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Master Valeborn’s face goes pale. “By the ancient powers... you are actually real.”

“Oh yes,” the Will-o’-wisp says, blue light dancing with delight that makes Academy wards pulse in recognition of older magics. “Very, very real. And very, very protective of my root-thorn.”

Status confirmed, I respond through the shadow-link, though the words feel like molten copper coating my throat as I fight my father’s compulsion with everything I have.

Fighting royal command makes my entire nervous system scream in protest, blood flowing faster as psychic pressure increases.

Target located and assessed. Complications have. .. evolved.

But something fundamental has fractured in my chest—three hundred years of perfect obedience cracking. For the first time since childhood, I’m planning active disobedience to direct royal command.

The realization should terrify me. Instead, oxygen floods my lungs like I’ve been drowning for centuries and finally reached the surface.

“Prince Kieran?” Lady Amarantha’s voice sharpens with suspicion as she notes the way blood continues flowing from my face, how frost patterns spell out words of rebellion in ancient script. “You seem... distracted.”

“Court business,” I reply smoothly, though magical control continues fragmenting under internal war between duty and choice. “Royal communications require careful attention.”

“Of course.” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes as she calculates whether I’m still reliable asset or potential threat. “And the outcome of those communications?”

This is it. The moment that defines not just my future, but hers. The moment I choose between everything I’ve been trained to be and everything I might become if I have the courage to forge a different path.

My shadows writhe with anticipation as centuries of royal conditioning clash against something stronger—recognition that some people are worth more than political position.

“Until twilight,” I announce, voice carrying princely authority despite the revolution happening in my soul.

Ice crystallizes in the air around me as power responds to emotional upheaval, frost forming geometric patterns that spell out ancient words of protection.

“The Academy will have until twilight to resolve this situation through appropriate diplomatic channels.”

It’s not compliance. It’s defiance disguised as negotiation—betting her freedom on my ability to find the impossible solution she’d believe in.

Because some people are worth more than twenty years of sacrifice.

Some people are worth the risk of losing everything.

“Until twilight for what, precisely?” Lord Malachar demands, shadows probing mine for signs of deception or weakness.

“For the Academy to determine its position regarding guest faculty protection,” I reply with diplomatic precision that reveals nothing while implying everything. Blood continues trickling down my face as I hold the psychic connection open without complying with its demands.

Master Valeborn’s eyes narrow slightly—recognizing political maneuvering but not its direction, noting how Academy wards respond differently to my presence now.

“Very reasonable,” Lady Amarantha purrs, though suspicion flickers in her violet gaze as she processes implications. “Though one hopes resolution will be... satisfactory to all parties concerned.”

“Indeed,” I agree, shadows coiling around my ankles like supportive chains as ancient magic recognizes choice freely made. “Most satisfactory.”

As the delegations retreat to establish temporary camps on Academy grounds—siege positions that make their true intentions clear—I turn to find Ash watching me with uncomfortable intensity. The Will-o’-wisp hovers beside her shoulder, blue light pulsing with what looks like approval.

“What did they want?” she asks quietly, power crackling beneath her skin in response to continued threat.

“To take you away,” I reply with brutal honesty. “To break you down and remake you as something... useful.”

Her face pales, but her jaw sets with familiar determination that makes my chest tight with something that might be pride. Around her, reality bends slightly as power responds to her emotional state—flowers blooming out of season, stones humming with recognition.

“And what did you tell them?”

“That they have until twilight to discover exactly how much trouble they are in.”

The answer surprises her—and if I’m honest, it surprises me too. My shadows dance with something that might be joy as I realize I’ve just committed myself to a course that could cost Kestra everything.

But for the first time in twenty years, the choice feels like hope rather than fear.

“Kieran...” Her voice carries something that might be gratitude, though the debt binding between us makes such expressions dangerous territory.

“Don’t,” I warn, though not unkindly. Blood continues flowing as I hold the psychic connection open while refusing to comply. “Save your words for when you will need them most.”

“Which is when?”

I glance toward where court representatives establish what look suspiciously like siege positions around Academy perimeter, magical signatures building for coordinated assault.

“Twilight, troublesome thing. Then we discover what you are really made of.”

