Chapter 16 Nythir
Nythir
How to keep your princess alive when the universe clearly wants her dead.
Nythir burst through the doorway so hard the hinges screamed. Luna barely had time to blink before he threw himself at her, knocking both of them to the floor.
She fought like a feral kitten, all claws and cheap tricks.
He fought like someone who’d been awake for five seconds and already regretted everything.
By the time they’d rolled halfway across the room and back, Essie’s voice cut through the chaos like a dagger:
“You are bleeding on my clean floor!”
Nythir froze mid-headlock.
Luna froze with her teeth an inch from his wrist.
They both slowly turned toward Essie.
She looked… small. Shaken. Eyes pink with fading tears. And that made something inside Nythir snap clean in half.
The pressure behind his eyes did not fade when he saw her.
It intensified. Sharp and focused, like a lens snapping into place.
His magic did not surge outward—it drew inward, tightening its hold as if preparing to shield something fragile.
That reaction bothered him. Healing magic responded to injury, not proximity. There were no injuries…yet.
His magic stirred low and insistent, humming beneath his skin like it wanted to surge forward and shield her from everything at once—the room, the people in it, the very air she had breathed moments before. He forced it down, breathing carefully. Healing magic responded best to control, not fury.
But stars—he was furious.
Luna noticed it too. She eased up, sliding out from under him like a cat deciding it was bored with the fight.
That didn’t stop Nythir from glowering. “What did you do to her?”
He had asked that question before—over different bodies, in other rooms, with various blood on his hands. It had never sounded like this. There was too much restraint in his voice, too much effort not to tear the room apart.
Luna dusted herself off, smug despite the bruises. “Oh relax, mutt. If I wanted your princess romantically, I’d have flirted with her, not straddled her for a prank. She’s cute, but not my type. I like women who bite back.”
Nythir blinked. “I’m a purebred elf, you’re the mutt. Also, Essie literally punched a vine demon yesterday.”
“Yes,” Luna sighed dreamily, “but she didn’t do it on purpose.” Then she added flatly, casually: "Congratulations, she is very safe from me. Vorrik should worry, though.”
“Good,” Nythir muttered, then frowned. “Wait—why congratulate—never mind.” He did not like the knowing look on her face.
“And look,” Luna said brightly, “I only fake-poisoned her!”
“Luna!” Essie squeaked.
“Okay, okay,” Luna waved her hands. “Bad prank. Terrible prank. Possibly war-crime-adjacent prank. I’ll fix it. Come to the tavern later, Cinabun. We’ll talk privately. Just us girls.”
Nythir snapped, “No.”
Essie straightened, chest puffed out. “Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No—”
“I’m not being controlled anymore, Nythir.” Her voice trembled, but her chin lifted. “Not by my father, not by my kingdom, not by anyone.”
That shut him up. He swallowed his instinct to argue. He also swallowed the urge to point out she’d slipped up, mentioning the kingdom. He was going to have to train her to be more sly.
Luna did not feel like a threat in the traditional sense.
That was what unsettled him most.
His instincts screamed loudest around blades and ambushes—clear dangers, honest ones. Luna felt like pressure without impact. Like standing too close to a cliff edge with nothing visibly pushing you forward.
He hated that his magic could not decide what she was.
Luna beamed like a rewarded cat. “Perfect! I’ll meet you there.” She twirled toward the door, her exit interrupted by it slamming open again. Nythir knew it would soon become his job to repair the hinges.
Lyssara strode in first, still in a robe and bonnet, eyes scanning the room like she expected bodies.
Vorrik ducked under the frame behind her, his shoulders nearly brushing the sides.
Last came Sable, Luna’s half-sister, expression flat as stone.
Nobody would guess that the delicate flower and bulldog, as Stonehaven residents fondly labeled them, were siblings.
“What happened?” Lyssara demanded.
“Why does it look like a tornado attacked?” Vorrik added.
Sable’s voice was quiet and exhausted. “Luna, did you terrify another civilian?”
“Civilian?” Luna gasped. “That’s my new best friend! Treat her with respect!”
Essie’s jaw fell open, eyes as wide and glossy as a barn owl. Luna winked at her. Nythir did not like whatever secret the two shared. Essie’s quivering lip had him contemplating murder.
He gently placed his thumb over her wrist. Her pulse raced too fast.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured.
“I’m fine,” Esther whispered, unconvincingly.
He guided her to sit, kneeling in front of her. “Give me your hands.”
The moment his fingers closed around hers, the pressure eased.
Relief flooded him so abruptly that it almost staggered him. Not just emotional—physical. As if something inside his chest had finally aligned. His magic settled into her like it recognized the shape of her fear and knew how to cradle it without smothering.
Not completely. But enough that his breath came easier. His magic flowed instinctively, silver light threading outward in careful lines, answering the frantic hum beneath her skin.
He had healed dozens of people before. Cuts. Burns. Broken bones.
