Chapter 43
Icrack an eye open to the soft warble of morning birds outside our window in Amber Hollow.
The sun hasn’t fully claimed the sky yet, but today’s mission is already pressing on my mind.
With a stretch that rolls into a yawn, I sit up and glance over at Fiadh and Khol, who are still ensnared in their dreams. Today, we march through the halls of learning, where young minds grow wild and free.
I can’t help but feel a surge of excitement at the thought.
Sharing my love of music is the best part of these tours—though many would be surprised to hear me say that.
“Rise and shine,” I call out, nudging Khol with my foot. His response is a muffled grunt, face buried in his pillow. Fiadh, ever the light sleeper, stirs with a lithe gracefulness that never fails to impress.
“Five more minutes,” Khol mutters, but I’m having none of it.
“Come on, Sleeping Beauty,” I tease, “you don’t want to miss the kids who think being a bad boy is cool at these schools.”
Fiadh chuckles, her eyes sparkling with mischief from the memory of last night’s dinner.
I had poked fun at Khol’s edgy demeanor, suggesting he’d be the idol of every teen angst novel protagonist we’d meet.
The way his cheeks reddened was a sight to behold.
The camaraderie between us, the easy banter and shared stories, somehow made the weight of our responsibilities feel lighter.
“Remember,” I continue, adopting a mock-serious tone, “it’s not every day you get to inspire the future delinquents of Amber Hollow.”
Khol throws a pillow at me, but it’s a lazy throw, and I catch it effortlessly. “You wish you were as beloved by the masses as I am,” he retorts, finally sitting up. The corners of his mouth twitch upward, unable to suppress his own amusement.
“Perhaps among the rebels and renegades,” I concede with a grin before turning to Fiadh. “And what about our quiet warrior? Ready to face the adoration of countless admirers?”
Her laughter is a melody that dances in the air, brightening the room more than any sunbeam could. “Adoration is the last thing I want,” she says, shaking her head. “I’ll leave that to you, Revelin.”
We dress quickly, joining the early birds, Dezi and Tiernan, in the dining area.
The vampire goes over the schedule with us step by step, warning us about various pitfalls we might face during the day.
Fi rolls her eyes, Khol snarks, and Tiernan sighs as we try to make it through the meeting with no one getting punished.
Once we’re done, the clang of my guitar case locks punctuates the morning hush as I secure my favorite six-string to my back.
A quick glance in the mirror confirms my transformation: today, I am every inch the rocker, with streaks of purple hair that echo Fiadh’s vibrant tresses.
Beside me, Tiernan looms like an unmovable mountain in his tactical garb, occasionally shooting me a knowing smirk as he catches my eye.
“Sure you’re ready to be upstaged at Willowshade, Revelin?” Khol’s voice teases from behind, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“Please,” I scoff, turning to face him. “You might charm a stray cat or two, but those kids are coming for the music.” My words are light, but there’s a spark of competition between us that never quite dims.
“Children love their bad boys,” Dezi interjects coolly, adjusting the cuff of his elegant button-down. He’s all class and wealth, a stark contrast to Khol’s leather and defiance.
“Let’s not forget who’s on the posters in their bedrooms, gentlemen,” I retort, leading the way out of the hotel.
As we step out into the crisp morning air, I feel the familiar weight of expectation settle on my shoulders. But it’s lighter today—it always is when I’m able to shed the persona a little and simply have a good time.
We’re greeted by the imposing sight of armored SUVs lined up like sentinels. Tiernan nods to the drivers, a silent confirmation of plans well laid. As we climb inside, the hum of anticipation is palpable. Despite our banter, we share a common purpose, and it binds us closer than any armor could.
Glimmerleaf Academy rises before us, ivy crawling its age-old brick walls, students peering curiously from windows as our convoy approaches. Their middle-ground privilege, neither opulent nor sparse, sets a tone of relatability that steadies my nerves.
“Showtime,” I murmur under my breath, slinging my guitar around front as we disembark to the sound of cheers and flashing cameras.
“Focus on the music, Revelin,” Fiadh whispers beside me, her presence a comforting constant. She prefers shadows to the spotlight, and I nod, understanding her silent plea.
If only that was possible… I have a feeling it won’t be.
“Always,” I promise despite my doubt.
Inside Glimmerleaf’s halls, the enthusiasm is infectious.
Children cluster around, their excitement for the day palpable.
As I strum the opening chords to a song they all know, their voices rise in a chorus that echoes through the corridors.
