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Our fingers brush over the roster and the Cauldron detonates against my ribs. Ancient magic recognizing its mistress. My pupils dilate so fast the room blurs, heartbeat hammering against bone.

The Cauldron stirs.

“Time to get your hands dirty, Thorn.” I let my gaze drop to where patterns hide beneath her sleeves.

Her eyes flash—quick spark of green before gray reasserts control. “Thorn?”

“Fits better than Professor Morgan.” I close the remaining distance until her scent fills my senses—lightning and earth and something uniquely hers that makes my magic sing. “All thosebeautiful, dangerous patterns hiding under proper academic attire.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” The lie makes her flinch, throat working like the words taste like poison.

Truth constraints kicking in. Another sign of awakening Fae nature she’s too stubborn to acknowledge.

“Sure you don’t.” I grin, letting her see the barely leashed wildness in my expression. “That’s why you’re coming with me.”

“Am I now?” Her eyebrow arches in challenge.

“Somewhere we can talk without Academy ears listening.” I extend my hand, palm up, giving her the choice. “Trust me.”

She stares at my offered hand like it might bite her. Smart woman—touching me will only make the connection stronger. But I’m betting curiosity wins over caution.

It always does with her.

“Boundary training got cancelled,” she says, deflecting. “Students mentioned security concerns.”

“Security concerns. Right.” I keep my hand extended, patient as stone. “Or maybe certain ice princes got territorial about their hunting grounds.”

Her pupils dilate slightly. Kieran. Whatever happened between them last night left marks deeper than skin—I can smell winter magic clinging to her like a claimed scent.

Embers flicker behind my sternum before I wrestle them down. She’s not claimed yet. Not by him, not by anyone.

Not until she accepts what she truly is.

“One hour,” I promise, voice dropping to an intimate rumble. “Give me one hour, and I’ll answer questions your other instructors won’t.”

“Such as?”

“Why Academy wards bend around you. Why students defer without thinking. Why your combat forms match bloodlines that went extinct centuries ago.”

The words hit her like a physical impact. She sways slightly, hand rising to touch the space where her pendant usually rests—empty now, I notice with satisfaction.

“Lead the way,” she says quietly, placing her hand in mine.

Contact sears through me like lightning striking dry timber. Her skin is warm, slightly callused from weapons training, but beneath the human exterior, Wild magic pulses in rhythm with my heartbeat.

Recognition. Ancient blood calling to ancient oath.

We walk through Academy corridors that reshape themselves around us, architecture flowing like water in response to our combined presence. Ash notices—of course she does—cataloguing every impossible angle.

“Building’s responding to you,” I say, squeezing her fingers gently. “Reality bends around royal presence.”

“Royal.” She tests the word like foreign ammunition. “You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true. Whether you accept it or not.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then we’re all fucked.” The blunt honesty makes her stumble slightly. “Courts have been fractured for centuries, Thorn. Balance requires a unifying force.”