Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Riona
Monday morning arrives with the harsh fluorescent reality of school life, a stark contrast to the starlight and drumbeats of Saturday night.
I catch myself smiling as I arrange worksheets on my desk, remembering the weight of Vraag’s arms around me and the surprising softness of his lips against mine.
“Someone’s cheerful this morning.”
I look up to find Janet from first grade leaning against my doorway, coffee mug in hand and curiosity etched across her face.
“Just enjoying the start of a new week,” I reply, keeping my tone neutral despite the warmth creeping up my neck.
Janet’s eyebrow arches skeptically. “Mmm-hmm. Nothing to do with being spotted at the gas station Saturday night with our security specialist? In that truck?”
My stomach drops.
“I don’t see how that’s relevant to teaching kindergarten,” I say, unable to hide the irritation in my voice.
Janet raises her hands in mock surrender.
“Hey, I’m not judging. That ceremonial whatever-it-was he was wearing was certainly something,” she pauses, and something in her expression says she’s still processing what she saw at that gas station.
“He’s not what I expected. I just thought you should know people are asking questions. ”
After she leaves, I take a deep breath, trying to focus on preparing for my students.
Vraag and I knew this would be challenging.
We’d spent Sunday afternoon on the phone discussing how to handle our changing relationship professionally, agreeing to maintain appropriate boundaries at school while we figured things out.
Easier said than done when the memory of his kiss still makes my knees weak.
The warmth of his hands at my waist lingers like a phantom touch, my skin remembering what my mind insists I set aside.
Every time I close my eyes, I’m back on that terrace beneath the stars, and I have to force myself back into the classroom.
The door opens again, and my heart jumps, Principal Winters.
“Good morning, Riona,” she says with the careful pleasantness that usually precedes difficult conversations. “Do you have a moment to stop by my office before the students arrive?”
“Of course,” I agree, my pulse jackrabbiting. “Is everything okay?”
“Just a few matters to discuss,” she says vaguely. “Ten minutes?”
As I follow her down the hallway, I spot Vraag at the end of the corridor, conducting his morning security check.
Our eyes meet briefly, and though his expression remains professionally neutral, the intensity in his gaze sends a shiver of awareness through me.
His gaze holds mine a half-second longer than a security check requires before he turns away, resuming his patrol.
In Principal Winters’ office, I take the offered seat, noting the careful arrangement of her expression—concerned but trying to appear casual.
“Riona, you’ve been with us for three years now,” she begins, folding her hands on her desk. “You’re one of our most promising teachers, and the children adore you.”
“Thank you,” I say cautiously. “I sense there’s a ‘but’ coming.”
She sighs, dropping the pretense. “I’ve received some… concerns about your relationship with Mr. Vraag.”
Even though I anticipated this, hearing it stated so directly knocks the breath from me for a moment. My fingers curl instinctively around the stone at my throat. The weight of it is steady, familiar, grounding in a way I hadn’t expected.
I draw a slow breath and lift my chin. “My relationship?”
“There are rumors you attended some sort of orc cultural event together over the weekend.” She pauses, watching my reaction.
“I don’t need to tell you how sensitive our position is.
Mr. Vraag is one of the first orcs on staff, and while the board is committed to inclusive hiring, they’re also highly conscious of community perceptions. ”
“Are you saying there’s a policy against staff members socializing outside of work hours?” I ask, keeping my voice steady despite the indignation rising in my throat.
“No explicit policy,” she admits, “but there are concerns about professional boundaries, especially given Mr. Vraag’s security role in your classroom.”
The implication stings. “Principal Winters, I’ve always maintained the highest professional standards in my classroom. My personal life doesn’t affect my teaching.”
“I believe that,” she says, sounding genuinely sympathetic. “But perception matters in a small community. This morning, I received a call from Mrs. Hendrix expressing concerns about Mr. Vraag teaching her son, in her words, ‘orc fighting moves’ during his security demonstration.”
“He showed them how to check whether a classroom door is secure,” I correct, unable to keep the edge from my voice. “During a routine safety walkthrough. Hardly fighting moves.”
“I understand that. But combined with rumors about your… friendship, some parents worry about appropriate influences.”
The unfairness of it burns, hot and immediate. “Because he’s an orc.”
Principal Winters winces at my bluntness. “Cultural integration remains complex, Riona. The school board strongly supports diversity, but they are also elected officials sensitive to parental concerns.”
“What exactly are you asking me to do?” I challenge, meeting her gaze directly.
“I’m asking you to be mindful of perceptions,” she says carefully. “The board has requested that Mr. Vraag’s classroom visits be reduced to regular security checks only, and that demonstrations like the proper way to lock a door not be repeated without prior approval.”
My hands clench in my lap. “That’s ridiculous. The children learned valuable safety information, and they connect with him in a way that builds trust rather than fear. Isn’t that exactly what integration should be about?”
