Page 76

ORION

Ash lays limp against my chest, barely breathing.

The Truth Stone burned through her like acid through silk. Blood still seeps from her nose, her ears, staining the ceremonial white robes that cling to her unconscious form like a burial shroud.

The guardian oath burns between my thumb and forefinger like a brand pressed into living flesh, screaming that she needs Wild Court healing NOW.

But we’re not alone in these corridors.

Academy halls stretch ahead like a gauntlet designed by sadists. Behind us, I can hear Amarantha’s crystalline voice issuing orders that make my teeth ache, Seelie guards mobilizing with military precision. She’s not giving up on her “protective custody” bullshit.

Not while there’s still a chance to steal what doesn’t belong to her.

Ash stirs against my chest, thorns flickering weakly beneath skin gone pale as moonlight. “Orion?”

“I’ve got you, Thorn.” My voice goes rough, jaw clenching as I fight the urge to promise things I can’t guarantee. “You’re safe. No one touches you while I’m breathing.”

The words scrape my throat raw. Because we’re not fucking safe at all.

Even as I say it, shadows move in the corridors ahead—not Kieran’s controlled darkness but something else entirely. Seelie magic cutting off our escape routes.

“Where...” she breathes, voice barely a whisper.

“The old tree. The one where Whispen found you before.” My grip tightens as we approach a junction blocked by silver light. “Wild Court magic can heal what they did to you.”

If I can get her there. If they don’t intercept us first.

“How touching.”

Lady Amarantha materializes from silver light like a nightmare dressed in silk, blocking the corridor with a dozen Seelie guards whose armor gleams with malicious intent. Her violet eyes glitter with satisfaction.

“The candidate appears... distressed,” she continues with false concern that makes my flames flicker dangerously. “Clearly she requires immediate medical attention.”

Her smile turns razor-sharp, revealing teeth too perfect to be natural.

“The Seelie Court has the finest healers. We insist.”

“She’s Wild Court royalty, you pompous bitch.” Flames erupt around my shoulders, jaw clenching tight. “Wild magic heals wild blood. Your pretty light show won’t touch what she needs.”

“Does she?” Amarantha’s laugh sounds like crystal breaking. “How curious that a human-raised changeling would know such specifics about her supposed nature.”

The guards spread into formation—not attacking yet, but definitely preventing passage. Each one radiates the kind of power that could level buildings without breaking a sweat.

“Stand aside,” I warn, heat building until the air itself shimmers. “Before I make you.”

“I think not.” Her voice carries arctic politeness. “The candidate has clearly been subjected to severe magical trauma. As the court with the most advanced healing techniques, we have a duty to intervene.”

“You have nothing.” The words hit like stones, my jaw tight with barely controlled fury. “No claim. No right. No chance in hell.”

But she’s not wrong about the trauma. I can feel it through the guardian bond—not just physical damage but something deeper. The Truth Stone’s invasive magic left fractures in places that shouldn’t be touched.

Ash’s consciousness flickers against mine like a candle in hurricane wind. I feel her terror—not of physical harm, but of being controlled again. Of having choices stripped away by people claiming to help.

“No,” she whispers against my throat, voice raw but carrying absolute determination. “Not... not the Seelie.”

“You’re in no condition to make rational decisions,” Amarantha says with the kind of gentle condescension that makes me want to set everything on fire. “Magical trauma often causes confusion, disorientation?—”

“I said NO.”

The word detonates from Ash’s throat with royal authority that makes my bones vibrate. Her thorns don’t just flare—they explode beneath her skin in spirals of blue-green fire.

Stone cracks beneath my feet. Ancient foundations groan as roots burst through Academy floors, seeking their queen. Crystal fixtures ring like struck bells as the building itself recognizes what she is, what she’s always been.

Amarantha’s perfect composure cracks like ice under pressure. “The candidate requires proper supervision?—”

“By whom?”

The voice cuts through tension like a blade forged from winter storms and ancient starlight. The Morrigan steps from shadows that shouldn’t exist in this well-lit corridor, her presence making even elite Seelie guards take involuntary steps backward.

Thank the ancient roots. Backup.

“The Wild Court remembers its own,” she continues, silver eyes fixed on Amarantha with predatory intensity that makes the temperature drop. “And we heal our own.”

