Page 48

Kieran steps forward first, shadows pooling around his feet despite the moonlight.

“I wish to comprehend what you represent to me.” His voice carries rough honesty that clearly costs him, each word precisely chosen.

“I wish to understand why contact with you feels like completing a circuit I was unaware had been severed.”

The admission sends molten silver threading through my veins. The memory of our training session—ice and shadows twining with thorns, recognition that burned deeper than desire.

“Want to protect you.” Orion’s amber eyes hold mine, words stripped to essential truth. “Want to stand with you, not behind you. Want to earn back the trust I threw away.”

His voice carries the weight of ancient oaths, blood bonds that pull at something fundamental in my DNA.

“I wish to understand,” Finnian says quietly, voice carrying equal weight despite its softness.

“The magical implications, the historical precedents, what your return might mean for courts that have remained divided for centuries.” His amber eyes meet mine.

“And I wish to prove myself worthy of the trust you have just placed in us.”

The honesty in their voices dissolves the knot of tension between my shoulder blades. Not forgiveness—that has to be earned—but acknowledgment that they’re trying.

“Better.” I nod once. “Though we’re going to need to discuss boundaries.”

“Boundaries?” Kieran’s eyebrow arches with aristocratic curiosity.

“I just learned I’m magical royalty with apparent destiny to unite three courts.” I gesture between them. “Which apparently involves some kind of... connection with representatives from each faction.”

“Consort bonds,” Finnian says, his voice dropping. “Traditional Wild Court royal alliances typically involve magical partnerships with?—”

“I know what they involve.” I cut him off before he can give me the full explanation. “What I need to know is whether you expect me to just... accept that. Because I’m apparently destined for it.”

More silence. But this time it’s thoughtful rather than uncomfortable.

“I expect you to choose,” Kieran says, words measured with aristocratic precision. “If and when you desire to explore whatever exists between us.”

“Expect you to take whatever time you need,” Orion says, voice carrying careful restraint that clearly costs him. “And to tell me if I’m pushing too hard.”

“I expect you to maintain complete autonomy in all decisions,” Finnian delivers this with a firmness that brooks no argument. “Regardless of what ancient traditions or magical bonds might theoretically suggest.”

Warmth spreads through my chest like honey poured over exposed nerves. Not complete trust—that will take time to rebuild—but the beginning of belief that maybe, possibly, this could work.

“Good answers.” My shoulders drop from their defensive position. “Though we’re going to need to figure out logistics.”

“Logistics?” Orion’s mouth curves in the first genuine smile I’ve seen from him tonight.

“I have a mission to complete. A handler who expects regular contact. A life that exists outside of magical courts and ancient prophecies.” I shrug. “Destiny is great and all, but I still have responsibilities.”

“Your military handler,” Kieran observes, his voice staying carefully neutral despite the ice forming at his fingertips.

“Colonel Graves. He sent me here to gather intelligence on the Four Treasures.” No point hiding it now. “Though I’m starting to think he knew more about what I’d find than he let on.”

“The Four Treasures,” Finnian repeats, his features sharpening as alarm replaces casual interest.

“Which brings up another boundary.” I continue, watching their reactions. “I won’t be used as a weapon against any of the courts. Whatever information I gather, whatever power I develop—it doesn’t get used to hurt people.”

“Agreed.” The word comes from all three in perfect unison.

The synchronized response makes me smile despite everything. “Do you practice that, or does it just happen naturally?”

“Natural talent,” Kieran’s tone is dry, but there’s warmth in his eyes now.

“And obviously, we keep this quiet.” I gesture to myself. “The royal bloodline thing. No point advertising it until I figure out what I’m doing.”

The three of them exchange a look—one of those silent communications that speaks volumes.

“Ash,” Finnian’s voice carries careful warning. “I fear that particular ship has already sailed.”

“What do you mean?”

“The forest acknowledged you,” Orion explains, words gentle but devastating. “Every court within a thousand miles felt that.”

“The magical resonance proved... substantial,” Kieran adds, shadows writhing with agitation. “Like a beacon broadcasting ‘royal heir awakened’ across all realms simultaneously.”

“Shit.” I run a hand through my tangled hair. “How bad is this?”

“Extremely bad,” they say in unison again.

“Stop doing that,” I mutter. “Define bad.”

“Both major courts will undoubtedly want you eliminated,” Kieran states with brutal honesty that cuts through any remaining illusions.

“Seelie and Unseelie have constructed their entire power structure around the assumption that Wild Court royalty had been permanently extinguished. Your existence threatens everything they have built.”

“Assassination attempts are virtually guaranteed,” Finnian adds, his tone failing to soften the devastating impact. “Historical precedent suggests they will move with considerable speed, before you can fully manifest your capabilities.”

“Which is why one of us stays with you at all times,” Orion declares, heat radiating protectively. “Full protection detail until?—”

“Absolutely not.” I cut him off sharply. “I’m not some delicate flower who needs a bodyguard.”