“Ideally, yes,” she agrees wearily. “But we’re dealing with the reality of where our community is now, not where we wish it was.”
I take a deep breath, fighting to maintain professional composure. “And what about my personal time? Am I forbidden from having dinner with a colleague?”
“Of course not,” Principal Winters says quickly. “Your personal time is your own. I’m simply suggesting discretion might be advisable while tensions ease.”
The word lands like a slap. “Discretion. As if there’s something shameful about being seen with him.”
“That’s not what I—”
“It is, though,” I interrupt, surprising myself with my vehemence. “If I’d been seen having dinner with Mr. Walsch or any other human staff member, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
Principal Winters doesn’t deny it, which only fuels my indignation.
“Mr. Vraag is one of the most dedicated professionals I’ve ever worked with,” I continue, unable to stop now that I’ve started.
“He connects with the children on their level while maintaining appropriate boundaries. He takes his security role seriously, not just as a job but as a sacred duty to protect. The fact that parents are complaining about him teaching safety checks while ignoring how he’s transformed our school security is both hypocritical and shortsighted. ”
My voice has risen despite my efforts to remain calm. Principal Winters blinks, clearly taken aback by my passionate defense.
A subtle movement at the door catches my attention. Through the narrow window, I glimpse a familiar towering figure pausing briefly before continuing past. My heart clenches at the realization that Vraag may have overheard at least part of my outburst.
Principal Winters sighs, rubbing her temples.
“I understand your frustration, Riona. Truly, I do. And for what it’s worth, I agree with much of what you’ve said.
But my job is to balance multiple interests, including parent concerns, board directives, and yes, the important integration work you’ve highlighted. ”
The fight drains out of me, replaced by a weary recognition of the reality we’re facing. “So, what happens now?”
“Mr. Vraag will continue his security duties, including regular checks of your classroom, given the previous break-in attempt. His classroom visits will be limited to security purposes only. And as for your personal relationship…” she hesitates.
“That’s not within your purview,” I state firmly.
She nods slowly. “No, it’s not. But I would be remiss not to mention that it could impact both your positions here if it becomes disruptive.”
The warning is clear, although delicately delivered. I stand, gathering my dignity. “Is that all?”
“For now,” she confirms. “The students will be arriving soon.”
I leave her office with my head high but my thoughts roiling in turmoil. As I round the corner toward my classroom, a large figure steps from the alcove near the water fountains.
Vraag stands before me, his expression carefully controlled yet somehow more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen it. My breath catches at the sight of him, memories of starlight and stolen kisses momentarily overwhelming the present tension.
His gaze flicks briefly to my throat, just long enough for me to know he’s noticed I’m wearing the necklace. Something unreadable passes through his eyes before he schools his expression again.
“You heard,” I say simply.
He nods once. “Perimeter check brought me past the office. I did not intentionally eavesdrop.”
“How much did you hear?”
“Enough.” His voice is quieter than usual. “Your defense was… unexpected.”
I glance around the empty hallway, then step closer to him. “Did you think I wouldn’t defend you?”
“Few humans challenge their leadership on behalf of orcs,” he says, a hint of wonder in his tone. “Particularly when it risks professional consequences.”
“Well, get used to it,” I tell him fiercely. “Because I meant every word.”
Something shifts in his eyes, a warming, a softening that makes my heart race. “You honor me, Riona Walker.”
The formal phrasing somehow makes the sentiment more powerful, not less. For a moment, neither of us moves, the air between us charged with everything we can’t say or do in this school hallway.
“We should be careful,” he says finally, though the reluctance in his voice is obvious. “I will not be the cause of damage to your career.”
“My career is important,” I acknowledge, “but so are my principles. And so are you.”
He inhales sharply at my declaration. His massive hand moves slightly toward mine before he catches himself, returning to his professional stance.
“Student arrival in seven minutes,” he says, his formal tone belied by the warmth in his eyes. “You should prepare your classroom.”
“I should,” I agree, making no move to leave.
“Principal Winters will be watching for compliance with the new directives,” he adds.
“I’m sure she will.”
“Professional boundaries must be maintained during school hours.”
“Absolutely.”
Neither of us moves for another long moment.
“Tonight,” he says finally, voice dropping to a rumble that sends heat spiraling through me. “After your planning meeting. Whenever you’re finished.”
Something about the openness of it—no clock, no deadline, just whenever—makes the warmth in my chest spread wider than any specific time could. “It might run late. These things always do.”
“I know.” His eyes hold mine. “I’ll wait.”
He nods once, all business again except for the intensity in his gaze. “Until then, Ms. Walker.”
“Until then, Mr. Vraag.”
As I walk to my classroom, I can feel his gaze following me, a tangible weight of attention that should be intimidating but instead feels like being wrapped in his coat again—warm, secure, protected. I notice that I don’t flinch from the word anymore.