I sigh dramatically. “Stupid magical mandatory fun.”
He bumps my shoulder gently. “Next time we’re not under magical obligation to dance with half the Academy, I’m all in. Snacks, secrets, hiding out with you—definitely my kind of chaos.”
I smile up at him. “Hold you to that.”
“You better,” he says, a little more sure this time, like the space between us is shrinking by choice and not by accident. “And hey…”
“Yeah?”
“If we’re going anyway,” he says, “maybe we can find a way to make it ours. Just for a little while.”
I bite back the flutter in my chest. “I’d like that.”
TWENTY-SIX
LINDSAY
“I have nothing to wear,”I grumble as we walk across the courtyard, boots crunching over scattered autumn leaves.
Tamsin snorts. “You say that like it’s a surprise.”
“I’m serious,” I huff. “Everything I own is either a school uniform or something I could get tackled in. I can’t show up to a magical Revel looking like I just rolled out of sparring class.”
“Youusuallydo roll out of sparring class lately.”
I elbow her lightly. “Helpful.”
She grins but then slows her steps, nudging me with her shoulder. “Relax. The Harvest Moon Revel isn’t about fashion. It’s about chaos. Snacks. Maybe a little blood magic if someone spikes the cider again.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“Good. Keeps you aware.”
“What are you wearing?”
She shrugs. “I have a dress that is sort of the color of your hair,” she says looking at my messy blue bun.
We round the corner toward our dorm, the towering stone structure catching the fading light like something out of a gothic fairytale. The stairs and hallway don’t seem so long now. But the moment we step inside our dorm, I freeze.
There’s a box on my bed.
Not one of mine. Not something dropped off by the school. No label or note on the outside. Just a sleek, obsidian-black rectangle, too elegant to be casual, too intentional to be harmless.
Tamsin makes a low, curious sound beside me. “Okaaay... that’s not ominous at all.”
I don’t answer. I cross the room, heart beating faster than it should, and lift the lid.
Inside, nestled in dark tissue paper that shimmers like oil under light, is a dress.
Not just any dress.
Black as spilled ink. It glints when I shift the paper, catching the purple of the glowing runes carved into the waistline. The bodice is sculpted and high-necked, made of something that looks like leather but moves like shadow, with delicate slashes along the shoulders where the fabric opens into thin straps. The center cinches tight, perfectly shaped to hug every inch of skin it touches.
But it’s the skirt that steals the breath from my lungs.
It flares out in layers—gossamer-thin and edged in deep violet, so sheer it hints at everything without giving it all away. The front is daring, split to reveal long legs and the soft shimmer of magic woven into the hem.
And over the shoulders...spider-silk. No, not silk. Something like it. Translucent strands twist and wind up toward the throat in a web-like design that somehow manages to look both regal and wicked.
