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Thorns spread beyond my skin, touching earth that responds like it’s been waiting centuries for royal touch. The platform encompasses exactly enough space—not too much,not destructive, but enough to establish dominance without question.

For a terrifying moment, I feel the magic reaching deeper—toward the Academy’s structural foundations, toward the delicate crystal formations throughout the building.What if I can’t stop it? What if I bring down everything around us?

But somehow, the power steadies as royal training I don’t remember kicks in. The platform stops growing at the precise point of maximum effect without structural damage.

Lyra drops to her knees, hands pressed to her mouth as tears stream down her face. “You are really her,” she breathes, voice breaking with emotion. “Queen. Moonshadow. The bloodline we thought was lost.”

Names that mean something to everyone but me. Weight settling on my shoulders like a crown I never asked for.

“Question is,” I continue, voice dropping to silk wrapped around steel as I survey the arena, “what you’re going to do about it.”

Cassius staggers backward, court ambitions crumbling as he realizes exactly what he’s unleashed. Political calculations race across his features—the kind that determine whether someone lives or dies. “You are... you are actually...”

“Wild Court.” The words feel strange on my tongue, like speaking a language I’d forgotten but never quite lost. “Apparently I’m the thing your courts spent centuries trying to kill.” Bitter laughter escapes, echoing off stone walls. “Guess they missed one.”

“Impossible,” Darius breathes, though his shadows are already bowing to my presence—darkness retreating from light that outranks it by royal decree. “The royal line was destroyed?—”

“Was it?” I step forward on my elevated platform, putting me above every student in ways both literal and political. “Or were we just really good at not being found?”

In the gallery, Kieran grips the railing hard enough to crack stone. Frost spreads from his hands in jagged patterns that web across ancient surfaces, but when our eyes meet across the distance, his smile cuts sharp with satisfaction and something deeper.

Recognition. Acceptance.

He’s not afraid of what I am. He’s relieved I’ve stopped hiding it.

“Professor Morgan,” Elena manages from where she’s slumped against the wall, her earlier confidence shattered like glass. “We did not mean?—”

“You meant exactly what you did.” My gaze sweeps the arena, cataloging responses. Some kneel in formal court submission. Others lean away like I might spontaneously combust. All of them understand the game just changed—and they’re the ones who flipped the board. “Coordinated attack. Planned assault. Magical violence against someone whose existence reshapes every alliance, every treaty, every power structure you’ve ever known.”

Several students flinch visibly. Cassius won’t meet my eyes, probably calculating how to spin this to avoid execution for attacking royalty. Court politics just became survival tactics.

“But here’s what you failed to consider.” The words make crystal throughout the arena ring in perfect harmony. “Not just Wild Court royalty playing dress-up as a professor. I’m a soldier trained to survive impossible odds, with a mission success rate of one hundred percent.”

The arena doors burst open as Kieran drops from the gallery, shadows exploding outward like a storm given form. But instead of taking charge, he positions himself beside my impromptu throne—protective but respectful, acknowledging what I am without trying to control it.

Smart man.

Finnian and Orion arrive at supernatural speed, drawn by royal magic that probably registered across the entire Academy. Finnian’s presence washes over me in waves of golden warmth that calls to something deep in my chest, making my pulse skip with recognition.

But it’s Orion’s arrival that hits me like a physical wall of heat and possession—satisfaction so profound it makes my ribs ache. He takes one look at the thorns spiraling up my arms, at the platform of living stone beneath my feet, and something ancient settles in his expression.

“Finally,” Orion breathes, and the word carries recognition that goes deeper than politics or training. Blood calling to blood. Guardian to royal. “Finally, you’ve stopped hiding.”

The single word resonates through my bones like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment. For me to stop pretending to be human and claim what’s mine by right of birth and blood.

“What happened here?” Finnian demands.

“Tuesday morning. Your students thought it was a brilliant idea to magically assault their professor.” My voice gets dangerously quiet as the platform responds to my will, growing to encompass all three men. Their presence anchors something wild in me—Kieran’s shadows providing cool relief against overheated skin, Finnian’s light steadying chaotic magic, Orion’s solid warmth grounding me to earth itself. “They were wrong.”

“And learned it the hard way,” Kieran adds, surveying the damage with cold satisfaction as he takes in cracked stone and kneeling students.

Headmaster Valeborn materializes at the arena’s center, his usually composed features tight with controlled fury and something that looks like recognition. His gaze sweeps the destruction—cracked stones arranged in perfect geometricpatterns, kneeling students, vines that definitely weren’t in the architectural plans—before settling on me.

Like he’s been waiting for this moment too.

“Explain,” he commands, though his tone carries new respect that wasn’t there yesterday.

Instead of cowering or offering excuses, I let him see exactly what I am. The thorns pulse brighter, warmth spreading through my arms like liquid gold as royal magic responds to challenge. The platform rises another precise inch, putting us at perfect eye level.