CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Don’t do it, Lyra.
I clutched my robe tighter as goosebumps raced up my arms.
You’re only hurting yourself.
Clover leaves prickled my ankles, late-night dew kissing my skin.
My breath caught at the sight of his figure in the distance, another guard lurking at his side. I hadn’t noticed his guards yesterday, but perhaps I hadn’t been quite so aware of Thomas before. Princes had never noticed me—why should I notice them?
When I finally made out the glint of his glasses in the starlight, he nodded my way. “You came.”
“You don’t sound too excited.”
He shrugged. “There are plenty of other mages who would value my assistance. Your agreement makes little difference to me.”
I bit my tongue so hard I tasted metal.
“However, it is much more convenient to stick with our original arrangement.”
I fixed my gaze on the heavyset man beside him. A thick beard of rough, auburn curls framed his jaw, and bright, clever eyes twinkled at me. Suddenly, under my gaze, he gave a shy smile, and the intimidation that once filled the garden sank into the hedges behind us. “Who is this?”
“My guard.” Prince Thomas barely spared us a glance. As if no one else in the world mattered, he began flowing his arms through the air in odd stretches. “Say hello, Caleb.”
“Hello, Caleb,” the guard said. I snorted, all anger dissipating. Caleb sent me a wink before schooling his expression at the prince’s glare.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I told him, and the guard nodded and shifted back. I turned to see Prince Thomas staring at me with a tapping foot.
“Well, come on.”
“I’m coming.” As I got closer, I scanned the titles of the tomes beside him, although in the darkness, I struggled to make out a single word. He had one open in his hands, his finger running over instructions as a dim magelight hovered above the parchment.
“How can you read these?” I asked. I drew closer and squinted, but the lines on the page wiggled and jumped as if they refused to stay still.
He tapped his spectacles. “Enchanted.”
I tilted my head. “How? May I have a pair?”
“No.” He closed the book so it snapped shut, and tossed it onto his precarious pile. “I was reviewing a recipe for a time-consuming potion. I hate making potions. You’ll have to learn to make them yourself.”
I rolled my eyes. “Thanks.”
He scratched his chin. “Now, I think it’s best to start with a few questions. What exactly were you trying to accomplish last night? And this afternoon?”
At this, I shuffled my feet, my cheeks heating. I knew exactly what I’d wanted to do—recreate his own magical feat, water ascending into air like a ladder to the heavens—but I wasn’t exactly eager to tell him that.
His stare bored into me. “Why be coy? You’re here to learn.”
“I’m not being coy.”
He lifted his brows.
“I was trying to manipulate the pond.” I gestured toward it, exasperated.
“Ah, so you are a fan of my work.” Mischievous delight crossed his features.
I lifted my chin. “I’m not a fan of your work. I’m a fan of magic.”
“Which is my work.”
“You didn’t exactly create the spell.”
“My water ladder demonstration? Actually, I did.”
My mouth filled with cotton. I was sorely tempted to smack the grin off his face.
He adjusted his spectacles. “There’s a reason the court expects me to become Grand Mage, Miss Lyranore. There’s also a reason I’m one of the youngest students ever accepted to the Mages’ University. Please respect that.”
I opened my mouth to retort, but couldn’t find the words. Instead, I pressed my tongue against my teeth until it stung. The prince leaned back, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“Well, how about we start there. You said yesterday you’re a textile mage, but that shouldn’t keep you from branching out into other elemental magics.
” He studied me, and I was suddenly aware of my thin linen dress and robe, shimmering underneath the starlight.
I pulled my robe tighter across my chest.
“Put your hands over the water and imagine making a splash with your mind.”
I did so, but my face flamed under the scrutiny of both Prince Thomas and Caleb.
My muscles clenched, and my mind struggled to focus on the task at hand.
Where magic had always come behind and held my hand when mending, this magic seemed to scurry from my grasp like a jumping frog, always too quick and slippery to catch.
When I opened my eyes, the water was as still as the moonlight cloaking us. A few restless toads croaked in the nearby reeds.
“It has to come from within,” Prince Thomas emphasized, his silhouette framed by moonlight.
“Where else is it going to come from?”
He let out a breath. “You have to think it through. What are you trying to achieve?”
“A neat trick.” My words fought against the undercurrent of anger and frustration that wound its way through my muscles, drawn taut as Prince Thomas continued his lecturing.
“That’s where you’re getting it wrong. You need to have moral grounding, a gut reaction that this is what you should be doing and why.” He shrugged off his overcoat and laid it aside, rubbing his hands together.
