Page 47

ASH

Orion’s warmth seeps through my skin, and for a moment, I let myself lean into it.

The past few hours feel like surviving a hurricane—combat trial, territorial claiming, accepting a truth that rewrites everything I thought I knew about myself.

But I’m still pissed at him.

“Not ready to talk to you yet.” I step out of his embrace and turn to face him. The hurt that flashes across his face makes something clench like a fist beneath my ribs, but I hold my ground. “What you did was manipulation. Good intentions don’t change that fact.”

“Ash—”

“No.” I stand strong. “You orchestrated that entire scenario without my consent. Set up a test like I’m some prize to be won instead of a person capable of making informed decisions.”

“Ash—”

“You don’t get to touch me like that and then treat me like a fucking child,” I snap, breath still ragged, heat clawing up my throat.

Orion’s jaw tightens. His hand is still gripping my arm—too tight. Too steady.

“You almost died out there,” he growls, words stripped to bone. “Think I’m gonna stand around while you fall apart?”

I shove at his chest. He doesn’t move.

“You don’t get to cage me just because you’re scared.”

His eyes meet mine—dark, unreadable. But there’s heat there. And guilt. And something worse.

“Don’t want to protect you,” he says finally, voice low and raw. “Want to own every part of you so no one else gets the chance to hurt you.”

Air abandons my lungs in a single, violent rush.

“That’s not love.”

“No. It’s not.”

He lets go. The warmth of his hand fades instantly, like losing cover in the middle of a warzone.

His amber eyes flick to my bare feet, my torn clothing, the thorns still faintly visible beneath my skin. “Where’ve you been? Three hours.”

“Processing.” I cross my arms, suddenly aware of how I must look—wild hair, dirt-streaked skin, clothes torn from crashing through underbrush. “Learning things you could’ve told me honestly instead of staging a forest revelation.”

The courtyard temperature plummets so fast my breath turns to mist.

Kieran materializes from shadows that shouldn’t exist in moonlight. His ice-blue eyes catalog every detail—my disheveled state, the way I’m standing apart from Orion, the defensive set of my shoulders.

“Troublesome thing.” His voice carries aristocratic precision wrapped in winter wind. “You appear to have survived what most would consider insurmountable circumstances.”

“Magical forest full of nightmare creatures.” I shrug. “But I handled it.”

His mouth curves in something that isn’t quite a smile, cold and sharp as winter starlight. “I would expect nothing less from you.”

Golden light blazes across the courtyard as Finnian approaches, but he’s walking, not running. Professional distance maintained despite the worry clear in his amber eyes.

“The Academy administration noted your absence from evening protocols,” he says, voice carrying that careful academic precision that masks deeper concern. “There has been considerable... discussion regarding your whereabouts and wellbeing.”

“I’m sure there has.” I look between the three of them—Orion radiating guilty heat, Kieran watching me with predatory assessment, Finnian maintaining composure. “Let me guess. Search parties? Faculty meetings? Discussions about the problematic human who wandered off Academy grounds?”

“Something precisely along those lines,” Finnian admits, adjusting his collar in that nervous gesture I’m beginning to recognize.

“Well, you can call off the search. I’m fine.” I gesture to myself, aware of how unconvincing that likely sounds given my appearance. “And I know what I am now.”

The words hang in the air between us like a challenge.

“Do you indeed?” Kieran’s voice drops to silk over steel.

“Wild Court royalty. Last heir of the Moonshadow bloodline. Born from earth and ancient magic when my parents’ blood fed the soil.” I meet each of their gazes in turn. “Sound about right?”

A translucent boy materializes beside my shoulder—Whispen in his teenage form, blue-tinged skin and pointed ears sharp enough to cut glass. His needle-sharp teeth flash in an approving grin.

“VERY good, root-born!” He chirps, floating in excited circles. “Excellent information sharing without catastrophic oversharing! Though technically, the awakening is only partial?—”

All three men freeze, staring at Whispen with expressions ranging from shock to awe.

“Is that—” Finnian breathes.

“A Will-o’-wisp.” Kieran’s voice carries reverence I’ve never heard from him before.

“The last one.” Orion’s amber eyes are wide. “Thought your kind was gone.”

“Of COURSE I’m real!” Whispen preens under their attention. “And not just any Will-o’-wisp, I’ll have you know. I am THE Will-o’-wisp. Soul-keeper to the Moonshadow bloodline, guardian of ancient wisdom, keeper of?—”

“We believed your species had been rendered extinct during the court purges,” Finnian interrupts.

