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Fern surrendered to her thoughts. As a researcher, she was used to piecing through mass amounts of information at one time, but it never affected her personally. Each new thing that someone told her since she arrived on campus had the potential to shift her entire worldview—not just her worldview, her world. She tried to catalog the details in her mind, storing them away in mental filing cabinets, and use every compartmentalization trick her therapist had taught her.
She was coming up pretty short.
The longer Calum was in the hallway, the more panicked Fern became. She didn’t have any neurons left to piece through why his absence made her panic worse.
You’re going to have to unpack that one with alcohol.
Fern let out a defeated noise and slumped in the wingback chair.
Oh my god, it’s not even noon, and I don’t think anyone in the world's history has needed a drink as badly as I do right now.
“Oh, I don’t know. I needed a drink pretty badly after tripping over my sword during one of my father’s state dinners. I wanted the ground to swallow me alive. Didn’t happen, though.”
Fern blushed and sat up straighter as she realized Calum was standing in the doorframe. He greeted her with a sheepish smile, only opening the door wide enough to slip inside and keep Fern from view.
“Did I say that out loud?” Fern’s voice was quiet.
“You did,” Calum nodded, crossing the office to the bar cart nestled in between two bookshelves. “However, I’d say under the current circumstances, a drink is well warranted.” There was a soft smirk on Calum’s face that made Fern flush even redder all over.
“Isn’t it a bit early…”
“Fern,” Calum smiled, “I’m a deposed prince who hasn’t had a grasp on his kingdom for a hundred years. My magic is bound, and you’ve just discovered that you might be the only one who can save it. I’d also very much like to kiss you again, but I’m going to hold off until I don’t think you’re under as much emotional duress. The societal concepts of appropriate times for alcohol consumption have, as they say, gone out the window. Also, this is Scotland.”
“Oh,” she blushed, “… um, okay.”
Eloquent. Fern mentally slapped herself on the forehead. Your attempts at seduction are abysmal, but your grasp of the English language is leaving a lot to be desired as an academic, Ms. McEwan. Her inner critique took the tone of voice of an academic advisor.
Fern suppressed a whimpering noise when he mentioned kissing her again. If there had been any chance to ease Fern into this slowly, it was long gone.
She couldn’t take her eyes off him as he pulled out a heavy decanter. The only sound in the office was the quiet noise of glass clinking as he prepared two drinks.
“Who was that?” Fern asked awkwardly, trying to break the silence. Calum blushed as he maneuvered over a stack of magazines to hand Fern a glass. It looked and smelled like whisky, and Fern downed half of it in one go. The liquor was dangerously smooth and smokey, and she made a small murmur of enjoyment.
Calum raised his eyebrows in playful shock, sitting down at his desk and holding up the glass towards her.
“Slainte Mhath.” The Gaelic made his voice sound even deeper, more guttural, and Fern raised her glass in a quick acknowledgement before taking another big sip.
He chuckled again before setting his glass down. “That was Ùna, one of the faculty members.”
“What…is she?” Fern’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. Calum chuckled, matching her tone.
“A language specialist.” Fern rolled her eyes, and Calum laughed louder before he answered. “She’s fae. Now, I doubt that you’ve exhausted all your questions.”
“I…” The warm buzz of her drink settled over her bones. She eased back into her chair and cleared her throat. “How do you know that I’m ‘your last hope’?”
“Ah, my methodology.” Calum sat a little taller and tugged on his jacket sleeves and began flipping through the notebook in front of him. Fern could almost see him transitioning from prince to professor, and she fought the overwhelming urge to kiss him again. He continued.
“Magic can be very elusive, and it's almost impossible to always guess the true nature of it, but magical blood is more predictable. Whoever places a curse is the only person able to break it, but that ability passes through a bloodline if a curse isn’t lifted during the practitioner’s lifetime.”
“Okay,” Fern chewed on her lip, “but I don’t understand how that makes me your last hope. I have siblings and if any of us have children…”
Calum shook his head, his voice growing more somber. “We’re running out of time. Curses have a mind of their own. They can be almost sentient. The curse binding Scotland’s magic isn’t permanent yet, but it wants to be.”
“The…the curse is in limbo?” Fern’s face twisted up in confusion.
“That’s probably the best way to put it. Magic also fades without use, and all of us have been without our magic for centuries. You combine that with the tightening noose of the curse’s nature and we’re running out of time. It won’t wait until the next generation.”
“Ah.” Fern nodded, taking another sip of her drink and avoiding eye contact with Calum. Her anxiety was creeping its way around the edges of her mind, one question sitting on the tip of her tongue that she was too afraid to ask.
