The fortress doesn’t fall silent after Lyria leaves.
It breathes.
Like a living thing. Like a predator crouched in the dark, waiting to strike. Every flicker of torchlight casts long, shifting shadows. Every footstep echoes too loud, too close. The air hums with unspoken threats, the scent of blood and old magic clinging to the stone. We’re not safe. Not here. Not anywhere under this roof.
Kaelen leans against me, his weight heavy but steady. He’s stronger now—my blood in his veins, the voidroot burned away—but the strain is still there. In the tightness of his jaw. In the way his fingers curl into mine like he’s afraid I’ll vanish. The bond between us pulses—low, deep, alive—a second heartbeat beneath the chaos.
“We can’t stay,” I say, my voice low. “They’ll come back. With more than enforcers. With the full Council. With the Matriarch herself.”
“Then where do we go?” Riven asks, shifting the child in his arms. She’s quiet—too quiet—her storm-gray eyes wide, her small fingers clutching his coat like she’s afraid to let go.
I look at Elise. The human servant. The pawn. Her wrists are still raw from the bindings, her face pale, but she stands tall. There’s fire in her eyes now. Not just fear. Not just survival. Determination.
“We go to the source,” I say.
Kaelen turns to me, his crimson eyes sharp. “The catacombs?”
“No.” I shake my head. “The other source. The one they’ve been hiding. The one Veyth used to control the Matriarch. The one Lyria’s afraid of.”
Riven’s breath catches. “You mean—”
“Her spy,” I say. “The human she’s been protecting. The one Riven’s been searching for.”
His storm-gray eyes flash. “You know where she is?”
“I know where she was,” I correct. “In the lower dungeons. The ones beneath the Fae wing. The ones no one’s supposed to access.”
“And now?”
“Now?” I meet his gaze. “Now she’s in danger. And if we don’t move fast, she’ll be dead before we can reach her.”
Kaelen doesn’t hesitate. “Then we go.”
“It’s a trap,” Riven says, his voice tight. “They’ll be waiting. They’ll have guards. Wards. Traps.”
“Of course they will,” I say, stepping toward the door. “But we’re not going as fugitives. We’re going as hunters.”
The corridors are empty as we move—silent, too silent. No whispers. No footsteps. No guards. Just the echo of our own breath, the soft rustle of fabric, the occasional whimper from the child. We stick to the shadows, avoiding the main halls, the grand staircases, the places where eyes linger. The fortress feels like a tomb. Like it’s mourning something. Or waiting for blood.
We reach the east wing—narrow, dimly lit, lined with forgotten chambers—and descend. The air grows colder. The torches flicker. The sigils on the walls pulse faintly, their crimson light reflecting in Kaelen’s eyes.
“They’ll have sealed the lower levels,” he murmurs. “The Matriarch won’t risk another breach.”
“Then we break it,” I say.
He glances at me. “You’re not subtle.”
“I don’t have to be.” I press my palm to the iron door at the base of the stairs. The sigil etched into the metal flares—crimson, violent—and I speak the words, low and steady.
“Sanguis vinculum, sanguis veritas. Frangere non potest, nisi per cor.”
Blood binds. Blood reveals. It cannot be broken—unless through the heart.
The door groans open, its hinges screaming like a dying thing.
“Show-off,” Riven mutters.
I smirk. “You love it.”
We slip through—fast, silent—and the passage narrows, the walls slick with moss, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and old blood. The child stirs in Riven’s arms, whimpering, her small fingers clutching his coat. I press a hand to her forehead—the sigil glows, faint but steady—and I feel it. The curse is gone. But its shadow remains. Watching. Waiting.
And so does she.
The human spy.
I don’t know her name. Don’t know her face. But I know her story. Riven told me in fragments—late at night, when the fortress was quiet, when the child was asleep. A human woman. A scholar. She infiltrated the Crimson Covenant to expose their secrets. But she was caught. Not by the Matriarch. By Lyria. And instead of killing her, Lyria kept her. Hidden. Protected. Because she loved her.
And now, with the Matriarch turning against us, with Veyth’s influence growing, Lyria will do anything to keep her safe.
Even if it means sacrificing everyone else.
We reach the final corridor—dark, narrow, lined with rusted iron doors—and stop. The air is thick. The silence heavier than stone. And then—
A whisper.
Faint. Broken. Human.
“Please… no…”
Riven freezes. His breath hitches. “That’s her.”
Kaelen steps forward, his presence a wall of heat and power. “Then we move. Now.”
I press my palm to the nearest door. The sigil flares—crimson, wrong—and I speak the words again. The door groans open.
Darkness.
And then—
A gasp.
Not from fear.
From recognition.
She’s there—curled in the corner, her wrists bound, her face streaked with blood. Human. Young. Dark hair tangled, her eyes wide, her breath coming in ragged gasps. And when she sees Riven—
She sobs.
“You came,” she whispers.
