Page 177 of Ashes to Ashes

His arms tighten around me. “You never have to appreciate me for seeing you clearly, Thorn. That’s just how you deserve to be seen.”

When we finally return to the Academy hours later, my feet hit Academy stone with deliberate weight. The claiming marks on my throat throb in rhythm with my heartbeat, proof of connection that goes deeper than politics or prophecy.

My ears are now unmistakably pointed, my features sharper, more defined. I look like what I am—Wild Court royalty finally free to exist in her true form.

Let the courts rage. Let them plot and scheme and try to tear us apart.

They’ll learn what it means to come between Wild Court royalty and the guardian who worships her.

And it won’t end well for them.

33

KIERAN

The summons burnsthrough my consciousness like ice picks driven through my skull.

Return. Immediately.—King Moros

My father’s mental intrusion nearly sends me to my knees, shadow magic recoiling as the Spear burns against my ribs until I taste copper in my mouth.

The ancient weapon recognizes injustice the way steel recognizes a whetstone—with violent resonance that threatens to tear me apart from the inside.

The throne room materializes around me as shadow-walking deposits me at father’s feet. Literally. My knees hit marble before conscious thought catches up, joints locking in genuflection I didn’t choose.

The room smells like jasmine and rot.

Everything is too soft. Too perfect. Like being embalmed in silk.

I don’t trust softness anymore.

Not when it’s the last thing you feel before they shove the knife in.

King Moros sits carved from winter itself—ice-blue eyes holding depths that reflect nothing, midnight hair swept backfrom features that could have been hewn from glacial stone. My shadows pool at my feet like beaten dogs while frost spreads from his throne in patterns too perfect to be natural.

This is what I was raised to be.

Silent. Obedient. Strategically useful.

A weapon honed to serve a legacy that was never mine to choose.

I used to think I could do it. That loyalty was survival, and love was a luxury I couldn’t afford.

Then Ash bled for truth—and made me want the luxury anyway.

“My heir returns,” he says conversationally, though frost spreads from his throne with each word. “How... illuminating the recent trial proved to be.”

I rise slowly, shadows gathering around my boots in defensive patterns that feel pathetic against his overwhelming presence. The tone isn’t what I expected—not fury, but something far more dangerous. Satisfaction. Heat sears through my shirt where the Spear presses against bone, and my next breath comes out as visible mist.

“Father.”

“Sit,” he commands, gesturing to a chair that materializes from ice. The cold seeps through my clothes instantly, another layer of control designed to remind me exactly how powerless I am in his presence.

“We have much to discuss about your recent... intelligence gathering.”

My spine goes rigid as documents materialize in his hands, each page bearing my own precise script. Shadows pool around my boots like beaten animals while frost spreads across the floor in jagged patterns that mirror the fury I cannot contain.

“You provided excellent information,” Father begins, reviewing my whispered intelligence with predatory satisfaction.“The human’s iron suppression efforts. Her obsessive attachment. The systematic poisoning disguised as care.”

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