Chapter 20
Twenty
“ G ood morning, Princess, Queen, Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness of the land and sky. Or should I be more specific—queen-who-can-barely-walk-in-slippers.” Dimples popped as a grin curved Kaia’s lips; she leaned casually against the opposite wall, arms crossed.
Alaire shut the door behind her with a click . “Shut it.” She shot Kaia a glare.
Kaia pushed off the wall, falling into step beside her. “Rough night?” she crooned, tilting her head to catch Alaire’s eye as they turned a corner where sunlight streamed through the arched windows lining the hall. Their boots echoed softly against the floor as they headed toward the dining hall.
The nightmares had returned with a vengeance since bonding with Solflara.
Two breathlock episodes had left her curled in the fetal position until she finally dragged herself to the Serenity Gardens.
The soft perfume of the flowers had eased the tension locking every muscle in her body, while Solflara circled above.
Kaia hummed thoughtfully as they reached the staircase leading to the main hall, gripping the iron banister as she descended two steps at a time. At the bottom, she spun to face Alaire, walking backward with a smirk.
“You know,” she said lightly, “all that brooding in your room is starting to remind me of another melancholic, temperamental royal.”
“Absolutely not . Don’t even go there. I haven’t been able to get much sleep. Since, well, everything.” She waved a hand.
Kaia slung an arm around her shoulder as they joined the flow of students toward the dining hall. “It’s not every day an abandoned heir declares their identity in a coliseum, of all places, like it’s nothing.”
Alaire’s lips twitched. “The looks on their faces were priceless.”
Morning light streamed through the stained glass of the bustling dining hall, painting jeweled tones across their path as they weaved toward a corner table away from prying eyes.
“Listen, I’m not going to push you,” Kaia said, leaning forward, “but you’re not the sum of every decision you made to survive.”
Alaire picked at her thumbnail, avoiding her gaze.
“It’s the choices you make now that matter.
Every sunrise is another chance to become who we’re meant to be.
Nothing about us is simple—we’re all complex.
” Kaia’s eyes flicked toward Kole across the room, his hat hiding the patch of hair Solflara had singed, before sliding onto a bench.
“Okay, maybe not all of us. But you aren’t alone in this.
Together, we’ll figure out the next step. ”
Alaire reached across the table. “Thank you for your friendship. It’s one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever received.”
Kaia squeezed her hand, loosening something tight in her chest. From the start, Kaia had seen her for who she was, not what she was. Alaire trusted few—especially fae—but Kaia gave her hope that some cared about more than power or status.
“Bonding Solflara left me with no other choice,” Alaire admitted.
“Only a Vallorian has ever bonded with a phoenix—I couldn’t risk being separated from her.
” She let out a shaky breath, burying her face in her hands.
“Right now, I need to focus on learning. I’m already behind every other flier.
House Ashfyre, its magic, court politics—I need to understand it all.
But I’m not na?ve enough to think the Consortium would ever approve of me leaving.
Not when it’s easier to keep tabs on me here. ”
Kaia’s eyes flicked to her ears.
Alaire caught her staring. “Go ahead. Ask.”
“You said you don’t want the throne. Does that change now that you can make a difference?”
“The way humans are treated in Cielore is reprehensible.” Her mind flashed to the boy beaten outside Mandallay’s Market. “Aurelia is gone. I have no kingdom, no people. But if I can use my influence to help humans, I will.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
Alaire pursed her lips. More than once, Kaia had hinted she knew Alaire’s pain firsthand, though she’d never shared what had happened to her. Alaire didn’t want to imagine any world in which her bright, cheerful, and delightful friend had even an ounce of her light snuffed out.
She’d never press, but she hoped one day Kaia would let her shoulder even a sliver of the burden—just as Kaia had done for her since the day they met.
“I’m going to grab us something to eat. Training on an empty stomach is not something I recommend. Eggs?”
“Fruit, please.”
“That’s it?”
“About all I can stomach right now.”
“Alright.”
Without Kaia’s presence, the weight of the stares pressed against Alaire’s back.
She pulled her rucksack into her lap, flipping open a notebook.
She’d be returning to the Australe Library soon—there was more to learn about the topics she and Kaia had discussed.
She needed every weapon on hand at her disposal.
Blake had taught her to be a physical threat; books had taught her words could cut just as deeply.