The press buzzes around us, capturing every smile, every note.
But my focus is solely on the sea of youthful faces, each one alight with joy and possibility.
“Who wants to learn a chord?” I ask, and a forest of hands shoots up. We spend the hour lost in melody and laughter, and I can’t help but feel that, at this moment, we are doing something right. Something good.
Fiadh and Khol hang back, content to watch and support, a silent force that keeps me grounded amidst the adulation. They are the quiet strength to my public flair, and I’ve never been more grateful for their company.
We finish up at Glimmerleaf to the tune of shouts and happy goodbyes, piling into our monstrous car to head to the next school
If they all go this well, maybe my bad feeling was wrong.
The SUV rolls to a stop outside Whispering Winds Academy, and I can already see the banners they’ve hung in my honor.
‘Prince Revelin Rocks Our World’ one proclaims in bold, glittering letters.
I chuckle, picturing Fiadh’s eye roll at the pomp.
She catches my gaze and obliges with an exaggerated theatricality that has me grinning.
They’re never going to let me live this shit down.
“Ready to be worshiped?” Khol teases, his smirk infectious as he nudges my shoulder.
“I’m gonna rock their knee-high socks off,” I retort, slinging my guitar over my back and stepping out into the cacophony of cheers.
The teenagers of Whispering Winds are a different breed from the younger crowd at Glimmerleaf.
They’re on the cusp of adulthood, with dreams painted in vibrant hues of rebellion and romance.
As I weave through them, sharing anecdotes of tours gone wild and the electric buzz of performing under the spotlight, their eyes light up with a mixture of awe and aspiration.
“Did you always know you’d be a star?” a girl with emerald green hair asks, her voice tinged with hope.
“Know? Maybe not. Dream? Always.” I flash her a wink and strum a power chord that earns a round of whoops.
“Play My Sparkling Star,” calls another student, and I oblige, the familiar melody spilling out effortlessly. Fiadh and Khol clap along, blending into the background yet ever-present. It feels good—no, it feels amazing—to connect, to share the music that thrums in my veins.
As the laughter fades and we prepare to leave, I’m buoyed by the genuine appreciation in their send-off. This is what it’s all about: inspiring the next generation, leaving a trail of melodies and memories in my wake.
The SUV is quiet again until the lass looks at me with a genuinely pleased expression. “You’re so damn good with them, Revvie. How is that?”
I shrug, my cheeks flushing at her unusual honesty. “Lots of siblings, remember?”
“Mmm,” she says, looking out the window.
It feels like she has something important she wants to talk about, but Golden Meadow Academy for the Gifted looms on the horizon like a gilded fortress, and the shift in atmosphere is palpable.
The students here don’t cheer; they appraise, their gazes sharp and calculating beneath perfectly coiffed hair.
We’re not in Kansas anymore—or, more accurately, not in the unpretentious halls of Glimmerleaf or Whispering Winds.
“Prince Revelin, is it true you’ve banged half of the Silver Sirens band?” a boy with a sneer too practiced for his age inquires, and I bristle, but before I can respond, a girl with eyes like polished ice turns to Fiadh.
“What’s it like living in the shadow of such a star? Being so plain and unconnected, it must be hard not to feel out of place.”
What the actual goddamned fuck?
Fiadh’s hand twitches toward her pocket, where I know she keeps those wicked brass knuckles of hers. But she reins in her temper, offering a tight smile instead. “It’s certainly humbling—something you could use a good dose of.”
Khol snorts, and even Dezi, ever the epitome of composure, smirks. I catch Tiernan scanning the crowd, his eyes narrowed in silent warning.
“Clearly someone’s been stirring the pot,” I say low enough for only our group to hear. “Ember? Amethyst?”
“Has to be,” Khol mutters. “Too orchestrated.”
We push through the rest of the tour, deflecting barbs and jabs with the ease of those accustomed to court intrigue. But the questions sting—a reminder that among the polished marble and whispering silks of Golden Meadow, there are thorns aplenty.
When we finally escape the prying eyes and slip into the safety of our SUV, Fiadh lets out a breath she’s been holding.
“Thanks for not decking anyone,” I tell her, and she grins, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“It was a close call,” she says, but there’s a tiredness there that worries me. “That shit was so obviously planted that I can’t imagine anyone believing you won’t be able to track it down.”
“In the other courts,” I promise, squeezing her shoulder gently. “We’ll skip the viper’s nests and stick to the places that appreciate us.”