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But instead of terror, something else rises in my chest. Something that tastes like moonlight and smells like wild storms.

Territorial fury.

This is mine.This forest, this space, this moment where truth finally breaks free of twenty-eight years of lies.

“Back off.” The words carry authority I didn’t know I possessed—royal command backed by earth magic and centuries of suppressed fury.

The earth splits like wounded flesh. Thorns explode from bleeding soil with the violence of things too long suppressed—razor-sharp, brilliant as stars, marking territory with royal authority carved in light and pain.

Predators that could devour armies drop to their bellies like beaten dogs. Heads pressed to earth, throats exposed in submission that’s absolute. Acknowledging the apex predator they didn’t know they were stalking.

“Holy shit,” I breathe.

“Language, your majesty,” Whispen teases, but his glow pulses with warm approval.

The shadow-creature backs away with obvious reluctance, disappearing into darkness with sounds like breaking glass. The other eyes blink out one by one, nocturnal hunters retreating from claimed royal territory.

I stand in a circle of living thorns, their light pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat, and finally—finally—stop fighting what I am.

“Hit me with the rest,” I say steadily. “What other cosmic joke am I the punchline to?”

Whispen’s golden radiance brightens until the entire clearing glows like captured sunlight.

“Oh, root-born,” he says with visible delight, “where shall we begin?”

I stare at the thorns still pulsing around my feet, their blue-green light painting everything in otherworldly hues. The reality of what just happened—what I just did—settles over me like a weighted blanket.

“Start with getting me back to the Academy,” I say, surprising myself with how calm I sound. “Before something else decides to test my newfound royal authority.”

“Finally, a practical request!” Whispen claps his translucent hands together. “This way, your majesty.”

He floats toward what looks like impenetrable forest, but as he approaches, trees shift aside with creaking groans. A path materializes from nothing, glowing faintly blue to match my thorn patterns.

“Every root system for miles knows your scent now,” he explains, drifting along the newly formed trail. “The earth itself bends to acknowledge what it made. Trees will part like curtains, soil will cushion your steps, and anything that threatens you will find the forest suddenly... inhospitable.”

I follow, bare feet finding the path surprisingly warm and soft. Each step sends gentle pulses of energy up my legs, like the earth itself is welcoming me home.

“Acknowledged,” I repeat, testing the word. “What’s the difference between acknowledged and... whatever I was before?”

“Before, you were royal blood in denial,” Whispen says cheerfully. “Sleeping magic, suppressed nature, fighting your own DNA like it was a virus to be cured.”

The words pierce straight through my sternum because they’re true. How many years did I spend feeling wrong in my own skin? How many nights did I lie awake knowing something fundamental was missing?

“Now you are royal blood awakened,” he continues. “The magic flows freely, the nature accepts itself, the DNA rejoices in finally being allowed to function as designed.”

“And the three guys who’ve been circling me like sharks?”

“Ah yes, your would-be guardians. Kieran of the Unseelie shadows, Finnian of the Seelie light, Orion of the Wild flame. They sensed what you were before you did.”

Molten honey pools low in my belly at their names. Heat that has nothing to do with magic. “Guardians?”

“Your magic calls to theirs,” Whispen says, his voice carrying ancient weight. “Traditional Wild Court royal bonding involves three partners—one from each major court for political balance, magical amplification, and...” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Personal satisfaction.”

“Personal satisfaction.” I shake my head, heat blooming in my chest. “You look like a teenager. This is weird.”

“I’ve watched empires crumble to dust while guarding bloodlines that should have died,” he says with wounded dignity. “This face is convenience—the real me would give you nightmares.”

“Skip the supernatural dating advice and tell me about my parents.”