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They’re not just buying me time—they’re choosing to stand guard while I do what they can’t. It should feel like victory.

Instead, it feels like the beginning of something I don’t have words for yet. Something that goes beyond individual claims or territorial instincts.

We’re not competitors anymore. We’re becoming something else entirely.

The ancient tree rises before us like a cathedral of living wood, its hollow opening to welcome us home. Moonlight streams through leaves that whisper secrets older than human civilization.

“Oh my stars and thorns!” comes a familiar voice, crackling with delight. “Look what the guardian dragged in!”

Whispen materializes in a swirl of golden light, doing barrel rolls through the air like he’s drunk on moonbeams. “Root-born returns to sacred spaces! Very dramatic! Very romantic! Much better than bleeding in Academy corridors!”

“Whispen,” Ash mutters weakly. “Not now.”

“Oh yes, very much now! Healing time requires proper ceremony!” He zooms around us in increasingly frantic circles. “Oh yes, very sacred, very intimate! Skin to skin contact for magical resonance! Guardian healing requires such delicious vulnerability! Isn’t biology wonderful?”

“Did he just give me medical instructions?” I ask.

“He gives everyone instructions,” Ash sighs. “Ignore him and he goes away.”

“I NEVER go away! Soul-bound, remember?” He does a little loop in the air. “Permanently attached like the most adorable magical parasite! Much better than herpes, much more helpful than therapy!”

I carry Ash toward the grove’s heart where a natural spring pools among the tree’s massive roots. The water glows with soft blue-green light—Wild Court magic in its purest form, untainted by politics or manipulation.

“I can walk.” The protest comes out weaker than she wants, but her eyes still flash with stubborn fire. “Don’t need to be carried like some damsel in distress.”

“Sure you can, Thorn,” I agree, not slowing down. “Right after you stop bleeding from magical exhaustion.”

Her laugh is barely a breath. “Stubborn bastard.”

“Says the woman arguing medical treatment while unconscious.”

“This place...” I settle beside the spring, still holding her like she might disappear if I let go. “My grandmother brought me here when the oath first stirred. I was seven, barely understood what guardian blood meant.”

The memory surfaces with surprising clarity—a massive woman with flame-red hair and hands that could gentle wild horses or snap necks with equal ease.

“Guardian oaths don’t break,” I tell her, jaw tight with the weight of twenty years carrying this bond.

“They find what’s worth protecting and hold on.

” I trace the mark between my thumb and forefinger—no longer just a burn but something growing, sending out tiny root-like tendrils beneath my skin.

“Took me twenty years to understand she meant you.”

“Your grandmother sounds formidable,” Ash murmurs.

“She was the last guardian before me. Died defending the royal family when I was fifteen.” The words still taste like ash and failure, like promises I wasn’t strong enough to keep. “I wasn’t ready. The oath passed to me anyway.”

“What happened to them? The royal family she died protecting?”

The question hits like lightning striking a tree. “They were your parents.” The words taste like old wounds. “Cian Moonshadow and Niamh Thornheart. Earth and storm. Power that could reshape landscapes.” My jaw tightens. “My grandmother died trying to save them.”

She goes perfectly still in my arms.

“Every guardian who died—my grandmother, three others—all so you could live long enough to come home.” My jaw clenches as the weight of it hits fresh. “Every drop of blood spilled to get you to this moment.”

“And they still died,” she whispers.

“They bought time for you to escape. For the earth itself to hide you until you were old enough to survive.” I press my lips to her temple, breathing in wildflowers and lightning. “Every life lost—it was all to keep you alive.”

“That’s a lot of pressure.”

“Lucky for us you don’t break easy, Thorn.” My thumb strokes across her cheek. “Lucky you chose me to help carry it.”

“The water needs skin contact,” I explain, settling her at the spring’s edge. “My magic works better that way. But only if you want it.”

I help her out of the ruined ceremonial robes, my hands careful as I can make them. She’s so damn small against my frame—delicate despite the power flowing beneath her skin.

She slides into the healing water with a sigh that makes something primal in my chest rumble with satisfaction. When she leans back against me, trust radiating from every line of her body, the oath mark flares with sudden warmth.

The water responds immediately. I watch in fascination as color returns to her pale skin, starting from where we touch and spreading outward in waves. The blood stops flowing from her nose, her ears. Tiny cuts on her hands seal themselves with threads of silver light.