In diplomacy, conversation was as much a battlefield as any war—its wounds often invisible but no less deadly.
Words could be a balm or a scalpel, honed to slice clean.
In court politics, they were wielded with precision, their true intent hidden beneath tight smiles and placating tones.
Alaire preferred the raw honesty of a fight. In battle, there was no pretense, no masks.
“Good morning. How are you?” Archer slid into Kaia’s empty spot on the bench, his smooth voice breaking through her thoughts. Freshly shaven, leathers immaculate, not a strand of hair out of place—he was the picture of composure.
She hadn’t even noticed him approach.
“ Keep your guard up ,” Solflara warned. “ Now is not the time to be staring off into nothing .”
“I’m managing,” Alaire said with a shrug.
Archer nodded solemnly. “I can’t imagine the pressure you’re under. The stress alone could age you significantly—wrinkles, grey hair…” He hesitated, then quickly added, “Not that you have any of those. I merely mean—if there’s anything I can do to help…”
His awkward attempt earned him a small smile. He wasn’t good at emotions, but she appreciated the effort.
Before she could reply, Archer lifted his hands. The dining hall melted away, replaced by a field of sunflowers under a flawless blue sky. The breeze was so real she could almost feel it against her cheeks. Then, just as suddenly, the illusion vanished.
“That’s about all I can offer right now,” he said quietly.
“Thanks, Archer,” she replied, smiling broadly. “It helped.”
“It is my deepest pleasure. But… you should be prepared. The academy is already split into two camps—those who recognize your new position and wish to be in your good graces…”
“And the others?” she asked, twirling her writing utensil between her fingers.
“Unfortunately, they’d prefer to see you gone.”
“Lovely,” she drawled.
“I wouldn’t quite call it—” Archer broke off, his composure faltering as something behind her caught his attention.
Alaire followed his gaze to the fruit station, where Kaia and Caius stood locked in what looked like a heated exchange. Kaia jabbed a finger into his chest, their faces inches apart, tension sparking between them. Her bowl of fruit was clutched in her other hand.
Alaire’s eyes widened. At times like this, she cursed her lack of fae hearing. She’d give anything to know what in the seven hells was being said.
“Do they usually fight like that?” Archer’s voice was laced with concern.
“I’ve never seen them interact like this before.”
“Should I intervene?” he asked, the pulse in his neck visibly pounding.
Alaire shook her head. “Best let them sort that out themselves. Kaia can handle her own battles.”
Relief flickered across his face.
Then Kaia’s voice cracked through the dining hall like a whip. “You never listen, Caius! You always act like you’re the only one who matters—guess what? You aren’t. We’re supposed to be a team. So you’d better figure your shit out!”
Alaire froze. She had never heard Kaia yell before. Not once. Her eyes snapped to Caius, searching his expression. What in the seven hells had he done to push her that far?
Holding her breath, Alaire waited for Caius to explode—surely he’d meet fire with fire.
But he didn’t yell. He didn’t move at all. His posture stayed rigid, fists curling at his sides, a muscle feathering in his jaw. Kaia stood her ground, waiting. He met her stare for one taut, silent moment, then turned and walked away, his footsteps deliberate, each one echoing in the hall.
Alaire frowned. The Caius she knew—the cruel, arrogant brute—would never let a challenge slide.
Kaia spun on her heel, curls bouncing as she strode to the table. Without looking at either of them, she dropped into the seat and pushed a bowl of mixed watermelon, pineapple, and mango toward Alaire.
“Thanks,” Alaire muttered, wary of poking the beast.
Kaia grunted.
Archer’s gaze flicked between them and Caius’s retreating figure. His brows rose, lips pursing as if calculating the odds of getting answers. “I’m going to give you ladies some space,” he said, rising. He paused beside Kaia, his expression softening. “Take a moment. Just breathe.”
She didn’t reply. Archer lingered a beat, then left.
Alaire chewed slowly, stealing sidelong glances at Kaia’s rigid posture and restless fingers drumming against the table.
“What was that about?” she finally asked, waving her spoon toward the door.
Kaia’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Nothing that matters.”
Alaire arched a brow but let it go, shoveling another bite into her mouth.
Then Kaia stood abruptly, grabbed her elbow, tugging her to her feet. “Come on. I need to punch something.”
“More like someone,” Alaire muttered. She cast one longing glance at her fruit bowl before letting herself be dragged away.