Page 80 of House Ignis

He turned back to the Headmaster, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. "He should not have been capable of it. First-years do not possess the core development required to sustain Heightening. Their channels are not reinforced. Their bond to the Monolith is too shallow."

Silas nodded reluctantly. "That is correct."

"Which means," my father finished, his voice echoing with grim certainty, "either he was aided… or something within this Academy is allowing students to bypass natural thresholds."

A chill crept up my spine, colder than any water Zorian had summoned.

"You can complete your training from Zymarra," he said, looking back at me. "Private instruction. Controlled field exercises. Royal guard oversight."

"The Council will object," Silas warned softly.

My father's jaw tightened. "The Council will do nothing," he said evenly. "Because I am their King. And Ava is Zymarra's flame."

The words echoed against the high, vaulted ceiling.

"She is not merely a student," he continued, his posture radiating absolute authority. "She is the future of our throne. Every noble house watches her development. Every allied kingdom measures her strength."

His gaze softened—but only slightly, and only for a heartbeat. "They are counting on you, Ava. And I will not allow you to remain in a place where uncontrolled Heightening is occurring within first-year ranks."

Silence followed, heavy and absolute.

My heartbeat roared in my ears, a frantic rhythm against the sudden, suffocating stillness of the room.

"But if I leave," I said, my voice barely a whisper, "it will look like I ran."

My father's expression did not soften. It didn't even flicker. "It will look," he replied with the detached coldness of a monarch, "like a King protecting what is his."

The finality of it felt like a door slamming shut. But before the latch could click, Asher stepped forward.

"With your permission, Your Majesty," he said. His voice was smooth, devoid of its usual teasing edge, cutting through the tension like a blade. "I would offer myself to her service."

A heavy beat of silence followed.

"Through a blood oath."

My heart stopped. My lungs seized. "No—" I choked out, the word dying in my throat as my father's hand lifted, silencing me instantly.

My father stepped toward Asher, his movements predatory and slow, circling the shadow wielder like a smith deciding whether to temper a blade or break it.

"You understand what you are proposing?" he asked, his voice low and edged with naked steel.

Asher inclined his head once, his gaze never wavering from the King's. "I do."

"You are not volunteering simple protection," my father continued, his words falling like stones into a deep well. "A blood oath is not a guard's pledge. It is soul-binding."

He stopped directly in front of him, the height difference negligible, the power dynamic astronomical. "It binds body. Mind. Magic. Spirit." Each word carried a staggering weight. "If she suffers, you will feel it. If she is wounded, your strength will waver. If she dies—"

The entire room held its breath.

"—you die."

The silence that followed was absolute.

"You will sense her presence," my father detailed, his eyes boring into Asher's. "Her emotional shifts. Her magical surges. You will be drawn to her in danger whether you wish to be or not. This is not common fae binding. This is a divine contract."

Beside me, Aether's growl vibrated through the very floorboards. "He cannot do this," the panther hissed through the bond, his fur bristling into sharp, angry peaks. "It will not bind only him. It will thread through every bond attached to you. Me. Zya. It will weave us together whether we consent or not."

The sheer magnitude of the commitment pressed into my chest, making it hard to find air. But Asher? He didn't even blink.