Fellow students mill around me as I enter the university’s main commons and head toward the registrar’s office. Hopefully I won’t have too long a wait to clear up this registration mess. I’m heading up the steps into the building when a young redcap coming down spots me and does a double take. “Your Highness! I didn’t expect to see you here so soon.”
I draw up on the stairs, pulling a bit on my glamour to ensure I’m portraying an appropriately formal expression instead of mild irritation at the interruption. “Oh?”
“Did you get a chance to talk to Ripthorn?”
Ominous. “Why would I need to talk to Ripthorn?” I ask.
The redcap squints at me, torn between confusion and a newfound wariness. “Well, after last night I figured he’d go to you before he came to make a formal report—”
Dammit. The campus police are stationed in this building. I do my best to cover for my ignorance, and offer what I hope is a charming smile. “I haven’t run into him yet. Can you remind me which dorm he’s in?”
“O-of course, Your Highness. He lives in Isidore Hall.”
“Thank you. I’ll try to catch him there right now.”
The registrar will have to wait. If one of my subjects is coming to make a police report, it’s critical I reach him first and learn what I can about the situation. Our Court cannot afford to be blindsided by unknown details at any potential hearing. I cannot be blindsided by details of what my subjects are suffering while I’ve been away.
Isidore Hall serves as a purgatory for first-and second-year university students. It’s designed to be a mixing place for the various Pantheons, so our young people can meet and mingle and form lasting friendships across cultural divides. Before this summer, I fully supported the idea of mixing magickal groups. Now, I hate that my Unseelie subjects are spread out around campus. What was once a gesture of unity now feels like an unnecessary risk.
It’s easy enough to get inside the hall. A passing dryad holds the door for me, not giving a second glance as I sweep past her. The RA’s room is on the first floor, near the entrance. His door is open, so I walk in and ask where Ripthorn’s room is located.
I don’t need to say who I am, or why I need the information. Everyone on campus knows me. I’m fairly certain it’s a combination of my looks—I take after my mother—and my reputation, which preceded me for centuries before I finally took my place here. No one refuses the Unseelie prince, even if they should. I suppose I should be grateful my title gets me what I need when I need it, but sometimes the flustered apologies and respectful distance grows tiresome.
Once the RA gives me what I need, I head upstairs. Room 208 is toward the end of the hall, tucked in between a storage closet and the last room. This end of the hall is unnaturally quiet, as if the residents are doing their best not to disturb Ripthorn. Their caution digs at my conscience. What the hell happened last night? And why didn’t anyone find me before now? It’s not like I wasn’t around.
You were with Smith, an insidious fear whispers. You’ve chosen him before.
Shut up. Don’t think of that.
I rap my knuckles against the door and wait.
A scuffle of movement from the other side. When the door finally opens, it’s only a narrow gap and I’m fairly certain the woman standing there glaring at me isn’t going to open it much farther.
“What do you want?” she asks. She’s taller than me, wiry, and with a short bob of dark hair. Her accent is faint, but there’s a rough timbre to her words that betrays her worry. The white glow of her eyes underscores that emotion. Ripthorn knows a dragon. Just my luck.
Instead of playing twenty questions and heightening the anxiety, I cut to the chase. “I’m Prince Lyne of the Winter Court. I just returned to campus from the Accords and was asked to check on my subject Ripthorn. Is he home?”
A tremulous voice calls out from behind the woman at the door. “Prince Lyne? Réka, it’s fine. Let him in.”
Réka glowers at me, but steps back from the door and gestures me inside. As soon as I make it past the threshold, she closes and locks the door behind me and stalks to stand beside the young fae who waits in the center of the dorm room.
The easiest reaction would be anger, but Ripthorn is so nervous I worry he’d think my rage was directed at him. Rather than risk that, I cover my fury with glamour and state the obvious. “You look like shit.”
He winces a little when he laughs. I pretend not to notice the way his hand shakes when he reaches up to brush his teal hair behind his ear, skimming lightly over a split cheekbone. The damage is extensive. An ugly welt at the corner of his mouth. Blackened eyes turning deep purple. And judging by the way Réka carefully leads him back to sit on one of the beds, the rest of him probably took a beating as well.
Once he’s more comfortably settled, I pull out a desk chair and take a seat. Part of me idly catalogues how close they sit together, the way Réka watches Ripthorn’s hand reflexively gripping at his knee. Her expression is painfully earnest, her affection and concern obvious despite my presence. When she rests her hand over Ripthorn’s, the fae shudders and slumps against her.
“What do you need to know?” Ripthorn asks me. His words are dull, even if his body is caught in the throes of panic.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened,” I suggest. “I’m not here to judge your actions. I simply want to know what occurred last night.”
I have to remain as dispassionate as possible. It doesn’t matter how much I hate this part of my job; it is the most critical aspect of my role on campus. Collecting facts, asking invasive questions, and acting as if I don’t believe the victim’s pain are all necessary to appease the Pantheons. The Unseelie subjects must be supported, but there can be no question of my making an erroneous judgment based on emotion.
It comes in fits and starts. If it weren’t for Réka’s quiet strength, the way she keeps rubbing her thumb over Ripthorn’s knuckles, I don’t know if the kid would have ever told me the truth.
He went to Domovoi’s with a few friends. They left early and he stayed behind to finish his beer. Some Seelie he didn’t recognize from campus came in. They got drunk. They tried to pick a fight with an ogre first. When that didn’t happen, they tried to pick a fight with him. He left immediately and headed back to campus. They caught him before he could get back to the dorm.
Réka squeezes Ripthorn’s hand. “I should hunt them down.”