This felt different. Like his magic recognized her before his mind did.
Her magic vibrated against his senses—bright, erratic, compressed too tightly beneath her skin, like a storm trapped behind glass.
No wonder she feared losing control. Anyone would, carrying that much power without understanding how to let it breathe.
Nythir inhaled and let his own magic glow warm around his fingers. A soft silver shimmer from his runespire trailed out, easing the tremor and loosening the tightness in her breath.
Slowly, the hum synchronized.
Her frantic energy softened, matching the steady rhythm of his own. The pressure that had coiled in his chest unwound, leaving behind something warmer. Quieter.
Nythir froze.
Magic did not do that by accident.
He had spent years studying spell response, mana exhaustion, and sympathetic resonance. This fit none of the known models. Bonds like this were discussed in theoretical texts and dismissed as metaphors. He had denied them, too.
Esther sagged with relief. “Thank you.”
The word landed deeper than it should have. Gratitude implied choice. Trust implied risk. Both sat heavy in his chest, unwanted and undeniable.
Luna plopped herself beside her. “My turn!”
“No,” the entire room said in unison.
Sable arched a brow. “I could use healing. Vorrik and I took blows in training.”
Nythir scoffed. Apparently bar fights now counted as training.
Esther perked up. “I can help.”
Nythir nearly choked. “Essie, you’re exhausted.” He wasn’t prepared for any more necromancer mishaps.
“But I can,” she insisted, worry pooling in her eyes. “They’re hurt.”
Before he could stop her, she slid off the bed and reached for them. She was unnaturally quick when she wanted to be.
Lyssara extended her arm first, unafraid. Esther brushed her fingers over a cut along Lyssara’s bicep. Warm gold light rippled out. The wound vanished.
Vorrik stepped forward next. He grinned sheepishly as Esther’s hand grazed his bruised shoulder. She inhaled deeply before letting her light engulf him, washing away all his wounds.
Then came Sable. She stepped forward silently, waiting. Esther laid her fingers gently on her shoulder. Light pulsed—and this time, something else flickered.
Sable inhaled sharply. “What was—” Her voice shifted mid-sentence, higher, softer, as if she hadn’t smoked like a chimney all winter.
They all stared as Sable’s face subtly reshaped itself. Fine lines smoothed. Her jaw softened. Her eyes brightened as if shedding years of exhaustion. Even her hair grew, wavy locks reaching her shoulders.
“Oh,” Esther whispered. “Oops.”
Sable touched her now-smooth cheek in stunned silence. Jowls gone, no longer resembling a bulldog.
“You… reversed my age?”
Esther panicked. “I’m sorry!”
Luna shot up like an alert prairie dog. “Esther. Sweetheart. Cinsbun. Precious flower. Do me next.”
“No,” Nythir barked.
“I’m serious! Tighten my jawline! Give me back my twenty-year-old thighs!”
“No.”
“What about fifteen? I was adorable at fifteen.”
“Absolutely not.”
Sable added, “I wouldn’t object to a second round—”
“Out.” Nythir grabbed Luna by the elbow. Vorrik took Sable by the hand. Together, they herded both sisters into the hallway like misbehaving goats.
Luna shrieked like a goat, too. “Let the girl express her art!”
“You’re banned,” Nythir said.
“You can’t ban me!”
“Watch me.”
The door slammed. Silence returned.
Lyssara looked between Essie and Nythir. “Explain why Luna was here.”
Vorrik cleared his throat. “In simple words.”
Esther wrapped her arms around herself. “I… can’t.”
Lyssara stepped closer. “Essie—”
“No.” Essie backed up. “Please stop asking.”
Vorrik raised his hands in surrender. Lyssara exhaled hard, frustrated but understanding.
Nythir stepped to Essie’s side. “She’ll speak when she’s ready.”
He held her gaze. Those amber eyes of hers were going to be the end of him.
He had spent his life trading in secrets. Guarding them. Selling them. Burying them when necessary.
This one, he decided, would never be currency.
Whatever Essie carried—past, power, or crown—was hers to reveal. And anyone who tried to take it from her before she was ready would answer to him.
Until then, he would be the space between her and the world. He did not frame it as devotion or destiny. He framed it as a necessity. And necessities were things he did not abandon.
He’d fight off every goddess-blessed, chaos-infused, boundary-obliterating information broker in the country to protect her.
Even if that was Luna. Especially if it was Luna.
He shared a knowing look with Lyssara.
Lyssara had noticed it too. The way his attention never entirely left Essie. The way his stance shifted to block lines of approach without conscious thought. She didn’t comment. Warriors rarely did when they recognized something dangerous forming.
Luna—the information queen—knew Essie’s identity. Vorrik… they would explain it to him later.
The room felt sour. They all wanted Essie to confide in them. But they would wait until she was ready.
For now, their goal was simple: keep Essie safe. She was theirs after all. And they would always protect their own, no matter the past—or whatever enemies followed.