Page 81 of House Ignis

"I accept."

Silas muttered something under his breath—a curse or a prayer, I couldn't tell which. My father's eyes narrowed further, searching for a crack in the male's resolve.

"And you understand," he said quietly, "that the ritual will extend to your boundling as well?"

Zya lifted her head from where she sat at Asher's feet. She looked unbothered, her silver eyes calm, as if she had already made this choice long before he spoke the words aloud.

"I do," Asher repeated.

My father studied him for a long, agonizing minute.

"You are Umbra-born," the King said slowly, his voice reflecting a newfound, wary respect. "Your kind does not swear lightly. Shadow oaths are older than most kingdoms. And yet, you offer your life to my daughter."

Asher didn't hesitate. He didn't look at me. He kept his eyes on the King and nodded.

He just fucking nodded.

My stomach flipped, a cold knot of disbelief tightening as I stared at him like he'd grown two heads. This—this was what he meant on the stairs? "If he tries, I'll give him a reason not to." This was his reason?

What the fuck.

My father moved toward the window, his hands clasped behind his back as he looked out over the Academy grounds.

"I reviewed your file myself," he said without turning, his voice echoing in the quiet office. "Top of your class in Umbra's elite ranks. Trained within the Keep. Survived trials that eliminate most before their third year."

Silas shifted uncomfortably beside the desk, his crimson robes rustling.

"You are considered," my father continued, finally turning back slowly, "the most powerful shadow wielder in over a century."

The words landed like a strike of thunder. I looked at Asher again, searching for a spark of arrogance, but he didn't look proud. He looked certain. Lethal.

"This might actually work," my father murmured, almost to himself. Even Silas looked stunned, his mouth slightly agape.

Aether's tail lashed once in sharp agitation, the fur along his spine standing on end.

"You cannot be serious," Silas said quietly, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and terror. "A blood oath between heirs? In their first year? It hasn't been done in centuries!"

"It is not a bond between heirs," my father corrected coolly, his green eyes flashing. "It would be a pact between protector and flame."

My pulse hammered in my ears. Protector. He was actually considering this. He was going to let me stay, but the price was a tether I couldn't even begin to comprehend.

My father's gaze settled on me again, unyielding. "You will not leave the Academy," he said evenly. "Not if you are guarded by a soul-bound oath sworn in my presence."

My throat went dry, the air in the room suddenly feeling too thin to breathe. "Father—"

"This is your choice," he said, though his tone suggested the alternatives were nothing but illusions. "But understand this, Ava. If you remain here without this bond, I remove you tonight. You will return to Zymarra, and your training here ends."

The ultimatum struck like a hammer. Stay and bind your soul to a shadow, or leave and become the porcelain princess I so desperately feared being.

My father nodded once, as if a thought had finally hardened into an immutable decision.

"This year," he said, his voice carrying that unmistakable, bone-deep kingly authority, "all students—from first through third—will compete in the Aegos Trials."

Silas stiffened, his face draining of color. The silence that followed was heavy with the weight of what that meant—a total shift in the Academy's balance.

My pulse thudded. "And everyone," my father continued, his eyes locking onto mine, "will be coming for you, Ava."

The room felt smaller.