Page 44

“Because they call to royal blood.” The Morrigan’s voice softens slightly. “But knowledge and acceptance are different things. Bloodline alone doesn’t make a queen.”

“Then what does?” The question slips out before Ash can stop it.

The assembled Wild Court stirs with interest. Several exchange meaningful glances.

“Strength,” calls out a dryad with bark-rough skin. “The crown needs a warrior’s hand.”

“Wisdom,” counters the satyr. “Royal blood without royal judgment destroys all it touches.”

“Choice,” The Morrigan says quietly, silencing the debate. “The willingness to stand for those who cannot stand for themselves. To choose the hard path when easier ones beckon.”

Around us, the Wild Court members nod agreement. But there’s something in their posture—expectation. Assessment.

“You want to test me,” Ash says, reading the room like a tactical situation.

“The crown chooses,” an elder tree-singer steps forward. “But first, the claimant must prove worthy. Royal blood is heritage. Royal strength is earned.”

“What kind of test?” Ash’s voice stays level, but I catch the predatory interest flickering in her eyes.

“Combat,” I answer, understanding suddenly flooding through me. “Trial by combat against a Wild Court champion.”

“Me,” growls a voice from the tree line.

The largest male I’ve ever seen emerges from the forest—eight feet of scarred muscle and wild magic, with antlers branching from his skull like a living crown. Thornback, the Wild Court’s greatest warrior. I’ve sparred with him before and barely survived.

“Shit,” I breathe.

Ash takes one look at her opponent and grins—sharp, predatory expression that sends flames licking up my spine.

“Rules?” she asks.

“No weapons,” Thornback rumbles, voice like grinding stone. “No magic beyond what flows naturally. First to yield or fall unconscious loses.”

“And when I win?”

“You earn the right to consider the crown,” The Morrigan says. “If you lose, you walk away and never return to Wild Court territory.”

“High stakes.” Ash peels off her shirt like she’s shedding armor for war. The thorn patterns spiral across her skin in living tattoos that pulse with her heartbeat. Several Wild Court members suck in breath—living proof of royal bloodline carved in flesh.

“Always are,” Thornback grins, revealing teeth like broken glass. “Makes it interesting.”

They circle each other in the improvised ring, and I realize this isn’t just about proving strength. It’s about earning respect. These people have suffered for centuries because their royal line vanished. They won’t follow just anyone—even someone with the right blood.

Thornback moves first, closing distance with impossible speed for something his size. Ash doesn’t retreat—she flows aside like water, striking at pressure points.

But her human training isn’t enough. Thornback’s supernatural strength overwhelms her blocks, forcing her backward with combinations that would shatter normal bones.

“Fight like what you are!” I shout, unable to stay silent. “Stop thinking like a human!”

Her eyes flash green, and suddenly everything changes.

Ancient muscle memory hijacks her nervous system. She stops fighting like a human and starts moving like the earth itself—patient as stone, then devastating as earthquake. Every strike carries the weight of royal bloodline finally unleashed.

Thornback grins wider, recognizing not just royal bloodline but something rarer—earth-born fury finally awakened. They dance through the grove like natural disasters learning to waltz.

She’s beautiful unleashed.

When she finally finds her opening—a fraction of overextension in his guard—she takes it without mercy. Her strike hits the nerve cluster at the base of his neck.

Thornback drops like a felled tree.

Silence stretches through the grove. Then, slowly, the assembled Wild Court begins to kneel.

“Well,” The Morrigan says with satisfaction. “That settles the question of worthiness.”

But Ash doesn’t bask in the victory. Instead, she helps Thornback to his feet with the respect one warrior shows another.

“Good fight,” she says simply.

“Good fight,” he agrees, rubbing his neck. “You fight like the soil that birthed you—patient as growing seasons, then unstoppable as spring breaking through winter stone. The earth taught you combat before you had conscious thought.”

The words hit her like a physical blow. Her hand instinctively moves to touch the soil beneath her feet, suddenly understanding why it feels like coming home.

“The connection runs deeper than blood,” Thornback continues, watching her reaction with knowing eyes. “Born of earth, raised by humans, but the soil never forgets its children.”

Ash stares at soil that’s literally part of her. The earth that consumed her parents’ sacrifice and grew her from their remains. Her feet pulse in rhythm with ground that knows every cell of her body because it created every cell.

She nods once, then turns away from the circle of kneeling Wild Court members. Her expression has shuttered, professional distance reasserting itself.

“Thanks for the demonstration,” she says to The Morrigan, voice carefully neutral. “Very educational.”

“Ash—” I start forward, but she cuts me off with a look that could freeze flame.

“Don’t.” Her voice could stop a charging rhino. “Just don’t.”

“You can’t just?—”

“Watch me.” She retrieves her shirt and boots with sharp, efficient movements. “I came here for answers, not a fucking coronation ceremony.”

“This was truth,” The Morrigan says quietly.

“This was manipulation disguised as revelation.” Ash’s voice carries the cutting edge of betrayal. “You led me here like livestock to slaughter, then acted surprised when I didn’t praise for the knife.”

“The crown?—”

“Can wait.” She pulls on her boots like armor. “I don’t respond well to surprise job offers.”

She turns to me, and the disappointment in her eyes cuts deeper than any blade.

“You played me.” Her voice cuts through me like winter wind, each word precisely placed for maximum damage. “Knew exactly which buttons to push, which curiosity to exploit. I’m a soldier, not a puppet—and you just tried to pull my strings.”

The words slam into me like artillery fire. She’s right—I did manipulate the situation, thinking it would help her accept the truth faster.

“I was trying to help,” I say, but the excuse sounds hollow even to me.

“Help?” She steps back, creating distance that feels like a chasm. “ Help would’ve been honesty from the start. Real help would’ve been treating me like an adult capable of making informed decisions instead of a mark to be conned.”

The assembled Wild Court kneels like wheat before wind, but she turns away from their reverence like it burns her skin.

“The blood oath—” I start desperately.

“Means nothing if it’s built on lies.” Ash meets my eyes one final time, and the disappointment there breaks something inside my chest. “Figure out who you actually are, Orion. Guardian, friend, or manipulator. Then maybe we can have an honest conversation.”

She turns and walks away, leaving me standing in the grove with a burning oath mark and ash coating my tongue.

The Morrigan approaches as Ash disappears between the trees.

“Well,” she says mildly. “That could have gone better.”

“She’ll come back,” I say, but hollow doubt scrapes against my ribs.

“Will she?” The Morrigan’s silver eyes hold ancient wisdom and not a little disapproval. “You showed her the crown before teaching her to trust. Offered power before building a connection. Royal blood doesn’t forgive that kind of manipulation, Guardian.”

The oath mark pulses with Ash’s emotional state—anger and hurt and bone-deep disappointment. The bond between us stretches taut but doesn’t break.

Yet.

“How do I fix this?” I ask.

“By becoming worthy of the trust you assumed was yours by right.” The Morrigan turns away, her judgment clear. “Start with honesty, Guardian. It’s a revolutionary concept.”

As the Wild Court disperses with disappointed murmurs, I remain standing in the grove where flowers still bloom in her footprints.

She walked away from a crown. From recognition. From everything her bloodline entitles her to.

And somehow, that makes me want to follow her more than ever.

But she told me not to follow. So I won’t.

Not until I figure out how to be the man she deserves instead of the Guardian she never asked for.