Chapter 151: What Got Into Him ?
By the time she finally made it to her last class of the day—without question her favorite—taught by none other than her favorite professor, Kiyan Ardachir, who proceeded to ignore her with spectacular determination, Blanche almost found herself missing Erik.
Her son's uncle was in a far better mood than his father.
And considerably better company.
Oh, the irony.
Especially after the moment they'd shared in the attic...
What had happened to him in the Otherworld?
He had almost certainly slept between one and four in the afternoon.
He was a completely different man from the one she'd left at noon.
Was Nicky all right?
Blanche sighed.
The sound earned her a dark look from the man at the front of the classroom.
What on earth had gotten into him?
Had Argy ratted her out?
No...
That seemed highly unlikely.
Then what, for heaven's sake, was wrong?
Kiyan launched into an avalanche of historical context before burying the class beneath an equally enormous pile of homework.
This time, however, Blanche had actually brought something to write with.
She carefully took notes throughout the lecture, to the utter astonishment of her classmates.
She had promised.
Yet Kiyan's eyes seemed to scream:
Just you wait.
Well.
Then she'd simply have to wait until class was over to find out...
No.
She wouldn't have time.
She had to rush to her son's place afterward.
Unable to take it any longer, fifteen minutes before the bell, Kiyan snapped the textbook shut.
The sharp crack echoed through the classroom.
"Pop quiz."
A chorus of miserable groans answered him immediately.
No one dared complain.
Everyone knew arguing would only make things worse.
The papers were handed out in oppressive silence.
With that almost unreal composure that always characterized him whenever something truly bothered him.
Even the chattiest students hurriedly lowered their heads, preferring to face the questions rather than their professor.
Kiyan walked slowly to the desk at the back of the classroom and sat down with effortless elegance, crossing one leg over the other before absently brushing a loose strand of his long black curls behind his ear.
Dressed, as always, in perfectly tailored dark trousers and an immaculate white shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled to his forearms, he looked almost unfairly handsome.
His face, usually so serene, had closed off completely.
His perfectly sculpted jaw remained tense.
The muscles in his neck tightened almost imperceptibly beneath his sun-kissed skin.
His long, elegant fingers laced together with almost ceremonial slowness.
But Blanche noticed his thumb.
It tapped lightly against his index finger.
The tiniest gesture.
She probably wouldn't have noticed it in anyone else.
With Kiyan...
It was the equivalent of an explosion of anger.
He slowly closed his eyes.
For a long time.
As though trying to regain control before doing something he would regret.
His face remained breathtakingly beautiful.
Long black lashes rested against his high cheekbones.
His profile looked as though it had been carved from marble.
Even with tension tightening every feature, he retained that almost unreal elegance peculiar to ancient beings.
That contrast was precisely what made him so intimidating.
With Kiyan, anger distorted nothing.
It enhanced everything.
It deepened his gaze when he opened his eyes.
It sharpened the nobility of his features.
It lent his very presence an almost tangible weight.
The air around him seemed heavier.
As though the room itself were holding its breath.
Blanche noticed several students stealing discreet glances in his direction.
They'd noticed too.
Kiyan was angry.
Not loudly.
Not violently.
Something far worse.
He was silent.
And that silence possessed something majestic.
Something dangerous.
Like a perfectly calm sea concealing a storm powerful enough to swallow an entire continent.
He inhaled slowly.
Then exhaled just as gently.
Again.
And again.
Clearly trying to recover the absolute self-control that made him the calmest man Blanche had ever known.
She couldn't stop watching him.
Even irritated...
Even on the verge of losing his patience...
He remained almost painfully beautiful—the kind of beauty possessed by kings whose mere presence naturally commanded respect without ever needing to raise their voices.
Roberto cast Eva a questioning glance.
She simply shrugged.
Blanche shook her head.
None of them had any idea what was going on.
"Some people just need to blow off steam," Olivia murmured.
Blanche's eyes widened.
Her pen froze above her paper as she slowly turned toward her friend, unable to believe Olivia had actually said that...
Here.
Now.
Olivia's boldness sometimes bordered on recklessness.
Blanche swallowed discreetly.
Then, almost against her will, her gaze drifted toward Kiyan.
He still hadn't opened his eyes.
He sat perfectly motionless behind the desk, his hands folded before him like a marble statue deep in meditation.
But Blanche knew him well enough by now.
She knew.
He'd heard it.
Of course he'd heard it.
An almost imperceptible silence followed.
Then his jaw tightened.
Hard.
Far too hard.
Beneath his bronzed skin, a tendon slowly stood out along his cheek, betraying the almost superhuman effort he was making to remain composed.
His fingers, still interlaced, tensed almost imperceptibly before returning to perfect stillness.
He still hadn't opened his eyes.
As though he knew that meeting Blanche's gaze would be enough to shatter the control he'd fought to maintain since the beginning of class.
No one else seemed to notice anything.
The students, completely absorbed in their surprise quiz, filled their papers in studious silence.
Pens scratched across paper.
A chair creaked softly.
But no one paid any attention to the sovereign seated at the back of the room.
No one...
Except Blanche.