Page 101 of Ashes to Ashes

“Perfect.” I look between them, these three impossible men who’ve somehow become central to whatever my life is becoming. “Now, can someone please show me where I can get cleaned up? I’m pretty sure I have pine needles in places pine needles should never be.”

“Know exactly the place,” Orion grins wickedly.

“Separate bathrooms,” I clarify quickly. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Spoilsport,” Kieran murmurs, but his eyes dance with humor.

As we head toward the Academy, Whispen floats alongside us in his teenage form, translucent and preening under the continued attention from three powerful Fae who clearly can’t believe he exists.

“I do hope you pretty boys comprehend the historical significance of this moment,” he says with obvious grandeur. “The last Will-o’-wisp, guiding the return of Wild Court royalty. Quite epic, really!”

“How did you survive the purge?” Finnian asks.

“Clever magical binding!” Whispen replies cheerfully. “Soul-tethered to the bloodline rather than the territory. When they destroyed the Wild Court, I simply... went dormant until she was ready.”

“Centuries of waiting,” Kieran observes with something like respect.

“Worth every tedious moment!” Whispen beams at me. “Though perhaps we should discuss the power dormancy issue? Royal awakenings have very specific timelines, and you three pretty boys really should understand what you’re potentially binding yourselves to.”

“They’re not binding themselves to anything,” I say quickly, firmly.

“Yet,” Whispen adds with obvious delight, earning sharp looks from all three men.

“The consort bonds are traditional, not mandatory,” he continues blithely. “Though the magical resonance patterns do suggest certain... inevitabilities.”

“Inevitabilities?” Orion’s voice carries dangerous heat.

“Oh yes! Court balance requires representatives from each faction. Wild royalty needs anchoring from Seelie light and Unseelie shadow. It’s basic magical theory, really.”

“Nothing about this is basic,” I mutter.

“True!” Whispen agrees. “Advanced magical theory. Much more interesting than basic.”

The men exchange glances over my head, some silent communication passing between them while Whispen chatters on about magical resonance patterns and consort bond implications.

Step one of accepting my destiny: complete.

Step two: figure out what the hell I’m doing with three magical men who make my newly awakened royal blood sing with possibility.

This is either going to be amazing or a complete disaster.

Possibly both.

20

FINNIAN

Ash walksbeside 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 thatsomething 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.

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