Secrets: the best kind are hidden in the most unlikely places. Alana Cashore knows this better than anyone else. There's a secret hidden in every sneaky glance, every lingering touch, and every ravishing word. There's a secret hidden in the way that his limbs are entwined with hers. There's a secret in her bed sheets, one that's going to get up and leave in a few minutes. Leave her with the wanting to see him again.

"You're doing that thing again," the beautiful man beside her says, as he rolls over so he's facing her.

Her blonde strands are tousled as she tangles her hand in them so she can lean on her elbow. Her lips tip up into a smirk. "What thing?"

"That staring thing you do when you're simply blown away by my handsome self," he replies, running his hand through his platinum blond hair.

Alana throws her head back and laughs, freely. It's these rare moments with him when they're not ripping the buttons off each other's clothes but are simply enjoying each other's company that she laughs so freely. That she lives so freely.

His blue eyes light up, seeing her laugh. And if he were to be honest, there's no woman more beautiful than her.

He leans and reaches over her to check his phone for the time. He looks down at her with sadness, and her smile that was so cheery before turns into a knowing and sad one.

"I have to get going," he says, even though she already knows.

"I know," she concedes, with a defeated sigh.

"I might stay for another minute, just so you can remind yourself of how lucky you are to get the Governor into your bed," Nicholas Gilbert remarks jokingly, hoping to see the same, beautiful smile light up her face again.

"Oh, you mean, so you can remind yourself how lucky you are to get into my pants?" Alana retorts back, as she tries to fight the urge to laugh.

He chuckles, as he drags himself out of the bed, the white bed sheet sliding off him like silk. He looks around for his pants, and spots them lying carelessly on the chaise in the middle of the room. Shaking his head in amusement, he grabs them along with the button up shirt lying on the ground.

Once they're on, he searches for his tie, blazer coat and socks. All the while, Alana's eyes remain on him, watching and taking in every movement. After all, this will be all she has to keep her going until the next time.

"Alana, do you know where my other sock is?" Nicholas calls out, looking confused as he stares at the single black sock in his hand.

The puzzled expression painted on his face is cute and endearing, not that she'll let him know that. Alana straightens up and the white sheet that was covering her modesty before, slides down a few inches, exposing her breasts. Instantly, his eyes zero on the movement and he can't help the smirk that tips up his lips. Knowing his trail of thoughts, Alana simply rolls her eyes and focuses on looking for his sock.

"There," she says, pointing to the sock lying near her bookshelf.

"How did it even get there?"

"Don't tell me you need a reminder," Alana teases.

"I might actually."

The teasing smile on his face is enough to remind her of last night. And if she were true with herself, she would gladly give him a reminder.

But instead, she says, "Thought you didn't have time?"

The smile slips of his face, and she has the need to turn back time just so she can see it again.

"I don't."

Nicholas Gilbert walks up to her, as he quickly does his tie. Leaning over her, his rough hand finds the nape of her neck and his fingers tangle themselves in her blonde strands. Slowly his lips cover hers in a kiss that is sweet and firm but promises so much more.

Promises, that Alana doubts he can keep.

"I'll see you later," he whispers against her lips.

Maybe if her brain wasn't such a mess from the kiss, Alana would've said something flirty back but instead she cracks a smile and watches him turn around and pull the grey jacket on.

Alana Cashore is in trouble, and it doesn't take a genius to figure that out. As he walks towards the door, she comes to the conclusion that Alana loves Nicholas Gilbert enough to want him to turn around and stay, but not enough to ask him to do so.

And so, she lets him walk away.

■ ■ ■ ■ ■ ■ ■

"Are you ready?" Orion asks, as he stands beside Noah staring out from the terrace.

Noah breathes a sigh, trying to ignore how good the witch next to him smelled. "No. Are you?"

"Fuck no."

Noah chuckles but doesn't peel his eyes away from the compound. It's strange not seeing snow littering the ground. It's also strange not having to wear three different jackets just to avoid the possibility of hypothermia. With March coming to an end, Winter is finally loosening its grip and letting Spring take over.

"What do you think the task is going to be?" Orion questions, his eyes skirting over the area below nervously.

"Whatever it is, I know you're going to do well," Noah assures, with an encouraging smile. Whether Noah likes to admit it or not, he knows that expressing himself isn't a part of his skill set. But he's almost surprised at how much he means the words and by how much he wants the words to become true.

Noah had always been taught to help yourself, because no one else would. But every day that Noah watched Orion, Noah and everyone who resided in the witch village with him had been proven wrong. Orion Winders seemed to have a knack for helping anyone or anything he saw. He was a fixer, Noah realises.

Noah Woods had seen Orion fix the fountain tap outside their Incantations room, he had also seen him helping Sierra pick up her books. Orion was constantly seen in the library, helping people find the right book for their assignment or a quick read. Orion helped everyone he could, without any reason or expectation, and Noah can't understand why. Nonetheless, the concept sends a warm feeling in his gut.

"Thanks."

"Is it crazy that I'm actually more worried about my Magical Arts assignment instead?" Noah says, wanting to continue the conversation. He turns away from Orion with a bitter chuckle and faces the outside.

"Do you need help? I've already finished mine," Orion offers, his eyes still on Noah.

"Really? You would do that?"

Noah isn't entirely surely why he's surprised, after all, Orion Winders helps everyone. The Boy Who Specialised in Two would be no exception.

