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“Too much,” I whisper, pressing my hands to my eyes.

Arctic air sweeps across my skin as Kieran moves. His presence settles beside my chair, close enough to feel his controlled power but not touching.

“Let me help.”

“How?”

“Trust me.”

The words should terrify me. After today’s revelations about who’s been manipulating my life, trust feels like a luxury I can’t afford.

But this is Kieran. Who risked his father’s wrath to save me from boundary hunters. Who shared the secret of his treasure despite every political reason not to. Who looked at me like I mattered more than thrones or crowns or centuries of careful maneuvering.

“Okay.”

Frost blooms in the air around my temples as his fingers hover just above my skin—not touching, but close enough for his natural cold to provide relief from the burning pressure in my head.

“Better?”

“Better.” The word emerges on a sigh that sounds more human than I’ve felt in hours.

“You should clean up,” he says quietly, noting the way I keep rubbing at my wrists where magical restraints held me during the interrogation. “Hot water might help ease the magical strain.”

The suggestion makes sense. I can still feel the residual energy crackling under my skin from the three-court assault, making my nerves feel raw and oversensitive.

The bathroom helps. Hot water eases some of the tension in my shoulders and the magical strain from hours of three-court assault. But when I catch sight of myself in the mirror—the same face, but with eyes that hold knowledge they didn’t have this morning—the weight of it hits fresh.

Tomorrow, I stop being Professor Morgan forever. Win or lose, the woman who walks out of those trials won’t be the same one going in.

I emerge wearing one of his shirts—dark silk that hangs to mid-thigh and makes me feel smaller, more vulnerable than usual. The fabric slides against my bare skin like a caress, still holding traces of his winter-storm scent.

Kieran looks up from where he’s been feeding the fire, and his breath catches audibly. Those pale eyes track the way silk clings to my curves, pupils dilating as he takes in my bare legs, the way his shirt gaps just enough to hint at what’s beneath.

“Troublesome thing,” he says, voice going rough with something that sounds like reverence and pure hunger. “You’re trying to kill me.”

“Still causing trouble,” I manage, fire climbing up my neck at the naked want in his voice.

“Good.” He rises, moving toward me like I’m prey he’s been stalking. “I’d be worried if you stopped.”

The air between us crackles with tension so thick I can taste it—winter frost and desperate need and something deeper that makes my newly awakened magic pulse in recognition.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he continues, stopping just close enough that I can feel the cold radiating from his skin. “Standing there wearing my shirt like you belong to me, making me want things that could destroy us both.”

“What if I want you to show me?” The words slip out before I can stop them, honest and desperate and completely unlike the controlled soldier I’ve been trained to be.

His control snaps audibly.

Kieran moves with inhuman speed, crossing the final distance until he’s close enough that his frost-touched fingers can frame my face. He stares at me like I’m something precious and dangerous, thumbs stroking across my cheekbones.

“You’re playing with fire, troublesome thing.”

“I thought you were ice.”

His smile turns predatory, sharp enough to cut. “Ice burns just as fierce. And I’ve been burning for you since the moment you walked into my academy.”

Before I can respond, his mouth crashes against mine with desperate hunger. This isn’t the careful exploration from before—this is possession and claim and three centuries of control finally shattering.

He tastes like winter storms and dark promises, his tongue exploring my mouth with ruthless precision. His teeth catch my lower lip, biting hard enough to make me gasp, and he swallows the sound like he’s starving for it.