Chapter 19 Nolan
NINETEEN
NOLAN
I know I’m dreaming because the stars are inside the academy.
They drift lazily above the courtyard ceiling like someone peeled back the sky and forgot to put it back. Constellations pulse faintly, rearranging themselves when I try to focus on them.
Five threads. I feel them before I see anyone. They weave through the air like ribbons, brushing my wrists, my throat, my ribs. Connecting to me in ways that feel important.
“Ah, there’s my nerdy warlock.” The voice is warm silk and full of mischief.
I turn.
Dorian is standing barefoot on the fountain’s edge in the middle of the courtyard, moonlight silvering his hair, his shirt half-unbuttoned as though he dressed in the dark and didn’t care enough to fix it.
He looks exactly like himself. And not at the same time.
He’s too sharp around the edges and too fluid in his movements.
“This isn’t real,” I say, because saying it out loud feels important.
“Of course it’s real,” he replies lightly, stepping down from the fountain. His feet make no sound when they hit the stone. “It’s just not happening in the way you’re used to.”
That’s not reassuring. He circles me slowly.
In waking life, Dorian keeps a comfortable distance—just enough to be irritating. In the dream, there is no distance.
He reaches out and straightens my glasses. His fingers linger. The touch sends a strange ripple through the threads in the air. The one around my ribs flares faintly.
“You’re very bright in here,” he murmurs, tilting his head as he studies me. “Almost painfully so.”
I swallow.
“You’re flirting with me.”
He smiles. Slow. Deliberate.
“I flirt with everyone.”
“That’s not true.”
“No,” he agrees softly. “It isn’t.”
His hand slides from my glasses to my jaw—not possessive.
Not demanding. Curious. Then I feel the thread that connects me to Lindsay flicker somewhere behind me.
I turn, and she’s there. Standing beneath the floating stars, an indigo tunic shifting like smoke around her legs.
Her blue hair is loose tonight, falling over one shoulder.
The darkness around her doesn’t feel violent here.
It’s quiet and soft. She looks at me and then Dorian and smiles. My chest tightens.
“This is inappropriate,” I manage weakly. I don’t want to betray the trust she has in me, even if this is a dream.
Dorian laughs softly. “Says the warlock dreaming about being kissed.”
Heat floods my face. “I am not—”
“You can—”
His thumb brushes just beneath my lower lip as he turns my face back to him. The thread around my chest hums. Lindsay steps closer, her fingers ghosting over my arm and shoulder. The contact steadies the spinning stars overhead.
“It’s okay,” she says gently. “We’re all connected, Nolan.”
“I can do what?”
“To want,” she replies.
Dorian’s hand slides from my jaw to the back of my neck. The touch is electric. My eyes shutter, my eyelashes brushing my cheeks as I inhale. And I understand something I don’t have words for.
“You’re scared of breaking something,” Lindsay says softly.
“I don’t want to lose you,” I admit.
“You won’t,” she says. Her fingers brushing the back of my neck with Dorian’s.
He leans closer, close enough that I feel his breath on my lips. My heart thunders inside my chest.
“Light and trick,” he murmurs near my mouth. “We were always going to collide.”
The threads tighten around us. Gold flares behind me. Shadows coil nearby. An icy feeling hums faintly at the edge of the courtyard. I know what he’s talking about so clearly I’m not sure why I didn’t see it before. Five threads. One heart.
His lips hover a breath away from mine. I should pull back, even in my dream. But I don’t.
“Choice,” Lindsay whispers in my ear.
The word ripples outward, distorting the stars.
Dorian tilts his head slightly, and just before our mouths meet—the courtyard fractures.
The stars shatter into shards of silver light.
And I wake up gasping in my bed. I sit bolt upright, breath ragged, and heart racing as though I’ve run a marathon in my sleep.
The rest of the beds are quiet, and the sun hasn’t started to come back up yet. But the threads…all five of them are still there. Faint. Lingering at my wrists. And somewhere deep in my chest, something that felt like a dream moments ago, doesn’t feel imaginary at all.
When I wake up again, I wake up already feeling guilty.
Which is impressive, considering I didn’t technically do anything. The dorm is washed in early gray light, beams cutting across the ceiling. It was a dream. Just a dream.
I scrub a hand over my face and sit up. This is ridiculous. People dream. It doesn’t mean anything. Especially not when the person you’re apparently dreaming about is a fae prince with boundary issues and a permanent smirk.
Still. The memory is vivid, and I can’t shake it as I climb out of bed and put my glasses on. By the time I’m dressed and making my way down the corridor toward breakfast, I’ve almost convinced myself it’s just stress manifesting in strange ways.
