“You say it like it's a bad thing.” Pyrite said, laughing, “Come on. Let's go meet up with Micah.” Dusk had no choice but to grab his arm. His eyes met those of a purple-eyed girl as he was being dragged through the crowd, and the girl's face turned red with rage. She must be a fan. A prince, the third year's leader, and a sizable fan base. It was both like how he had been treated growing up in the Black family and different. Both were well-known, with one being feared and the other being adored. The drawbacks of that fame were shared by both. People. People were always the downfall. Dusk thought it was more bitter than he would like. 

“Micah will be keen to see you since he worried he didn't leave any impression.” Pyrite persisted in dragging him forward and away from the enraged eyes. That should have been green instead of purple.

“I do not think he needs to be concerned about that,” Dusk said, keeping up with Pyrite's fast pace. They made their way to the side of the school. Far away from the crowds. What surprised him was that they didn't follow.

“That's what I told him!” Pyrite remarked, flashing him a toothy grin. All of this without slowing down. “We have a private terminal to help set up your classes.”

“A private one?” Dusk thought he heard that Micah wished for a normal student life, as hard as that would be to achieve for a prince.

“First years have a hard time grasping. The difference between treating Micah like a fellow student and trying to harass him. They didn't want me to knock out another student this year, so we made some changes.” Pyrite said, and Dusk hoped he heard him wrong. Pyrite knocked out a student. Dusk grimaced, but he kept his face impartial with some effort. He hoped he wasn't getting involved with another Knight. He escaped that ferocious, combat-hungry horror. Dusk did not require another. “Micah!”

Micah waved back from ahead. He was standing next to a wolf-folk woman who was an exact replica of Pyrite. Also standing there was Mrs. Quartz. Dusk was unable to come up with any other explanation for her appearance other than to give him a lecture about how to treat royalty.

“Stop dragging the boy around!” The scowling wolf-folk woman stormed up. When Pyrite came to a stop, she raised her hand in the air. Dusk pulled his hand away, and his mind traveled back.

“Dusk! What do you think you're doing?” Dusk looked up at his mother; he was enjoying a book while reading in a tree's shade. He was very young when it first began. Dusk was five or six at the time. A part of the memory, and not a part. Dusk watched himself like a bad film. 

“Reading.” A small cane landed on his face, interrupting his sentence. His blood had a taste of copper, and he could feel the pain of his own teeth digging into his cheeks.

“Black's are always ready.” She peered down at him with sharp eyes, glaring with a void— an emptiness that Dusk feared above all else.

“Yes, Mother.” Dusk answered without getting up from the ground. 

“Dusk Wooddancer!” In front of him stood Mrs. Quartz. He knew he had experienced another attack because of the sweat running down his face. It was frustrating and embarrassing.

“My apologies.” When Dusk spoke, he did so in a whisper to give himself time to catch his breath. He frequently had nightmares, but having them during the day was a new experience for him, and he did not like it. What he hated were the looks on everyone's faces—everyone but Mrs. Quartz.

“I didn't think it was this bad.” Mrs. Quartz looked at him, her rabbit twitching this way and that. Dusk didn't ask what she meant since she, as deputy headmaster, knew of his situation.

“I'm working on it.” Dusk had figured out his triggers, and he would get better. He wouldn't let his past haunt his nights and days. “My apologies.” Dusk turned and bowed towards Pyrite and Micah, whom he assumed was a relative of Pyrite. “I let you see an unsightly thing.” Dusk could feel his hand shaking against his chest. If only it would all go away. Dusk wished in vain for that to happen all last month; the world didn't work that way.

“Ma, you scared him by charging at us like that.” Dusk was taken from his bow and placed in Pyrite's arms as he approached him. Dusk stood still, unsure of what to do. Was he being hugged? Dusk was fairly certain he was receiving a hug. But why? Pyrite was too busy staring down at his mother to notice Dusk's upward glance at him.

“Redneval doesn't have beast folk. A charging wolf-folk could scare a person!” Micah came and stood in front of Dusk. Defending him. It all felt like too much attention from people he had only just met. Pushing Pyrite's arms away, Dusk backed up and hit Mrs. Quartz.

“My apologies.” This whole scenario was making him uncomfortable. His insides felt like worms under the eyes of a bird. All squirmy with no chance of escape.

“Given who Micah's parents are, you should know that they know about the disavowing.” Mrs. Quartz told him after he turned and gave them all some much-needed space. Her voice was as icy and impassive as her face. It felt odd but reassuring. In most cases, dealing with facts was simpler than dealing with feelings.

“We don't know the details.” Pyrite said while raising his hands.

“Dusk, we respect your privacy, but my mother felt that we needed to know.” Micah said he was going to stand by Pyrite. The pair automatically went into a hug. Even Pyrite's tail had encircled Micah's legs by this point. Dusk shut his eyes while counting to three.

“Because you're my guides. I understand.” Dusk said when he opened his eyes. Royalty would look into anyone who would be around their son. It was for safety, pure and simple, or at least that was what they said to his face. He doubted that was the only reason. Dusk wasn't stupid.

“Your history makes you a perfect guide candidate. You have no ties.” Mrs. Quartz explained that her ears flicked back and forth as she spoke. “The fact that you earned the highest entrance grades made it much easier to put in place.”

“Things are a bit different now. That's why I'm here.” Pyrite's mother spoke up. She placed her hand on her hip and waved her hand as she spoke. Though he flinched a little as he observed her hand, Dusk maintained his composure.

“Hands, ma, hands.” Pyrite grabbed her waving hand. Earning himself a sideways glare.

“What are your intentions with my boys?” She swung her arms around both their necks. Pulling them in until they were against her chest.

“Intentions?” Dusk repeated, unable to fathom her intent off-hand. His hand was rolling in different emotions that were more unstable than ever before. “I have none; I didn't even know about them before today.”

“We met at the market!” Micah put his hand on his chest, his sapphire eyes watering with emotion. “I envisioned a more romantic encounter, but surely you remember?”

“He remembers you! Don't ya Dusk?” Pyrite peeled his mother's arm off of Micah to pull him into a hug. Leaning on Pyrite's chest, he turned his head and looked at Dusk. It was like Dusk held the entire world in his hand, and one wrong word could crush it.

“I do, but-” Dusk said, and that was all it took for Micah to light right back up.

“See?” Micah said, staring up at Pyrite's mother. Who put her hand over her eyes with a sigh.

“That doesn't make him your mate.” She said this while rolling her head back along with her eyes. Mate? That thought came with a reasonable amount of panic.

“Pardon my bluntness, but I am not your mate.” Dusk said as best as his manners would allow him, but nowhere in etiquette class did it teach you to deal with this!

“See?” Pyrite's mother said her hand rested on her hip once again.

“The pull is there, ma,” Pyrite said, rubbing Micah's back. “Like we did with Micah.”

“He feels nothing.” She waved her hand at Dusk. Who had turned his eyes to Mrs. Quartz for help. Her eyes were narrowing, and fine lines curled around her nose.

“He's hurt!” Micah cried out, and Dusk winced. “No one disavows their family because they're happy!” This conversation had gone beyond uncomfortable. It was like he wasn't even there. Mates? Even the thought was dismissed; he did not even know them! Since they were bickering among themselves. Dusk took it as an opportunity to leave.