The Moon Gate ritual is mandatory.
That’s what Cassian tells me the next morning, standing in the doorway of his chambers like a specter carved from ice and shadow. No warning. No softening. Just the words, cold and final, dropped into the silence between us like a blade.
“The Moon Gate opens tonight,” he says. “And we will perform the alignment ritual. Together.”
I’m seated on the edge of the bed, still wrapped in the furs from last night, my back straight, my hands folded in my lap. The wound on my palm has scabbed over, but the thorned mark beneath it pulses faintly, a slow, rhythmic thrum that matches the beat of my heart. I haven’t slept. Not really. Every time I drifted, the bond pulled me awake—heat flaring in my blood, my skin burning, my body arching toward the space beside me, *empty*, though it shouldn’t be.
Proximity. That’s the leash.
But last night, it wasn’t just pain that kept me awake.
It was *him*.
He never came to bed. I heard him in the study beyond the inner door—footsteps, the scratch of a quill, the low murmur of orders given to unseen servants. He was close. Close enough that the bond hummed, steady and warm, like a fire banked low. Close enough that I could smell him—pine and iron and something darker, something ancient—on the air, on the furs, on *me*.
And I hated it.
I hated that my body relaxed when he was near. Hated that my breath slowed, my pulse steadied, the ache in my side dulled. Hated that, for a few stolen moments, the weight of my mission—the fire of my revenge—felt… distant.
Now he stands before me, fully dressed in black, his silver hair pulled back, his storm-gray eyes unreadable. He hasn’t touched me since last night. Not since the thorns bound us. But the space between us feels charged, electric, as if the air itself remembers the heat of our collision.
“The alignment ritual,” I repeat, voice flat. “What does it entail?”
He steps into the room, closing the door behind him. Frost blooms at his boots, delicate and deadly. “The Moon Gate stabilizes the Veil between realms. It requires a bonded pair to stand at its threshold, blood mingled, hearts aligned. The ritual seals the bond in the eyes of the Council. Makes it… official.”
My stomach tightens. “And if we don’t perform it?”
“The Veil weakens. The Wilds destabilize. And the Council will assume the bond is false—which means *you* are a fraud. And frauds,” he adds, voice dropping, “are executed.”
I don’t flinch. “You’d let them kill me?”
“I’d let them try.” His gaze holds mine. “But it’s simpler if you do as you’re told.”
“You mean *you*.”
“Same thing.”
I rise from the bed, the furs slipping from my shoulders. I’m still in the dress from yesterday—torn at the wrist where the thorns erupted, stained with blood. I don’t care. Let them see the marks. Let them know I didn’t come here unscathed.
“So we stand at the gate,” I say. “We spill a little blood. We say some words. And that’s it?”
“No.” His voice is quiet. Dangerous. “The ritual requires us to share a bed for three nights. To sleep in proximity. To let the bond settle.”
The air leaves my lungs.
“You’re joking.”
“I don’t joke.”
“You expect me to *sleep* with you?”
“Not *with* me.” His lips twitch, almost a smile. “*Near* me. The bed is large enough. You won’t have to touch me. Unless you want to.”
My skin burns. “This is a ploy. You want me close. You want me *watched*.”
“Of course I do.” He steps closer. The bond flares—heat rolling through me, sudden and deep. My breath hitches. His eyes darken. “But this isn’t my rule. It’s the Council’s. The ritual is ancient. Unchangeable. Refuse, and the bond is void. And if the bond is void…” He leans in, his breath warm against my ear. “You die.”
I turn my head, glaring at him. “You’d kill me?”
“I wouldn’t have to.” His voice is a velvet threat. “The bond would do it for me. Slowly. Painfully. You’d burn from the inside out. Your skin would crack. Your blood would boil. And when you begged me to end it?” He smiles, cold and cruel. “I might.”
I slap him.
My hand cracks across his cheek—hard, sharp, satisfying.
And the bond *screams*.
Pain—white-hot, searing—rips through my arm, my chest, my core. I cry out, staggering back, clutching my palm as the thorned mark *bleeds*, black veins spreading up my wrist, pulsing with agony. My vision blurs. My knees buckle.
Cassian doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. He just watches me, his cheek reddened, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he lifts his hand to his face. Traces the mark I left.
“You’ll learn,” he says, voice low. “Or you’ll die.”
He turns and walks out, leaving me on my knees, gasping, the taste of iron in my mouth, the bond punishing me for daring to strike him.
But I don’t regret it.
Not even when the pain fades and I’m left shaking on the cold floor, my body aching, my pride in tatters.
Because for one second—just one—I saw it.
Shock. In his eyes. In the way his breath caught.
He didn’t expect me to fight back.
And that means I still have power.
Even if it’s just the power to make him *feel*.
—
The Moon Gate rises at the heart of the Winter Court’s outer gardens—a towering arch of blackened thornwood, woven with silver vines that pulse with lunar energy. It stands in a clearing ringed by frozen oaks, their branches clawing at the twilight sky. Torches burn with cold blue flame, casting long shadows across the snow.
The Council has gathered.
Fae nobles in glamoured silks. Werewolf elders with frost in their beards. Vampires in tailored coats, their eyes sharp with hunger. Witches in dark robes, their sigils glowing faintly. And humans—few, but present—ISO observers in gray uniforms, their faces blank, their pens scratching across notepads.
They watch as Cassian and I approach, side by side, bound not just by magic, but by the weight of expectation.
I wear a new dress—black, high-collared, sleeves long and tight. No gloves. The thorned mark on my palm is visible, a dark sigil against my skin. Cassian walks beside me, his presence a wall of cold authority. He doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t speak. But the bond hums between us, steady, insistent, a living thing feeding on our proximity.
