The silence after Lira flees is thick with unspoken things—regret, relief, rage, and something softer, something I can’t name. The bond hums beneath my skin, low and steady, a second heartbeat that syncs with his. I don’t look at Kaelen. Don’t want to see what’s in his eyes. Don’t want to feel the weight of his gaze, the way it strips me bare, the way it makes me ache for things I swore I’d never want.
But I feel him.
Close. So close.
His breath on my neck. His scent—cold, metallic, hunger—wrapping around me like a shroud. His presence, a wall of controlled power, a storm held at bay by nothing but will. And worse—his silence. Not the silence of anger. Not the silence of dominance.
The silence of waiting.
Riven clears his throat. “She’s working with Malrik,” he says, voice low. “If he’s using her to spread doubt, he’ll come for you. For both of you.”
“Then let him,” Kaelen says, still not looking at me. “I’m done hiding.”
“You’re not hiding,” I snap. “You’re lying.”
He turns. His eyes—black, endless—burn into mine. “I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you everything.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No.” He steps closer. The bond flares—hot, sudden. A jolt of heat slams through me. “Lying is saying something false. I said nothing. And you—” His thumb brushes the edge of the bite on my neck. “You let the bond mark you. You wanted this.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.” He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “You want me. You want my touch. My blood. My claim.”
“I hate you.”
“No.” His voice drops, rough, dangerous. “You’re afraid. Afraid of what you feel. Afraid of what I make you want.”
“I’m not weak.”
“No. You’re strong. Stronger than anyone I’ve ever known.” His hand slides up my arm, slow, deliberate. “But strength doesn’t mean you don’t ache for me.”
My breath hitches. My body arches—just slightly—into his touch.
And then—
“Enough,” Riven says, stepping between us. “You’re both exhausted. The bond’s fraying. You need rest.”
“I don’t need rest,” I say. “I need answers.”
“And you’ll get them,” Kaelen says. “But not like this. Not when the bond’s this volatile. One wrong word, one surge of emotion, and it could tear us apart.”
“Then let it.”
“No.” He steps back, breaking the connection. The bond hums, dissatisfied, restless. “You’re not dying because you’re too stubborn to admit you need me.”
“I don’t need you.”
“Then why are you still here?”
I don’t answer. Can’t. Because he’s right. And I hate him for it.
“There’s another way,” Riven says. “A fae ritual. Dream-sharing. It allows two people to meet in the in-between, to speak without the bond interfering.”
I turn to him. “And you think that’s safe?”
“Safer than this,” he says, gesturing between us. “The bond’s too strong. Too raw. It twists everything—your words, your emotions, your memories. But in the dream realm, you can speak freely. No magic. No blood. Just truth.”
“And if Malrik finds us there?”
“The ritual’s warded. He can’t enter. Not unless one of you invites him.”
“And if he does?”
“Then you wake up. The bond pulls you back. It’s not perfect, but it’s the only way to talk without the bond screaming in your head.”
I look at Kaelen. He’s watching me, expression unreadable. “You’d do it?” I ask.
“If it means you’ll finally listen,” he says. “Yes.”
“And if I say no?”
“Then I’ll find another way. But you’re not walking away from this. Not now. Not ever.”
My breath catches. The bond flares—hot, violent. A wave of heat crashes through me, flooding my veins, pooling between my thighs. I gasp. My knees buckle. I would fall if Riven didn’t catch me.
“It’s happening again,” he says, voice tight. “The bond’s peaking. You don’t have a choice.”
I look at Kaelen. His eyes are black, endless, but there’s something in them—something softer. Warmer. Like the ice has cracked, just slightly.
“Then let’s do it,” I say. “But on my terms.”
“Your terms?”
“No touching. No blood. No fangs. Just words.”
He almost smiles. “Fair enough.”
We move fast—through the shattered corridors, past the flickering wards, into the east wing, where the fae keep their sanctuaries. The air grows colder, the torchlight dimmer, the scent of iron and magic replaced by something older—something sweet. Roses. Moonlight. Blood.
The Dream Chamber is small, circular, its walls carved with runes that pulse faintly in the dark. A single obsidian basin sits in the center, filled with still water that reflects nothing. Riven lights the candles—seven of them, arranged in a crescent—and begins the chant, his voice low, rhythmic, ancient.
“By blood and bone, by dream and shadow, by truth and silence, I call the veil. Let two souls meet where no magic binds, where no oath commands, where no bond controls. Let them speak. Let them see. Let them know.”
The water ripples.
Not from wind.
Not from magic.
From presence.
“Step in,” Riven says. “Hold hands. Don’t let go. No matter what you see.”
I hesitate.
Kaelen doesn’t. He takes my hand—cold, strong, unyielding. The bond flares—hot, sudden. A jolt of heat slams through me. I gasp. My magic flares, wild, uncontrolled.
“Don’t fight it,” he says, voice rough. “Just step in.”
I do.
The water is warm. Not liquid. Not solid. Something in between. And then—
Darkness.
