Page 49

FINNIAN

Ash walks beside me with the careful grace of someone discovering her body no longer follows entirely human rules. Each step carries new power she hasn’t learned to trust yet.

Marble groans beneath our feet as a staircase erupts ahead—stone bleeding upward like fast-growing bone. She jerks backward into my chest as crystal sconces flare down the corridor, bright enough to send students pressing against walls.

“Shit,” she breathes, watching a portrait’s painted eyes track her movement. The woman in the frame—dark hair, thorned crown—tilts her head as if listening. Her lips move soundlessly, forming words in a language that tastes like starlight on my tongue.

Acid crawls up my throat. Crystalline formations in the walls pulse faster now—recording devices I hadn’t noticed before tonight. Each beat of light timestamps our conversation, files away magical signatures, builds case files in databases I’ll never see.

Golden light threads between us—not metaphor, but actual luminescence spiraling from my chest to hers like visible DNA strands.

The thread pulses with each heartbeat, growing brighter when our eyes meet.

I can sense her growing awareness that something significant is happening between us—something that might have consequences we haven’t considered.

My hand flies to my ribs where the Seelie court mark burns beneath my shirt. I watch the fabric smoke slightly as ancient magic rewrites itself, incorporating something new. Something that wasn’t there an hour ago.

“Can others see this?” she whispers, gesturing at the golden rope binding us.

My jaw tightens. “Anyone possessing court training will observe it quite clearly.” I touch a wall sconce, and it dims obediently. “We are essentially broadcasting the nature of our developing connection to every faculty member with magical sight.”

“Here.” I stop before her quarters, the door recognizing her presence and unlocking with a soft click. “Your accommodations should provide everything necessary. The Academy tends to... anticipate the needs of its more distinguished guests.”

“Thank—” The word locks in her throat like swallowing glass. Something invisible wraps around her windpipe, squeezing until black spots dance across her vision. Magic crawls up her esophagus, seeking completion of the binding phrase.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Whispen materializes in a golden flash between us, tiny hands pressed against her lips. “No, no, no! Almost bound yourself to a favor-debt, silly girl!” His glow flickers panic-red. “Say ‘I appreciate’ instead. Acknowledgment without obligation!”

The magical pressure releases. She drags air into burning lungs while I watch.

Her mouth snaps shut. “Seriously?”

“How many people walk into that one?” she croaks.

“Enough to keep the Academy’s legal department perpetually occupied,” I observe with dry amusement. “Though most humans lack sufficient magical resonance to trigger binding protocols in the first place.”

My fingers trace etymology patterns against my thigh—muscle memory from decades of translating dead languages. “Fae magic transforms words of genuine obligation into actual contractual agreements. Express authentic gratitude, and you create a debt that must inevitably be repaid.”

“Instead,” Whispen chirps helpfully, “try ‘I appreciate your assistance’ or ‘your help is noted.’ Acknowledgment without magical obligation!”

“That’s fucked up. Even by military standards.”

“Welcome to Fae politics, pretty girl!” Whispen grins, showing all his needle-sharp teeth. “Where every conversation becomes a potential contract negotiation!”

“I appreciate your assistance.” She tests the words like ammunition in an unfamiliar weapon.

Whispen nods approvingly. “Much better! No debt created, relationship remains balanced.”

“Speaking of balance,” he continues with obvious delight, “I believe I’ll make myself scarce while you two work through the, ah, logistics of your developing magical connection. There are certain conversations that even ancient soul-keepers shouldn’t witness. For propriety’s sake, you understand.”

Molten gold floods her cheeks. “Whispen?—”

“Don’t worry, pretty boys! I’ll be close enough to help if any REAL emergencies happen.

You know, like genuine danger. Not just..

. whatever this awkward fumbling is gonna be.

” He waves airily. “But I suspect the only emergency you’ll be handling involves explaining politics and exploring the benefits of developing magical resonance. Carry on!”

He vanishes in a swirl of golden light.

Silence stretches between us. Trust, offered despite everything that’s happened tonight. Despite the magical threads weaving between us without her full understanding of their implications.

Despite the fact that I haven’t told her the worst part yet.

