes, but clear to mine. “You know what the old creatures can do. How they hunt. How they choose targets.”
“Yes,” I say simply.
“And you still volunteered for patrol?” she presses, voice thin with frustration. “Despite knowing what’s waking?”
“Especially because of that.”
She steps closer, lowering her voice. “Dorian, these aren’t the drifting shades or errant remnants. These are the ones that attack through resonance. The ones that follow tethers. They go for the strongest magical signatures first.”
I smile—slow, amused. “Then the students couldn’t ask for a better lure.”
Her expression crumples into irritated concern. “You’re reckless.”
“And you’re worried,” I counter softly, touching her arm.
A flicker of memory crosses her face—shared training sessions, sparring halls, Silver Court hunts—but before she can answer, the office door opens.
Raiden, Nolan, and the veil-marked girl step out.
Nyssa stiffens when she sees them. I release her arm—gentle, practiced—and incline my head in a way that tells her later. Not now.
She reads it instantly.
I step toward the trio, falling into stride beside the girl before either Raiden or Nolan can maneuver to block me.
Raiden notices first. He subtly shifts his body attempting to come between us, which would be adorable if it weren’t so transparent. Nolan flushes and pushes up his glasses for the third time in less than five minutes. Poor boy. He’s going to break the bridge of his nose by the end of the day.
And she—she glances up at me with wide eyes, sharp and suspicious, magic humming under her skin like a violin string plucked too hard.
We walk several steps in silence before I turn my head toward her, letting my voice drop into something smooth and quiet. “You never told me your name.”
The girl blinks, caught off guard.
“You…” she says slowly, “never asked.”
I smile—soft and deliberate, a single spark meant to test the air between us.
“I am asking now.”
Raiden’s jaw flexes. Nolan makes a tiny squeaking sound. And she inhales, a small, startled breath she probably didn’t mean for me to hear.
Oh, delightful.
I wait—because I want to hear her say it. I want to hear the name tied to the threads I can see wrapped around her.
Because names are not power.
But they reveal much.
And hers is going to be important, I can feel it in my bones.
I wait.
A heartbeat. Two.
She swallows, eyes flicking between Raiden’s glare and Nolan’s wide-eyed panic, before returning to me.
“It’s Lindsay,” she says quietly.
Her voice is steadier than she feels. Brave little spark.
Nolan glances at Raiden. Raiden glances back. A silent exchange. A mixture of protective, uncertain, and resigned. But neither of them speak.
I let her name settle on my tongue.
“Lindsay,” I repeat, tasting the shape of it, the cadence.
Names carry impressions—echoes. And hers stirs something old in the back of my mind. I tilt my head, studying her more closely.
“That’s a curious name,” I murmur.
She narrows her eyes. “It’s… common. Pretty normal, actually.”
“Mm,” I hum, smiling. “The sound of it is. But the resonance is not.”
Raiden tenses. Nolan goes very still. Time to prod—just a little.
“You know,” I continue softly, “there is an old fae tale… almost forgotten now.” I let my gaze drift thoughtfully up and down her form, not in hunger, but in analysis. “Of a mortal-born girl who carried Veil resonance in her blood long before anyone understood how such a thing was possible.”
Her breath catches. So does Raiden’s. Nolan swallows hard, pushing up his glasses even though they haven’t slipped.
I smile, just enough to press at their nerves.
“She was said to walk between worlds,” I murmur, “able to sense fractures before they formed…and to steady them with nothing but her presence.”
Lindsay’s brows draw together. “That sounds like a myth.”
“Oh, it is.” I let the pause stretch. “Most myths are simply truths worn thin with time.”
Nolan blinks like I’ve hit him with a textbook. Raiden steps closer to her, hand flexing, eyes locked on me as if I’m a threat he can’t quantify.
Lindsay takes a step back—not out of fear, but out of instinct. Self-preservation made sharp by confusion. I incline my head slightly, lips curving.
“Your name reminds me of hers. That’s all,” I say lightly.
But that's not all.
Her Veil-mark hums. Her magic stirs at my words. Her presence warps the air like gravity bending around a star.
Something in her resonates with the story. Something old. Something dangerous. And she doesn’t even know it.
Not yet.
Raiden finally speaks, voice low. “Enough.”
I smile. “As you wish.”
Lindsay watches me with wide eyes—uncertain, unsettled, and deliciously unaware of her own significance.
“I’ll see you tonight, little mouse.”