Chapter 8
Marigold
THE NEXT MORNING’S EVACUATION DRILL went smoothly. Too smoothly. They moved like it was practice. Like Raven hadn’t been taken in front of us.
I stood at the edge of the courtyard, feeling the dead stir faintly beneath the frost-laced ground—calm but wary.
Scout leaned forward like he was sniffing at the air, the wisps of shadow around his snout pulling forward like smoke drawn to scent.
Students moved through protocols with mechanical precision, following orders without engagement. No one questioned. No one challenged. They… complied.
It should have felt like success.
Instead, it felt like they were humoring me. Going through motions because refusing an heir’s orders wasn’t worth the consequences.
Eastern dormitory cleared in ninety seconds, Keane reported through his portal. His voice through the portal was steady—clean lines and quiet reassurance. I’d learned to measure my own steadiness against it.
Western in two minutes, he continued. Well within acceptable parameters.
Good. I made notes. I stood in the courtyard, observing and trying to focus on logistics instead of the hollow feeling in my chest
A commotion near the academic wing entrance pulled my attention toward the raised voices and the clatter of footsteps. Scout chittered anxiously on my shoulder.
My grip tightened on my notes. The smell of magic in the air had me moving before I consciously made the decision.
Two students—both upperclassmen—were shoving each other. Magic crackled between them, seconds from escalating into an actual fight.
Enough, I said, stepping between them.
They both turned on me, their anger redirecting.
This doesn’t concern you, one snarled. Fire magic sparked at his fingertips.
If Cyrus were here, this would be over. One look from the first heir, one surge of controlled flame, and the threat would evaporate.
But Cyrus wasn’t here.
I was.
It concerns me, I said, keeping my voice level, when students fight on campus during security protocols. Stand down.
Or what? The other student stepped closer, his magic crackling. You’ll run to the interim council? Tell them we’re not following the rules the heirs decided to make?
The crowd was watching, waiting to see if I’d fold.
I felt my necromancy stir, the dead things in the ground responding to my tension. Not a threat. Just… presence. Keane had suggested the same technique last week when I’d asked how to enforce authority without Cyrus’s fire or Elio’s illusions.
It reminded me that death magic ran through this campus, and I could feel every piece of it.
Or, I said quietly, I’ll enforce the movement restrictions with magical containment instead of cooperation. Your choice.
The student’s eyes widened slightly. He’d felt it too—the shift in ambient magic. The way the air had gotten colder.
Neither aggression nor a display of power. Just… true.
Using death magic to intimidate still felt wrong, but it worked.
Fine. He stepped back, his magic dampening. Whatever.
They both left, the crowd dispersing with murmurs. No fight. No drama. Just de-escalation that took three times longer than it should have because I had to negotiate authority I technically had but hadn’t earned the respect to wield easily.
Keane appeared beside me, Wisp at his heels. His shoulder brushed mine, grounding me.
I should probably file a report about the magical threat, I said quietly. Brandishing fire at an heir during an argument.
Keane’s hand skimmed my lower back, a silent signal to step away. I didn’t want to move, but I let him steer me clear.
Already documented, Keane said. Captain Morrison will follow up. There are consequences for threatening heirs, even during confrontations.
That should have felt like vindication. Instead, it just felt like another reminder that my authority came from bloodline and interim council backing, not from anything I’d proven to the students watching.
That would have been faster if Cyrus were here, I said. He would’ve had the entire courtyard frozen in respect—and maybe a little fear—before the first spell sparked.
Yes, Keane agreed. No point denying it. But you handled it. That’s what matters.
Maybe. But handling it and handling it well were different things.
And the gap between them felt wider every day.
THAT NIGHT, MY PHONE RANG.
I was curled up in the velvet armchair by my suite’s fireplace in flannel pajamas I hadn’t let myself buy last semester.
They were soft and warm but still from the sale rack.
I still wasn’t sure what to do with the inheritance from my father, other than buy necessary school books and equipment.
I’d sent some to Mom, but spending money on myself still felt wasteful.
Scout dozed across the back of the chair, his bones warm against my neck. The fire crackled low in the black stone hearth, casting slow shadows across the floor.
Mom’s number. I hesitated for a beat and then answered.
Hey, baby. Her voice was strained with forced cheer. How’s school?
I almost laughed. School. Right. I set my book down on the coffee table and leaned back again.
Busy, I said, keeping my voice light. Lots of… studying.
You sound tired.
Yeah. I traced Scout’s skull with one finger, needing the comfort. The familiar texture of polished bone beneath my fingers helped ground me. Just a lot going on.
The lie tasted familiar. Like Christmas all over again—hiding danger behind casual words and protecting her from truths that would terrify her.
You’d tell me if something was wrong, Mom said.
Of course, I lied.
I sat up, reaching for the trinket box on the side table. The carved lid creaked softly as I opened it, my fingers brushing over a pebble, a pressed leaf, a bent copper ring. They were all small, ordinary things, but they helped, something to touch while I lied through my teeth.
We talked about safe, normal things. Her cleaning business. Her accounting classes. The weather in Albany.
I didn’t tell her about the master. About corruption. About standing in front of hostile students and pretending I had any idea what I was doing. About Raven being taken or Lucas bleeding or anything else.
Some truths were too heavy to share.
