Chapter 31
Thirty-One
T he last few weeks had been torture—saying otherwise would’ve been a lie.
With the final trial looming, Dawson had ramped up their training from grueling to borderline sadistic.
All first years who failed were not permitted to attend the second year at Aeris Academy.
No second chances. For most students, that meant disappointing their noble families—a carnal sin.
For Alaire, it meant losing her opportunity to unlock more about her magic.
Her agreement with the Consortium hung by a precarious thread.
Surrounded by the dense forests of the Hollow of Echoes, Alaire trudged forward, a weighted pack dragging at her shoulders. Sweat slicked beneath her black leathers. At least the color camouflaged the mess, so she didn’t look as miserable as she felt.
She glanced at Dawson—jaw set, eyes scanning the trees, ever alert.
Letting out a breath, she steeled herself for whatever fresh torment he had planned. Between classes and training, she’d barely seen Kaia and Archer. Sleep was her only reprieve, though even that was haunted by nightmares that left her drained.
Grumpy and irritable, she narrowed her eyes at the cause of her suffering.
“You told Dexter you picked me as a partner,” she said. The words had been festering. “I thought Professor Leslie assigned us… I was there.”
“I was wondering when you’d ask.” Dawson kept moving, grip tightening on the straps of his pack. “Dexter watches you too closely.” A pause. “I don’t like it.” He turned his head toward her. “I told him what he wanted to hear.”
The weight of his words made her stomach flip. Dawson Knox never failed to deliver the unexpected. Heat flushed her cheeks as she fought to keep her voice even. “I can handle him.”
Weeks ago, she would’ve bristled at his interference. But this wasn’t about proving her worth. Dexter was desperate for power, and desperate men were unpredictable. With Dawson’s influence, having him as an ally wasn’t a weakness—it was an advantage.
Sometimes the smartest move was letting opponents underestimate the pieces she had in play.
Despite everything he kept from her, she realized uneasily, she trusted Dawson. And maybe—just maybe—she hated how much she wanted that trust returned.
Dawson’s lips twitched. “Sure,” he said slowly. The word curled under her ribs and refused to let go. His gaze, dark and heavy with promises she wanted to explore, lingered on her face, as if memorizing every line.
For a moment, she wondered what it would be like to close the distance. To give in to the ache that had kept her up late into the night. To feel his body pressed against hers, nothing between them, no history, no future. Just this. Just them.
Her feet moved before she could think better of it, breath catching in her throat—until a shadow swept overhead and yanked her back to reality.
Solflara and Beck flew above. Poor Beck adored her phoenix. Solflara, however, had no qualms unleashing fire whenever he got too close.
“He’s never going to learn, is he?” She sighed.
Dawson chuckled low. “Apparently not.”
I should take my own advice. I shouldn’t be thinking about Dawson—not like that.
They reached another small patch of cleared grass, identical to the last twenty. Dawson signaled for them to stop. Packs dropped. He led them through the stretches he insisted on before every session.
“Ready?”
Alaire shot him a glare. “Oh, joy. Another day of Dawson’s delightful death traps.”
“Glad you’re excited,” he said dryly. “The final trial requires you to be prepared for anything at any moment. Today will be different.”
“Let me guess—more running until I puke.”
“Something like that.” Dawson smirked. “We’ll start with sparring before moving to the real fun.”
“Lovely.”
Before she could process, his boot snapped into her shin.
“Ow! Seven hells, Dawson! I wasn’t ready.”
“Your enemy isn’t going to announce themselves and wait politely. They’ll strike when you least expect it.”
Circling each other, Alaire catalogued the tilt of his body, his proximity—trying to anticipate his next move.
He launched a swift jab at her ribs. She blocked, countering with a kick he dodged effortlessly.
“Come on, Firework,” Dawson taunted. “You can do better than that.”
She growled in frustration. Without waiting, she launched a flurry of combinations she’d been perfecting during early mornings in the Crux. He evaded or blocked every one.
She wanted to pull her hair out.
“That’s your problem, Alaire—time and time again. You’re smart, cunning, ruthless when you need to be. But each time I prod, you respond emotionally. Your feelings aren’t a weakness, but when you lash out, you lose perspective. And it will cost you.”
Maybe her emotions made her brash at times. But they also made her who she was.
“The monsters out there”—she jabbed south toward the Retribution of the Ruined—“are hollow. Those who’ve chosen to be turned traded everything worth living for—love, connection.
Their humanity for power and bloodlust.” She threw a punch he deflected with his forearm.
