The dream didn’t end when I woke.
It lingered—like smoke in the lungs, like a whisper behind the eyes—Vex’s voice, low and rough, saying my name. The way his hands had pinned me to the wall, not with cruelty, but with something worse: *certainty*. The way his thigh had pressed between mine, not to dominate, but to *awaken*. And the way I’d arched into him, not in defiance, but in surrender.
Not to the bond.
Not to the magic.
But to *him*.
I sat up slowly, the sheets tangled around my legs, my skin still humming with the ghost of his touch. The room was quiet. Cold. Vex was already gone—his side of the bed untouched since he’d laid me down after the vault, his absence a physical weight in the space between us.
I shouldn’t have been surprised.
After I’d reached for the Crown, after the visions had shattered my mind, after I’d stood there trembling, caught between truth and desire—he’d let me go. Not with a threat. Not with a warning.
With silence.
And that was worse.
Because silence meant he *knew*. Knew that I was unraveling. Knew that the mission was slipping through my fingers like sand. Knew that the woman who had come here to kill him was now standing on the edge of falling for him.
And he hadn’t pushed me.
He’d just… waited.
I pressed my palms to my eyes, trying to steady my breath, trying to push down the flood of sensations that still pulsed beneath my skin. The sigils on my arms glowed faintly, responding to the residual heat, to the bond’s insistent pull. My core ached—deep, dull, unrelenting—a reminder of how close we’d come, how *right* it had felt, even as my mind screamed that it was wrong.
I wasn’t supposed to want him.
I wasn’t supposed to *need* him.
And yet—
I did.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.
I stood, stripping off the nightgown, stepping into the bathing chamber. The water was cold, lifeless. I didn’t care. I needed to wash the scent of him off my skin, the memory of his mouth off my lips. But no matter how hard I scrubbed, it didn’t work. His smell clung to me—smoke, iron, that dark sweetness—like a second skin.
I dressed in the crimson robes laid out for me, the fabric heavy with Fae embroidery, the weight of my false identity pressing down on my shoulders. Lira Vexis. Diplomat. Consort. Liar.
None of it was me.
And yet, as I stared at my reflection—pale skin, dark circles under my eyes, lips still swollen from his kisses—I didn’t see Avalanche either.
I saw someone fractured. Torn between vengeance and something I couldn’t name.
And I hated it.
I needed to remember why I was here. Needed to feel the fire of my mission again, not the slow, insidious burn of desire.
So I did the only thing I could.
I went to find him.
The Spire was quiet in the early hours, the corridors shadowed, the air thick with the scent of old stone and something darker—blood, maybe, or magic. I moved fast, silent, my training guiding me. I didn’t know where he’d be—his war room, the council chamber, the training grounds—but I didn’t have to guess.
I *felt* him.
The bond pulled me forward, a taut, invisible thread between us, humming with power. It led me through twisting halls, past silent guards, past doors sealed with runes and blood sigils, until I stood before the chamber I knew was his private sanctuary.
The door was ajar.
I didn’t knock.
I pushed it open.
And froze.
The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of enchanted runes along the walls. A fire burned low in the hearth, casting long, shifting shadows. And there, in the center of it all, sprawled across the chaise like a queen on her throne, was a woman.
She was Fae—of course she was—her skin like moonlight, her hair a cascade of silver-white, her body draped in nothing but a black silk robe. One shoulder was bare, the fabric slipping down to reveal the smooth curve of her collarbone, the delicate line of her neck.
And then I saw it.
The robe.
It was *his*. I’d seen it before—on Vex, the night of the Oath, the fabric heavy with shadow and power, the cuffs embroidered with the sigil of the Duskbane line.
And now it was on *her*.
My breath caught.
Her eyes opened—pale, luminous, amused.
“Ah,” she said, her voice like silk over steel. “The new consort. How… *delightful* to finally meet you.”
I didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
“I’m Mira Solwen,” she said, stretching lazily, the robe slipping further, revealing the curve of one breast. “Of the Moon Court. And, until recently, Vex’s most *favored* companion.”
My stomach dropped.
“We shared more than just blood,” she added, tracing a finger over her lower lip. “Though I won’t bore you with the details. I’m sure you’ve heard the stories.”
I hadn’t.
But I could imagine them.
Vex, the Unbroken King, the immortal ruler, the man who had destroyed my family—lying in this very room, his mouth on her skin, his fangs in her neck, his hands—
No.
I wouldn’t think about it.
“Where is he?” I asked, my voice steady, though my pulse was anything but.
“Gone,” she said, sitting up, the robe falling open to reveal the smooth plane of her stomach. “To the Undercroft. Something about a werewolf uprising. Boring, really.”
“Then why are you here?”
She smiled. “Because he *let* me in. Because this room still carries my scent. Because he hasn’t changed the sheets since the last time I was here.”
My jaw clenched.
“And because,” she said, standing, the robe slipping off one shoulder entirely, “he hasn’t forgotten me. No matter what he tells you.”
I took a step back.
Not because I was afraid.
But because the bond *flared*.
Heat surged through me, sudden and sharp, my sigils blazing to life beneath my skin, my breath catching in my throat. My thighs pressed together, a moan threatening to escape. The bond wasn’t just reacting to *her*—to her presence, her scent, her *claim* on him.
It was reacting to *me*.
To the jealousy clawing through my chest, to the fury burning in my veins, to the *need* that twisted in my gut like a knife.
“You feel it, don’t you?” Mira said, stepping closer. “The bond. It doesn’t like competition. It wants him all to itself. Just like you do.”
“I don’t want him,” I snapped, though my body screamed otherwise.
She laughed—soft, mocking. “Liar. You’re trembling. Your pulse is racing. Your sigils are glowing. The bond is *screaming* the truth. You want him. You *burn* for him. And the worst part?” She leaned in, her breath warm against my ear. “You’re afraid he doesn’t want you back.”
I jerked back. “Get out.”
“Or what?” she asked, unfazed. “You’ll tell him? He already knows I’m here. He *let* me in. And if you think he’ll choose you over me—” she stepped back, gesturing to the room “—then you’re even more naive than I thought.”
My hands clenched into fists.
“He’s not yours,” I said, my voice low. “He never was.”
“Oh, he was,” she said, turning toward the door. “And he will be again. The bond may tie you to him, but it doesn’t make you *his*.” She paused, looking back at me. “Not really. Not the way I am.”
Then she was gone.
The door clicked shut behind her.
And I was alone.
Alone with the scent of her—light, floral, cloying—mixing with his, twisting in the air like poison. Alone with the image of her, sprawled across the chaise, wearing *his* robe, claiming *his* space, *his* history.
And alone with the truth.
I *was* jealous.
Not just of her.
But of everything she’d had with him.
The intimacy. The trust. The *history*.
And worst of all?
I was jealous of the fact that he hadn’t fought her.
Hadn’t thrown her out.
Hadn’t told her she didn’t belong.
Because maybe she *did*.
Maybe *I* was the replacement.
Maybe *I* was the one who didn’t belong.
The bond flared again, heat tearing through me, my back arching, a whimper escaping my throat. My sigils burned. My blood boiled. And between my legs—*God*—a deep, insistent throb, a need so sharp it bordered on pain.
I pressed my back against the wall, sliding down, my legs trembling. My breath came in ragged gasps. My skin burned. And my heart—
My heart ached.
Not from the bond.
Not from the magic.
From *him*.
From the thought of his hands on her. His mouth on her neck. His body pressing hers into the sheets.
And from the thought that maybe—just maybe—he still wanted her.
I hated it.
I hated *her*.
I hated *him*.
But most of all, I hated *myself*.
Because the truth?
It wasn’t just that I wanted him.
