Chapter 7: The Jealous Queen's Plot
The fire in Samantha Hinkley’s hearth had burned down to stubborn embers, but the heat in her cheeks refused to fade. She lay atop her silk sheets, the expensive plum-colored nightgown clinging to her damp skin. Outside, the Lachrim Arcanum was swallowed by a deep, scholarly quiet, broken only by the occasional hoot of an owl or the distant, ethereal chime of the astral observatory’s bells.
Outside, the Lachrim Arcanum was swallowed by a deep, scholarly quiet, broken only by the occasional hoot of an owl or the distant, ethereal chime of the astral observatory’s bells. That look on his face, that pathetic, adorable surrender, played on a loop behind her eyelids every time she blinked. She saw his wide hazel eyes, downturned and accepting, the way he’d flinched when she’d yelled, and a hot, squirming feeling coiled tight in her stomach.
“Ugh!” She shoved herself upright, the silk whispering angrily against her skin.
She couldn’t relax. Her mind was a trapped bird, beating itself against the cage of her own skull. She kicked off the tangled sheets and paced the length of the expensive rug, her bare feet making no sound. He used to be hers to tease, hers to fluster with a well-placed barb about his posture or his mousy hair. It was a game, a stupid little power play that made her feel bright and sharp and in control for a few minutes.
Only now, with that crimson bitch grinning from his shoulder, did the truth curdle in her gut. She’d always wanted him. The teasing wasn't contempt; it was the only language she had, the only way to get his attention and feel his will bend, even slightly, toward hers. Every insult had been a clumsy, desperate gift. Now that stupid imp had ruined everything, speaking a language of command Samantha could only mimic poorly.
She needed to get him alone, without that infernal chaperone. She stopped at the window, staring out at the moon-washed gargoyles. An idea, cold and clear, began to take form in the frustration. It was risky, a violation of about a dozen academy bylaws, but the pulse of it felt right. It felt like winning.
She went to her writing desk, the polished mahogany smooth under her palms. She pulled a sheet of official-looking parchment from a drawer, the Lachrim Arcanum crest embossed at the top. Her griffin, Aurelius, rustled his feathers on his perch, one golden eye watching her.
“What?” she muttered, not looking up. “It’s just a note.”
She selected a quill, her hand steadier than she felt. She’d seen Professor Voss’s spidery script a hundred times on returned essays. She took a breath, let it out, and began to write, forging each letter with deliberate care.
‘Mr. Thornwood—Your familiar bond assessment showed profound instability. Report to the Summoning Hall at midnight for remedial binding exercises. Come alone. Failure to comply will be noted for disciplinary review. —Professor Alistair Voss.’
She blew gently on the ink, watching it dry. It looked perfect. Official. Terrifying. A slow smile touched her lips, one that didn't feel entirely like her own. She folded the parchment once, twice, and sealed it with a drop of plain wax, pressing her signet ring to create a blank, authoritative circle.
She held the note, its weight insignificant, its potential enormous. Midnight. The Summoning Hall was always empty then, a cavern of silent stones and dormant circles. He would come. He was too afraid of authority not to. And she would be waiting, ready to reclaim what she’d only just realized was hers.
And she would be waiting, ready to reclaim what she’d only just realized was hers.
The Summoning Hall after lights-out was a cathedral of shadows and echoes.Samantha stood pressed against a stone pillar, the carved runes digging into her back. She watched the massive double doors, her breath a shallow cloud in the chill air. Each second that ticked past felt like a physical scrape against her nerves.
He arrived ten minutes early, of course he did. The door groaned open just enough for his lanky frame to slip through, and he stood there blinking in the low, perpetual blue glow of the dormant summoning circles. He looked small, swallowed by the vaulted ceiling and the weight of his own obedience.
“You can follow instructions.” Her voice cut through the silence, echoing slightly. She stepped from the shadows, her posture deliberately casual.“Color me impressed, Thornwood. Usually you need a demon on your shoulder just to find your lecture hall.”
He flinched, his wide eyes finding her in the gloom. He didn’t run. His hands clenched at his sides, but his feet remained planted on the stone floor.“You wrote the note,” he stated, his voice thin. It wasn’t really a question.