Pivoting left, she aimed for his ribs. He shifted, her fist cutting through empty air.
“My emotions may cost me, but it’s a price I’ll always pay.” She aimed higher this time for his shoulder, but he caught her fist mid-swing, using her own momentum to push her back.
“They’re messy, wild, and get me in trouble. But they’re mine .” She stepped deliberately into his space, palms splayed over his biceps, feeling every contour of muscle beneath the leathers.
She closed her eyes, her mother’s voice rising like Solflara’s flames: Darling, at all costs, you must protect your fire. The spark of your spirit—that defiance—cannot be taught. It’s innate .
A memory resurfaced.
Alaire cradled an injured turtle in her hands, its suffering bringing tears streaming down her cheeks. “Can we fix it, Mother?”
White light enveloped them. Her mother brushed away her tears, her voice warm: “Your tears for this creature, your emotions—that’s your fire, darling. You can be tenacious yet kind, empathetic yet tough. People are contradictions, more than what you see on the surface.”
Her mother had known the truth: Alaire’s contradictions were her strength. It was impossible to always seem strong, to hide behind an impenetrable mask.
No—that was Dawson’s role.
“You might have a point.” Dawson stepped away.
Alaire curled her fingers into her chest. She shouldn’t miss the heat of him.
“I’ve learned there’s no stopping your unique brand of chaos.
But you can’t outfeel or outfight everything.
Control is sometimes the difference between surviving and winning.
That’s what I’m training you for—to win.
” His smirk tilted devilishly. “Of course, I’m sure you’ll ignore all that until it gets us both killed. ”
“Pardon?”
“Nothing.”
“Thought so.” She smirked back. “Let’s go.”
Their breaths and blows echoed through the clearing.
After what felt like an eternity, Dawson finally said, “That should do it for a warm-up.”
Sweat trickled down her face, sliding into the hollow of her throat. “A warm-up?” She panted. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I assure you, I’m not.”
She stalked to her pack, chugging water like she’d crossed the Scorched Marsh.
“Overall, your sparring wasn’t bad,” he admitted. Was that approval in his tone? “But you need to be faster. Anticipate my strikes better.”
Above, Solflara’s fiery plumage shimmered in the sunlight while Beck’s black feathers seemed to drink in the refracted light.
“What are you two doing here?” Alaire asked. “I thought you were flying overhead.”
Solflara gave her a sharp look, and only then did Alaire realize she’d been too consumed with Dawson to notice their descent into the clearing.
“ More like drooling over the princeling ,” Solflara said smugly, feathers wiggling.
Alaire shot her a dirty look.
Dawson cleared his throat. Alaire turned her attention to him. “This is what I meant by doing things a bit differently. I want to get in some aerial practice before they eat. Since Beck is the best there is.”
Solflara tutted indignantly. “ What he means to say is Beck was the best there was .” Flames singed the ground a few inches from Dawson’s feet.
“Whoa, whoa.” Dawson jumped back.
“Correction—you and Beck were the best.” Alaire grinned. “But that changed the second we bonded.” Sometimes Solflara’s cocky personality worked in her favor.
“Only one way to find out.” Dawson lifted his chin. “Mount up, Firework.”
Alaire turned to Solflara, who was swatting Beck away as he tried to approach her. “ Ready , Solf ?”
“ Absolutely . The lovesick griffin needs to learn he isn’t enough to satisfy the entity that is my greatness . I prefer solitude over suffocating affection .”
“ O-kay .”
“ Also , must you insist on using that nickname when you know I despise it ?”
“ And that right there is the reason I use it .”
“ The audacity .”
“ Let’s show them how it’s done . I plan to rub this in Dawson’s face until the end of time .”
Solflara released a melodic trill, amber eyes gleaming with anticipation. Reaching up for her phoenix’s braid, Alaire swung on as Dawson simultaneously mounted Beck.
“We’re going to simulate a high-stakes aerial battle. Use everything you’ve learned. The goal is to outmaneuver and tag the other with a simulated hit. Got it?”
Alaire nodded. Flying was the one thing she’d come to treasure as much as reading. She gripped Solflara’s braid tightly, eager for the rush of wind through her hair. Mastering aerial techniques had become a pivotal part of her new regimen.
All at once, the two creatures launched skyward.
Solflara’s fiery wings beat rhythmically as the ground dropped away, the forest below shrinking into miniature stalks of broccoli. Thrill surged through Alaire as sparks trailed from Solflara’s purple tail.
