IRIS
The sun was a warm, gentle weight on my skin as I stood in the courtyard of the old Aeridor university. The air, once thick with the cloying scent of Fae glamour and the metallic tang of fear, now smelled of blooming jasmine, old books, and the clean, sharp scent of possibility. It was a place of learning, a sanctuary of knowledge that had stood for centuries, a silent observer to the rise and fall of empires. And today, it was the site of our new beginning.
I was not in the gowns of a queen or the leathers of a warrior. I was in simple, practical trousers and a soft, linen tunic, my moonblade a comforting, familiar weight at my hip. I was not here as the Moonbound Queen, one-third of the new Triumvirate. I was here as Iris. A witch. And as Kaelen’s warm, solid presence beside me reminded me, as a partner.
He was dressed similarly, in dark, unadorned trousers and a simple, grey shirt that did little to hide the powerful, predatory lines of his body. But his aura was different today. The hard, intimidating edge of the Alpha King was muted, replaced by a quiet, watchful support. He was here for me. Not as a ruler, but as my mate. A silent, grounding anchor in a sea of unfamiliar faces.
“Are you sure about this?” he murmured, his voice a low, intimate rumble that was only for me. His silver-white eyes scanned the bustling courtyard, a protective, assessing gaze. “It’s a big undertaking.”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” I said, my voice a quiet, but firm sound. I reached out, my hand finding his, our fingers lacing together in a gesture of quiet, instinctual comfort. “Elara was right. My power isn’t just for fighting. It’s for nurturing. For protecting. And these kids… they’re the most vulnerable of our new world. They need someone who understands what it’s like to be different.”
He squeezed my hand, a warm, steady pressure. I could feel his pride, a deep, resonant hum that flowed through our shared mind. He wasn’t just proud of me; he understood. He understood the need to build something, not just defend what we already had.
A woman detached herself from a group of scholars near the main steps and moved toward us with a purposeful, efficient stride. It was Eva Rostova, the Human Ambassador. But she wasn’t dressed for a council chamber today. She wore a simple, dark pantsuit, her hair pulled back in a no-nonsense bun, her face alight with an energy that was a combination of fierce intelligence and genuine hope. She looked less like a diplomat and more like a general on a new kind of battlefield.
“Your Majesties,” she said, her voice a crisp, warm sound. She gave a slight, respectful nod, but her eyes were sparkling with an enthusiasm that was almost contagious. “It’s good to see you. And in such appropriate attire. I find a hard hat is often more useful than a crown.”
“Eva,” I said, a warm smile touching my lips. “Thank you for meeting us here.”
“My pleasure,” she said, her gaze shifting from me to Kaelen, a flicker of amused respect in her eyes. “Besides, I knew if I didn’t drag you both out of that fortress, you’d spend another week reorganizing supply chains and reviewing patrol routes. A ruler needs a day off, even if she has to create the holiday herself.”
A low, rusty chuckle rumbled in Kaelen’s chest. “You’re not wrong,” he admitted, a wry smile touching his own lips. “She’s a tyrant about logistics.”
“And you’re a tyrant about security,” I shot back, a playful warmth in my voice. The easy, affectionate banter was a new, precious thing. A language we had only just learned to speak.
Eva’s smile widened. “A perfect balance, then. Come,” she said, gesturing toward the main university building. “The faculty has prepared a space for you. And the prospective students… they’re waiting.”
We followed her through the grand, stone halls of the university. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and dust, a smell that spoke of a thousand years of accumulated knowledge. We passed classrooms where Fae and human students debated magical theory, and courtyards where Lycan and Vampire youths practiced sparring under the watchful eyes of seasoned instructors. It was a sight that would have been unthinkable a month ago. The old segregation was gone, washed away by the flood of our shared sacrifice. The Accords were no longer just a treaty; they were becoming a lived reality.
Eva led us to a large, sun-drenched classroom that had been cleared of desks. In the center of the room, sitting on simple, wooden benches, was a small group of children. There were about a dozen of them, ranging in age from what looked like eight to fourteen. They were a mixed group—some with the pointed ears of the Fae, some with the subtle, predatory grace of young Lycans, and some who, at first glance, appeared entirely human. But I could feel it. A faint, but distinct, hum of nascent, untrained magic from every single one of them. They were human children born into a world where the veil between realities had thinned, children who had developed powers they couldn’t understand and couldn’t control.
They watched us enter with a wide-eyed, silent awe. They had seen us on the floating orbs, the images of their saviors. But up close, we were something else entirely. Something real. And intimidating.
