Page 78 of The Bound Blood
Envoy.
Which means this isn’t diplomatic nicety. This is political intervention. A ripple of shocked whispers sweeps through the hall.
Veyne’s expression is grave as he continues to address the hall. “Prince Dorian is here to assist in stabilizing the Veil and investigating the disappearances.”
A ripple of unease sweeps the room.
Dorian’s gaze sweeps over the benches…slow, assessing, and almost predatory in its precision. And then he sees me. His smile shifts—intrigued, focused, and entirely too pleased.
Tamsin kicks me so hard I almost yelp. “Oh stars—Linds, why is helookingat you? Don’t attract royal fae attention. That’s how people end up cursed or courted or both. Neither are good.”
I don’t answer. Not because I don’t want to, but because I’m caught like a deer in headlights by his attention.
A collective tension builds—whispers turning sharp, panic stirring again, everyone bracing for bad news or worse possibilities.
Dorian seems to sense it.
He steps forward with an easy grace, placing himself not beside the headmaster but a little ahead of him, like he’s done this a thousand times before. He raises a hand—palm open, posture relaxed.
The room quiets instantly.
“Students,” he begins, voice smooth and warm, threaded with something that feels like magic. “I know this news is unsettling. Change often is.”
His eyes sweep the room, gentle but unyielding. He really does look like he belongs on a stage.
“You are not in danger,” he continues, tone steady, almost musical. “Not right now. And you are not alone.”
A few students exhale shakily.
Dorian smiles, gentle, reassuring, and practiced. “I’ve been sent because your safety matters to more than just this academy. The Silver Court does not involve itself lightly.” His tone dips, hinting at seriousness beneath the charm. “But we will not abandon you.”
The murmurs soften.
Even Raiden’s posture loosens by a fraction.
Dorian spreads his hands slightly. “The Veil is older than our histories, but it is not fragile. It bends and breathes. It does not break easily. And with the right magic—your magic, your unity—it can be strengthened.”
Students nod, some leaning closer to hear.
Tamsin mutters, “Ugh. He’s good at this. I hate that he’s good at this.”
Dorian’s smile widens—just enough to dazzle, just enough to charm without pushing. “We will stabilize the Veil together. We will find your missing classmates. And we will keep each one of you safe. That is my promise.”
He bows his head slightly, silver hair sliding over his shoulders like moonlight made tangible.
“Do not borrow fear,” he finishes softly. “Borrow hope.”
The room exhales, a long, trembling release. Then his eyes find me again—quick, sharp, and lingering. And that hope transforms instantly into something else. Because Dorian Holt may be here to help. But he’s also dangerous.
And he knows it.
THIRTY
DORIAN
Mortals always lookthe same when fear ripples through a room—wide eyes, stiff shoulders, that instinctive huddle toward safety.
But she doesn’t.