“Nearly!” Whispen beams. “But not quite! I’ve been bound to the Moonshadow line for centuries, waiting for this little root-born to finally accept what she is.”

“There is considerably more you should understand,” Finnian speaks carefully, though his gaze keeps flicking to Whispen with hunger. “Royal bloodlines manifest specific capabilities, particular magical signatures?—”

“Oh yes!” Whispen bobs enthusiastically. “So much more! The awakening is only the beginning—recognition, acceptance, power manifestation, court integration, consort bonding?—”

“Whispen,” I warn.

“—territorial claiming, magical mastery, and eventual transcendence to full royal authority! It’s quite the process, really. Could take months. Maybe years, depending on external stressors and?—”

“What precisely do you mean by ‘only partial’?” Kieran interrupts, ice-blue eyes sharp with something that might be concern.

“Oh, well observed!” Whispen claps his translucent hands together. “Yes, she’s acknowledged her nature and claimed territory, but the real power manifestation requires specific catalysts. Emotional resonance, magical amplification, consort bonding?—”

“WHISPEN.”

“What? They inquired!” He grins at me with all those sharp teeth. “These pretty boys should comprehend what they’re potentially dealing with. Royal awakenings prove dangerous if handled improperly.”

“Dangerous how?” Orion demands, protective heat flaring from his skin like a bonfire.

“Oh, many ways!” Whispen counts on his fingers. “Magical burnout, power overload, consort bond rejection, court war, assassination attempts, the usual royal heir complications.”

“Which we can discuss later,” I say firmly, cutting off the conversation. “Some intel’s too dangerous to share casually.”

Something flickers across Kieran’s face—surprise, then something warmer that he quickly locks away behind aristocratic control.

“You trust us,” Orion says, voice caught between hope and disbelief.

“I’m choosing to.” My correction lands with deliberate weight. “Despite recent evidence that trust might be misplaced.”

The barb hits home. Orion flinches visibly.

“Regarding the awakening process,” Finnian treads carefully, words chosen. “How did the manifestation occur? Royal Wild Court magic can prove... overwhelming without proper guidance and preparation.”

“I handled it.” I don’t elaborate on the territorial claiming, the circle of predators that bowed to royal authority, the way thorns erupted from the earth at my command. They don’t need to know everything. Not yet.

“Entirely alone?” Finnian’s voice carries dangerous quiet that suggests he knows exactly how reckless that was.

“With help.” I nod toward Whispen floating beside my shoulder. “I wasn’t completely alone.”

“I see.” Orion steps closer, movements careful and controlled. His magic flares with protective heat. “And he?—”

“Answered my questions honestly instead of setting up elaborate tests.” The words have more bite than intended, but I don’t take them back.

Orion’s jaw tightens. “Was trying to help you understand?—”

“You were trying to manipulate me into accepting something you’d already decided I needed.” I shake my head. “There’s a difference.”

“Was trying to protect you.”

“From what? The truth? My own choices?” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “I’m a soldier. I’ve spent my entire adult life making life-or-death decisions. Don’t treat me like a child who can’t handle reality.”

The words hang between us like a blade. Orion steps back, something broken in his expression.

“You’re right.” His voice is lower now, stripped raw. “Fucked up. Thought... if I could just get you to see what you are to us, maybe you’d stop running. From us.”

He steps back, distance deliberate. His fire dims, banked behind a wall of shame.

“Thought I could protect you by showing you who you are. Instead, pushed you away. That’s on me.”

He pauses, collecting himself as I stand there feeling every energetic blow.

“Want space? I’ll give it. But know—every instinct I have fights that decision.”

The careful distance he maintains speaks volumes.

“Apology accepted.” My voice softens slightly. “But it doesn’t happen again.”

“Understood.”

“Now.” I turn to include all three of them. “Since we’re apparently having honest conversations—what exactly do you want from me?”

The question hangs in the air like a challenge. They exchange glances, some silent communication passing between them.

“That proves... considerably complicated to articulate,” Finnian manages, running a hand through his hair in that gesture that says he’s overwhelmed.

“Uncomplicate it.” I cross my arms, aware of how the motion makes the thorn patterns beneath my skin pulse faintly. “I’ve just accepted that everything I thought I knew about myself was wrong. The least you can do is be direct about your intentions.”