Her response shocks everyone within hearing distance.

“Why wait?”

Power erupts from her skin like she’s been struck by lightning made of starlight.

The thorn patterns don’t just glow—they blaze with blue-green fire that makes shadows dance and stones sing in harmony.

She straightens to her full height, and suddenly she’s not just tall—she’s commanding.

Regal. Ancient authority flowing through her like water finally finding its proper channel.

The Will-o’-wisp’s blue light flares brighter, as if feeding her confidence. Around her feet, tiny flowers bloom in impossible colors, responding to royal magic that recognizes no political boundaries.

“Let us go.”

Before anyone can react, she walks across the courtyard with measured steps that leave prints of living light, heading directly toward the main Academy building.

Each footfall pulses with royal authority that makes every person on the grounds straighten in automatic response to power they recognize on cellular level.

Master Valeborn starts forward in alarm, Academy protocols warring against recognition of legitimate royal authority. “Professor Morgan?—”

“Professor nothing.” She cuts him off without breaking stride, power rippling outward from her voice in waves that make crystal formations throughout the building ring like bells.

“Ashlynne Moonshadow, last heir of the Wild Court royal line, requesting immediate audience with joint court representatives.”

The formal declaration ripples across Academy grounds like thunder made of magic. Students freeze mid-motion. Faculty stare in fascination. Court delegates turn as one to track her movement, magical pressure building as they recognize the complete shift in power dynamics.

My shadows dance with something like pride as I watch someone I care about refuse to be anyone’s victim.

She pauses at the building’s entrance, turning back to address the assembled crowd with voice that carries to every corner of the grounds without effort—royal projection that requires no magical amplification.

“I assume you have a proper meeting chamber?” she calls out, clearly addressing the court representatives with casual confidence that makes several step backward instinctively. “Something befitting the gravity of this discussion?”

Then, with authority that makes Academy stones hum in recognition, she pushes through the door like she owns the entire institution.

Silence stretches across Academy grounds like a held breath, everyone processing implications that rewrite centuries of political assumptions.

A moment later, her head pops back out, power crackling around her like visible electricity that makes the air itself bow in submission.

“Don’t keep me waiting.”

The words land like physical blows, reshaping power dynamics in ways that leave everyone—including myself—scrambling to understand new rules. Royal command backed by awakening magic that makes the very air submit to her authority.

She’s not waiting for protection. She’s not accepting rescue. She’s taking control of a situation designed to make her victim and turning it into something else entirely.

Lady Amarantha’s composed mask cracks further as royal protocols she hasn’t seen in centuries activate around legitimate bloodline authority. “I... that is... protocols dictate?—”

“Protocols,” Ash interrupts with smile sharp as winter wind, thorn patterns flaring with brilliant light that makes court delegates flinch, “are for subjects. Not queens.”

And with that declaration hanging in the air like a blade poised to fall, she disappears into the Academy, leaving three court delegations staring at empty space where their carefully planned psychological dominance was supposed to unfold.

The Will-o’-wisp gives everyone a cheerful wave before zipping after her, blue light trailing like a comet made of ancient starlight.

“Well,” I murmur to no one in particular, shadows dancing around my boots with something that might be pride mixed with anticipation. “This should be interesting.”

Master Valeborn turns to me with expression caught between horror and admiration, Academy neutrality crumbling as royal authority rewrites institutional priorities. “Your Highness, what exactly just happened?”

I consider the question, weighing political implications against the sudden lightness in my chest that comes from watching someone I care about refuse to be anyone’s pawn. Blood continues trickling from my nose as I hold the psychic connection open while refusing to comply with royal commands.

“Revolution,” I reply, though the word tastes like freedom instead of treason. Frost spreads from my feet in complex patterns that spell out ancient words of binding—not to thrones or crowns, but to choices made freely for people worth protecting. “I believe we just witnessed a revolution.”

The shadow-link flares with my father’s fury, demanding immediate explanation for developments he couldn’t have anticipated. Pain explodes through my skull as royal displeasure translates into physical agony.

But for the first time in twenty years, I let it burn unanswered.

Some conversations are worth the consequences.

Even when those consequences might include everyone I’ve ever loved.