Not the absence of light.
But the presence of nothing.
And then—
Light.
Soft. Silver. Like moonlight on water.
I’m standing in a garden.
Not the Undercourt. Not Edinburgh. Not anywhere I’ve ever seen.
A fae garden.
Flowers bloom in impossible colors—violet, gold, deep crimson—petals shifting like silk in a breeze that doesn’t exist. Trees rise like spires, their bark silver, their leaves glowing faintly. The air is thick with scent—roses, honey, something darker, something hungry.
And he’s there.
Kaelen.
Not as I’ve seen him—cold, controlled, dangerous. But softer. Younger. His coat gone. His shirt unbuttoned. His fangs retracted. His eyes—still black, still endless—but not empty.
They’re full.
Of pain. Of loneliness. Of something that looks like hope.
“This is your dream?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “It’s yours.”
“Mine?”
“The fae don’t create the dream. They reflect it. This garden—it’s in your blood. Your mother’s blood. You’ve seen it before. In memories. In dreams.”
I look around. And he’s right.
I have.
When I was a child. When she told me stories. When she said, “One day, you’ll walk in a garden like this, Blair. And you’ll be free.”
“Why here?” I ask.
“Because it’s safe,” he says. “Because it’s yours. And because here, the bond can’t twist the truth.”
“And what truth?”
He steps closer. Not threatening. Not possessive. Just… there. “That I didn’t feed Lira my blood.”
“I know that now.”
“And that I didn’t claim her.”
“I know.”
“And that I didn’t lie to you.”
“You didn’t tell me everything.”
“No.” He looks at me, his expression raw. “I didn’t tell you because I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid that if you knew how much I wanted you, you’d run. Afraid that if you saw how much I needed you, you’d destroy me. Afraid that if you knew the truth—that I’ve never felt anything like this before—you’d use it against me.”
My breath catches.
“And do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Feel it.”
He doesn’t answer. Just steps closer. His hand lifts, not to touch me. Not yet. But his fingers twitch, as if drawn to the bare skin at the base of my neck. “You know I do.”
“Say it.”
“I want you.”
“Not your body. Not your blood. Not your magic. You.”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. “Yes.”
“And if I said no?”
“Then I’d walk away.”
“You’d let me go?”
“No.” His voice breaks. “I’d let you live. But I’d never stop wanting you.”
My breath catches.
And then—
“Now it’s your turn,” he says. “Tell me the truth. Why are you really here?”
“To destroy the Oath.”
“No.” He steps closer. “To avenge your mother. To punish me. To burn my world down. But why? Because you think I’m like him? Because you think I’m a monster?”
“Aren’t you?”
“I am what I am.” His voice is low, rough. “But I didn’t kill your mother. I didn’t bind her. I didn’t take her. Malrik did. And I couldn’t stop him.”
“You stood there.”
“I was a child. Bound by oath. Starved. Beaten. Used. And when I tried to help her, he broke my hands. My ribs. My spirit. And he made me watch.”
My breath catches.
“And then?”
“Then he killed her. And he told me, ‘This is what happens to those who defy me. Remember her face. Remember her scream. And never forget who owns you.’”
Tears burn my eyes.
“And you’ve been alone ever since.”
“Yes.”
“No one?”
“No one.”
“And now?”
He looks at me. “Now I have you.”
“And if I leave?”
“Then I’ll be alone again.”
“And if I stay?”
“Then I’ll fight for you. Protect you. Love you. Not because of the bond. Not because of the Oath. But because you’re the only light I’ve ever seen in the dark.”
My breath catches.
And then—
“Now you,” he says. “Tell me. Why did you mark me?”
“To prove I wasn’t his.”
“No.” He steps closer. “To prove you were mine.”
“I’m not yours.”
“You are.” His hand lifts, finally touching my face. His thumb brushes my cheek. “Not because of the bond. Not because of magic. But because you chose me. Even when you hated me. Even when you fought me. You chose me.”
“I didn’t—”
“You did.” He leans in, his lips brushing mine. “And I choose you.”
And then—
I kiss him.
Not violently. Not angrily.
Gently.
Softly.
Like a promise.
Like a beginning.
His hands find my waist, pulling me close. My fingers dig into his hair. The bond hums—low, steady, satisfied—but it’s not the bond that makes me stay.
It’s him.
His mouth on mine. His breath in my lungs. His heart beating against mine.
And for one breathless moment, we’re not enemies.
We’re hunger.
And then—
Stillness.
The garden fades.
The light dims.
The bond pulls.
We wake.
Back in the chamber. Still holding hands. Still standing in the basin. Riven watches us, his golden eyes wide.
“Well?” he asks.
I look at Kaelen.
He looks at me.
And for the first time, I don’t see a monster.
I see a man.
And for the first time, I don’t see an enemy.
I see mine.
“We’re not done,” I say.
“No,” he says. “We’re just beginning.”
The bond hums—low, steady, satisfied.
Like a promise.
Like a curse.
Like the beginning of something neither of us can stop.