“You are a royal heir with a target painted on her back,” Kieran’s voice goes dangerously soft, ice crystallizing in the air around us. “Those boundary hunters who attacked you previously? They represented merely the initial reconnaissance. Bottom tier assets.”

My blood crystallizes to glass. “What?”

“Coordinated assault,” he continues, ice-blue eyes holding mine with terrible certainty. “Seelie and Unseelie forces operating in perfect synchronization—something that occurs only when the perceived threat proves existential to both courts.”

“They were testing your defensive capabilities,” Orion’s grimness matches his expression. “Determining how much power you had developed, analyzing your response patterns to coordinated magical assault.”

“And now they possess comprehensive intelligence regarding your capabilities,” Finnian concludes. “Which means the genuine attempts will commence shortly.”

“So.” I look between them, aware of how surreal this entire conversation has become. “What happens now?”

“Now you decide what you want to explore,” Orion steps closer but doesn’t touch. “At your pace, on your terms.”

“Now we determine how to protect you from courts that will not appreciate your return,” Kieran says, shadows curling around his fingers.

“Now we help you understand precisely what you are capable of,” Finnian offers. “If you desire our assistance.”

I study their faces—want and patience and carefully leashed hunger all visible in their expressions. But underneath it, genuine respect for my choice.

“I want to understand the magic first.” The decision crystallizes as I speak. “Learn what I’m capable of before I decide what to do with it.”

“We can certainly provide assistance with that,” Finnian offers eagerly.

“I want honesty. No more manipulation, no more tests I haven’t agreed to.” I look directly at Orion. “Full disclosure about what you’re thinking and why.”

“Understood.”

“And I want time to process all of this without pressure.” I gesture between the four of us. “Whatever this becomes, it happens because we all choose it. Not because prophecy demands it.”

“Whatever you require,” Kieran says, voice rough with sincerity that transforms his aristocratic features.

I nod once, decision made. “Then we try. Carefully. Honestly. And we see what develops.”

The relief on their faces is almost comical. Like they’d been holding their breath waiting for rejection.

“One more thing.” I add, and they all tense slightly. “Next time one of you wants to have a serious conversation about feelings or destiny or magical bonds? Maybe start with ‘hey, can we talk’ instead of dramatic forest kidnapping or midnight bedroom visits.”

Orion laughs—genuine, relieved sound that transforms his face completely. “Noted.”

“I shall endeavor to improve my timing considerably,” Kieran says, dry delivery failing to hide his amusement.

“I will prepare appropriate materials for future discussions,” Finnian adds with a seriousness that makes me grin.

“Perfect.” I look between them, these three impossible men who’ve somehow become central to whatever my life is becoming. “Now, can someone please show me where I can get cleaned up? I’m pretty sure I have pine needles in places pine needles should never be.”

“Know exactly the place,” Orion grins wickedly.

“Separate bathrooms,” I clarify quickly. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Spoilsport,” Kieran murmurs, but his eyes dance with humor.

As we head toward the Academy, Whispen floats alongside us in his teenage form, translucent and preening under the continued attention from three powerful Fae who clearly can’t believe he exists.

“I do hope you pretty boys comprehend the historical significance of this moment,” he says with obvious grandeur. “The last Will-o’-wisp, guiding the return of Wild Court royalty. Quite epic, really!”

“How did you survive the purge?” Finnian asks.

“Clever magical binding!” Whispen replies cheerfully. “Soul-tethered to the bloodline rather than the territory. When they destroyed the Wild Court, I simply... went dormant until she was ready.”

“Centuries of waiting,” Kieran observes with something like respect.

“Worth every tedious moment!” Whispen beams at me. “Though perhaps we should discuss the power dormancy issue? Royal awakenings have very specific timelines, and you three pretty boys really should understand what you’re potentially binding yourselves to.”

“They’re not binding themselves to anything,” I say quickly, firmly.

“Yet,” Whispen adds with obvious delight, earning sharp looks from all three men.

“The consort bonds are traditional, not mandatory,” he continues blithely. “Though the magical resonance patterns do suggest certain... inevitabilities.”

“Inevitabilities?” Orion’s voice carries dangerous heat.

“Oh yes! Court balance requires representatives from each faction. Wild royalty needs anchoring from Seelie light and Unseelie shadow. It’s basic magical theory, really.”

“Nothing about this is basic,” I mutter.

“True!” Whispen agrees. “Advanced magical theory. Much more interesting than basic.”

The men exchange glances over my head, some silent communication passing between them while Whispen chatters on about magical resonance patterns and consort bond implications.

Step one of accepting my destiny: complete.

Step two: figure out what the hell I’m doing with three magical men who make my newly awakened royal blood sing with possibility.

This is either going to be amazing or a complete disaster.

Possibly both.