Page 112 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One
After centuries of seeking the Headmaster's attention, of trying to discuss the very possibilities of such magical innovations, here they manifest before me without any intentional orchestration on my part.
Perhaps that's why they finally appeared——not to acknowledge my theories or validate my research, but because even they couldn't ignore the significance of what's unfolding here.
The power dynamics in the chamber continue to adjust and settle, like instruments finding their place in a complex symphony, yet I can only imagine how my research can shift.
How my studies and calculations can somewhat aim to aid these princes and this new princess who’s fallen into the clutches of the wicked, disguising herself to unlock the true secrets these tainted walls have to offer.
It rejuvenates this sense of bubbling excitement, making me feel like a student who aims to enter a new world of study and discovery.
Damien's laugh cuts through the charged atmosphere — sharp and mocking, yet underlined with genuine disbelief.
"This has to be a joke," he declares, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "There is no fucking way that Nikolai…ourNikolai…who has spent centuries avoiding intimacy with anyone he deemed unworthy of his precious grace, is suddenly BONDED to a fucking hybrid who fell into MY chambers with some bullshit story about a sick sister and a magical chalice!"
His outburst hangs in the air, met with heavy silence.
The only response is the soft sound of Gwenivere's steady breathing and the faint hum of combined magics still weaving through the chamber.
Cassius turns his silver gaze to Nikolai, his expression thoughtful despite his usual stoic demeanor.
"You knew," he says quietly, each word measured and precise. "If you pushed fae magic into her during the trial, and her energy was compatible with your fae ether, it could potentially trigger a bond."
Nikolai shrugs with casual elegance, moving around Gwenivere's sleeping form until he stands behind her. His hands find her hair, gathering the long strands with deliberate care as if the simple act of touching her provides some form of comfort.
"Yes," he admits, his attention focused on the silvery strands sliding through his fingers. "I assumed the potential possibilities and how it could lead to a bond if our energies mixed well enough." His movements remain gentle, almost reverent. "Bonding with a fae isn't easy. You all know the implications."
He pauses, finally lifting his gaze to meet Damien's stunned expression. His hands continue their careful attention to Gwenivere's hair, treating each strand like spun starlight.
"Fae don't bond with another unless their energies are similar, if not potentially higher than the dominating Fae."
The academic in me can't help but interject.
"He's correct," I say, watching the golden threads of Nikolai's power pulse in time with his movements. "For a Fae to match with another being, the chosen partner's energy and talents must outweigh the chosen suitor. It's a fundamental law of Fae magic…one that prevents weaker beings from attempting to forge connections above their station."
"Then," Cassius's voice carries notes of genuine curiosity, "Gwenivere is strong enough in all aspects to match Nikolai? Strong enough to trigger a bond?"
Nikolai's shoulders lift in another elegant shrug.
"That must be the case," he muses, his fingers still weaving through her hair. "If the blood exchange alone was the catalyst, we would have tested that theory with Damien over there.”
Damien's face contorts with horror.
"I would never want to be bonded to a girl," he growls, his fangs flashing in the chamber's dim light.
A low chuckle escapes Nikolai, the sound rich with amusement.
"Yes, we know," he says airily. "Only men and cocks interest you."
"Shut the fuck up!" Damien snarls, his cheeks flushing slightly despite his vampiric nature.
Nikolai merely shrugs again, his attention returning to his self-appointed task. His movements remain precise and tender, each stroke of his fingers through Gwenivere's hair carrying centuries of carefully controlled power.
The sight is fascinating — a being of such immense magical strength, performing such a simple, intimate gesture. The golden light that emanates from him seems to seep into each strand he touches, making her hair shimmer with an otherworldly radiance.
The contrast between his current demeanor and his usual carefully maintained distance is striking. The Nikolai we've known for years would never allow himself such obvious displays of affection, would never let his power flow so freely around another being.
Yet here he stands, practically radiating contentment as he tends to his sleeping mate with all the devotion of a priest at his altar.
The scholar in me catalogs these changes, noting how the very air around him has shifted. His aura, usually kept under strict control, now expands and contracts with each breath — reaching out to twine with Cassius's shadows in patterns that shouldn't be possible.
