Chapter 17 Dorian
SEVENTEEN
DORIAN
I am not spying.
Fae do not spy. Especially not Fae Princes.
We observe. There’s a difference.
The east cloister has excellent acoustics at night. And better shadows. I lean against one of the outer pillars, half-hidden by ivy and moonlight, an apple balanced in my palm because appearances matter. If someone catches me watching, I want it to look casual.
Lindsay is not casual. She’s incandescent, and I can’t seem to draw my eyes from her.
The darkness in her rises like a tide, and even from here, I feel it—raw, ancient, deliciously unstable. Not chaotic. No. Chaos is sloppy.
This is intentional. Predatory. When it lashes out, the girl from the library is an unfortunate collateral, but the moment the shadows wrap around her ankle, I know that whatever came back with Lindsay is no longer satisfied watching.
This is hunger.
I straighten to prepare to step into the moonlight and help the poor girl, but then Auron arrives. He comes in from the opposite side of where I am hidden. His normal aura is missing as he simply steps into the storm Lindsay is creating as though it’s been waiting for him to arrive.
Interesting.
I lean back against the pillar and take a bite of the apple. He’s facing her darkness as though he can control it. Stupid Warlock. Bloodborn or not, he is no match for Veil current. When the darkness lunges for him, I brace—ready to move if it devours him too quickly.
Even knowing I’ll need to stop it before it’s too late. Lindsay unaliving people isn’t on the to do list. It would probably do something terrible to the prophecy. Her entering the Veil already has added an interesting layer.
The darkness sinks into him, and I straighten from the pillar, the bite of apple swallowed hastily as I blink to clear my vision. That is not interesting, that is rare. I haven’t witnessed Veil magic being basically absorbed by someone before. It comes with a darkness that is hard to contain.
It normally consumes who it wants, and the intent was definitely there.
But then a faint thread of magic appears between the two of them, flaring bright.
I see it then, not with mortal sight but with the sense that hums beneath my ribs, where old bargains live.
Red, tight as a drawn wire, humming with inevitability.
Five threads. One heart. And I just found the fifth. I smile slowly. Well, that complicates things.
The shadows quiet, acting like they’ve been tamed or subdued for now. His confession unfolds in fragments carried to me by the night air. I catch enough.
Prophecy. His family’s involvement. Oh, he’s worse than I thought. He isn’t simply an obedient lap dog for his family, he’s invested in the veil in ways that could be dangerous.
When Auron finally steps away from her, I move.
Not quickly of course, things done in haste rarely end well for anyone but demons.
I let him see me before I speak. I can tell he notices me three steps before he reaches the archway I’m nearest. Of course he does, he’s powerful in his own right, more so if he can absorb the darkness of the Veil.
“Enjoying the show?” he asks without looking at me. His voice is steady. No deference. No irritation.
He does not care that I am a Prince. To be honest, I rarely do either.
“Immensely,” I reply, pushing off the pillar. “I do love a near-murder in the moonlight. Very theatrical. Though I admit the absorbing of the shadows was an unexpected plot twist.”
He stops and slowly turns. Moonlight sharpens the angles of his face. He’s still handsome in that icy way of his, but there’s a faint darkness under his skin—Veil residue, not fully absorbed. So he did take it into himself.
“How long were you there?” he asks.
I take another bite of my apple and chew deliberately.
“Long enough.”
His eyes narrow slightly.
I tilt my head, unbothered. “That was reckless.”
“So was she.”
“True.” I smile wider. “But she’s new to the power…you obviously are not.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. Ah. There it is, the nerve I was searching for.
“You absorbed a dangerous amount,” I continue lightly. “It would have killed others. It wasn’t simply her magic unchecked, it was Veil-current magic. Old. Hungry. But I assume you know that.”
“I can handle it.”
“Can you?”
He does not answer. He studies me instead—the way predators assess each other. I know the look, because I wear it, too.
“You can see it,” he says finally.
I know what he’s referring to. The bond between them.
“Of course I can,” I reply, tossing the half-eaten apple into the bushes for the campus rabbits. “I sense threads. I see fractures. And I recognize when a prophecy decides to weave itself into something inconvenient.”
I let my gaze drop down his tall frame so he knows exactly what I mean. His own gaze sharpens.
“The tether,” he says, the name for it falling between us.
“Yes.”
We stand in silence for a moment, both of us acknowledging what just shifted.
“It’s new,” I murmur. “But it isn’t weak.”
“It was always there,” he corrects.
Oh. Now that is something. How did I miss it?
“Always?” I echo.
His expression shutters slightly. “Since before I shoved her into the Veil.”
I laugh softly. Anger flickers in me—brief but bright. I did suspect the Veil hadn’t just fractured and pulled her in. “You’re either very brave…or very stupid.”
His eyes flash, and he doesn’t back down. “Which do you prefer?”
“Depends.” I step closer, lowering my voice so he has to strain to hear what I say next. “Are you trying to save her…or control her?”
His gaze goes glacial. “I would never try to control her.”
There’s no hesitation with his words. Not even a flicker of it. Zero calculation. And that’s the problem. He believes that. Fascinating.
“Then what are you doing?” I press. “Absolving yourself of guilt? Positioning yourself for something more? Playing the regretful villain until she softens?”
His jaw tightens. “I am preventing the Veil from taking more than it already has. It is my fault it is attached to her now.”
Ah. That wasn’t rehearsed. It came from somewhere deeper. I do love a curiosity.
“Careful,” I murmur. “That sounds almost…protective.”
His silence is answer enough. He doesn’t mean to harm her, more at least. The thread hums again, faintly. I circle him slowly, studying the way the Veil residue moves under his skin.
“You felt it, when she almost bound you?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
He turns and looks at me fully now. “And I would have let her.”
The night stills, and even the ivy seems to listen to our conversation.
“You would have?” I repeat.
“Yes.”
I stare at him for a long moment. He isn’t lying, that much is clear. There is no performance in his words. And that unsettles me far more than any scheme would.
“You’re a dangerous unknown,” I decide.
“So are you.”
I grin. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
He does not smile. “If you’re planning to interfere,” he says calmly, “don’t.”
“Interfere?” I laugh softly. “I’m not interfering. I’m observing. Evaluating. Ensuring the pieces remain where they belong.”
“And?”
I shrug. “She doesn’t belong to any of us. Not you. Not the shadow prince. Not the golden flame. Not the clever little warlock.”
His gaze flickers at the references.
“But,” I continue, leaning close enough that my breath brushes his ear, “if you hurt her again… I will not care that you are tethered to her.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No.” I smile sweetly. “That’s a promise, my dear bloodborn.”
We hold each other’s gaze for another stretched out heartbeat. He’s attempting to read me, and he can’t. Good.
Finally, he steps past me, and I let him go. Because I don’t have a clear read on him yet, and that irritates me. I watch until he disappears into the corridor. Then I glance back toward the cloister. Lindsay still stands where he left her.
Thanks to Auron, she’s not broken or consumed. A balanced feeling flows from her. For now.
“Five threads,” I whisper to the night.
One to burn. One to shadow. One to light. One to trick. And one to hate.
I smile slowly. Hate, in my experience, is rarely permanent. Obsession, however—obsession endures.
And the tether humming faintly beneath my own ribs reminds me of something deliciously inconvenient:
I am not merely watching this story. I am woven into it. And something tells me—it has only just begun.