Courtyard Sparks

Isadora:

Madame Meera’s voice is a soft, endless drone about sigil theory when the door gives a low rasp.

A shadow cuts the lamplight, and in strolls Kai Rosewood, grin wide enough to be a dare.

“Dear Madame,” he says, all velvet and trouble, “forgive the interruption. A note from Headmistress Voss. Isadora is needed.”

Meera’s meek little face flushes pink. She stammers something that might be of course and almost drops her quill. Kai’s charm rolls through the room like a warm draft; every girl’s gaze tracks him as if he were the lesson.

I’m already gathering my books. My pulse flicks faster—Voss never sends for me mid-class.

The door closes behind us with a hush of wards.

I pivot left toward the main stair. “Office is this way.”

Kai’s hand ghosts around my wrist, not gripping, just a pulse of heat. “Wrong way, little doe.”

I stop. “But—”

“We’re not going to the office.”

The grin doesn’t soften, but his eyes hold a glint that’s more storm than sun. Something in me listens.

The courtyard waits like a breath before thunder. Marble slick with late-afternoon mist, air heavy enough to drink.

Silas stands at the far edge, all quiet shadow and unreadable eyes. Rhett prowls beside him, broad shoulders tense, rain-dark hair catching the last scraps of light.

Kai releases me with a little flourish. “Delivery complete.”

Rhett’s gaze finds mine and holds. “We need to train you more, Isadora. Things are going to get worse before they get better.”

Silas inclines his head, the movement smooth as falling dusk. “You’ve felt it too. The pressure.”

My throat is dry, but I nod.

Silas begins. Shadow-work. His voice is low as midnight tide.

“Breathe. Don’t fear the dark; invite it. It will answer.”

I draw in air that tastes of iron rain. Close my eyes. The darkness inside me stirs, velvet and cold. A curl of shadow leaks from my palms, alive.

“Good,” he murmurs, close enough for the word to brush my ear.

Kai steps forward next, light to Silas’s dark. Glamour magic, soft gold. He traces sigils in the air, their glow sweet as honey. “Charm the world before it charms you,” he teases. “Pull positivity. Mask the edges.”

Warmth floods my chest, light threading through the shadow like morning through fog. The contrast makes me tremble.

Then Rhett. Predatory grace, every motion a promise.

“Focus,” he says, voice gravel and smoke. “Feel what hunts you. Hunt back.”

He circles me, a wolf at slow prowl, until my instincts sharpen. My heartbeat syncs to his—wild, relentless. Power thrums at the base of my spine, electric.

A low laugh cuts the night.

Lucian.

He steps from the cloister arch, coat half-unbuttoned, the grey daylight painting him in silver and sin. “Well, well. Boys’ club.” His eyes flick to me, dark and bright at once. “Leaving me out of all the fun?”

Kai rolls his eyes. “It isn’t a game.”

“Everything’s a game.” Lucian tilts his head, a predator measuring distance. “Let me duel her.”

Rhett growls, barely audible. Silas stays perfectly still, but the shadows around him tighten.

I meet Lucian’s gaze. Something in it dares me—and something in me answers.

“Fine,” I say before I can think.

The air sharpens as we face each other. Mist curls like smoke. Lucian bows, mock-courtly, then strikes.

Flare of crimson magic, fast as a blade. I catch it on instinct, shadow and light twining from my palms. Sparks scatter across the marble like fallen stars.

He lunges again. I parry, a sweep of glamour light that sends his next strike ricocheting back in a flash of violet. The courtyard hums, wards trembling.

A thrill cuts through me—fear braided with something hotter.

Lucian’s grin widens. “Interesting.”

I push harder. Shadows coil up my arms, a storm I can almost ride. Lightning cracks overhead, though the sky holds no storm.

The Royals watch, silent and fierce. Rhett’s eyes blaze amber. Kai’s magic shimmers at his fingertips, ready. Silas’s shadow stretches toward me like a shield.

Lucian’s final strike meets mine in a burst of silver-black fire. The marble beneath us sings with heat, air smelling of ozone and night-blooming flowers.

For a heartbeat everything glows—my veins, the sigils on the stone, the wild, dark thing in my chest.

When the light fades, Lucian stands a step back, breathing hard, eyes lit with something I can’t name.

He should be angry. Instead he smiles, slow and wicked. “Well, little witch,” he says, voice low enough only I can hear, “you just got interesting.”

The courtyard falls silent except for our breathing. Power still crackles across my skin.

And for the first time, I’m not sure if it’s the magic—or the way all four of them look at me—that leaves me shaking.