Chapter 6: The princes converge
Typhon walked away from the cherry blossom grove, the weight of the linen-wrapped scone in his hand feeling more significant than any dragon’s hoard. He didn’t look back, though every instinct screamed to turn, to claim, to carry. The image of her—wide green eyes, flour on her sleeve, the hesitant offer of a simple pastry—was branded behind his eyes.
He waited until he was inside the cool stone corridor leading to the dining hall before he unwrapped it. The scent that rose was wholesome and complex: the sweet tang of wild blueberries, the earthy, pine-like note of thyme, the richness of butter and oat. He took a bite.
It was perfection. Not just in flavor, which was sublime, a balance that spoke of deep intuitive skill, but in the essence woven into it. His dragon sense, attuned to the fundamental nature of things, could taste it. Patience.Care. A quiet, generous joy in creation. It was her magic, not as a flashy spell, but as a foundational truth.Sustenance. He consumed it slowly, each crumb a sacrament, savoring the proof of her. His mate.His.
A low, possessive rumble vibrated in his chest, the dragon within stretching in satisfied pleasure. He licked a stray crumb from his thumb, the gesture deliberate, final. He would learn her name.Soon. But this, this knowledge, was his alone for now. To speak it to the others would make it real in their world, and he wasn’t ready to share even the idea of her.
He pushed open the heavy oak door to the dining hall. The roar of conversation and clatter of plates was a wall of sound. His eyes found their table immediately, a dark island of comparative quiet amidst the sea of students.
Fenris was talking, his hands moving animatedly, a broad grin on his face as he recounted some story involving a misplaced ward and a very confused kitchen sprite. Typhon slid onto the bench beside Caspian, his presence acknowledged by a slight shift from the others.
“—and then the pudding just exploded, I’m not kidding, it was all over the Headwitch’s robes—” Fenris continued, laughing.
But something was off. Typhon’s golden eyes, usually so still, tracked over his brothers. Fen was performing, carrying the whole energy of the table, but it felt forced, a performance to fill a silence. Sebastian was pushing roasted root vegetables around his plate with a fork, his usual sly smirk absent. He looked… glum.
Bash mentioned stopping by the library before coming to lunch. Something about looking for a new bestiary, he’d said. But now, watching him stare blankly at his plate, Typhon guessed he’d been looking for something else.Someone else. And hadn’t found it.
Caspian was worse. He wasn’t even pretending to listen. His sharp violet eyes were systematically scouring the hall, scanning every entrance, every table, every shadowed corner. His jaw was tight, a muscle ticking in his cheek. When a brunette turned at a far table, his breath hitched, then his shoulders slumped minutely when it wasn’t her. The sulk on him was palpable, a dark cloud threatening rain. Typhon saw his gaze flick toward the high windows, toward the dormitory towers, calculating.Planning.
“So, Ty, you’re quiet,” Fenris said, nudging him with an elbow. “Get lost in the forges all morning?”
“Went for a walk,” Typhon said, his voice gravel. “The courtyards are… peaceful.”
Caspian’s head swiveled toward him, those violet eyes piercing. “Which one?”
Typhon held his gaze, a silent challenge. “The cherry grove.”
Sebastian finally looked up, a ghost of his usual wit returning.“Pretty. Heard the blossoms are particularly lovely this year. Seen anything else of interest?”
The question was too casual. They were all hunting, for what, he wasn’t sure. Had they found their mates too? Where they letting their primal instincts take the driver seat and create this feeling of suspicion and hostility. Typhon merely shrugged, a non-answer. He wouldn’t tell them yet, not till she was his.
Fenris, sensing the tension, clapped his hands together. “Alright, gloomy lot. Eat up. Court Politics with Magister Vance in twenty. He’s got that look about him today, like he’s going to make someone role-play a trade dispute again. I’m not being the Stolen Sheep Kingdom this time. I was baah-ing for a week. Hopefully he picks on the new crop of students.”
A faint smile touched Sebastian’s lips. “You’re a natural, Fen. Embrace your inner livestock.”
“Says the Prince of Whispers,” Caspian muttered, finally tearing his eyes from the hall. “You’d just negotiate to keep the sheep and the pasture.”
“Efficiency, Cas. It’s all about efficiency.”
They finished their meals, the conversation limping along on Fenris’s forced cheer. As they gathered books and stood, the dynamic shifted into the easy, battered comfort of long friendship.
“Try not to stare a hole in the back of Magister Vance’s head, Cas,” Sebastian said, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
“You try not to flirt with the ancient scrolls, Bash,” Caspian shot back, though the insult lacked its usual heat.
“Just keep the growling to a minimum, Ty,” Fenris added, falling into step beside him as they left the hall. “Your ‘contemplative silence’ reads as ‘imminent combustion’ to the uninitiated.”
Typhon just grunted, falling in step with them, a united front of fractious princes moving through the throng of students. The dragon in his chest was awake, watchful, hoarding the taste of blueberries and thyme and the vision of a girl in the sun. He wanted to be the first of his brothers to mark and claim their mate, and in his eyes the odds seem to be in his favor.