AFTER WE HUNG UP, I found Keane in the royal common room, camped out on the thick rug in front of the fireplace with papers spread in a wide arc around him.
He’d pushed aside Cyrus’s leather chair to make room and had claimed the space.
Wisp dozed nearby, her spectral form curled at the edge of the warmth.
You need sleep, I said. His black hair was rumpled, a pen tucked behind one ear, and ink smudged the edge of one hand.
He nodded but didn’t look up.
The fire popped, sending sparks up the chimney. The room smelled like aged leather and wood smoke. I breathed it in, letting it settle the restless energy that had been chasing me all day.
I dropped into a chair beside him as Scout hopped down to investigate Wisp. Comfortable silence stretched between us, the kind that came from working together day after day and learning each other’s rhythms.
Keane’s gaze tracked over me—not just looking but cataloging the tight set of my shoulders and the way I’d been worrying my bottom lip. He set down his pen with deliberate care, giving me his full attention in that way that made everything else fall away.
What if I’m not enough? The question slipped out before I could stop it.
Keane looked up. Enough for what?
This. Leadership. Keeping everyone safe. I gestured vaguely at the maps and the ward diagrams. My chest tightened, that familiar pressure that made breathing feel like work building behind my ribs. Scout clicked softly from somewhere near my feet, his bones meting out a small, anxious percussion.
I’m holding the line, I continued, but I’m barely holding it.
But you are, Keane said, pulling me down into his lap.
Leaning into him, I exhaled slowly. Some of the pressure behind my ribs eased. His arm came around my shoulders like it belonged there. I didn’t have to explain myself. Not to him. The warmth of the fire, the steady rhythm of his breathing—it was enough to make the world feel a little less sharp.
His thumb traced slow circles against my shoulder blade, finding the knot of tension there. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been bracing until his touch undid it. The firelight painted gold across his collarbone, across the hollow of his throat where his pulse beat steady and sure.
He turned my chin to face him. You don’t have to hold everything alone, he said, his forehead pressing to mine. Not with me.
My chest loosened, like he’d reached under all the titles and security protocols and found the part of me that was still just… Marigold.
One of his hands slid from my shoulder to my waist, firm and sure. His other traced slow lazy circles across my thigh.
I looked at him, my heart thudding in my chest. Keane…
He kissed me.
It was full of heat and hunger. The world narrowed to points of contact—his mouth on mine, his hand splayed warmly across my lower back, the solid weight of him beneath me. Everything else fell away. This was just us. Just now.
My hands curled into his shirt, anchoring me against him. He kissed me again, deeper.
Unbuttoning my pajama top, he kissed each bit of skin as it was revealed—across my collarbone, down between my breasts. His hands trembled slightly as he worked the last button free.
Mari, he said softly, gazing at me. You’re so beautiful.
My careful, measured Keane—always so precise—undone by want. By me. The realization sent heat pooling low in my belly.
He cupped my breasts, kissing and nibbling at each nipple in turn.
I leaned back, closing my eyes and losing myself the sensation. After working and worrying all day, I need this. I needed to let myself go.
He pushed aside the papers, and laid me back on the rug.
The fibers were soft beneath my bare skin, the fire’s heat licking across my skin.
I watched him through half-lidded eyes as he stripped first me and then himself.
The firelight caught on lean muscle and ink-stained fingers that knew every inch of me.
Keane, I whispered. I need you.
He growled low in his throat. Once his clothes disappeared, he was next to me, sliding his fingers between my legs. Warmth pooled inside me as he flicked them over my clit.
Look at me, he murmured against my neck, his breath hot on my skin. I opened my eyes and met his gaze—deep blue and completely focused on me. On us. His temple showed the faint tension line that appeared when he was concentrating, when he was determined to map every response, every gasp.
I moaned, wriggling beneath him and wanting more. I reached for his cock, running my hand along its length and tracing its familiar shape.
Turning me on my side, he lifted my leg, and slowly slid into my wetness. His fingers kept time on my clit while he picked up the rhythm.
Mari, he whispered against my neck. I love you.
I love you too.
We found our rhythm the way we always did—not perfectly synchronized.
Where I pushed, he pulled. Where I hesitated, he steadied.
His fingers read my body like one of his ancient texts, knowing exactly where to press, when to circle, how to build the pressure until I couldn’t think, couldn’t worry, could only feel.
The pressure that had been building shattered as I cried out, pressing back against him as pleasure rolled through me in waves. Keane’s rhythm stuttered, his grip tightening on my hip as he followed me over the edge. For a perfect, suspended moment, there was just the two of us, complete.
We lay wrapped together on the rug afterward, my back to his chest, his arm heavy and warm across my waist. The fire had burned down to glowing embers. Scout had curled up with Wisp near the hearth—even our familiars seeking comfort.
Your heart’s still racing, Keane murmured against my shoulder, his lips brushing skin.
So is yours. I could feel it against my back—that steady, reassuring thud.
He pressed a kiss to the curve of my neck and then another at my shoulder. We’re going to be okay, he said quietly. It wasn’t a question. It was a choice.
I threaded my fingers through his and held on. Yeah. We are.
The logs shifted in the fireplace, sending up a small shower of sparks. Outside, snow whispered against the windows. But here, in this moment, wrapped in Keane’s warmth with the embers dying down and our breathing finally slowing, I could believe it.
Not because I’d earned it. Because he wanted me.