Perking up, Orion replies, "Of course. I got you."

"Thanks, I owe you my life," Noah adds gratefully.

"You're welcome."

Though the words are simple, Noah can't help but store them away in his brain as if they were the start to something important.

■ ■ ■ ■ ■ ■ ■

The room is crowded. Full of anxious and eager students. Full of significant public figures that have come to watch The Revealing that the witches have been waiting for, for decades.

A castle that Sierra or any other first year student had yet to venture to had been selected for the first task. And Sierra can finally see why no first year had been permitted to wander here. Because though not everyone that wanders are lost, it would be a difficult task to not get lost in here.

The room is large. The candidates sit on the seats around the first flooring among professors and government officials. Eager students watch from the levels above.

There are too many eyes watching her every movement. The need to bite her nails is too strong. Her hands smooth down the non-existent wrinkles on her jeans. Her right foot lifts off the ground slightly and finds its way back to the pine wood flooring.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

An odd number. She taps the floor with her foot again to even it out.

The white scarf wrapped loosely around her neck, now seems too tight; too restricting; too suffocating. Everyone and everything fades into the background. The movement of bodies: a blur. The smell of various cuisines being set up for the ministry officials: nauseating. The sound of bets being placed: much too similar to white noise – only there when it's gone.

She feels hyperaware of everything, yet she sits unable to get a grasp on what's happening around her. The trail of sweat running down the nape of her neck is too prominent as it brushes the strand of ringlet that was too short to tie up along with her ponytail. Her unsteady and ragged breaths overwhelm her ears, drowning out the sound of everything else.

"Sierra?" A strong hand rests on her arm.

She jumps, startled by the touch. Her eyes rise to stare at the owner of the hand. She expects anyone but Dayton Blackwood. Day retreats his hand, realising that unlike the calming effect he was going for, he had only freaked her out even more.

Hesitantly, unsure about why he cares, Day asks, "Are you okay?"

With worried eyes, Day considers the girl. As organised as she looks, he knows that Sierra Kingsley is definitely losing her shit inside.

"Yeah." Her voice falters. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Day raises his eyebrows in disbelief but nods begrudgingly and steps back anyways.

A loud cough rings out, bouncing around the several levels of the room. Every head in the room turns towards the first flooring where a podium stands and behind it: The Governor.

"Welcome to the first task of the Heir's tournament. There will be six tasks, and after every task one candidate shall be eliminated. After the six tasks, we shall be left with our heirs that shall rise and protect our kind.

"I would like to thank all the brilliant witches that have come together to organize The Revealing and plan the tasks and challenges." The Governor breaks eye contact for the first time, and glances down at the paper set in front of him. "Gwendolyn Highmore, Finn Huntley, Cassandra Wood, Vivian Hex, Duncan Delacroix, Adeline Riddle, and Amber De Vil."

As Nicholas Gilbert makes eye contact with the woman he was in bed with just hours prior, she nods and he knows that it's time.

Inhale. Exhale.

"Now for the moment you all have been waiting for. The time for the first task to begin has come. I would like to call up Adeline Riddle and Duncan Delcroix, our controller witches that have designed this first task."

Governor Gilbert steps up and takes a seat at the table behind the podium. Two witches that are seated at the table stand up.

The lady that looks slightly over fifty, wears a long sleeve top that reaches mid-thigh with white jeans. The black pencil heels on the woman's feet has Amisha imagining what it would be like if the witch accidentally tripped over and broke her neck. A tight, pressed and – what Amisha guesses to be – a forced smile sits on her lips as if well practiced.

The lady introduces herself as Adeline Riddle and the man next to her as Duncan Delacroix.

Duncan Delacroix wears a smile that contrasts strongly against Riddle's. A happy, cheery smile lightens up his face, making the sixty-year-old look much younger than he is. The grey coat sits on his broad shoulders and hides his shirt and most of his black ironed pants from view.

"As part of the first task, the candidates will have to relive their worst memory," Adeline Riddle explains, her eyes resting on the anxious candidates.

Duncan leans over, giving the female witch no choice but to shift over so she wasn't hogging the microphone. He clears his throat before speaking, "In order to complete the first task successfully, the candidates must break the memory. The quicker you break it, the higher number of points you get."

"The candidate with the fastest time will be given eleven points, and the second: ten. And so on, until the twelfth candidate will be given zero points and will be eliminated from The Revealing," Adeline interrupts, before casting an unimpressed look Duncan's way.

Alana Cashore stands up and makes her way towards the twelve chairs that have been arranged in a circle. The front of the chair faces away from the inside of the circle and towards the audience.

"Can all the candidates please stand up and take a seat on the chair with their name on it."

One by one, and then as a group, the candidates rise. Their spines are straight with tension, their breathing unsteady with pressure, and their lips pressed thin with anxiety.

"The aim of the first task is for us to see your mental strength. Though power and physical strength is vital in a battle, during a war you will be placed in situations where brain will definitely triumph brawn," Duncan Delacroix adds, as he walks over to the candidates with Adeline following behind.

The three controller witches raise their hand and their lips move as they chant harmoniously. The blue electricity that crackles around the open palms is breath taking. The vestiums tattooed on their wrists, glow up and light pours through it.

The candidates watch in awe, until their eyelids are compelled shut by the magic.

Andthus, it begins.