Page 77 of House Ignis

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?"