The three days leading to the midsummer banquet had been a special kind of torture for Dorian.
Each day, he had witnessed Magnus and Willow growing closer, their easy friendship a constant thorn in his side that he refused to acknowledge as jealousy.
He had seen them talking in hallways, Magnus making her laugh with his irreverent humor. He had caught glimpses of them sharing meals in the kitchen when Magnus would venture down there, claiming he wanted to escape the formality of the main dining hall.
Once, he had even seen Magnus teaching her some basic defense moves in the training yard early one morning, his hands adjusting her stance while she blushed and giggled at something he said.
Each interaction had made his wolf more agitated, more possessive, more desperate to claim what was his.
