The carmine, sanguine mass of flesh and soul throbs in your cupped palms.

It had been a silly, long-shot plan.

You’ve known Galalion for almost all of your life. He had been beside you during your years at the Royal Vestian Academy of Magic, always keeping you on your toes.

In a way, he was the one thing that kept you going. The only competent person worth competing against in a school full of imbeciles.

You had spent more hours thinking about him—thinking about how to beat him, how to be better than him—than you had on anything else. He was the first thing you thought of when you woke up, and the last thing you thought of before falling asleep. He was even in your dreams. That bastard.

And now, he was competing against you for the most sought-after magical role in the kingdom of Vestia: the imperial mage, the queen's right hand.

You had to beat him this time. You just had to.

So, when you heard he had hired a witch to take away his heart, which was allegedly broken, it struck you. You were going to take his heart. And then you’d beat him. You’d have power over him.

Bribing the witch wasn’t easy, but everyone has a price.

Now you stood in the empty alcove of the school gardens, where the witch had asked you to meet. With Galalion’s literal heart in your palms, and half your hair missing—cut to your shoulders, which the witch had taken as payment—all you could think about was how desperately you wanted to keep it safe.

You wanted to keep his heart safe. Who had broken it? Had it been so shattered that he had been willing to give it away? How could you help him—

The crunching of autumn leaves snapped you out of your trance. You managed to tear your eyes away from the throbbing organ in your hands—the heart of the one man you’ve always felt strongly for, though some would argue whether it was hate or not.

Galalion stood there under the towering oak, his face shrouded in the shadows of the moonlight.

“You have my heart,” he murmured—not angry, just weary.