The Betrayed Princess Rising (Lylah and Ezra) novel Chapter 82

Chapter 82

Lylah’s POV

Finished

The next morning, I woke with the ghost of last night clinging to me. My head was heavy, my eyes swollen, my memories blurred at the edges–but I remembered Ezra’s warmth around me.

I remembered crying until my sobs broke into helpless hiccups, until I ruined his expensive coat with my tears. He never once asked me to stop.

He simply took me home.

And when I lay down, too exhausted to even think, he had pressed a warm compress gently to my forehead and stayed by my side. No one had ever taken care of me like that before.

Gratitude filled my chest, soft and aching.

He felt like shelter. Like the first warmth after a merciless winter.

Like something I hadn’t realized I needed until I was already standing inside it.

“Lylah,” Ezra said now.

I turned my head. We were inside the car, the city of Lunaris passing beyond the window as Damon drove us toward Lunar Grace.

“Someone wants to meet you.”

I blinked. “Okay…but I have class in an hour.”

“I know,” he said calmly. “This won’t interfere.”

Damon pulled to a smooth stop in front of the academy gates. Then, Ezra and I headed toward the Traditional Healing Building side by side.

As we walked through the halls, students stopped. Staring.

“That’s Alpha Ezra. He’s even more handsome up close…‘

“Isn’t she the new junior assistant? What is she doing with him?”

“Wait… wasn’t she the one who got those roses yesterday? Do you think they were from him?”

My chest tightened.

I couldn’t let him misunderstand.

“Ezra,” I said softly.

He looked down at me immediately.

“What they said, it’s not like that. Rowan did send flowers, but I asked for them to be delivered to Cora. I

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Chapter 82

didn’t keep them. I don’t even know why he sent them in the first place.”

“I believe you,” he said simply.

Relief spread through me.

We reached my office. I pushed the door open,

And froze.

Finished

A middle–aged man sat in my armchair, completely at ease, a book resting in his hand as if the room belonged to him.

My eyes dropped to the name tag on his chest.

Professor Clark Grimwood.

My breath left me.

He hadn’t been seen in the academy for months. Some said years.

I straightened quickly and bowed.

“Professor. My name is Lylah. I’m the new assistant. We haven’t met, but-”

“I know who you are,” he cut in.

He closed his book with a sharp snap and stood, his eyes sweeping over me with unnerving precision.

“So you applied to the Traditional Department despite majoring in Modern Healing in college.“He began circling me. “Do you actually intend to teach? Or did you wander in here by mistake?”

“I intend to teach,” I said, forcing my voice steady. “I prepare thoroughly before every class.”

He stopped.

“Then answer me this. In Traditional theory, what governs phlegm production?”

“The Lungs,” I answered immediately.

“The Official of Reception and Transformation?”

“The Small Intestine.”

His eyes sharpened. “Mutual suppression in herb pairing?”

I swallowed.

“When one herb’s toxicity is reduced by another herb. For example, fresh ginger suppresses the toxicity of

raw Pinellia tuber.”

He questioned me relentlessly.

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Chapter 82

Theory. Application. Diagnosis.

Each answer felt like stepping across thin ice.

Finally, he stopped.

“Quite impressive,” he said. Then his gaze shifted past me.

“He’s not generous with praise,” Ezra said lightly behind me. “You should feel honored.”

I had almost forgotten he was there.

Finished

The realization struck suddenly, and I turned between Ezra and the professor, my heart stumbling over itself.

“You two already know each other?” My voice came out softer than I intended. “So the person you said wanted to meet me…is Professor Clark?”

“Correct, my Luna.” The words slipped from Ezra’s lips effortlessly.

Heat rushed to my cheeks before I could stop it, my pulse fluttering wildly beneath my skin.

“Sir Grimwood and I are old acquaintances,” Ezra continued, his tone calm, almost casual. “Since you were troubled finding a supervisor, I thought I could help. He is known for his generosity. He wouldn’t refuse someone who genuinely needs his help.”

I was still trying to absorb that, when Professor Clark let out a low huff, as if impatient with my silence.

“Your application form.” He extended his hand toward me.

For a moment, I could only stare at him.

Then it hit me.

“Professor…” My voice trembled, fragile with hope I barely dared to hold. “You’re going to be my recommended supervisor? Is this real?”

“Yes. But don’t get too excited yet,” he said gruffly, though there was no real cruelty in it. “Your foundation is acceptable. But if you fail to maintain it, then goodbye. And understand this clearly-”

His sharp gaze flicked briefly toward Ezra before returning to me.

“Not even your mate’s influence will save you twice.”

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