Page 27 of Of Shadow and Moon

For a moment, we just stand there, the tension between us crackling like a live wire. Her blue eyes bore into mine, and I can feel the weight of her loathing pressing against my chest. It’s thick and suffocating, but I refuse to be the one to break first.

Finally, she steps back, her expression twisting into something almost smug. “Enjoy your time here while it lasts.”

With that, she stoops down to reach for her book and her bag before storming away. Her curls bounce at each righteous step, and I glare after her, my fists bunched so tightly that my nails have begun to dig into my palms.

She wants to play this game? Fine. But she doesn't know a fucking thing about me, not who I am, not what I am capable of, and most definitely not what's in store for her if she keeps pushing me.

I inhale deeply to will the rage to stay down as I head back toward the dorm. Her words keep ringing in my ears, but I force myself to push them aside. She's not worth it. Not yet.

One day, though, she'll see just who she's been messing with. And gods help her that day.

Chapter 14

Rhyker

Iwalk just a few paces behind her, careful not to disturb the silence with even a whisper of my presence. Selestina moves with a quiet elegance, her posture straight but her steps hesitant, as though the weight of the day bears down on her shoulders. I can feel the heaviness in her every movement. Watching her like this… it’s impossible not to be drawn deeper into something I can barely name, something that makes me feel alive in a way I haven’t felt…ever.

From the moment she entered the academy yesterday, bloodied, limping, but with an unbreakable fire in her eyes, I’ve been unable to tear myself away.

Her face. Gods, it was like looking into a memory, one just out of reach, like an old song I should know but can’t quite place. She seems familiar, and yet I know I’ve never laid eyes on her before. If I had… how could I have forgotten a face like hers? Even now, the thought of it feels absurd. She’s etched in my mind like she’s always been there.

The glamour I’ve woven shields me from her eyes. I’ve watched her in both our classes, sitting in the back, everysense tuned to her, every minute detail committing itself to memory. Making myself visible only to our professors.

The way she scrunches her nose when she reads something fascinating, the way her eyes light up with understanding that makes her seem… softer, somehow. Every time her fingers brush a page, I feel this tug inside; a strange, inexplicable thrill, like something waiting to be set free.

She spends hours in the library, her concentration so intense it’s almost endearing. She searches through book after book, her face clouded with disappointment when she doesn’t find what she’s looking for. Something about ancient magic, I think, though it’s not like she’d tell me even if I revealed myself. Whatever she’s after, it consumes her, and I’m utterly taken by the way she seems to dive into her quest. I’ve never seen anyone so… driven. So unknowingly captivating.

Every glance, every furrowed brow, every small sigh—I drink it all in, savoring each detail. Gods, she has no idea I’m here, no idea I’ve shadowed her every move. The thrill of it, the danger of her almost sensing me but not quite, pulls at my core in a way that makes me feel alive. She’s not like anyone I’ve known, and the thought of getting closer, of being seen by her, sends a shiver down my spine.

Then reality crashes in, like a cold wash of rain. This is just a fantasy, a fleeting obsession. Nothing more.

Xochitlalpan waits for me, always. My home, my prison, my own personal hell. My father’s ruthlessness stretches over everything in my life, his power, his cruelty…I internally sigh at what waits for me back home.

My kingdom is a place of beauty, or so people say. Lush green fields, wildflowers that seem to grow forever, ancient trees that hold the wisdom of ages. The most grandest ofwaterfalls…better than those you would find in Atlacoya. But beneath it lies the rot, the fear, the endless scrutiny that defines every waking moment in my father’s court. The people are bound by him, just as I am, trapped by his whims, his rules, his power. Xochitlalpan is both a paradise and a prison, a land full of life but ruled by death. It’s a beautiful trap, and the thought of dragging her into it twists something inside me.

I shake myself, forcing those thoughts away, returning my attention to her as she walks. She’s nearly at her dorm now, her pace slowing, as if she, too, dreads what waits beyond her door. I smile, watching her glance around one last time, unaware that I stand so close, just out of reach. Gods, I’m already in too deep, bound by this strange fascination, this obsession. I could end it here, slip away, and never look back. But something holds me here, an invisible thread that pulls tighter each time I see her.

The halls are silent as I watch her disappear inside, and still, I linger, a ghost tethered to her steps.

Chapter 15

Kaelion

The dining hall is filled with murmurs of the early risers and the clinking of silverware on plates. Morning light filters in, muted and gray through the high, narrow windows. I walk in, and heads lower a fraction, eyes shifting away as if I’m some creature they’d rather not meet in the daylight. Smart choice.

I scan the room, taking note of each prince. They’re scattered around the hall like distant constellations, each isolated, as if the very idea of proximity might ignite something we’ve all been told to bury.

Matheus sits with his back straight, shoulders like an iron gate.

Rhyker, wild and untamed, hunches over his meal as if it might escape.

Tomas, with that irritating, perpetual smirk, lost in whatever lighthearted thoughts that keep him distracted from reality.

And Nazriel stares angrily at everyone. Our eyes meet before my lip pulls back in a snarl. Nazriel mimicking myhatred. It’s weird to see him here. I’ve only seen him a few times over the years. His father kept him locked up, away from prying eyes.

Once, a long time ago, these faces were familiar in another way. I remember it, even if I’d rather not. The council meeting, the five kingdoms gathered in some dreary stone hall, the kings seated in their imposing robes, voices droning on about alliances, borders, threats. And we, the little princes, all five and six years old, stuffed into stiff clothes and polished boots, kept silent and out of sight. I remember slipping out, feeling the weight of expectation lift as we snuck away to the gardens of Metztli. We found each other, almost as if drawn together by something unseen, something that ignored our fathers’ bitter rivalries.

We were just boys then, running through those sprawling gardens, tumbling over each other like puppies, our laughter filling the quiet spaces between the trees.

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