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I laugh, the sound lighter than I’ve felt in weeks. “Tempting. But I think I have trials to survive first.”

“Whatever happens in those trials,” I whisper against his chest, “I’ll remember this. I’ll remember what I’m fighting to come back to.”

His arms tighten around me. “You will come back. Because now you have something worth surviving for.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

27

ASH

I waketo sunlight pouring through the window, right at my face, as though that damn ball of fire is singling me out.

It honestly might be.

The Academy responds to royal presence in strange ways, and apparently that includes weaponized morning sunshine. I roll over and turn my head to see I’m alone in Kieran’s massive bed, silk sheets tangled around my bare legs.

I’m not mad he isn’t here. It allows me a moment alone—a moment to think and assess all the delicious achy parts of me.

My body hums with satisfaction, nerve endings still sensitive from Kieran’s thorough attention. He didn’t just touch my body—he made my hunger holy. For the first time in my life, wanting felt like power instead of weakness.

But the satisfaction fades as reality creeps back in. Last night felt like claiming power, but this morning feels like facing consequences.

The memories are still soft around the edges, like snow melting beneath sunrise. But underneath the glow? Consequences sharpen like blades.

I want to hold onto the version of me from last night. The one who demanded pleasure without apology. But I can already feel her slipping beneath the weight of politics, expectation, fear.

What if last night was the only moment I ever get to just want something—someone—without consequence?

What if choosing him means un-choosing everything else?

My body still hums with the memory of Kieran’s touch, but my mind races with what it means. How do I look Finnian in the eye knowing I chose someone else’s bed? How do I prepare for trials that will strip away every pretense when I’m not even sure who I am beneath them?

The woman who surrendered to Kieran’s ice and shadows feels like a stranger wearing my skin. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe I’m finally becoming who I was always meant to be, instead of who I was trained to be.

“Good morning, your deliciously conflicted majesty!” Whispen’s voice sparkles with genuine cheer, shattering my contemplation. “What a lovely day to contemplate all the ways your happiness might destroy everything! Isn’t personal growth wonderful?”

I fling an arm over my eyes and breathe deeply, inhaling the lingering scent of winter storms and pine that clings to everything in this room. “Not now, Whispen. I’m trying to figure out who the hell I am this morning.”

“The way Prince Ice-Touch made you forget your own name last night?”

Fire scalds up my throat. “You weren’t supposed to be watching!”

“I wasn’t watching!” His blue light strobes with indignation. “I was diplomatically absent! But oh, the magical resonance was absolutely delightful! Royal satisfaction tends to announce itself across several dimensions—like cosmic fireworks celebrating impending doom! So festive!”

“Magical resonance of—never mind. I don’t want to know.” I groan and throw a pillow at his glowing form. He ducks with a delighted cackle, but his light dims just a touch—like he knows what’s coming next.

“Want to talk about it?” he offers, voice quieter. Less sprite, more soul keeper.

“Not even a little.”

“Thought so.” A pause. “But I’ll be here. You know, if existential dread starts eating through your glitter armor.”

It’s stupid how comforting that is.

I sit up, clutching the sheet to my chest. “What time is it? And don’t say something cryptic about time being an illusion.”