Page 21 of Of Shadow and Moon

I can feel my blood boiling. They're both staring at her like she's some kind of prize, and I just can't stand it. It makes me want to punch something or someone.

I glance around at her, my fists clenched under the desk. She's scribbling something in her notebook; no idea in the world that every single one of us is staring at her, like she was the only thing in this room worth an ounce of our focus.

I really need to get a grip. Need to put an end to that. Whatever hold she has on me, on us, is something I need to break.

Professor Thalor speaks in a booming voice, continuing his lecture on the very origin of magic and its basics.

Professor Thalor's voice fades into the background as my mind races. My father had finally allowed me to leave the kingdom and attend Obsidian Academy; it was the first time I was allowed to step outside the castle walls, to his knowledge, to experience the world beyond our domain. My sister and I were kept hidden, not even allowed to attend gatherings or social events. We were ghosts in our own home.

My father's words echo in my mind. He let me come here for one reason: to do his bidding. I glance again at Selestina, the anger inside me bubbling just below the surface. She has the potential to get in the way of that.

But I also can’t stop thinking of that night in the tavern.

Professor Thalor begins asking questions, and several students raise their hands eagerly. I notice Selestina doesn’t raise her hand. Instead, she writes something down in hernotebook. I squint, trying to see what she’s writing. The professor calls on a student who gives the correct answer, and I see Selestina’s small nod of confirmation. She knew the answer all along.

The lecture continues, covering various magical theories and their applications. Professor Thalor’s passion for the subject is evident, his voice rising and falling with excitement. He describes the interplay of magical energies, the importance of intention and focus, and the historical figures who shaped the understanding of magic.

Selestina continues to take notes diligently, never raising her hand to answer a question. Each time the professor asks something, she writes the answer in her notebook, and each time, another student responds with the same answer she wrote. She’s right every single time. It’s uncanny.

Now, all I feel is suspicion and annoyance. I need to know why she’s here and what her intentions are.

All of a sudden, Thalor asks a question and he’s looking right at Selestina. “Care to summarize the properties of arcane crystals?” I can’t see her face, but I see her body tense, and I know her cheeks are as red as they were in that closet.

She responds correctly, and Thalor continues.

The lecture finally comes to an end, and students begin to gather their things. I stay seated, watching Selestina as she packs up her notebook. She stands, slinging her bag over her shoulder, and heads for the door. I follow her with my eyes until she disappears into the hallway.

I let out a slow breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions inside me. My father’s orders are clear, and I can’t afford any distractions. Selestina is a complication I didn’t anticipate.

My father kept my sister and me hidden for a reason. We were his secret weapons, his insurance against the world. Attending Obsidian Academy was supposed to be my chance to prove myself and secure our freedom.

I gather my things and leave the classroom, my mind still racing.

As I walk through the hallways, my thoughts drift back to my sister. My sister’s life depends on me following through. My freedom depends on it. I won’t let anyone stand in my way.

Chapter 11

Selestina

Magical Theory drags on, each of Professor Thalor’s words dripping like molasses. I force myself to keep my gaze steady, absorbing every detail of the classroom, each face, every conversation. I need to look like I belong here—confident, unbothered, and already in the know. Alexander will expect thorough intel, and there can be no gaps, no missed details. I can’t afford to seem out of place.

I take a moment to pause and let my eyes truly roam while making sure I take in everything Thalor says, studying the intricate dynamics at play here in the Academy. It's a world that mimics similarly to the rigid structures of the kingdoms of Tonalli. Each kingdom may boast a mix of species within its borders, but in practice, the Tonalocas tend to cluster with their own kind, drawn together by shared nature or necessity. Rarely do they work side by side by choice; it’s more often dictated by circumstance, a reluctant collaboration to achieve some mutual goal. And humans always stick to themselves.

When I first arrived, I had been too exhausted from mytrek to pay attention to the subtleties of who mingled with whom. My focus had been singular: finding a bed and surviving the night. Now, with fresher eyes, I let the room speak its silent truths as all first years are in attendance to this class. The thought makes me stop and scrunch my nose. Two princes are not in attendance, but I internally shrug. They’re probably skipping.

Some species are easy to identify, their traits bold and unmistakable. Demonios, for instance, bear their horns like dark crowns, curling and twisting in shapes and different sizes. Vampires, while varied in complexion, share an eerie pallor, their skin ghostly and cool, as though the warmth of life itself has abandoned them. Shifters and fae radiate a feral energy, a barely restrained wildness that clings to them like a second skin. Witches and mages are subtler but still distinct, their presence marked by the faint, earthy scent of patchouli and oakmoss, a whisper of their magic lingering in the air around them.

At the Citadel, species were blended with a cold precision that mirrored Alexander’s iron grip. His assassins came from every walk of life, though most were human—easier to mold, easier to control. Shifters were rare, but not unheard of. Their raw instincts turned into weapons under his guidance. But never vampires, fae, or demonios; their independence and innate power made them resistant to his brand of dominance. He preferred his tools compliant, not willful.

Here, in the Academy, the natural hierarchies and preferences of the kingdoms are on full display. The witches group together, their heads bent in quiet discussion, a soft hum of magic seeming to vibrate in their midst. Vampires sit with vampires, their gazes sharp and calculating as they watch the room with an intensity that feels almost predatory.Shifters gather in tight-knit huddles, their laughter and gestures broad, their movements fluid and instinctual, as if even in a classroom, they can't quite shake the pack mentality. Fae stand with their noses perched up high at everyone around them. Seeing anyone but other Fae as beneath them.

And then there’s Kaelion—the lone demonio. He sits apart from the others, his posture relaxed but exuding an unmistakable menace. He glares at everyone, his isolation not one of choice but command, his presence a reminder that demonios don’t need alliances to assert dominance.

“Did you hear?” a girl whispers from beside me, her voice low but carrying just enough to draw attention. I keep my gaze forward, but my ears prick up despite myself.

“What?” her friend mumbles, her tone practically quivering with excitement.

Evaline, I realize by the name on her leather notebook, sighs, as if reluctantly about to reveal a prized secret. “Nazriel,” she murmurs, drawing out his name with an air of satisfaction. “Last night was…well, let’s just say he’s everything a prince should be.” Her lips curl into a smirk, her gaze drifting toward the back of the room where Nazriel sits, oblivious; or maybe just pretending not to notice.

---