Kael stands at the gate’s threshold, holding two silver daggers. His amber eyes meet mine as we stop before him. No words. Just a nod. A warning.
“The ritual begins,” he announces, voice echoing across the clearing. “By the laws of the Concord, the bonded pair shall stand at the threshold, blood mingled, hearts aligned, to stabilize the Veil.”
Cassian turns to me. His gaze is unreadable. “Your hand.”
I lift it. Palm up.
He takes the dagger from Kael. The blade glints in the torchlight, sharp as regret. Without hesitation, he drags it across his palm. Blood wells—dark, almost black, thick with magic. He offers his hand to me, palm down.
“Now you.”
I take the second dagger. My fingers don’t tremble. I slice across my palm—clean, deep. Blood drips, mingling with his as our hands press together. The bond *roars*.
Heat—sudden, overwhelming—flares through me. My breath catches. My core tightens. The thorns on my arm *bloom*, spreading like ink beneath my skin. I feel him—his magic, his pulse, his *hunger*—in my blood, in my bones, in the hollow of my throat where my pulse races.
Cassian feels it too.
His jaw clenches. His eyes darken. For a second—just a second—his control slips. I see it in the way his breath hitches, the way his fingers flex against mine, the way his gaze drops to my mouth.
Then he looks up, and the mask is back.
“The bond is sealed,” Kael says. “Now, the trial of proximity. For three nights, the pair shall sleep in the same chamber, within arm’s reach. If the bond holds, the Veil is stabilized. If it breaks…” He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t have to.
We turn to face the Moon Gate.
Kael raises his hands. Chants in the Old Tongue. The silver vines on the arch *pulse*, brighter, faster. A low hum fills the air, building, rising—
Then—
A *crack*.
Like ice splitting. Like bone breaking.
The Moon Gate *opens*.
A shimmering veil of silver light ripples across the arch, revealing a glimpse of the Fae Wilds beyond—twisted trees, glowing mushrooms, shadows that move on their own. The air shifts—colder, heavier, alive with magic.
The Council murmurs. The Veil is stable. For now.
“The ritual is complete,” Kael says. “You may retire.”
Cassian doesn’t look at me. “Come.”
He walks back toward the palace, and I follow, my hand still sticky with blood, the bond thrumming beneath my skin.
—
That night, we return to his chambers.
The bed dominates the room, a slab of black ice veined with thorns. Two fur-lined pallets have been placed on either side of it—too far apart to touch, but close enough that the bond doesn’t punish us. A compromise. A test.
I stand in the center of the room, my dress still on, my blood dried on my palm. Cassian removes his coat, hangs it on a stand. His movements are precise, controlled. He doesn’t look at me.
“You may undress,” he says. “I won’t watch.”
“I don’t care if you do.”
“Then do it.”
I unbutton the dress, let it fall to the floor. I’m wearing nothing beneath—by design. Let him see what he’s bound to. Let him see the scars on my hips, the old burns on my ribs, the thorned sigil on my palm.
He turns. His gaze sweeps over me—slow, deliberate. Not lust. Not yet. *Appraisal*. Like I’m a weapon he’s just been handed.
Then he looks away.
“Sleep,” he says.
I lie down on the pallet to the left. He takes the one on the right. We don’t speak. Don’t move. Just lie there, rigid, inches apart, the bond humming between us like a live wire.
Minutes pass. An hour. The cold doesn’t bother me. But the silence does. The stillness. The way my body *aches* for his nearness, even as my mind screams at me to hate him.
Then—
A shift.
I feel it before I see it. The bond *pulses*, warmer, heavier. A low thrum of heat rolls through me, deep in my belly. My breath hitches. My skin tightens. The thorns on my arm *bloom*, spreading like fire beneath my skin.
Bond-heat.
Kael warned me. Deny it, and it turns to fever. Feed it… and it turns to something else.
I press my thighs together, trying to steady myself. I won’t give him the satisfaction. I won’t let the bond win.
But then—
He moves.
Not toward me. Not yet.
He rolls onto his side, facing me. His eyes are open, reflecting the pale torchlight. Storm-gray. Unreadable. But I see it—the dilation of his pupils, the way his breath hitches, the way his fingers flex against the fur.
He feels it too.
The heat builds. Slow. Relentless. My nipples tighten. My core clenches. The thorns on my spine *twitch*, responding to the surge of magic, of *desire*.
I close my eyes. Focus on hate. On revenge. On the memory of my mother’s screams.
But it’s not enough.
Because beneath it all—
I want him.
Not just my body. *Me*.
And when I open my eyes, he’s watching me.
“You’re fighting it,” he says, voice rough.
“Yes.”
“It’s pointless.”
“I don’t care.”
He sits up slowly. The bond flares—heat rolling through me like a wave. I gasp. He sees it. Smiles. Cold. Knowing.
Then he lies back down.
And in his sleep, his hand drifts across the space between us.
Fingers brush my waist.
Slide beneath the edge of my shirt.
Touch bare skin.
The thorns on my spine *bloom*—black, thorned vines erupting from my back, spreading like a dark flower across my skin. I gasp, arching, the heat in my core *exploding*.
He doesn’t wake.
But his hand stays.
And I don’t pull away.
Because for the first time since I walked into this court—
I don’t want to.
—
“I’ll kill you in your sleep,” I whisper, my voice raw.
His eyes open. Slow. Heavy with sleep. With heat.
“Try,” he murmurs. “I’ll enjoy watching you fail.”