Dawson manipulated the wind to carry his voice. “Utilize your environment. Trust your instincts.”
“Got it!” she shouted back.
His thumbs-up was their cue.
Alaire and Solflara split away, circling wide to face Dawson and Beck across the open air. Hesitation and excitement pounded in her chest. Leaning forward, she urged Solflara into a dive.
The phoenix responded instantly, falling into a steady, familiar rhythm.
Dawson and Beck mirrored their descent at blinding speed. Wind howled in Alaire’s ears as she tightened her grip, eyes locking on Dawson’s raven hair.
“ Now , Solf .”
“ We will be having a conversation about using that name .”
“ Focus .”
“ I can multitask .”
Solflara rolled into a perfect circle spiral around Beck, but Dawson led him into a sharp turn, avoiding with practiced ease.
They pushed each other to their limits, executing every maneuver drilled into them at the Aeriel Coliseum—and improvising when instinct demanded.
Through their mental bond, Alaire guided dives, banking turns, spotting openings.
Yet when Solflara’s aerial instincts surpassed hers, she let the phoenix take the lead.
The sky became a blur of color and motion, phoenix and griffin locked in a deadly ballet.
No matter how hard they pressed, Dawson and Beck remained one step ahead. Every time she thought they had an opening, Dawson maneuvered Beck into a climb or dive, always fighting to gain the higher ground—always angling for the strike position.
Time to act.
“ Now , Solflara .”
Her phoenix unleashed a burst of fire, a flaming barrier across the sky. As Dawson and Beck veered to avoid it, Solflara dove and rolled, giving them a precious moment to regroup.
Seizing the moment, Alaire pulled sharply on the braid, signaling Solflara to climb. The distraction worked—they gained altitude, positioning themselves above Dawson, ready to strike.
“ Time to turn the tables .”
“ They won’t know what hit them .”
When the flames cleared, Dawson realized they’d used his own tactic against him.
Solflara tilted forward, and Alaire pressed into her back. Their sheer speed made her grin; she was downright giddy. They were so close—just a few more inches, and victory would be theirs.
At the last possible moment, Dawson’s sharp command echoed through the skies: “Beck, break right! Let’s remind them who’s the best.”
The griffin responded instantly, their communication seamless. Beck climbed steeply, wings slicing the sky, then flipped into a half-loop. Rolling over, he faced them head-on.
Alaire tried to track him, but the swift reversal disoriented her. Before she could react, Dawson rang out behind her: “Got you.”
Beck’s talons grazed Solflara with a lover’s longing, mimicking a simulated hit.
The current hollowed out around her—air magic.
“Fuck,” she muttered.
“Someone being a sore loser?” Dawson teased.
“No.” She refused to meet the shit-eating grin she knew was plastered on his face.
“You sure about that?”
“No,” she admitted, the word slipping out more like a petulant whine.
“Thought so.” His laughter carried on the wind.
And it was that laugh—genuine, unguarded—that snared her attention. The usual weight etched into Dawson’s features melted away. Eyes bright and playful, a smile softening his face, dark hair tousled into a halo by the breeze.
Alaire caught herself staring, captivated by this unburdened version of him. Like her, up here, he seemed free.
They landed back in the clearing, Alaire’s legs wobbling slightly as she dismounted.
Dawson approached, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “You did well today. You two are a formidable team.”
Her chest swelled with pride at the compliment. “You weren’t so bad yourselves.”
“ Obviously , prince . Have you not been paying attention ?” Solflara cut in, smug as ever.
Alaire laughed despite herself.
“What?” Dawson asked, tilting his head.
“Solflara assumed our superiority as a team was already obvious.”
He stepped directly in front of the phoenix—bold move. “It was rather rude of me to doubt you. Please accept my most heartfelt apology.”
She blew a torrent of smoke at him.
“Guess I’ll have to work on her approval.”
“You sure will. She’s a complicated one. But a tip to the wise—compliments go far with her.”
“And with what female do they not?” Dawson murmured.
Alaire ignored him, moving toward her pack. “So, are we heading back? I’m starving.”
“No.”
“ More training?”
“I told you today would be different. We’re spending the night out here.”
“Both of us… here ?” She balked.
The bastard took immense pleasure in her squirming.
“But we have comfy beds not too far away.”
“One night. You can handle it. I’ve already cleared it with your professors.”
Alaire swallowed, taking in the infuriatingly confident male in front of her. This was a terrible idea. Beyond terrible.
He reveled in her expression, his grin deepening. “Being a prince has its perks.”
Oh, I am so screwed.