Page 142 of Ashes to Ashes

“Like you see me.” The words catch in my throat. “Not the soldier they made me. Not the heir they want me to be. Just... me. And that’s terrifying and amazing and I don’t know what to do with it.”

Because what if the ‘real me’ isn’t worth keeping once they see all of it?

His careful composure cracks. “Ash...”

“I know this is complicated. I know I’m making everything harder by not choosing?—”

“This isn’t about choosing.” He crosses to me. “This is about surviving today. About understanding what the Trial of Truth will demand from you.”

The shift back to practical matters feels like both relief and loss.

“Tell me,” I say, settling into the chair he indicates.

“Three questions,” he begins. “Asked by representatives from each court, designed to test not just honesty but the depth of that honesty. Surface truth isn’t enough—they’ll dig until they reach the core of who you are.”

My stomach clenches. “What kind of questions?”

“Fears. Desires. Loyalties. Sacrifices.” He retrieves a bound manuscript, pages marked with careful annotations. “Questions designed to expose your fundamental nature, your fitness to wield royal power.”

“And if I can’t answer honestly enough?”

“Magical backlash. Severed bonds. Potentially death, depending on how violently the truth constraints react to evasion.” His voice stays clinically detached, but I catch the way his thumb brushes across those full lips—an unconscious tell I’mstarting to recognize. “The trial is designed to strip away every pretense, every defense, every comfortable lie we tell ourselves.”

The scope of it hits me like a physical blow. Not just proving my bloodline—proving my soul is worthy of the power that comes with it.

“How do I prepare for something like that?”

“By practicing honesty. By examining your own motivations until you understand them completely.” He opens the manuscript to a page covered in sample questions. “By facing the truths you’ve been avoiding.”

I read the first question and my vision tunnels: What do you fear most about accepting your crown?

The answer rises immediately, unbidden and terrifying: That loving you—all of you—means I’ll have to sacrifice you.

“This is what they’ll do,” I breathe. “Force me to admit things I’ve barely admitted to myself.”

“Yes.” His voice goes gentle. “Which is why we practice. Why we examine every fear, every desire, every contradiction until they hold no power to surprise you.”

He settles into the chair across from me, manuscript between us like a bridge. “Shall we begin?”

For the next three hours, Finnian dissects my psyche—but not in the clinical way I expected.

“Let’s start with fears,” he says, settling back in his chair with the manuscript open between us. “The trial will probe deepest anxieties first, when your defenses are strongest.”

“What do you fear most about accepting your crown?” He reads the question like it’s written in my file.

The truth feels like glass in my mouth, but the lie would taste like ash. I’ve spent my life swallowing both.

The answer rises immediately, visceral and terrifying. “That loving you—all of you—means I’ll have to sacrifice you.” Myvoice breaks. “That being queen means losing the only people who’ve ever made me feel human.”

The admission makes the thorns beneath my skin pulse with anxious fire. Across from me, the amber in Finnian’s eyes brightens in response, his magic recognizing my vulnerability even when his voice stays steady.

His golden gaze flicks up from the page. “Explain.”

“Queens don’t get to keep personal attachments. They sacrifice individual happiness for the greater good. They make choices that destroy the people closest to them.” My throat closes. “I’m terrified that becoming who I’m supposed to be means losing who I want to be.”

“And who do you want to be?”

“Someone who gets to choose love over duty. Someone who doesn’t have to sacrifice the people who matter for political necessity.”