Almost.
I turn the corner toward the main stairwell and nearly walk straight into Lindsay. We catch each other before I trip over my own feet.
“Nolan,” she says. Her touch is warm and familiar. Something I’ve come to crave, if I’m being honest. “You okay?”
“I—yes,” I say quickly, too quickly.
Her brows knit slightly. “You look like you didn’t sleep again.”
“I slept.” Yeah…and dreamed about kissing a guy. Her gaze lingers on my face for a beat too long. Does she know? That’s absurd. Dreams don’t broadcast out to others, even if you have a bond with them.
But then…she did seem to read my mind before. My stomach drops. Before I can spiral further, a smooth voice slides down the corridor.
“Well,” Dorian says lightly, “this is an interesting collision.”
I freeze. He rounds the corner as though he owns the hallway, hands tucked into his pockets, shirt sleeves rolled up just enough to be distracting. His hair is artfully messy, which probably means it took effort.
His eyes land on me first. And a feeling shoots through me, he knows. That’s impossible.
“Morning, my perfect Veilborn and nerdy warlock,” he says pleasantly.
Heat floods my face before I can stop it. “Don’t call me that.”
Lindsay glances between us. “Did I miss something?”
“No,” I say immediately at the same time Dorian says, “Yes.”
I glare at him, and he smiles.
“You look flushed,” he observes. “Dream well?”
My stomach drops all the way to the floor, and I’m sure it would go straight through it if it could.
“I always dream,” I say stiffly. “It’s how normal people process things.”
He chuckles but doesn’t say anything. Lindsay studies us more carefully now, as though we are speaking in code.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
Dorian shifts closer to her, his fingers grazing her arm almost casually. “Do you dream, Veilborn?”
I watch as his gaze dips to her mouth before he drags it back up to her eyes. He has no issue showing people when he wants them, it’s unnerving.
“Sometimes, dreams are more than that. And you don’t really know when you’ll be dragged into someone else's dreams. But you know that, don’t you, Lindsay?”
I can feel the blood drain from my head. He might be talking to her, but I feel like he’s taunting me.
“You’re being extra cryptic this morning, Dorian.”
He shifts on his feet. “Am I? Apologies. Let me be more direct. Nolan, did the stars behave last night?”
The corridor tilts…that’s way too specific. I swallow hard.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, because it’s the only defense I have left.
“Of course you don’t,” he replies smoothly.
Lindsay’s eyes narrow slightly. “Dorian.”
He straightens, all innocence again. “Yes?”
“Stop being weird.”
“I’m never weird,” he says gravely. “I’m delightful.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Delightful isn’t the word I’d use,” she mutters.
Dorian places a hand over his heart like she’s wounded him. “You wound me, Veilborn.”
He doesn’t look wounded. He looks entertained. I can still feel the echo of the dream under my skin. The threads. The stars. The almost kiss.
I shift my weight, trying to ground myself in the stone floor beneath my boots.
“You’re being dramatic,” Lindsay says lightly, but her gaze flicks to me again. She feels something, too. I know she does.
Dorian tilts his head, studying both of us now.
“It’s fascinating,” he muses. “How certain bonds begin before anyone consents to acknowledging them.”
My stomach drops again.
“That’s enough,” I snap before I can stop myself.
The sharpness in my voice surprises all three of us.
Dorian’s brows lift slightly. “Oh,” he says softly. “Protective.”
Lindsay’s fingers brush mine without looking, subtle and grounding.
“Nolan,” she says quietly.
I inhale slowly through my nose.
“It was just a dream,” I say again, but it sounds weaker this time. “Nothing more.”
Dorian hums thoughtfully. “Dreams are doors,” he says. “Some you open. Some open you.”
“That’s not how doors work,” I mutter automatically.
He grins. “You’d be surprised.”
The corridor feels too narrow. Too bright. Students move past us, whispering about classes and assignments like the world isn’t shifting under our feet.
“Are you implying you were in his dream?” Lindsay asks, her voice calm—but there’s steel under it.
Dorian considers that.
“Not intentionally,” he says at last. “But the Veil is thinner when it wants to be. Connected threads brush. Intent lingers.”
He looks at me again.
“And some desires glow very brightly.”
I find my backbone somewhere and step forward. “I don’t desire you.”
The grin that spreads over his face is pure delight. “You are a sweet one, aren’t you? I think it adds depth to our group. Don’t you?” He glances at Lindsay.
“I think you are a fae prince used to getting your way,” she replies.
He shrugs. “Probably true, Veilborn. But would you object?”