Chapter 88
"Amplification and absorption!"
He spotted the two runes—one near the window, one by the door. They didn't touch. He ran to the amplification rune, grabbed it, and dragged it across the floor until it connected with absorption, then stepped onto both.
Ashley stared. "I didn't say you could move them."
"You didn't say I couldn't."
A beat of silence. Then she laughed, warm and surprised.
"Clever boy." She shook her head, still smiling. "Alright, new rule. Runes can't be moved. Now, try again."
They continued until the sun set, Lucas sometimes succeeding, sometimes failing. Each failure meant answering a question—some easy (favorite food? he didn't have one), some harder (what does home mean to you?). He answered honestly, and Ashley listened without judgment.
By the end, Lucas owed her seven questions. He'd also learned more about rune combinations in one afternoon than weeks of solo study could have taught him.
"Tomorrow," Ashley said as he left, "we discuss seals. Bring your stubbornness. You'll need it."
Day Three
Seals were different from runes—messier, more intuitive. Where runes demanded precision, seals required intent. A line drawn slightly wrong could ruin a rune. A seal could be messy but still work, as long as the creator's will was strong enough.
"This is where your generation struggles," Ashley explained, demonstrating a simple sealing gesture. "You're all so focused on getting everything perfect that you forget the most important ingredient—yourself. A seal without intent is just ink."
Lucas attempted the gesture. His first try was too stiff. The second was too loose. The third...
"Better," Ashley said. "But you're thinking too much. Stop calculating and just... feel."
"Feeling isn't my strong suit."
"I noticed." She sat across from him, folding her legs gracefully. "Tell me something. When you work on your projects—your research, your training—do you feel anything?"
Lucas considered. "Satisfaction, Sometimes frustration, Progress."
"That's feeling. You just don't call it that." She tilted her head. "When you're with those women at your manor—the mother and daughter you rescued—what do you feel then?"
The question caught him off guard. He opened his mouth, then closed it.
"You don't have to answer," Ashley said gently. "But think about it."
Lucas looked down at his hands. "I feel... responsible, Protective. They remind me of my mother."
"Those are feelings too."
"I know." He met her eyes. "I'm not emotionless. I just don't always... name them."
"That's fair." Ashley nodded. "Now, try the seal again. This time, don't think about the lines. Think about what you want it to do."
Lucas closed his eyes, focused on the purpose—containment, storage, safety—and moved his hand.
When he opened his eyes, the seal glowed faintly on the paper before fading.
Ashley smiled. "There you are."
Day Four
Lucas arrived to find tea already poured and Ashley seated by the window, looking out at the garden. She didn't turn when he entered.
"Sit," she said quietly. "No runes today, No seals."
Lucas sat, waiting.
Ashley was silent for a long moment. Then: "You asked me before, about my past. About how hard it was to become Queen."
"I remember."
She turned to face him, and for the first time, Lucas saw something vulnerable in her pink eyes—a rawness she usually kept hidden.
"I was nineteen when my mother died. Nineteen, with a kingdom that didn't want me, nobles who saw me as a puppet, and enemies who saw me as a target." She picked up her tea, though her hands were steady. "The first year, three assassination attempts. The second year, seven. I stopped counting after that."
Lucas listened without interrupting.
"I survived because I was smart. Because I learned to read people the way I read runes—finding their weak points, their pressure spots. I survived because I had to." She set the tea down untouched. "Then I met Elizabeth's father."
Her voice softened on the words.
"He wasn't a cultivator. Just a soldier in the royal guard. Kind, Steady, He looked at me like I was a person, not a throne." A small smile touched her lips. "I was twenty-two and had never been in love. I didn't know what it felt like until him."
"The great war," Lucas said quietly.
Ashley nodded. "Six years ago. The Hidden Cities were fighting, and the kingdoms got caught between them. Some kingdoms sent armies to prove loyalty, to gain favor, to survive. Others..." She shook her head. "Others just wanted power, Territory and Revenge."
"Your husband fought."
"He volunteered." Her voice tightened. "Not because he believed in the war. Because he believed in protecting our people. He said a king—a queen's husband—shouldn't sit safely while others died for his home."
Lucas said nothing. There was nothing to say.
"He was good with a sword. Not great—he'd never had formal training—but good enough. Brave enough." Ashley looked toward the window again. "He died covering a retreat. Let thirty soldiers escape while he held the line against twice that many."
"How did you find out?"
"His commander brought me his dog tags. Told me he died well." Ashley's laugh was hollow. "As if that mattered. As if dying well meant anything when I had to tell our daughter her father wasn't coming home."
Lucas thought of Elizabeth—her bright laugh, her determination, the way she played violin like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"She seems... okay," he said carefully.
"She's stronger than me." Ashley's voice held genuine pride. "I fell apart for a year and I Could barely function. Elizabeth kept going to her lessons, kept playing her music, kept smiling. Not because she wasn't hurting—because she didn't want me to see her hurt."
"She was ten."
"Ten years old, carrying her mother's grief so I wouldn't have to carry it alone." Ashley finally looked at Lucas, and there were tears in her eyes, though they didn't fall. "That's who she is. That's why I'll do anything to protect her. Even die."
Lucas met her gaze steadily. "You won't have to die. I promised."
"I know." Ashley wiped her eyes quickly, a flash of the composed Queen returning. "I'm not used to trusting people. But I trust you, Lucas. I don't fully understand why—you're secretive, complicated, and you think too much—"
"Now who's describing who?"
She laughed, startled, then laughed again when she realized he'd used her own words against her. "Fine, Point taken."
They sat in comfortable silence, the afternoon light warming the room.
"Can I ask you something?" Lucas said.
"You've earned a question or two."
"What do you want? After all this—after the demonic beast is sealed, after the kingdom is safe. What do you want for yourself?"
Ashley considered for a long moment. "I want to see Elizabeth happy, I want to watch her fall in love, have children, rule this kingdom better than I ever could." She paused. "And maybe... I want to be happy too. Eventually, when I'm ready."
"That sounds reasonable."
"Reasonable." Ashley chuckled. "Such a practical word for such an impractical wish."
"Practical is my specialty."
"I've noticed." She studied him with those sharp pink eyes. "What about you, Lucas? What do you want?"
He thought about and answered, "I want to wake my mother, I want to protect the people I care about, I want to understand things no one else understands, I want to see my limits in the realms which I focus on, and maybe...." He paused. "And maybe... I want to be surprised. By something good and bad, in this path of power I have chosen."
Ashley smiled. "That's a good wish."
"You think so?"
"I know so." She stood, brushing off her dress. "Now, enough sentimentality. We've wasted half the afternoon talking when we could be studying."
"You're the one who started it."
"And I'm the one ending it." She pointed to the desk, where fresh paper waited. "Seals, Advanced applications, You're going to learn until your hand cramps."
Lucas groaned, but he was smiling.
As he sat down to work, Ashley paused at the door.
"Lucas?"
He looked up.
"Thank you, For listening." She didn't wait for a response, just walked out, leaving him alone with the paper and the afternoon light.
Lucas looked at the blank sheet, then at the door she'd disappeared through.
Practical, he thought. Impractical, they're not so different.
He picked up the brush and began to draw.