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“Royal blood? I’m a soldier who was found eating berries in the woods. The closest I get to royalty is saluting officers. So either your intel’s wrong, or someone’s been playing a very long game.”

“Truth-song sings through thorn and bone, little queen now coming home!”

Heat floods my chest at the thought of Kieran carrying me to safety. Dangerous, unwelcome warmth that has nothing to do with magic and everything to do with the way he’d looked at me in that clearing.

Like I mattered.

Like protecting me was worth risking everything he’d built over centuries.

I shake my head violently. Can’t think about that now. Survival first.

I start climbing, following Whispen’s glow. Splinters drive deep into my palms, each movement sending fresh awareness through my body—somehow stronger than before, more coordinated despite the cramped space.

“Truth, yes, but mind’s a maze of endless days and countless ways. Watched you born in moonlight bright, watched you train for mortal fights. Stayed hidden while thorns slept deep, now they wake and upward creep.”

I freeze mid-climb, his words like ice water through my veins. “Watched me born. Right. So you’re either the world’s most dedicated stalker or there’s a really disturbing backstory I’m not going to like. Which is it?”

“Blood-bound, soul-tethered, tied by gold—Will-o’-wisps serve legends old. Mother’s magic, father’s line, wove our fatesthrough space and time. Your true name—oh how it sings! Ashlynne of the thorned-crown kings!”

Ashlynne.

The name slams through me like lightning striking ground.

Every nerve ending ablaze.

Not just a variation on what I’ve always known—this resonates deeper. Threaded through DNA I’ve denied for twenty-eight years. My hands shake against the bark. Breath comes fast and shallow. Pieces click into place with the precision of a rifle chambering rounds.

The hollow feeling inside me that’s existed since consciousness began suddenly aches with purpose. I’ve always felt like something was missing. Some essential part locked away behind iron and lies.

The automatic lie tastes like copper and ash, physically painful to even attempt.

“I was found—” I can’t finish the sentence. Can’t voice the story Graves fed me about being discovered abandoned in the woods. Every cell in my body rejects that narrative with violent disgust.

I explode from the hollow into gray dawn light. Fresh air floods my starved lungs. My legs buckle, muscles cramping from confinement. I nearly face-plant into the figure waiting below.

A woman unlike any I’ve ever seen.

She stands like a monument carved from living stone. Battle leathers adorned with feathers that move with their own consciousness. Silver-streaked black hair frames a face beautiful in the way avalanches are beautiful—ancient, powerful, utterly indifferent to human comfort.

Her silver eyes strip away every layer of pretense, seeing through flesh right down to whatever truth lives in my bones.

Every instinct I possess screams warnings—dangerous, powerful, apex predator.

But beneath the alarm, something deeper recognizes her presence.

Not memory but blood calling to blood.

“Ancient warrior with pet lighting effects and a stare that could stop traffic. Let me guess—you’re either here to help or here to kill me. Considering my recent luck, probably both.”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Her attention is drawn to Whispen, who transforms the moment he sees her. His manic energy settles as he floats to her armored shoulder. His chaotic light shifts to pure gold, nestling against her neck like a devoted pet seeking comfort.

“Sharp-mother watches, broken-mother heals,” he purrs, earlier madness melting into profound affection.

“And what does my soul-keeper report?” she asks, voice carrying warmth reserved only for him.

“Thorn-patterns spread like spring through bone, earth claimed her—not alone. Three circle close but shadow-blade protects, root-born learning what she expects.”

I watch this impossible exchange. Whispen—death-predicting maniac moments ago—now acts like a cherished companion seeking approval.