He doesn’t answer. Just drops to his knees, pulling her into his arms, his body shaking. “I’m here,” he murmurs. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
Kaelen watches them—his expression unreadable—and then turns to me. “We need to go. Now.”
But before I can answer—
The torches die.
Not flicker.
Die.
All at once.
The corridor plunges into darkness. The air thickens. The silence screams.
And then—
Light.
Cold. Silver. Fae.
It floods the corridor from the far end, casting long, jagged shadows. And there—
Lyria.
She stands there—tall, silver-eyed, her gown shimmering with woven light—her presence a wall of cold fury. Behind her, a dozen enforcers, their daggers drawn, their eyes blazing with accusation. At her side—
The Crimson Matriarch.
Her crimson eyes burn into mine, her lips curled in a smile. “You shouldn’t have come,” she says, her voice smooth, velvet over steel. “This is not your battle. This is not your war.”
“It is now,” I say, stepping forward. “And you don’t get to decide who fights.”
“You think you can win?” Lyria sneers. “A half-breed witch, a traitor Beta, a poisoned prince, and a stolen child? You’re not heroes. You’re vermin.”
“And you’re a liar,” I snap. “You’re not protecting her. You’re using her. Just like the Matriarch used Elise. Just like Veyth used you.”
Her breath hitches. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know that you love her,” I say, nodding toward the human. “And I know that you’re afraid. Afraid that if the Matriarch finds out, she’ll kill her. Afraid that if the Council finds out, they’ll use her. Afraid that if he finds out—” I nod at Kaelen—“he’ll take her away.”
She doesn’t move. Just stares at me—really stares—and for the first time, I see it. Not just hatred. Not just jealousy.
Fear.
And then—
She speaks.
Not to me.
Not to Kaelen.
To the human.
“Run,” she whispers. “Now.”
The woman doesn’t hesitate. She pulls free from Riven’s arms and sprints—fast, desperate—toward the far end of the corridor.
“Stop her!” the Matriarch snarls.
The enforcers move—but Kaelen is faster.
He lunges—his coat flaring, his fangs bared—and in one fluid motion, he tackles the nearest enforcer, his fist slamming into the vampire’s throat. Blood sprays. The body crumples.
“Go!” I shout to Riven. “Get her out!”
He doesn’t argue. Just shifts—bones cracking, muscles twisting—and in seconds, he’s a wolf—massive, gray, his storm-gray eyes blazing with fury. He lunges after the human, his paws silent on the stone.
Chaos erupts.
Enforcers charge. Kaelen meets them—fists, fangs, fury—his movements brutal, precise. I press my palm to the wall, calling to the sigils, the old magic, the blood in my veins. The stone responds—cracking, splitting, rising into jagged spikes that impale two more enforcers.
And then—
Lyria moves.
Not at me.
At the child.
Her hand flashes out, grabbing the girl’s wrist, twisting her arm. In one fluid motion, she spins, pressing a blade to the child’s throat.
“Drop your weapons,” she snarls. “Or I’ll slit her throat.”
The room freezes.
Kaelen stops—blood on his hands, his breath ragged. I don’t move. Just stare at her. “You don’t want to do this,” I say, my voice low. “You don’t want to be the monster.”
“I’m not the monster,” she whispers. “I’m the only one who sees the truth.”
“And what truth is that?”
“That they’ll kill her,” she says, her voice breaking. “The Council. The Matriarch. You. They’ll use her. They’ll break her. They’ll turn her into a weapon.”
“And you won’t?” I ask.
She hesitates.
“You’re not protecting her,” I say. “You’re controlling her. Just like Veyth controlled you. Just like the Matriarch controls everyone.”
“I love her,” she whispers.
“And I love my sister,” I say. “But I won’t let fear turn me into a monster.”
Tears burn in her eyes. “You don’t understand.”
“Then make me.”
She stares at me—really stares—and for the first time, I see it. Not just the enemy. Not just the rival. The woman. The one who’s been used. The one who’s afraid.
And then—
She releases the child.
Shoves her toward me.
And steps back.
“Go,” she says, her voice hollow. “Before I change my mind.”
I don’t move. Just hold the child close, my hand on her forehead, the sigil glowing faint but steady. “You don’t have to do this alone,” I say. “You don’t have to be afraid.”
She doesn’t answer. Just turns and walks away, the Matriarch following.
The corridor is silent.
And then—
A howl.
Not from pain.
From triumph.
Riven returns—human, naked, breathing hard—carrying the human woman in his arms. She’s alive. Shaking. But alive.
“We need to go,” he says. “Now.”
“We’re not running,” I say.
“No,” Kaelen agrees, stepping beside me. “We’re not.”
We walk back through the fortress, the child in my arms, the human in Riven’s, the bond humming between us like a second heartbeat.
And for the first time—
I don’t feel like a weapon.
I feel like a woman.
And I’m not afraid anymore.
The fortress trembles.
Not with threat.
With change.
And as we step into the light, the bond burning bright—
I know one thing for certain.
The Oath is broken.
But our story?
It’s only just begun.