Thornhill Academy (By Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 121

The Weight Of Want

Rhazeil

The castle responds before I even speak. The moment think of the dining hall, the shadows move- sweeping through corridors, stirring candles to life, polishing black marble floors until they gleam like

starlight.

Still, I clear my throat out of habit and say, “Prepare the hall.”

The servants emerge from the walls like smoke given form, bowing low before scattering to their tasks. A few glance curiously at Allison, their eyes widening at the faint blue glow beneath her skin and the apparent shift of her appearance. I feel my chest swell again-yes, look upon her, see the living pulse of my magic woven through hers.

When the hall is ready, I offer her my arm. “Dinner, my queen.”

She smiles at that-soft, shy, still a little uncertain-but she takes it. The touch is electric. Her warmth seeps through me like sunlight seeping into frost, thawing things I did not know were frozen. The dining hall opens before us with candles hanging suspended in the air, each flame captured inside a tiny glass sphere. The long table, carved from obsidian and veined with faint silver light, is laden with platters of food-honeyed meats, fruits that glow faintly from within, bowls of shadowfruit wine that shimmer like

liquid moonlight.

Allison stops in the doorway, eyes wide. “This is for us?

“For you,” I correct gently. “I have eaten many things, but never the company of someone worth the effort

of taste.”

She laughs softly, and the sound is worth every candle in the room. We sit across from each other, though I find it difficult to focus on the meal. She’s glowing-literally glowing-and every gesture feels like an act of grace. She hums quietly as she tastes something spiced then wrinkles her nose at another dish that smokes faintly. I find myself smiling more in one hour than I have in decades.

“You’re staring,” she teases.

“I am memorising,” I admit.

The shadows lean closer, drawn to her laughter. Even they adore her. When the meal ends, she pushes her plate away, sighing contentedly. “I think I’m going to explode.”

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The Weight Of Want

“That would be inconvenient,” I murmur. “You have not yet seen what waits in our chambers yet.”

Her eyebrows lift. “What waits in our chambers?”

I incline my head. “I think that would be called ruining the surprise.”

Her smile is faint, teasing. “Okay, mystery man, as long as it’s a nice surprise.”

I hesitate. “Well…I would hope it’s something you would enjoy.”

She blushes at that, and the heat that floods my chest is far too human for comfort.

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The private wing of the castle is quiet when we get to it. The air hums with old magic, the walls lined with softly glowing runes that answer to my presence, but also hers now, too. When we reach the bathing chamber, steam curls beneath the archway. The scent of midnight flowers fills the air-my servants have prepared well. The bath itself is vast, carved into the floor, water shimmering with faint light as if a piece

of the night sky had been melted and poured into stone.

“I thought you might like to wash the day away,” I say quietly.

She smiles, small and tired. “You think of everything. This is a lovely surprise, thank you.”

I move to the side of the bath, wave a hand, and the water ripples, rising to just the right warmth. Steam drifts upward, curling around us both and then I freeze. Because she’s standing there, framed by the soft blue light, and I realise I have absolutely no idea what comes next. Should I stay? Leave? I want to wash her hair-carefully, gently, as I once did for the sick and the wounded—but that seems… intimate. Holding her hand, though, should be fine. I am allowed to hold her hand now. Am I? She does allow me to kiss her…and she sleeps on my chest for warmth and comfort, but those are things she allows. What does she allow now? The logic spirals, colliding with the scent of her magic and the faint pulse of her heartbeat in the tether between us. I can feel her hunger for peace, her weariness, and beneath it all, the quiet curiosity that always gets her into trouble. I’m still standing there, halfway through convincing myself to politely excuse myself, when she reaches for the hem of her shit and my thoughts disintegrate. Fabric slides over her head, soft and unhurried, the shirt snags on her horns, clearly not used to them there, and the long fall of her dark hair catches the light, and the air leaves my lungs in a sound that might be a prayer. She doesn’t stop there; she removes her boots next, then her leggings. And just like that, the world goes silent except for the sound of rushing blood in my ears. Every inch of her glows faintly in this light, the sigils like starlit constellations mapping the soft curves of her boy. I know she’s not doing it for effect; she’s exhausted, unguarded, simply shedding the day, but it does not matter. My body reacts all the same. All the blood in my brain drains downward in a single treacherous rush. I try to look away, I really do, but my eyes betray me at every heartbeat. The way the light glances off her skin, the faint shimmer of steam rising

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The Weight Of Want

between us, the curve of her tail flicking idly against her thigh as if it knows exactly what it’s doing-

I swallow hard, and she looks over her shoulder, utterly unbothered, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and affection. “Are you staying?”

My mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “I… should ensure the water remains at temperature,” I manage finally, my voice far steadier than I feel.

Her lips curve into that small, knowing smile that will be the end of me. “Of course you should.”

She steps into the bath, then, the water rippling around her as she sinks into it with a sigh. The sound alone nearly undoes me. I stay rooted to the spot, every instinct warring between reverence and the very human urge to join her. The shadows hum at my feet, mischievous things. Coward, they whisper. Maybe I am. Because I have faced armies and gods, yet none of them have ever made my pulse trip like this, none of them have ever looked at me with the quiet trust she gives so freely now. And so I simply stand there, watching the steam curl around her, and think—

If this is what it means to be undone, then perhaps I was meant for it.

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10:40 Wed, Dec

Thornhill Academy.

The Water Between Us

Allison

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The water is perfect. Warm enough to melt the ache from my muscles, cool enough to let me breathe.

Steam curls around me, softening the edges of everything. I sink deeper until it laps just under my chin,

closing my eyes for a moment, letting it wash away the day. When I open them again, Rhaziel is still

standing there. He hasn’t moved from where I left him, his expression somewhere between reverence and

sheer panic. His hands are clasped behind his back like he’s trying to stop himself from reaching for me.

The sight makes me smile, slow and quiet.

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