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“She came between us and hissed at him,” I confess. “It created an onslaught of attacks that pushed him back enough for me to snap her out of the trance early. I have a strong feeling Headmaster Atlas saw what occurred but hasn’t brought me in to talk about it.”
“She hissed at him?” That’s all he took from my elaborate statement. “Shit. She’s actually your Viper…”
“I doubt I’d—”
“But why would I react to her?” he interrupts me with his confused statement, leaving me no choice but to stare at him.
And ignore the need to emphasize that she’s mine.
“What do you mean?” He has to elaborate for my sanity.
“When I saw her face, the golden serpent… I was so close to flipping,” he admits.Meaning Prince of Shadows and Wrath would have come out to play.“I think whatever layer of magic that controls sudden spikes of magic in non-contenders is what held me back. That’s also why I lost control just now. I’ve been holding him back since we were at the gates.”
“Agonizing,” I complain with a sigh. “We’re gonna have to talk to Headmaster Atlas about this. If we both have a connection with her on that level…”
Fuck. We may not be allowed to teach her.
“Well, if we don’t choose her…” He trails off, looking dazed for five seconds. “Shit.”
“Define shit.”
“Someone brought up the Nightmare’s name at the ceremony.”
“What do you me—”
He grabs my hand and tugs me with him as our surroundings swirl, shift, and dematerialize while we keep up the same speed walking pace. The mindfuckery of watching and experiencing this first-hand leaves me feeling like I’m on a rollercoaster without a seatbelt.
Daemon doesn’t give me a chance to recover before he tugs me along the new path until he’s consumed by the dancing sash of shadows. He emerges with lengthy lavender purple locks and a cloak of shadows resting upon his broad shoulders.
The glint of the crown on his head explains the sudden drop in temperature that makes my next few breaths create puffs of chilled breath. The moment our feet come to a stop, he lets go of my hand and projects himself into whatever conversation has transpired in this secured space of authority.
“We put claim to mentor Ophelia Minerva Guinevere.”
The round of gasps that echo through the space confirms we’re not only amid the Professor Mentee Ceremony, but we’re standing right in front of whoever is about to make a claim.
Professor D’Angelo.
His shocked face is something I haven’t seen in a long while, which normally would be amusing to acknowledge. In this heightened state of spinning madness, however, I can only focus on trying not to puke everything I ate for lunch.
“Prince Daemon Thorn Blackbird of Nephilim, what an honor to be in the midst of royalty. I wasn’t aware of your attendance, or I would have ensured our chosen destination would have been on a higher level of grace,” Headmaster Atlas calmly declares, despite her peers, who are quivering in their place.
In fact, I realize most of the professors, who aren’t even close to Daemon’s level of power, are on their knees, bowing in complete submission.
I certainly haven’t forgotten just how ‘big of a deal’ Daemon is in the realms of Mundanes and dark arts.
Daemon is the future ruler of one of the Four Courts of Nephilim.
Unlike the Malevolence Realm, where they have kingdoms of power, Nephilim only needs four designated courts that separate their lands by elemental domination. They used to name them after seasons, but fae thought that ideology was stupid when Mundanes started to make it like some sort of trending mockery.
“This is fine,” he announces, his voice ten times deeper than Daemon’s chirpy masculine tone. He moves his tense gaze over to the individual quivering behind him. “D’Angelo. Surely you haven’t forgotten who has fed your generational line for centuries prior to your unplanned existence, yes?”
The way he drops to his knees and bows his head to the floor is a sight I’ll engrave in my memories for as long as I’m privileged.
Just to mock this stubborn ass.
“P-Prince Blackbird. My sincere apologies. I was… completely taken aback by your entrance, especially when we were solidifying the student I was going to mentor.”
The atmosphere further spikes with tension, leaving a few professors whimpering while some assistant advisors faint from the energy difference.
