Page 82 of Ashes to Ashes

Instead, they sing.

“Training facilities are locked after hours,” I point out, pulling on tactical pants and a fitted shirt. “Academy policy.”

“Not to those who command the darkness itself,” he replies with aristocratic dismissal. “Unseelie princes possess certain... privileges that transcend mundane regulations.”

“Such as?”

“Access to any space shadows dare to touch,” his smile turns razor-sharp but doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Which encompasses everywhere you believe yourself safe, troublesome thing. Every corner. Every shadow. Every heartbeat.”

The words should sound like a threat. Instead, they land like a promise that sends electricity racing along my nerve endings.But underneath, there’s something that sounds almost like an apology.

“Why now? What’s this experiment really about?” I demand, lacing my boots with sharp, efficient movements.

His perfect composure flickers—just for a heartbeat—revealing something raw and desperate before he forces it back into place like slamming a door against hurricane winds.

“To confirm that beneath all that human conditioning lies something my father has spent centuries attempting to exterminate,” his voice drops to barely above a whisper, cracking slightly around the edges. “That observing you makes me question every fundamental truth I have been systematically conditioned to accept since childhood.”

The admission hangs in the air like a confession, vulnerable and dangerous.

Then his composure snaps back into place, cold and controlled—but I caught that glimpse of the man beneath the prince.

“Training. Now.”

“And if your experiment proves me guilty as charged?” I ask, watching his jaw tighten almost imperceptibly.

“Then we shall both comprehend precisely how much danger you represent,” his voice cracks like breaking ice. “And how little time remains before that danger becomes... unmanageable.”

The fondness in that nickname contradicts the warning in his words, and I realize—whatever this test is about, he’s hoping to be wrong.

He moves to my door, shadows already gathering around his feet like eager servants. “Come.”

I follow him into the corridor, where darkness bends to his will like living silk. The Academy sleeps around us, but under Kieran’s influence, shadows create pathways that shouldn’t exist—shortcuts through walls, passages that fold space until we’re standing before the training arena’s locked doors.

“Convenient trick.”

“Efficient application of available resources,” he corrects with that precise diction that makes everything sound like royal decree. He doesn’t touch the locks. Instead, shadows seep through the cracks like liquid night, and the doors swing open with silent obedience.

The arena materializes around us as we step inside, moonlight streaming through crystal windows and casting everything in silver and blue. But he seems more on edge here, movements slightly too controlled.

“No weapons,” he announces, shrugging out of his formal jacket with sharp, economical movements. Beneath, his black shirt reveals the lean strength I’ve suspected—all elegant muscle and predatory grace. “No magic. No pretense.” His eyes gleam with something between anticipation and dread. “Simply you and I and whatever truth resides in your bones.”

I circle him slowly, my body cataloguing advantages while something wilder whispers about different kinds of conquest. He’s taller, with longer reach. But I’m faster, more compact, harder to pin down.

“When I win, what do I get?” I ask.

“Should you achieve victory, I shall answer one question with complete honesty,” he promises with formal precision.

“And when you win?”

His smile turns lethal, but there’s something brittle around the edges. “You shall comprehend exactly what you represent to me.”

Before I can ask what the hell that means, he moves.

Kieran flows like liquid shadow, closing distance with inhuman speed. I barely dodge his first strike, rolling left as his fist whistles past my ear.

He doesn’t pause, following up with a combination that forces me backward. His fighting style is brutal elegance—every movement precise, economical, designed to end conflicts quickly.

But I notice something. He’s testing me, not trying to overwhelm me. Like he wants to see what I can do—and dreads what he’ll find.

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