I narrowed my eyes. “So what was your moral reasoning when your demonstration made the nobles ooh and ahh over you?”
He stuttered. “That’s hardly the same thing.”
“What’s different is that you want to appear intelligent and mysterious, so you put on these silly airs about magic use.” My nostrils flared. “I’ve never had to consult my moral reasoning to mend a sweater or sew on a button.”
He stared at me for a moment, then grabbed an armful of his thin linen sleeve. He yanked the fabric, a loud rip cutting the silence. I stared in shock as his bare skin peeked beneath the tear.
“Mend it.”
I stepped back, eyes wide. “Your Highness…”
“I want you to mend this. As you do so, think very carefully about what’s happening in your mind. Why are you motivated to do it?”
My breath quickened. “S-sure.” I stepped forward, barely resting my fingers upon the thin fabric left. My thumb brushed against his bare arm.
He inhaled sharply, and my gaze darted up. His eyes hinted at an emotion I’d never seen reflected in them before.
“Show me,” he whispered, and goosebumps shot up my arms.
I swallowed and nodded. I ran my fingertip over the tear ever so slowly, the two sides of fabric held together with my other hand. His warmth was a comfort to my chilled fingers in the night air, his body as still as a statue.
A yellow shimmer wrapped around his bicep, refracting glimmers of starlight. I wanted to fix this. I had to.
But why? It was just a tear—easy to sew. Why would I need to invoke magic for such a simple feat?
I knew why. Because I had to prove him wrong.
I had to prove that I had the talent, the nerve, to meet him where he was, exceed his expectations, prove beyond a doubt that his royal blood could be evenly matched by a commoner.
I felt him watching my face but ignored it, instead letting my nostrils flare, my brows wrinkle as anger surged within me.
I had to return the shirt to what it was before my insides had begun to squirm. Before I’d been bothered by the way the mage prince peered at me, as though my presence were an unwelcome intrusion of his pampered world.
Golden waves fluttered in a dance like the night sky’s winter lights among the stars. The magic slowly sank into the fabric, the tear mended as if nothing had even occurred.
My trance broken, I looked up at Prince Thomas. Intrigue flickered in his eyes.
“So?”
I opened my mouth, unable to articulate, unable to even understand the question.
“What was your motive?”
And then I remembered. The time before him—his low voice, his warm skin, his fascinated stare. Before I felt a strange thrill that I didn’t understand.
I lowered my gaze. “Um… duty. You commanded me to complete the task. It was my duty, so I did it.”
When I looked back up, the intrigue in his expression, the spark in his eyes, had faded back into their usual superiority. I bit my cheek.
“Fine,” he said. “If that’s what works for you, then keep to it.”
I nodded, my stomach dropping.
He gestured to the water. “Again,” he commanded me.
By the time I trudged home, I was no closer to crafting a pillar of water. But I had made a splash in both the pond’s surface and somewhere deep within myself.
I just didn’t know what to do with either discovery.
After last night’s semi-success, I was groggy, irritable, and quietly proud as I found my way to the breakfast table.
“Someone had a rough night,” Drea remarked. Her long locks had yet to be tamed, draping over the table and her arms like a curtain as she dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin.
I lifted my brows, hiding my amused smirk by crunching into a jam-laden piece of toast.
“Leave her be, Drea,” Anna snapped. In the past week, Anna’s forehead had developed a permanent crease, one I’d never seen before Ella had fled.
Our eyes met, and I was taken aback by the remorse that had settled in her gaze and made a home. “Are you alright, Anna?”
“She’s been in a mood, too,” Drea commented. “I’m the only sane one left in this place.”
Anna nodded. “Fine,” she said, her voice hoarse and thick.
“Is it Ella?”
Drea scoffed. “It’s no use bringing up the runaway anymore. She’s got her hands too full at home to bother us again.”
“Drea!”
My mouth fell open as Anna stood abruptly, taking her bowl and striding away, not even sparing a glance back at her twin. Drea’s eyes widened and the table fell silent.
Mrs. Calloway stopped by, placing a hand on Drea’s shoulder. “Give her time, dear,” she murmured. “She’ll come to reason.”
“I wish Ella had never worked here.”
Regret flickered over Mrs. Calloway’s face. “Me too.” She gave Drea a pat before moving on.
I shoved the rest of the toast in my mouth and stood so abruptly that the bench screeched across the floor. The weight of the entire dining area’s stares fell on me. I pushed my way out of the room as anger burned within my ribs.
The door slammed behind me.