CHAPTER NINE #2
I skidded to a halt at the last enclosure, chest heaving, and there he was.
Aether stood tall in the straw-covered stall, his black coat gleaming despite the faint scorch marks along his flank. His ears were pinned back in pure offense as a healer hovered near him, brandishing a long silver thermometer.
"If she sticks that thing one more inch toward me, I swear by Kael's iron balls—"
"Sir, please—" the poor nurse tried desperately, her hands shaking.
"I am fine. Get her away from me. I will not be violated in this establishment!"
I burst out laughing, the sound jagged with relief as I collapsed against the wooden post. The healer turned, her eyes wide with gratitude. "He's all yours, Princess."
"Don't worry," I said between breaths, reaching out to stroke Aether's nose. "He's clearly perfectly fine."
Boots crunched through the straw behind me as the others finally caught up.
"How is he?" Ember asked softly.
"Still dramatic," I muttered, stepping into the pen.
Aether flicked his tail and huffed. "And proud."
"Then he's all good," Ryven said with a relieved grin.
I crouched beside the massive panther, and the adrenaline finally drained from my bones, leaving me hollow and shaking. My throat tightened, and hot tears burned behind my lashes.
"Oh, Aether…"
I wrapped my arms around his powerful neck and buried my face in his thick fur. He was warm. Solid. Alive. He let out a long, exaggerated grumble, then coughed awkwardly in my mind.
"Ugh. Emotions."
I laughed wetly into his shoulder, gripping him tighter as the sheer terror of the duel finally broke. Behind me, Ember's voice softened, ushering the others away. "Come on, guys. Let's give them a moment."
Straw rustled as their boots retreated, and the stable fell into a heavy, peaceful quiet. Aether's breathing evened out beneath my cheek.
"You did not let me down," he murmured firmly through the bond. "Do not even think it."
My fingers tightened in his fur. "I almost lost you."
"And yet," he said dryly, "you did not. Now, let go of me. Heirs don't cry."
Despite his prickly words, a wave of relief flooded the bond—warm and steady. He gave me a small, rare smile that reached his golden eyes.
"I'm so sorry, Aether," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I let you down."
"You did not," he insisted, his gaze locking onto mine. "I am proud of how you handled it. It is Zorian who must answer for using illegal magic. We would have won—against him and that stinking, eight-legged beast."
A watery smile finally tugged at my lips. "And Zya saved your life?"
His tail flicked sharply, and he immediately turned toward the stable door to avoid my gaze. "So they say," he muttered.
I rose and followed him quickly. "Did you at least thank her?"
He bristled but didn't stop walking. "We sorted our matters. We are… cordial. I owe her my life."
I blinked, my brows shooting up. "Aether? Cordial? That's a first."
He grunted. "Do not make it strange."
The restless flick of his tail betrayed his discomfort, and I smiled despite myself. We stepped out of the stables and into the west wing corridor, and I nearly stopped dead in my tracks.
Asher was leaning against the stone archway, one boot crossed lazily over the other, arms folded loosely across his bare chest. Zya lounged beside him, dark and composed, her silver gaze half-lidded but alert.
Of course he was waiting.
"Did you thank a certain someone?" Aether asked smoothly through the bond, sounding far too smug.
"Asher," I said aloud, my heart picking up speed. "What are you doing here?"
He pushed off the wall with that infuriating ease, shadows shifting faintly around his boots. "Waiting," he replied.
"For what?"
He started walking without answering, clearly expecting me to follow. "Well, Princess," he said over his shoulder, his voice maddeningly calm, "we have a meeting with your father."
I blinked, stunned. "Wait—what?"
I hurried to catch up, my boots clicking against the stone in an uneven, frantic rhythm. Behind us, Zya and Aether walked side by side—not snarling, not posturing, but moving together like a single shadow.
I stared at them, my jaw nearly hitting the stone floor. They were just... aligned. Peaceful.
What the fuck.
Ahead of us, Asher didn't slow down. There was something about the rigid set of his shoulders that told me this wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation.
"After what happened," Asher said smoothly, taking the stairs two at a time like he owned the architecture itself, "Zorian got expelled for Heightened magic."
I stopped mid-step. "What?"
"Expelled," he repeated with a casual shrug. "Immediate removal. An illegal overdraw in a sanctioned duel against the heir? That's not something the Academy can bury, even with Tideris influence."
My pulse stuttered. I honestly didn't think they would actually expel the bastard, but the relief was short-lived.
