Zayden leaned back like he owned the place… like he owned me.
He didn't even try to pretend otherwise. Just sat there, legs sprawled, arm brushing against mine every now and then like it was on purpose. He kept staring and muttering strange things throughout the lecture—quiet enough that only I could hear him. Words I couldn't catch, or maybe didn't want to.
The more I ignored him, the louder my wrist pulsed beneath my sleeve. It wasn't burning like before, not quite. It just throbbed with this strange… awareness. Like it knew he was here.
And then there were his eyes.
Every time I looked away, I could feel them on me. Like gravity. Like heat. And every time I turned back—he was still watching, a little too calm, a little too amused.
The lecturer's voice became a blur. Notes blurred into scribbles. My pen trembled in my hand and my knee bounced under the desk. I was coming undone, and no one else noticed.
"Is this how you treat your groom?" Zayden murmured, just loud enough.
I shot him a look. "Stop it."
"Stop what?"
"This whole… cryptic, creepy, smug thing you're doing. Just—stop."
He grinned. "You used to like my smugness."
"I used to be sane."
He chuckled, then leaned closer. His breath was warm, and smelled faintly like rain.
"Don't worry. That's overrated."
My mark flared. I winced and gritted my teeth.
He raised an eyebrow. "Still hurting?"
I didn't answer. He already knew.
Zayden sighed and tapped his fingers against the desk once, and just like that—the pain dulled. Faded into a whisper. Gone.
I hated how easy he made it look.
"I didn't ask you to fix it," I muttered.
"You didn't have to," he said. "You were hurting. That's enough."
His tone was… sincere. Too sincere. I didn't know what to do with it.
So I did the only thing I could think of.
I turned away.
And then, like he didn't just terrorise my focus He kept mumbling.
Not loud enough for the lecturer to notice. Just enough for me to slowly disintegrate.
Strange words. Soft questions. And those glances. Like he was trying to memorize me cell by cell.
"What's a 'PowerPoint'?" he asked sincerely.
"Why do they make you write all this down if you already know it?"
"Why does he talk like that? Is he trying to put everyone to sleep?"
I grabbed my bag the second the lecture ended, hoping the universe would understand the assignment and remove him from my orbit.
It didn't.
Zayden walked beside me like a shadow with better hair. Students swarmed the halls around us, chattering about nothing—exams, cafeteria drama, someone fainting during morning lab. Normal things.
But Zayden? He didn't belong here. And he made no effort to hide it.
He didn't walk like us. He moved like the ground should shift out of his way. He is obviously royalty.
And yeah, I'm tall and i've never had to look up at anyone my age.
But he's not my age. And his scent. I was feeling really drowsy.
I felt like an unpaid intern in a Greek tragedy. The guy was all broad shoulders and impossible height, towering over everyone in the corridor.
And I mean everyone.
And people noticed. Especially the girls.
A group by the vending machine stopped mid-conversation to stare, wide-eyed. One of them nudged her friend with an elbow. Another dropped her phone. They shamelessly undressed him with their eyes.
Zayden didn't seem to notice. Or maybe he did—and just didn't care.
"Are they always this loud?" he asked casually, like we hadn't just passed a giggling chorus of girls.
"Yes," I said dryly. "Welcome to the student population."
When we reached the cafeteria, he paused like someone had hit him with a force field. His eyes darkened.
The cafeteria was its usual mess—plastic trays clattering, someone laughing too loud, tomato sauce bubbling somewhere in the back like it had personal issues.
Zayden wrinkled his nose, clearly offended by the scent of overcooked pasta, mystery meat, and desperation.
"This place smells... aggressive," he muttered.
"That's lunch," I replied, already heading for the line. "Breathe through your mouth and keep moving dimwit."
He lingered, towering even more now in the cramped, fluorescent-lit space. Heads turned.
Girls stared.
A couple of guys glared.
And of course, he remained perfectly unfazed, just squinting at the overhead menu like it was written in a foreign language.
"Why are there so many choices?" he asked. "That's dangerous."
"It's food. Not a gladiator arena." I rolled my eyes.
We joined the line, and I could feel him watching everyone else—like he was trying to copy their movements, their gestures, their normal.
His confusion would've been funny if I wasn't already exhausted. He had stressed me enough for one day.
When we reached the front, the tired-looking lunch lady gave us the side-eye.
"You two together?"
"No," I said at once.
"Yes," he said at the same time and smirked.
We both turned to glare at each other.
"Just give him the same thing I'm getting," I sighed.
"Pasta or sandwich?" she asked.
"Sandwich."
Zayden leaned forward with suspicion. "What's in it?"
"Turkey, lettuce, tomato, mayo—" she was cut short.
"Turkey?" he repeated, wrinkling his nose. "As in… the bird?"
"Yes," she deadpanned.
He blinked. "That feels personal."
I rubbed my temple. "He'll take the sandwich."
He took it like it might explode, holding the tray with two fingers like it was radioactive. As we moved to sit, another girl walked into a table while trying to keep her eyes on him. Her friend whispered something that made them both giggle.
Zayden either didn't notice or didn't care. He probably didn't care.
We found an empty table in the back corner—my spot. I sat. He hovered, then folded himself into the seat across from me, somehow still managing to look like royalty on a plastic chair. If I didn't want to stab him, I'd actually admire him.
He stared at the sandwich.
"How do you eat this?" he started tilting his head.
"…Are you serious?"
"It's stacked. it looks so filthy"
"It's a sandwich. You bite it. Welcome to Earth." I groaned.
He tilted his head more, glanced at me, then back to the sandwich. "You're not going to cut yours?"
"Do I look like I carry a knife to lunch?"
He paused. "No comment."
I sighed, took a bite of mine, and motioned for him to do the same. He hesitated like it was a trap. Then bit. Chewed. Chewed again.
"It's not terrible," he admitted.
"Wonderful review." I clapped. He didn't pay any attention to that.
He wiped his mouth with a napkin—precisely, like he was at a banquet.
"You're really not used to this, huh?"
He looked around. "No. Where I come from, food is prepared for you. Quiet. Ordered. You don't… fetch it."
"So you're spoiled."
He smiled. "Dangerously."
I rolled my eyes, but my lips twitched. I hated that he was sort of funny when he wasn't being cryptic.
Then he glanced down at the sandwich again.
Something shifted in his face—just a flicker. His fingers tightened ever so slightly.
"You okay?" I asked.
He looked up, smiling again. But this one didn't reach his eyes.
"You ever wonder if the food here is poisoned?" he asked, voice casual.
"…What?"
"Not this one," he said. "I checked. But in general. School food. So unsupervised."
"…You....checked?"
He didn't answer. Just tilted his head.
Then he said, softer now, "I'm not the only one who came back today."
My entire body went still.
"What do you mean?"
Zayden looked past me, toward the cafeteria entrance. For the first time since he arrived, the smugness dropped. His jaw tightened. He nodded. Like he was being called.
"You should finish your lunch quickly, my bride."
I turned to look.
Nothing. Just the usual crowd.
When I turned back—
he was gone.
His sandwich still sat on the tray.
Untouched.
And my wrist?
My mark was burning like crazy.