“Yeah, I wrote it.” She closed the distance between them, her boots clicking decisively.She stopped a few feet away, close enough to see the pulse jumping in his throat. “Obviously. Professor Voss has better things to do than babysit your pathological deference.”
“Why?” The word was a whisper, caught between fear and confusion.
Samantha crossed her arms, suddenly aware of how the hall’s cold was seeping through her sweater. All her rehearsed speeches, the sharp accusations, dissolved on her tongue. She looked away, at the intricate lines of a major summoning circle etched into the floor.“I needed to talk to you. Without… her.”
She sucked in a sharp breath, the sound loud in the quiet. Her gaze snapped back to him, fierce and unguarded. “Look, I… I’ve been a real bitch to you.” The admission felt like pulling a splinter, jagged and startling.“Okay?There. I said it.”
Cedric just stared, his expression unreadable in the blue light.
“It’s just—” she continued, frustration bubbling up as the words tangled. “I see you with that thing. I see you get that look on your face, that pathetic, scared, totally surrendered look.” Her hands gestured vaguely, helplessly.“And it just… I hate it. I hate how it feels.”
She finally ran out of momentum, her arms falling to her sides. She looked at the floor, at her own boots, anywhere but at him.The silence stretched, vast and uncomfortably intimate. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, stripped of its usual condescension. “I hate that she gets that from you. And I don’t.”
Cedric’s blush was a slow, dark heat creeping up his neck. He looked at the stone floor between them, his shoulders hunched as if absorbing a blow. The silence pooled, thick and charged, until he finally forced air into his lungs.“I… never minded it,” he said, the words so soft they were almost swallowed by the hall’s vastness.
He chanced a glance up, his hazel eyes reflecting the eerie blue glow.“Sometimes,” he continued, voice gaining a fragile thread of strength,“after everyone else left the library, you’d… you’d say the work was decent. Or you’d just roll your eyes instead of laughing.”He swallowed, his throat working.“It felt different. When no one was watching.”
Samantha’s breath caught. Her own carefully maintained armor, that shell of superiority, felt like it was cracking under the weight of his quiet admission.“So you just let me be a jerk to you?” she asked, her voice a mix of disbelief and a raw, hopeful ache.
“I don’t know.”He shrugged, a helpless gesture.“It was just… you.”
The simplicity of it undid her. All her posturing, her cruel jabs, her desperate attempts to get a reaction—he’d seen through it.He’d accepted it. A tremor ran through her hands, and she clenched them into fists to stop it.“I wish you’d follow me around,” she whispered, the confession dragged out of some deep, ashamed place.“Like you follow her. I wish you’d look at me like that.”
Cedric’s gaze held hers for a long moment, filled with a conflict she could practically taste.“I wouldn’t mind it,” he said, his voice firmer now, yet lined with a finality that made her heart sink.“But it doesn’t matter, Samantha.I belong to her now. That’s… that’s just what it is. It’s not for me to decide.”
A cold knot of despair tightened in Samantha’s chest. She opened her mouth, a protest or a plea forming on her lips, but a new, languid voice sliced through the air before she could speak.
“Oh, but everything is negotiable, my dear.”
From the deepest shadow beside the central pillar, a small, crimson figure peeled herself away from the darkness. Vexia took two unhurried steps into the faint light, her amber eyes glinting with predatory amusement. Her tail gave a slow, sinuous wave behind her.
Samantha jumped back, a shocked gasp ripping from her throat. “You! How long have you—”
“Long enough,” Vexia said, her voice a dry rustle of parchment.She examined her nails, the blue glow making the crimson skin look almost bruised. “Your confession was touching.Truly. A little sad, but touching.”
Samantha’s shock hardened into a hot, prickling shame.She’d been watched. Every vulnerable word had been consumed by this creature. “This is none of your business, imp.”
“Everything concerning my pet is my business.” Vexia’s gaze flicked to Cedric, who had gone very still. “Isn’t that right?”
He nodded, a single stiff jerk of his chin. His eyes were fixed on the floor again, the brief connection he’d shared with Samantha now severed, buried under the imp’s presence.