“Lady Morrigan,” Amarantha attempts diplomatic courtesy, but fear bleeds through her perfect mask like ink through silk. “Surely you recognize the delicate nature?—”

“I recognize attempted theft.” The Morrigan’s smile turns absolutely feral, revealing teeth that belong on something apex predatory. “Did you think ancient oaths held no power? That guardian bonds could be severed by political convenience?”

She gestures toward me, toward Ash unconscious in my arms. “This child bears royal Wild Court blood. She has chosen her guardian. You have no claim here.”

The words hit with divine authority that makes Seelie magic recoil.

Footsteps approach from behind—not threats, I’d sense those through the oath’s warning system. But my shoulders tense anyway as Kieran and Finnian appear, moving with desperate urgency that makes something shift in my chest.

They’re here. Racing through Academy corridors to reach us.

Kieran’s pale eyes catalog Ash’s condition with desperate precision—the blood still seeping from her nose, the way her consciousness flickers like dying embers. His shadows reach toward her before stopping just short of contact, frost spreading from his boots as his control wavers.

“How bad?” The words come out sharp, controlled, but I catch the way his shadows writhe with barely contained panic.

“Truth Stone damage. She’s burned out.” I keep my voice steady, recognizing the genuine fear in his eyes. “Needs Wild magic.”

“The ice magic in my system could help stabilize the burning,” he says quietly, shadows writhing with frustrated helplessness. “If you need?—”

“Earth magic first.” I see the way Kieran’s jaw tightens, the want and helplessness warring in his eyes. “But she’ll need ice after. Fire burns too hot without something to cool it.”

Something shifts in his pale eyes. Not jealousy or competition, but recognition that she might need all of us for different parts of her healing.

Finnian steps closer, producing a small crystal that pulses with golden light. His hands shake as he offers it, the scholar who always has answers rendered speechless by seeing her suffer.

“Truth Stone damage can cause psychological fragmentation.” His hands shake as he offers the crystal. “If her memories start splintering, if she can’t distinguish between truth and trauma...” He swallows hard, unable to finish the sentence.

“I’ll know,” I promise, accepting the monitoring device. “And I’ll call for you. Both of you.”

Relief flashes across their faces—not because they get to be involved, but because they’ll know if she needs them.

“We’ll handle Amarantha,” Kieran says, but his gaze keeps drifting back to Ash’s pale face. “Father’s court won’t interfere with Wild Court healing protocols. I’ll stake my inheritance on it.”

“The Academy’s neutrality protections extend to medical emergencies,” Finnian adds, producing scrolls with hands that still tremble. “I can keep her tied up in legal precedent for days if necessary. Ancient law is very clear about healing sanctuary rights.”

The rational part of me recognizes this for what it is—them using their specific skills to protect her when they can’t provide what she needs themselves.

But watching them struggle with their helplessness, seeing how desperately they want to help heal her, something fundamental settles in my chest.

She’s not just mine anymore. The words should hurt, but instead something else settles in my bones—recognition. She’s ours. All of ours. Different ways, same heart.

“Earth magic,” I say, voice rough with worry. “Wild magic that only I can channel right now.”

Kieran’s jaw tightens as he forces himself to step back, frost patterns spreading in agitated spirals around his feet. “But if she needs ice magic to balance the fire, if the heat becomes too much?—”

“You’ll be first on my list,” I promise, understanding the cost of him walking away when every instinct screams to stay.

Finnian lingers, amber eyes cataloging every detail of her condition like he’s memorizing them. “I’ll research Truth Stone recovery protocols. Emergency procedures if psychological barriers start failing.” His voice cracks slightly. “Just... don’t let her disappear into the trauma.”

“I won’t let her get lost in it,” I vow.

“When she’s stable,” Kieran says, pale eyes holding mine with unusual vulnerability, “we need to talk. All of us. About what comes next.”

I nod, understanding the weight behind his words. This isn’t just about individual healing anymore. It’s about figuring out how to protect someone who might need all of us.

“Go,” Finnian urges, though the word seems to cost him. “She needs you now.”

“And we’ll make sure no one follows,” Kieran adds, shadows already reaching toward Amarantha’s delegation with lethal intent. “No one will disturb the healing.”

As I stride toward the exit, carrying the most important thing in my world, I hear Kieran’s voice behind me—cold, princely, absolutely lethal. “Lady Amarantha, perhaps we should discuss the diplomatic implications of your... overreach.”

And Finnian, “I have several historical precedents regarding healing sanctuary violations that might interest your legal counsel.”