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I carry Ash toward the grove’s heart where a natural spring pools among the tree’s massive roots. The water glows with soft blue-green light—Wild Court magic in its purest form, untainted by politics or manipulation.

“I can walk.” The protest comes out weaker than she wants, but her eyes still flash with stubborn fire. “Don’t need to be carried like some damsel in distress.”

“Sure you can, Thorn,” I agree, not slowing down. “Right after you stop bleeding from magical exhaustion.”

Her laugh is barely a breath. “Stubborn bastard.”

“Says the woman arguing medical treatment while unconscious.”

“This place...” I settle beside the spring, still holding her like she might disappear if I let go. “My grandmother brought me here when the oath first stirred. I was seven, barely understood what guardian blood meant.”

The memory surfaces with surprising clarity—a massive woman with flame-red hair and hands that could gentle wild horses or snap necks with equal ease.

“Guardian oaths don’t break,” I tell her, jaw tight with the weight of twenty years carrying this bond. “They find what’s worth protecting and hold on.” I trace the mark between my thumb and forefinger—no longer just a burn but something growing, sending out tiny root-like tendrils beneath my skin. “Took me twenty years to understand she meant you.”

“Your grandmother sounds formidable,” Ash murmurs.

“She was the last guardian before me. Died defending the royal family when I was fifteen.” The words still taste like ash and failure, like promises I wasn’t strong enough to keep. “I wasn’t ready. The oath passed to me anyway.”

“What happened to them? The royal family she died protecting?”

The question hits like lightning striking a tree. “They were your parents.” The words taste like old wounds. “Cian Moonshadow and Niamh Thornheart. Earth and storm. Power that could reshape landscapes.” My jaw tightens. “My grandmother died trying to save them.”

She goes perfectly still in my arms.

“Every guardian who died—my grandmother, three others—all so you could live long enough to come home.” My jaw clenches as the weight of it hits fresh. “Every drop of blood spilled to get you to this moment.”

“And they still died,” she whispers.

“They bought time for you to escape. For the earth itself to hide you until you were old enough to survive.” I press my lips to her temple, breathing in wildflowers and lightning. “Every life lost—it was all to keep you alive.”

“That’s a lot of pressure.”

“Lucky for us you don’t break easy, Thorn.” My thumb strokes across her cheek. “Lucky you chose me to help carry it.”

“The water needs skin contact,” I explain, settling her at the spring’s edge. “My magic works better that way. But only if you want it.”

I help her out of the ruined ceremonial robes, my hands careful as I can make them. She’s so damn small against my frame—delicate despite the power flowing beneath her skin.

She slides into the healing water with a sigh that makes something primal in my chest rumble with satisfaction. Whenshe leans back against me, trust radiating from every line of her body, the oath mark flares with sudden warmth.

The water responds immediately. I watch in fascination as color returns to her pale skin, starting from where we touch and spreading outward in waves. The blood stops flowing from her nose, her ears. Tiny cuts on her hands seal themselves with threads of silver light.

Where our skin meets, new marks appear—not just on me but on her too. Spiraling patterns that complement the thorns already mapping her arms, root-like designs that wrap around my forearms like living vines.

“Better?” I murmur against her ear.

“Getting there.” Her voice already sounds stronger. “Tell me about the others. The guardians who came before.”

“There were dozens once. Guardian families bound to royal bloodlines for centuries.” The water swirls around us as my magic responds to hers, golden flame mixing with blue-green growth in patterns that make the spring glow brighter. “When your parents fell, when the royal line was thought extinct... most guardian oaths went dormant.”

“But not yours.”

“Mine kept growing. Kept reaching for something that shouldn’t have existed.” I press my forehead against her temple, breathing in the scent of wildflowers and lightning that clings to her skin. “Drove me half-crazy for years, feeling this pull toward someone I’d never met.”

The guardian mark spreads like roots finding soil, wrapping around my wrist. Growing toward her like a plant toward sunlight. She watches with fascination as matching patterns appear on her skin—not thorns but complementary designs that fit perfectly with mine.

“The Wild Court resistance,” I continue, voice rougher than intended. “We’ve been scattered, hiding, dying slowly fordecades. Every family that gets discovered, every safe house that falls... we lose more of what we were.”