Where our skin meets, new marks appear—not just on me but on her too. Spiraling patterns that complement the thorns already mapping her arms, root-like designs that wrap around my forearms like living vines.

“Better?” I murmur against her ear.

“Getting there.” Her voice already sounds stronger. “Tell me about the others. The guardians who came before.”

“There were dozens once. Guardian families bound to royal bloodlines for centuries.” The water swirls around us as my magic responds to hers, golden flame mixing with blue-green growth in patterns that make the spring glow brighter.

“When your parents fell, when the royal line was thought extinct... most guardian oaths went dormant.”

“But not yours.”

“Mine kept growing. Kept reaching for something that shouldn’t have existed.” I press my forehead against her temple, breathing in the scent of wildflowers and lightning that clings to her skin. “Drove me half-crazy for years, feeling this pull toward someone I’d never met.”

The guardian mark spreads like roots finding soil, wrapping around my wrist. Growing toward her like a plant toward sunlight. She watches with fascination as matching patterns appear on her skin—not thorns but complementary designs that fit perfectly with mine.

“The Wild Court resistance,” I continue, voice rougher than intended. “We’ve been scattered, hiding, dying slowly for decades. Every family that gets discovered, every safe house that falls... we lose more of what we were.”

“You’re the last, aren’t you?” she realizes with the kind of clarity that cuts. “The last guardian.”

“Was the last.” The admission cuts deep, jaw tight with old pain. “Twenty years of carrying an oath that felt broken. Then you walked into my world and made it all make sense.”

“That’s a lot of pressure for someone who just learned she’s not human.”

“Lucky for us you’re stubborn as hell.” My thumb strokes across her cheek. “Lucky you chose me to help carry it.”

The healing water works its magic, drawing poison from her system and knitting together whatever the Truth Stone damaged. But more than that, the connection between us grows stronger—guardian to royal, protector to protected, two halves of something ancient finally finding each other.

“Okay, healing’s done,” she announces after what feels like hours but was probably only minutes. “Time to get out before someone comes looking.”

“Not yet, Thorn.” I don’t budge, arms still bracketing her in the warm water. “You need rest. Real rest, not stubborn soldier recovery.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re exhausted. There’s a difference.”

“Orion.” She turns in my arms, eyes flashing with that royal authority that makes my blood sing. “I can handle myself.”

“I know you can, Thorn. Doesn’t mean you should have to.” I lift her effortlessly from the water, ignoring her protests. “The tree hollow’s got soft moss, stays warm, completely secure. You’re sleeping.”

“You can’t just decide?—”

“Watch me.”

I carry her to the ancient tree’s hollow despite her increasingly creative threats, settling her into the soft moss that lines the natural chamber. The moment we cross the threshold, she goes rigid in my arms.

“No,” she breathes, panic flooding her scent. “Orion, I can’t—the last time I was in here?—”

“Hey.” I stop immediately, kneeling in the entrance so she can see the open air behind us. “This isn’t like before, Thorn. You’re not buried. You’re not alone. And you can leave anytime you want.”

Air catches in her throat. “I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Thought I was going to die in the dark.”

“Look at me.” I wait until her wild eyes focus on mine. “You’re not trapped. The opening stays clear. And I’ll be right here—no one gets past me to hurt you.”

“Promise me.” It comes out more like an order than a request, but I catch the fear underneath. “Because if you’re lying—” She stops herself. Fae can’t lie. “Because I need to know someone’s telling me the truth.”

“I promise. I’ll sit right in the doorway where you can see me. Nothing gets through without going through me first.”

“This is ridiculous,” she mutters, but she’s already relaxing into the moss, her body finally admitting what her mind won’t. “I don’t need a nursemaid.”

“You don’t need a lot of things, Thorn. Doesn’t stop you from deserving them.” I brush a strand of hair from her face, marveling at how something so fierce can look so fragile. “Sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

“What if the nightmares come back?” Her voice cracks despite her best efforts to stay steady. “What if I can’t tell what’s real anymore?”

The vulnerability in her voice makes something crack open in my chest. “Then I’ll wake you up and remind you who you really are. As many times as it takes.”

I position myself in the entrance, back against one side of the opening, legs stretched across to the other. A living barrier between her and the world.

“See? Can’t get more guarded than that,” I tell her. “Nothing gets past without my permission.”

Her eyes flutter closed, exhaustion finally winning the war against stubborn will. “Every day?”

“Every day,” I promise, settling into watch position. “For as long as you’ll have me.”