"Your father's arriving," he added, glancing back at me. "To check on his prize heir."
I groaned, the sound echoing off the vaulted ceiling. "Fantastic. King of Zymarra 'Dad Mode' is exactly what I need right now."
And that's when the reality of my situation hit me.
I was still in my battle-worn leathers, and they were a disaster.
My jacket had torn open halfway down the front, the broken zip hanging uselessly as the fabric gaped wide over my sweat-soaked tank top.
Dirt streaked my collarbone, and my braid had half-unraveled into a chaotic mess.
It wasn't subtle. It was very, very not subtle.
Asher's gaze dipped. Slowly. Deliberately. He smirked, his silver eyes taking in every inch of the wreckage.
My face went nuclear. Gods help me.
"So," he said with exaggerated smoothness, falling back into step beside me so our shoulders nearly brushed, "I'll be escorting you."
"Why?" I snapped, even though I already suspected the answer.
He flashed a grin sharp enough to cut steel. "Well, apparently the King would like a word with me, too."
"Oh?"
"You know," he continued lightly, his voice dropping into that teasing, velvet register. "He wants to meet his daughter's valiant hero. The one who saved his precious princess from drowning in front of half the continent's heirs."
I stared at him, my heart doing that traitorous double-thud again. "You are absolutely insufferable."
···
My father.
The thought hit like ice water down my spine, localized and stinging. He was going to take me away. Ever since Jax—his heir, his pride, his everything—had died, nothing had been the same. He hadn't been the same.
And me? I'd stopped being a daughter and became glass. A precious, fragile flame to be handled, protected, and contained. I hated it with a primal ferocity.
My heartbeat spiked as we climbed the spiral staircase toward the Headmaster's office.
Each step echoed with a finality that made my lungs seize.
If he thought the Academy wasn't safe, if he thought I couldn't handle the heat, he would pull me out.
No debate. No argument. The heir does not stay where she nearly drowns.
The walls felt like they were closing in. I stopped halfway up, gripping the cold stone railing until my knuckles turned white. My fingers trembled, rooted to the spot.
"Breathe," Aether said quietly, pressing the solid weight of his head into my thigh. "You are not prey."
But my breath caught in a throat that still felt the phantom of Zorian's crushing water. The thought of facing my father—his cool assessment, his unreadable stare, that silent disappointment that cut deeper than any shouting—wrapped around my chest like iron bands.
Ahead of me, Asher reached the landing with Zya. He stepped toward the heavy double doors, then paused. His head tilted, sensing the sudden break in my rhythm.
"Ava?"
His voice carried down the stone, cutting through the static in my head. I didn't answer. I couldn't.
He turned and descended the stairs toward me, his boots hushed on the polished stone. Then he was there, one step above. He reached for my elbow, and at the contact, his shadows rose instinctively—cool and soft, sliding around my forearm like drifting smoke.
The tightness in my chest eased. Just a fraction.
"Ava," he said again, his voice dropping an octave. "What is it?"
I forced myself to look up, meeting those searching silver eyes. "He's going to take me away," I whispered, the admission feeling like swallowed glass. "He won't let his heir stay somewhere that nearly killed her."
My jaw tightened until it ached. "I can't go back. If I leave now, it'll look like I was too weak to stay."
The word burned. Weak.
Asher's grip didn't tighten, but his posture shifted—subtle, predatory, and undeniably protective.
"He won't," he said.
"You don't know him."
"I know power," Asher countered, his voice dropping into a low, resonant hum. "And I know he needs you here more than he needs you hidden."
The shadows around us deepened—not as a threat, but as a shroud of certainty. Beside me, Aether huffed, a low vibration of agreement. "You are not porcelain."
Asher's gaze softened in that rare, dangerous way that felt like he was reaching through the cracks in my armor. "I'll be in the room with you," he murmured, his voice as smooth as shadow-wrapped silk.
Then he stepped down. We were sharing the same step now, standing so close I could feel the radiating heat of his skin and the cool thrum of his magic.
"Ready, Princess?" he asked quietly.
I took a shaky breath, the scent of him grounding me. I looked at the heavy doors above us, then back at the male made of night.
"Ready."
That infuriating, unreadable smirk returned, and for once, I didn't mind it.
I turned before he could say anything else and continued up the stairs, my boots striking the stone with renewed purpose.
His shadows followed me, not clinging or cloying, but just there—a second heartbeat at my back.
We reached the towering double doors of the Headmaster's office, and I felt the old hesitation try to claw its way up my throat.