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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.”

His expression sobers instantly. “Ah. The painful questions.”

The path curves around a massive oak, and I catch a glimpse of crystal spires in the distance. The Academy. Almost home.

Home. When did I start thinking of it as home?

“They died screaming your name into soil that drank their blood like communion wine,” Whispen says carefully, his voice taking on an odd, constrained quality. “The last Wild Court royals, butchered for the crime of existing. But their sacrifice grew roots—grew you.”

That’s what the Morrigan said. It’s Impossible.

“They screamed my name while they were dying?”

“To give you life,” Whispen says gently.

I sink to my knees. The thorns pulse beneath my skin like a heartbeat made of grief.

“You are vengeance wrapped in royal skin,” he says with sudden fierce pride. “The earth’s middle finger to everyone who thought they could exterminate magic by spilling blood. Grown from genocide, born from the soil that refused to let royal blood die.”

Something in his tone suggests there’s more to the story, but when I open my mouth to ask, that isn’t what comes out. “They died for me?”

“They died to save the royal bloodline. To ensure Wild Court magic wouldn’t vanish forever.” His voice turns fierce with ancient loyalty. “They succeeded, root-born. You are their success story.”

Salt burns behind my eyes, but I blink it back. “What were their names?”

“Cian Moonshadow and Niamh Thornheart.” The names ring with ceremonial weight. “He commanded the earth, she called the storms. Together they could reshape landscapes.”

I touch the thorns beneath my skin, feeling their steady pulse. Their legacy. Their gift. Their final fuck-you to everyone who thought royal blood could be spilled without consequence.

“Will I be able to do that?”

“In time. With proper training. With the right consorts to balance and amplify your power.” His grin returns. “Did I mention the consorts are all devastatingly attractive?”

Despite everything, I laugh. “You mentioned.”

The Academy gates appear ahead, crystal and silver gleaming in moonlight. But something’s wrong. Every window blazes with emergency lighting. Search patterns. Faculty, guards, students—all mobilized.

“Whispen,” I say slowly. “What time is it?”

“Approximately three hours past when a certain royal heir fled her combat trial.” His glow dims. “Also past when emergency protocols activated and certain parties used your absence as... cover.”

My stomach plummets through the earth’s core. “Three hours? I’ve been gone for three hours?”

“Time moves differently when you’re having existential crises in magical forests,” he says matter-of-factly. “Also when you’re claiming royal territory for the first time. Magic is demanding like that.”

“Shit.” I break into a run, bare feet slapping against the path. “They probably think I’m dead. Or kidnapped. Or?—”

“Or finally accepting your destiny,” Whispen calls, easily keeping pace despite his casual floating. “Which, technically, you are!”

The Academy gates recognize me instantly, swinging open without guards or keys. But as I sprint across the courtyard, three familiar scents hit me simultaneously.

Winter storms and shadows from the north wing.

Golden light and old books from the library.

Woodsmoke and growing things from the eastern gardens.

They’re all here. All looking for me.

“Your majesty,” Whispen says with obvious glee, “I believe your consorts are about to converge.”

“They’re not my consorts!”

“Yet,” he adds helpfully.

Three predators materialize from shadow, flame, and starlight—closing on me with the coordinated precision of wolves who’ve finally cornered their prize. Ice-blue eyes, amber fire, and golden warmth all focused on the same target. Me.

Electric current races along my bones as my newly awakened magic reaches for all of them at once, thorns pulsing with recognition and want and something deeper that tastes like destiny.

“Whispen,” I say through gritted teeth as ice-blue eyes lock onto mine from across the courtyard, “I think I’m about to have another crisis.”

“Excellent!” he chirps. “I do so love watching royal romance complications unfold!”

Before I can strangle my soul-keeper, strong arms wrap around me from behind, and Orion’s voice rumbles against my ear. “There you are.”