Page 26 of Burning Heir

Knox thumped his leg a mile a minute. “I know who Malachi is, Severyn,” he hissed.

“I figured we could all be alliances. We’re less likely to kill each other when not fighting for the same title,” I whispered, holding my hand out. But all I felt was a burning tear through my forearm. No soft, translucent sheet like Malachi’s grew stronger with each breath.

Knox seemed to have the same issue. Myla nearly perfected her shield as an impenetrable ice barrier surrounded her.

Malachi snickered. “We can still kill each other. Our blood doesn’t define our morals.”

“Blanches, are you even trying? I don’t feel any repel,” the professor groaned.

I glared at Knox with wide eyes.

“Drag your shield from the inner depth of your body. Think of protecting your homeland. Think of every cruel beast that dares to cross over!”

He could yell all he wanted, but no shield would draw. I broke into a sweat, nearly rupturing a blood vessel in my eye before my arm fell to my side in protest. “I can’t, professor,” I said, breathless.

Cain made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Perhaps you have a block. It’s not uncommon, but I’d recommend seeing a healer when possible. But there isn’t much we can do without your quells. Need I mention, you’ll need your shields strong if you wish to fend off those snow beasts.”

I sighed. Malvoria seemed closer every day.

Malachi leaned over. “You’ll get it. Don’t worry. Cormac is a late bloomer, too.” She shot a humorous stare at her auburn-haired male alliance.

“Shut up, Malachi. I know too many of your secrets for you to be dissing me.”

She twirled the wind around her index finger. “Not another Serpent Press scandal,” she chuckled.

Margaret laughed. “Everyone saw you with Monty Garcia. I’m sure there’s already a story in the works surrounding the both of you. A Princess and a Serpent sounds like a folktale.”

I listened to their conversations, trying my hardest to form a shield, to form ice. Yet an hour passed, and the first class was over.

The next class was combat—thankfully, the first-years were only to observe the senior students. My muscles thanked me as Malachi and I stood on the sidelines.

Bridger and Damien were among the mix, shirtless, with sweat glistening on their bodies as they sparred. I couldn’t take my eyes off Damien’s steady flex of each muscle and the way he smiled at me across the combat ring.

“Can you fight?” I asked Malachi.

“I learned how to duel before walking,” she replied. “You?”

“Same. But I stopped training for two years.”

I yelped as two glass daggers appeared in Damien’s fists with a quick raise of his arms. “North, I hope blood doesn’t scare you,” he yelled from the sparring ground.

North. I didn’t despise that nickname.

Malachi scoffed. “Of course, Damien fucking Lynch is here.”

“I met him last night.”

She twirled the wind around her middle finger ever so slightly. “I can only imagine the dread he must feel being the heartthrob of the Continent’s brother.”

Damien and Everett were dueling each other. Day’s student mentor unsheathed a dagger from around his wide thigh, ripping it past Damien’s left eye—missing by a hair. Damien’s arms wound around Everett’s waist, slamming him into the hard grass as blood dripped from his nose.

He was… strong and quick.

“They seem more like heartbreakers to me,” I said, more honesty in those words than I let on.

Metal clashed against metal, the sharp echoes filling the training grounds. Students’ lungs heaved as they fought, sweat dripping from their brows. I stood back, watching silently while shadows crept along the grass, leeching life from the greenery.

Then Archer emerged from the haze, his presence commanding as he joined the combat instructor, Professor Knight. Knight had a balding head, deep lines carved across his forehead, and a jagged mark running from his temple down his neck.

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