Page 102 of Essence of the Throne

I shrug, though I’m certain she can. I cannot explain how I know such things about her. I just do.

He studies the griffin with new interest. “But how? She’s just a baby.”

The griffin makes an offended sound and snaps her beak out, nearing the prince’s face. He jerks back, cursing, and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

“She doesn't seem to appreciate your commentary, prince.” I reach up to stroke her silky chest feathers, marveling at the hidden colors within. “Besides, we’ve seen stranger things these last few days. Honestly, this is the most natural thing to have happened in weeks.”

As if to prove my point, the griffin spreads her wings and a soft golden light emanates from them. The glow travels down her body and into me, warming me from the inside out. My essence responds instantly, reaching for the connection like it’s found something it’s been missing.

“Oh, fuck,” I gasp, steadying myself against the bedpost, fighting the dizziness. The sensation is overwhelming but not unpleasant—similar to how I felt when I healed Caspian, but still so different.

“What’s wrong?” Caspian shifts to help me, but the griffin clicks again. He throws his hands up in a placating manner. “I’m not going to hurt her, you overprotective little beast.”

The griffin considers him for a moment before chirping what sounds suspiciously like acceptance. I could laugh at how ridiculous this is. A griffin hatched in my room, attached herself to me, and somehow understands what we’re saying, as if she wasn’t just born into this realm. She hops from my shoulder to the bed, leaving me with an unexpected chill in her absence.

“I’m fine,” I assure him, though I’m not sure that’s true. I watch the griffin, who is now systematically shredding my blanket with those talons. “We need to name her.” Where did that come from, and why do I care?

“We need to figure out how to get to the artifacts and then to the Aether realm,” he counters. “Names can wait.”

The griffin pauses her destruction to give him what can only be described as a withering look. Gavriel crosses his arms, widening his stance as he stays watching the interaction.

“I think she disagrees.” I sit on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb the mess of eggshell fragments. “Besides, we can’t keep calling it ‘her.’ That seems rude.”

Caspian sighs, dropping next to me as his arm slides around my waist. The griffin's wary eyes study him, but she doesn’t protest, continuing her dominion over my bed. “Not sure when you began caring about being rude, but fine. Any ideas?”

I study our new companion. Her feathers remind me of the night sky—endless darkness scattered with hints of light. But there’s no name that would fit her more than the one pounding into my head, as if the realm itself is demanding what she be called.

“Oranya.” The griffin’s head snaps up at my announcement, and I know I’ve chosen correctly.

“Oranya,” Caspian repeats, testing the name. “I like it—it suits her.” He reaches toward the griffin again, moving slower this time. Oranya watches his hand approach, not hissing or retreating again. When his fingers connect with her feathers, I feel a remnant of that earlier warmth.

Oranya chirps and pushes into his touch, deciding he’s adequate for her attention, after all. The sight of them together does something strange to my insides that I refuse to examine too closely.

“Now that that’s settled,” I announce, pushing to my feet as I ignore Gavriel, “we need to figure out our next move. Everything seems stable for now, but that thing in the sky isn’t going away.” I gesture to the window, where the tear between realms cuts through the sky like jagged glass, shimmering with impossible colors. The air hums faintly, vibrating with a persistent energy that prickles against my skin. “And I very much doubt things will remain calm forever.”

The griffin makes a sound that might be agreement, launching herself from the bed to land on my shoulder again. Her talons catch my hair, but she quickly adjusts her dangerous grip.

“We should gather supplies while we determine where to find the artifacts you need,” Caspian states, his royal self showing through. “We don’t know how long we’ll be gone or what we’ll face in the Aether realm. Nor do I have the first clue where to find what's needed for the new Accord.”

I nod, already mentally cataloging each task. “Leave the artifacts to me. You can gather food, water, medical supplies—the basics. Though I’m not sure how much we can carry while still having the freedom to move as fast as we need to. I don’t believe we’ll be able to jump to the Aether, so we’ll have to go south to Whisterra where the only known entrance is.” I vaguely remember a tale my mother told me many years ago about a woman and her sonwho'd often visit the Aether. She’d said there was a ripple between realms that—I pause, considering. “Do you think Oranya needs anything specific?”

The griffin tugs at a strand of my hair and chirps. I get the distinct impression she’s trying to tell me not to worry about her. I have a feeling I will, anyway.

“Right. Magical baby griffin probably doesn’t need our help.”

I run my fingers through Oranya’s feathers, watching Gavriel shift uncomfortably near my door. His eyes dart between me and Caspian, his expression betraying the words he wants to say, but doesn’t know how to voice after everything that’s happened.

“Just fucking say it,” I snap, done with his hesitation. The prince's arms cross as he regards Gavriel.

He clears his throat. “I know you won’t believe me, but I am sorry. Not just to Caspian, but to you as well.” His voice wavers on the last word. My eyes narrow. “I was…wrong about many things.”

Caspian scoffs. “You went behind my back and tried to have her killed, even knowing what she means to me.”

“I know.” The guard’s shoulders slump. “I thought I was protecting you, but I was just being selfish. I couldn’t stand watching you fall for her when I—” He cuts himself off, but we all know what he meant to say. At least, I do. Caspian still hasn’t figured out that his best friend wishes they could be more. Or perhaps he has and refuses to ruin their friendship by voicing the truth.

Oranya makes a low clicking sound that somehow manages to convey judgment. I stroke her head, the movement feeling a littletoo natural, as I consider the guard’s words. “You’re right. I don’t believe you.” Gavriel’s face falls further. Good. “But I understand why you did it.”

Both men look at me with surprise. “You do?” Gavriel asks.

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