It was that I *needed* him.
Not just to survive the bond.
Not just to stabilize the magic.
But to *breathe*.
To *live*.
And if he didn’t want me—
If he still wanted *her*—
Then I wasn’t just losing my mission.
I was losing *myself*.
The door opened.
I didn’t look up.
“Avalanche.”
His voice.
Low. Rough. *Hers*.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. His boots echoed on the stone, slow, deliberate. He didn’t come to me. Didn’t touch me. Just stood there, watching.
“She was here,” I said, my voice flat.
“I know,” he said.
“You let her in.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Because she’s not a threat. Because she wanted to talk. Because I owed her that much.”
“Owed her?” I echoed, lifting my head. “For what? For sharing your blood? For wearing your robe? For lying in your bed?”
His eyes darkened. “You think I don’t know what you’re feeling?”
“I don’t know what I’m feeling,” I said, standing, my legs still trembling. “I don’t know if I’m angry. If I’m hurt. If I’m—” I cut myself off.
“Jealous?” he finished.
I didn’t answer.
“You don’t have to be,” he said, stepping closer. “Mira was my past. She meant something to me, once. But that’s over.”
“Then why did you let her wear your robe?” I snapped. “Why did you let her into your private chambers? Why did you—”
“Because she asked,” he said, his voice low. “And because I’m not afraid of her. I’m not afraid of the past. But I *am* afraid of this.” He gestured between us. “Afraid of what happens if we don’t face the truth.”
“And what’s the truth?” I asked, my voice breaking.
“That you want me,” he said. “That you *need* me. That you’re not just here to kill me. You’re here to *live* with me. And if you can’t accept that—” he stepped closer, his hand rising to my cheek “—then we’re already lost.”
I didn’t pull away.
Couldn’t.
His thumb brushed my lower lip, slow, deliberate. “I didn’t let her in to hurt you. I let her in because I’m done hiding. From you. From myself. From the bond.”
“And her?” I whispered. “What about her?”
“She’s not you,” he said, his voice rough. “She never was. She wanted power. Status. A name. But you—” his hand slid to my neck, his thumb brushing my pulse “—you want *me*. Not the king. Not the vampire. Not the monster. *Me*.”
My breath hitched.
“And that’s why I’m afraid,” he said. “Because if I let myself want you back—if I let myself *love* you—then I’m not just risking my life. I’m risking my soul.”
My heart stopped.
Love.
He’d said *love*.
And before I could respond, he leaned down—and kissed me.
Slow. Deep. Aching.
And this time, I didn’t fight.
This time, I kissed him back.
Because the truth?
It wasn’t just the bond.
It wasn’t just the magic.
It was *me*.
I wanted him.
And if I was going to survive this—
Then I had to stop lying.
To myself.
And to him.
My hands fisted in his coat, yanking him closer, my tongue tangling with his, my body pressing against his, every inch of me screaming for more.
And when he lifted me, carrying me to the chaise, I didn’t resist.
Because survival wasn’t just about staying alive.
It was about staying *me*.
And right now?
The only way to do that—
Was to stop pretending.
That I didn’t want him.
That I didn’t need him.
That I wasn’t already falling.
Across the room, the fire snapped shut.
And somewhere, deep in the Undercroft, I could have sworn I heard a laugh.
Nyx’s laugh.
And I knew—this was exactly what she wanted.
Not just a political union.
But a *real* one.
And I was walking right into it.
Bound not just by magic.
But by desire.
And the worst part?
I didn’t know how to stop it.
I only knew one thing.
Survival wasn’t just about staying alive.
It was about staying *me*.
And right now?
I was losing that too.
But maybe—just maybe—I didn’t have to.
Maybe I could let him in.
Just a little.
Just enough to survive.
And as his mouth moved to my neck, his fangs grazing my skin, I didn’t pull away.
I arched into him.
And I whispered the words I never thought I’d say.
“Don’t stop.”