“Perhaps I should allow you to rest.” Every instinct screams to follow her inside, to continue cataloging scratches and dirt and signs of what she’s endured, but propriety demands I step back.

“Finnian.” She catches my hand before I can retreat. Her fingers are still cold from her forest flight, still trembling from power overload. “The Academy’s changing around me. Doors opening, lights brightening, portraits lighting up like I’m visiting royalty. Is that normal?”

Ice crystallizes in my gut. “Royal recognition protocols. The Academy was constructed to serve Wild Court royalty, though it has been centuries since those particular systems required activation.”

I pause, meeting her eyes. The truth tastes like copper and inevitability.

I follow her gaze to a particularly active crystal cluster. My expression goes carefully blank.

“Unfortunately, this also means every ward and monitoring enchantment within the building is currently recording your presence. We are essentially broadcasting your location and magical signature to anyone possessing Academy access.”

Her face pales. “How many people have Academy access?”

“All three courts maintain official representatives here.”

“How long before they analyze the recordings?”

“They are already analyzing,” I confess, touching a wall sconce to dim its glow. “Automated systems flag significant magical events for immediate review. Our connection probably triggered priority alerts the precise moment it formed.”

She absorbs this with swift calculation, immediate tactical adjustment. No panic. Just cold assessment of new parameters.

“So much for keeping a low profile.”

“I fear that particular option ended the moment your power manifested completely.” The words emerge gentler than intended. “But we shall determine how to manage the exposure appropriately.”

She nods slowly, filing the information under problems to solve later. “What happens now?”

The question settles like molten lead in my stomach because I lack an answer that won’t terrify her.

Now the courts learn that the last Wild Court heir has manifested. Now they discover she’s already developing magical connections that could reshape political balance. Now they begin choosing between accepting her claim or eliminating the threat she represents.

Now I have to choose between the court that raised me and the woman who’s rewritten my understanding of everything worth protecting.

“Now you rest,” I deflect instead of answering. “Allow your system to process the awakening properly. Tomorrow we shall address the complications.”

Her green eyes search my face with unsettling perception. “How bad are the complications?”

“Manageable.” The lie lodges like broken glass in my throat. “With proper preparation and suitable allies.”

She nods slowly, accepting the deflection though I suspect she recognizes I’m withholding information. “I need to clean up before I collapse. And I probably smell like forest nightmare.” She pauses, hand on the door handle, then looks back at me. “Would you... stay? Just until I process all this?”

The request catches me off guard. Vulnerable. Trusting.

“Are you certain that’s wise? The political ramifications could prove... rather more complex than either of us might prefer to navigate at present.”

“Politics can wait. I need five minutes where I’m not calculating survival odds.” Her voice carries quiet determination. “I need to not be alone while I figure out what the hell my life has become.”

We step inside together. Steam rises from the bathroom—a hot bath drawn before she could think to want one. Herbs I don’t recognize float in water that smells like the forest clearing where she almost died. The Academy somehow knows exactly what her overloaded system needs.

In the bedroom, silk pajamas wait on sheets turned down to precise angles. The fabric shifts color as she approaches—forest green, then midnight blue, settling on deep gold that matches something in my eyes.

“It’s learning your preferences,” I say quietly, noting her stare. “The Academy bonds with royal bloodlines. Eventually, it will anticipate your needs before you recognize them yourself.”

“Take all the time you require.” I watch her walk toward the bathroom.

The door closes behind her.

Control shatters like crystal under pressure.

I lean flat against the stone wall, pressing palms over my eyes as the full weight of tonight’s events crashes down.

Heat spreads across my ribs where the invisible thread anchors.

Not painful—like lying in perfect sunlight—but impossible to ignore.

When she moves deeper into the bathroom, cold seeps through my chest like loss.

Golden light threads between us pulse gently—warm, right, terrifying in their implications.

Because this luminescent rope binding us isn’t a casual romantic connection. Gold flickers beneath my skin—light bleeding through like I’ve been dipped in molten metal. My court mark burns against my ribs, magical resonance rewriting centuries of solitary existence.

The moment this resonance formed, I became a potential Seelie consort to the Wild Court heir.