Bound To The Heirs

The first thing I heard when I stepped through Arcanamir’s main gate was a shout.

Not a greeting.

Not ceremony.

A threat.

A roar of magic cracked through the courtyard, bright enough to sting my eyes even from the distance. Students screamed and scrambled back as a streak of flaming arcana shot across the air like a burning spear.

I froze in the middle of the path, my satchel slipping from my shoulder.

Of course.

Of course on my first step into this place, someone had to be trying to kill someone else.

Two boys stood at the center of the courtyard, locked in a duel that looked nothing like the controlled classroom exercises I had read about. This was personal. Violent. Heated with pride and ego.

A crowd circled them, hungry for entertainment.

Then the fire spear struck the ground where the taller boy had been standing a moment earlier, exploding into a shower of sparks that skittered across the stone.

Gasps echoed everywhere.

“He aimed for his heart.”

“Silas Crowe has lost it.”

“Someone get an instructor.”

“No way, keep watching, this is better than breakfast.”

My stomach tightened when I recognized one of the boys.

Silas Crowe.

The prodigy.

A mage with more ego than hair strands.

He raised his hand again, arcana crackling wildly between his fingers. “Say it again,” he snarled. “I dare you.”

The other boy, a broad-shouldered scion with golden-brown eyes and grey streaks in his hair that looked almost feral, bared his teeth at him. “I said you were weak. Because you are.”

Another blast formed in Silas’s palm.

I didn’t move fast enough.

The next thing I knew, a wild arc of spellfire ripped free from his hand, shooting straight toward the crowd. Straight toward me.

Someone screamed my name.

Which made no sense.

No one here knew my name.

The world blurred.

Heat surged toward my face.

Instinct clawed at my blood.

My power rose like a trapped storm.

No. Not now. Not here.

Not in front of all these people.

I lifted my hands without thinking, the old sigils stirring under my skin and begging to answer. A silver flicker danced along my wrist before I could crush it back down.

And before the spell hit me

a large hand slammed into the air between us.

The spell stopped.

Just stopped.

Like it had been caught by invisible teeth.

My breath caught when I saw who that hand belonged to.

Fenrir Zade.

The Lycan prince.

The heir of the Northclaw bloodline.

The one with the reputation of tearing spells apart with brute force and instinct alone.

He stood right in front of me, chest rising and falling with a controlled fury that made the courtyard feel too small. His eyes were not human. Not right now. Gold bled into them like molten metal.

He held the flaming spell in a grip that should have melted bone, but his palm didn’t burn. He stared at Silas like he was trying to decide whether to break him or bury him.

Silas straightened, his face draining of color. “Fenrir. I didn’t mean it. It veered off. I wasn’t aiming for her.”

“She would have died,” Fenrir said, voice low and dangerous. “And you think that is an accident?”

He closed his fist.

The spell dissolved like ash in water.

I stared at him, unable to breathe.

Fenrir turned his head toward me slowly. Too slowly. Like a predator acknowledging prey that had wandered somewhere stupid.

His eyes dragged over me once, stopping briefly at the place on my wrist where the moonlit flicker had almost escaped.

“You are not supposed to be here,” he said.

His voice wasn’t cruel.

It wasn’t kind either.

It was simply a truth spoken aloud, the way one might tell someone the ground was cracking under their feet.

I swallowed, trying to speak. “I just arrived. I didn’t know there was a duel.”

He didn’t blink. “This isn’t a duel.”

Silas scoffed. “Don’t exaggerate. It was a friendly spar.”

Fenrir didn’t even look at him. “Shut up.”

Silas shut up.

The crowd whispered like fire catching dry leaves.

“Why is he protecting her?”

“He never steps into fights like that.”

“Why is a Lycan speaking to an unclaimed girl?”

“Did she charm him?”

“What was that glow on her wrist?”

My heartbeat slammed painfully against my ribs.

Too many eyes.

Too much attention.

This was exactly what I needed to avoid.

“Move,” someone muttered behind me. “She’s in the way.”

“I swear she did something. That spell changed direction.”

“No. She just got lucky.”

“Or unlucky,” someone else whispered. “Fenrir never protects anyone. Not like that.”

Fenrir took a step closer to me, closing the space between us by accident or intention, I couldn’t tell which. He smelled like pine forests and cold nights, the kind of scent that felt like sharp air and something older than language.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

My throat felt thick. “No.”

“You sure.”

“Yes.”

His eyes searched mine like he expected me to lie. And maybe I was lying. Maybe I had been hurt long before that spell was ever cast.

Silas cleared his throat loudly. “This is ridiculous. The spell missed. Let her go.”

Fenrir didn’t move. “Apologize.”

I blinked.

Silas blinked.

The crowd went silent.

“What?” Silas said, stunned.

“You nearly killed her,” Fenrir replied. “Apologize.”

Silas’s jaw clenched. “I don’t apologize to unclaimed nobodies.”

He shouldn’t have said that.

Fenrir turned his full attention on him, and the temperature in the courtyard seemed to drop by several degrees.

Before either boy could move again, another voice cut through the space.

“Enough.”

Professor Dunbark.

His presence swallowed the courtyard effortlessly. His boots struck the stone with the authority of a judge entering a courtroom. His gaze cut across the crowd before landing on me.

Too directly.

Too knowingly.

Too long.

“What happened,” he asked.

No one answered.

Fenrir’s jaw tightened. Silas looked like he wanted to evaporate. The rest of the students tried to pretend they were part of the furniture.

Professor Dunbark stepped closer, his stare fixed on me. “You arrived less than five minutes ago and already managed to stand in the center of a duel?”

“I didn’t stand in it,” I said. “It came toward me.”

“Odd. Stray spells do not usually change direction.”

I felt my stomach flip.

He had seen it.

He had noticed the flicker on my skin.

I forced my voice to stay steady. “I swear I didn’t do anything.”

He held my gaze for a long, slow second before his eyes flicked toward Fenrir. “Escort her to the orientation hall. I don’t trust her to walk there without attracting danger.”

“I’m not dangerous,” I whispered.

“Not yet,” he said.

The crowd rippled with quiet shock.

Fenrir stepped to my side. “Come with me.”

I hesitated.

His eyes softened. Just barely. “It’s safer.”

I didn’t know if he meant for him

or for me.

But when he began walking, expecting me to follow, my feet moved on their own.

Every whisper followed us.

Every gaze stuck to my back.

My first five minutes in Arcanamir had turned into a spectacle I never wanted.

And all I could think was:

If this is the beginning

what will the rest of this place do to me?