Page 78 of House Ignis

"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.