Page 32 of Oath of War
I memorised each face, and my mind was already planning a fitting retribution, but Alaric had other ideas.
The temperature dropped, the air tinged with the unmistakable chill of necromancy. The metallic scrape of daggers leaving their scabbards cut through the tense silence.
‘Care to repeat that?’ he asked politely, though his quiet tone didn’t mask the menace beneath his words.
‘You wouldn’t dare!’ one of the mages stammered, trying to project confidence. ‘We’re on university grounds. Duels are forbidden.’
In a blur, Alaric closed the distance between them, the sharp edge of his dagger shaving a layer of skin off the man’s throat. I shook my head in disappointment at the mage’s lack of defence.Did he forget he could cast? He didn’t even try to set up a shield.The rest of his cohort scattered, hastily drawing protection sigils.
‘Duel?’ Ari’s voice was soft, almost conversational. ‘I don’t duel—I kill. But for someone who insults my domina, I might make an exception. Perhaps I’ll grant you a long, agonising existence instead. And if I get carried away, don’t worry—I can always bring you back. I am dark fae, after all. We find blood to be an excellent cleanser of disrespect.’
The dagger pressed deeper, drawing a bead of blood. The mage whimpered, shaking like a leaf as his skin turned ashen grey. When purple tendrils of necromantic magic coiled around him, the acrid scent of urine filled the air, and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious before he hit the dirt.
The remaining mages hesitated, then rallied, casting hastily drawn sigils towards Alaric. He flicked his wrist, and their spells fizzled into harmless sparks, dissipating in the air. He smirked as they scrambled to try again.
‘Stop.’ I sighed. ‘I’m not so offended that you need to kill this many mages. Leave the fools alone.’
Alaric paused, his shoulders relaxing. Without a word, he crouched by the unconscious mage and carved a small sigil into his cheek. The act was precise, almost delicate, and I shivered at its implication. Then, as swiftly as he’d moved before, he was back at my side, his crimson gaze steady on mine.
‘As you wish, Domina.’
The man screamed as magic burned deep into his skin, cauterising the wound and scarring the sigil into his flesh. I placed my hand on Alaric’s forearm as we continued on our way to the library, quietly watching as the mage’s friends picked him up and stumbled away.
‘That was unnecessary. He was just a stupid child. You realise everyone will have heard about this by tonight?’ I asked whenwe were a safe distance away, noticing everyone dispersing from our path the moment they spotted us.
‘There is no excuse when it comes to defamation like that. Once someone makes such claims, they make the rounds, and soon, no one will remember that Ihrain killed the king. They will blame Reynard, or the empress, or even you. Now, the idiot will think twice before opening his mouth. And anyway, I enjoyed making him suffer. He called you a whore, and for that alone, I should have cut out his tongue.’
‘So you made him piss himself for political expedience?’ I sighed, trying to hide my irritated smile. Alaric just shrugged before entwining his fingers with mine.
‘Yes, that sounds like a valid reason. Besides, as I said, no one insults my domina.’
‘Alaric’va Shen’ra, you are an incorrigible bastard,’ I said, choking on laughter, and he sighed dramatically.
‘My mother would respectfully disagree, although my father would be happy to know if that were true. Family does seem to always make life complicated . . . or cursed, in my case.’
I couldn’t help laughing at his self-deprecating joke. If we survived the trial, I vowed to make this delightfully impish male as happy as I was right then with him.
The provost’s office was just as I remembered it.
The room held a massive table entirely covered with manuscripts, a large bay window, and a strange candelabra with fae lights floating above it, all vying for space amidst rows and rows of shelves overflowing with even more old volumes and manuscripts. Then there were the precious artefacts radiating strange power yet sitting haphazardly on piles of books or loosevellum. Among others were sigils whose magic made the room one of the most secure in the entire academy.
There were also uncomfortable chairs where students awaited the provost’s mercy or punishment. I remembered those monstrosities far too well, and I was sure they were bespelled to make your rear end ache in the most unexpected ways.
Talmund and Arno’s faces flashed in my mind’s eye, Tal insisting I sit on his lap when I complained of my backside hurting while Arno counteroffered with a healing massage. I smiled at my reminiscence. What was once a painful dagger to my heart was now a bittersweet memory; I could look back and fondly remember the men who had been my entire world.
I turned towards Alaric, who watched me with an eyebrow raised in an unspoken question.
‘Just a fond memory,’ I answered, stepping closer to embrace him, laying my head on his shoulder. I wondered if Ari, too, would offer his healing services.
We were alone, which was an incredible show of trust from the provost’s aide—leaving us unattended in a room filled with precious artefacts. It made me wonder if we were being observed.
‘I advise you to wrap up this observation period, or we’re going to make out on your desk, and trust me, you don’t want a dark fae messing with your precious manuscripts,’ I said loudly, pressing my lips together to prevent my manic laughter from escaping at seeing Ari’s shocked expression.
‘Annika, what—?’ he asked, shaking his head.
‘Three ... two ... one ...’ I mouthed before a hidden door opened and an old man with a lion’s mane of grey hair stormed in.
‘Annika Diavellar, don’t you bloody dare!’