Vexia smiled, her extra canines glinting.She took a few slow, clicking steps forward on her little boots, closing the triangle. “You want him to follow you.To look at you. You want a piece of that obedience you find so pathetic.” She stopped, tilting her head. “The question isn’t what you want, girl. It’s what you’re willing to pay.”
The words hung in the cold air.Samantha stared, her mind racing over the implications. “Pay?” she repeated, the concept alien in this context.
“You think I keep him just for the scenic tours of the library?” Vexia laughed, a short, sharp sound.“He’s an investment. I cultivate his power.I enjoy… the dividends.” Her amber eyes traveled over Samantha with clinical interest. “So. What would you be willing to give for some quality time with my pet?”
A confused noise escaped Cedric’s throat.He shifted his weight, his mouth opening. “Vexia, I don’t think—”
“Pets,” Vexia said, without even looking at him, her tone suddenly as smooth and cold as polished jet, “are to be seen and not heard.Do you need a reminder of the rules?”
Cedric flinched as if struck. His mouth clicked shut.He swallowed hard, the sound audible in the quiet hall. “No,” he whispered. “Sorry.”
He took a small step back and slowly sank to sit on the cold stone floor, drawing his knees up. He wrapped his arms around them, making himself as small as possible, his gaze locked on the intricate lines of a summoning circle between his feet.
Samantha watched this, a strange thrill battling with her revulsion. The way he folded so completely, the instant retreat—it was horrifying.It was electrifying. Her own desire mirrored it perfectly, a dark, shameful twin.
She tore her eyes from him and met Vexia’s knowing stare.The imp was serious.She was actually offering. The sheer, amoral practicality of it cut through Samantha’s outrage.This was a language she understood: transactions, leverage, cost.
“Name your price,” Samantha said, the words coming out faster than she intended, edged with a hungry hope.
Vexia’s smile widened. She reached into a small, impossibly thin pocket in her dress and produced a slim notepad and a silver stylus. “I’ll need to consider the appropriate valuation. His time is valuable, as is my… inconvenience.” She began writing, the stylus scratching faintly.“I’ll draw up a list. Some rare reagents, components with certain provenance. Nothing you can’t acquire with your family’s resources and discretion.”
She tore off the top sheet, though Samantha saw it was blank, and tucked the notepad away. “We can discuss the details later. I’ll be in touch.”
With that, Vexia turned. She walked over to Cedric and extended a hand, not down to help him up, but palm-up, expectant.He looked at her hand, then placed his own in it. She didn’t pull him up; she simply closed her fingers around his, a possessor claiming an object.“Come along,” she said, and he rose obediently to his feet.
They walked toward the great doors, Cedric a step behind her, his lanky frame bowed. He didn’t look back. The massive door groaned open, then shut with a final, echoing thud that seemed to shake the very stones.Samantha was alone.
The silence rushed back in, thicker than before.The blue glow of the circles pulsed slowly, like a sleeping beast’s breath. She looked at the spot where he’d sat, at the empty space where they’d stood.
A wild, disbelieving laugh bubbled up from her chest. She slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle it.She’d done it.She’d actually gotten through. It wasn’t a date, it wasn’t a confession, it was a business deal with a demon, but it was something. It was a thread pulled from that crimson bitch’s tapestry of control.
She raised her fist, clutching the imaginary list of reagents, and pumped it once, hard, into the chilled air.“Yes,” she hissed, the word a sharp vapor in the gloom.
The triumph was bright and hot for exactly three seconds. Then the reality of it settled over her shoulders, colder than the hall.She’d just agreed to barter for a person. She’d commodified the boy she… what?Liked?Wanted to own? The same boy who had sat down on command because his owner told him he wasn’t allowed to speak.
And the reagents.What would an imp from the lower reaches need with rare mystical components?Nothing good. Nothing the Order would smile upon.A sliver of doubt, cold and clear, pierced her excitement. This wasn’t a game of library taunts anymore.She was stepping into a different kind of circle now.
But he was worth it. The memory of his voice—“I never minded it.”—was worth any cost. She lowered her fist, flexing her fingers, and turned to leave the hall, her footsteps the only sound in the vast, watching dark.