I felt Kaelen’s protective instincts rise, a low, territorial hum in our shared mind. He wanted to shield me, to step forward and declare this entire venture too dangerous. But he also felt my resolve, my quiet, unshakeable purpose. He stayed back, a silent, watchful shadow, letting me take the lead.
I moved into the center of the room, not as a queen, but as a teacher. I crouched down, so I was at their eye level, a move that seemed to surprise them.
“Hello,” I said, my voice a soft, gentle sound that was laced with a thread of my moon magic, a subtle, calming weave of peace. “My name is Iris. I know you all must be a little confused. And maybe a little scared. It’s okay to be scared. I was scared too, when my magic first started showing up.”
A small Fae girl, with hair the color of autumn leaves and huge, nervous eyes, raised a trembling hand. “You… you were scared?” she asked, her voice a tiny, reedy whisper.
“Terrified,” I confirmed, offering her a warm, reassuring smile. “I set my curtains on fire three times trying to make a simple light orb. I flooded my entire apartment trying to conjure a glass of water. Magic isn’t about being perfect. It’s about learning. It’s like a muscle. The more you use it, the stronger it gets. But you have to learn how to use it safely.”
I looked around at their small, nervous faces, at the faint, chaotic auras of their untamed power. “That’s why we’re here. To build a place where you can learn. A place where you don’t have to hide. Where you can learn to control your magic, to use it to help people, not just accidentally turn your teacher’s hair purple.”
A small, hesitant laugh went through the group. The tension in the room eased, replaced by a dawning, hesitant hope.
A young Lycan boy, no older than ten, with scruffy brown hair and a defiant set to his jaw, scuffed his boot on the floor. “My parents said my magic is a weakness,” he mumbled, staring at his shoes. “That I should just be a wolf.”
I felt a pang of familiar, old hurt in my chest, an echo of my own isolated past. I stood up and walked over to him, crouching down again. “That’s what my family thought, too,” I said softly, my voice full of a gentle, understanding empathy. “They were wrong. Your magic isn’t a weakness. It’s just another part of you. Like your arms, or your legs, or your heart. It makes you stronger, not weaker. It just needs to be trained. Just like your body.”
I held out my hand, a soft, silver light blooming in my palm. It wasn’t a grand display, just a simple, steady orb of moonlight. “This is my magic. It’s a part of me, just like my love for Kaelen, or my favorite tea, or my terrible singing voice. It’s not all of who I am. But it’s an important part. And it’s a part of you, too.”
The Lycan boy looked from the glowing light in my hand to my face, his own defiant expression slowly softening into one of dawning wonder. Hesitantly, he reached out his own small hand. I didn’t grab it. I just let the light in my palm flow toward him, a soft, gentle tendril that touched his fingertips. He gasped, a sharp, surprised sound, as a small, flickering spark of his own, wild, untamed magic answered mine. A tiny, golden star that danced for a moment before disappearing.
His eyes widened, a look of pure, unadulterated joy on his face. He hadn’t just seen magic; he had felt his own. He had seen that it wasn’t a monster to be feared, but a part of him to be embraced.
I stood up, looking at Eva, who was watching the exchange with a look of profound, deeply moving satisfaction. This was her project. Her vision. And I was just here to help her build it.
“We will call it the Rostova Academy for Magical Integration,” Eva announced, her voice a clear, proud sound that filled the room. “A place for all children, of all species, to learn about themselves and each other. A place to build the next generation of our new world.”
The children looked at each other, a new, excited energy buzzing between them. The fear was gone, replaced by a bright, hopeful curiosity.
I walked back to Kaelen, who had remained by the wall, a silent, imposing figure. He hadn’t moved or spoken, but I could feel his emotions through our bond. A complex, overwhelming mix of pride, love, and a deep, aching protectiveness. He saw what this meant to me. He saw the piece of my soul I was investing here.
His arm came around my waist as I reached him, pulling me against his side in a gesture of quiet, possessive support. He leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear.
“You’re amazing,” he murmured, his voice a low, intimate rumble that was thick with an emotion so deep it made my heart ache. “You’re going to change their lives.”
“We’re going to change their lives,” I corrected, leaning my head against his solid shoulder, my hand resting on the new, glowing sigil on his chest.
He was right. This was my project. My identity, separate from our shared rule. A way to nurture and protect, a way to use my magic for creation, not just destruction. It was a garden I was planting, a place of healing for the lonely, scared child I had once been. And as I stood there, wrapped in the arms of my mate, watching the first sparks of understanding light up the faces of the children who would become our future, I felt a sense of purpose so profound and so right, it was like coming home. This was what we had fought for. Not just a world at peace, but a world where a little Fae girl and a scruffy Lycan boy could sit together and learn to be strong, together. This was our legacy. And it was only just beginning.