The silence after she turns her face away is worse than the scream.
Not the absence of sound—no, the Keep still hums with the low murmur of guards, the distant howl of wolves, the drip of blood from Mira’s body being carried away. No, it’s the silence between us. The space where words should be, where rage or surrender or even love might live. But instead, there’s only the bond—pulsing, raw, alive—and the echo of her voice, broken and trembling: I hate you.
And yet.
She didn’t push me away.
She didn’t run.
She stayed.
Pressed against the wall, her breath coming fast, her pulse jumping beneath my fingers where I hold her throat—not to hurt, not to dominate, but to feel. To know she’s real. That this is real. That the woman who came here to kill me is the same one whose body burns for me, whose magic flares when I touch her, whose tears fall when I ask her to say she wants me.
I release her.
Step back.
Because if I don’t, I’ll take her. Right here. Against the stone. With her dress half-off, her hair tangled, her lips swollen from my mouth. And the bond—goddamn it, the bond would let me. It would scream its approval, flood us both with fire, make her forget her hate, make her forget her mission, make her forget everything but my name on her lips.
But that’s not what she needs.
She needs truth.
Justice.
And I’m the only one who can give it to her.
“You’re confined to your chambers,” I say, voice rough. “No visitors. No magic. Guards at the door.”
She lifts her chin, eyes blazing. “You can’t—”
“I can,” I snap. “And I will. Until I decide what to do with you.”
She doesn’t flinch.
Just stares at me, her chest rising and falling, her scent—fire and thyme, yes, but beneath it, something sweeter, something alive—wrapping around me like a vice.
“You think I’m dangerous,” she says, voice low. “But you’re the one who’s afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Of trusting me.” She takes a step forward. “Of believing that maybe—just maybe—I’m not the enemy.”
I clench my jaw.
She’s right.
And that terrifies me more than any blade, any spell, any lie.
Because if I trust her, and she betrays me…
I won’t survive it.
Not again.
“You’ll stay,” I say, turning to the door. “Until I say otherwise.”
I don’t wait for her answer.
I walk out.
The guards snap to attention as I pass. I nod to Kael, who’s waiting in the hall, face grim.
“The body’s been moved,” he says. “We’re securing the scene. No signs of forced entry. No witnesses.”
“Malrik,” I growl.
“Has to be.” Kael hesitates. “But the sigil—same corruption as the guard’s. Fae rot. But… it’s fresher. More precise. Like he’s getting stronger.”
“Or more desperate.” I pace, hands flexing at my sides. “He’s afraid. He knows we’re close. He’s killing anyone who helps her.”
“And she?” Kael glances toward her door. “Do you believe her?”
I don’t answer.
Because I do.
Not just because of the magic. Not just because of the bond.
But because of the way she looked at Mira’s body. The way her voice broke. The way she didn’t deny it when they accused her. She could’ve lied. Could’ve fought. Could’ve run.
But she stood there.
And she grieved.
“She’s not a killer,” I say, voice low. “But she’s dangerous. She wants to destroy me. And if she thinks that’s the only way to get justice for her coven, she’ll do it.”
“Then why not let her?” Kael asks. “If Malrik’s the real enemy, maybe she’s the one who can stop him.”
“Because I won’t lose another mate to vengeance.”
The words hit like a blade.
Even I didn’t expect them.
But they’re true.
Elara died because she wanted to expose the corruption in the Fae Court. Because she wouldn’t back down. Because she was right.
And look where it got her.
Heart bitten out. Eyes wide with betrayal.
I won’t let that happen to Circe.
Not if I can stop it.
“Lock down the Keep,” I say. “No one in or out without my permission. Double the guards on the archives. And bring me everything we have on Malrik—his bloodline, his alliances, his movements over the last ten years.”
Kael nods. “And Circe?”
“She stays confined. But no harm comes to her. If anyone touches her—”
“They answer to you,” he finishes. “I know.”
He hesitates. “You’re different with her.”
“I’m not softer,” I growl. “I’m more aware.”
“She makes you feel.”
“She makes me question.” I turn to the fire. “And that’s dangerous.”
“More dangerous than being numb?”
I don’t answer.
Because he’s right.
For ten years, I’ve ruled with iron, buried my grief beneath duty and dominance. I’ve told myself I don’t need a mate. That I’m stronger alone.
But the second Circe walked into that hall, something in me woke up.
Not just the bond.
Me.
—
Her chambers are quiet when I return.
No sound from within. No flicker of candlelight beneath the door. Just silence.
I push it open.
She’s at the desk again, Mira’s locket in her hand, her gloves off. And on her wrist—
The sigil.
Glowing faintly.
My pulse jumps.
She doesn’t look up. “If you’re here to threaten me again, save your breath.”
“I’m here to ask a question.” I step inside, closing the door behind me. “What did you find in the archives?”
She freezes.
Then slowly, deliberately, she sets the locket down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t lie to me.” I cross the room, stopping beside the desk. “Kael found traces of your magic near the restricted section. You were there. Last night. After the fight.”
Her eyes flash. “So I did a little research. Big deal.”
“And what did you find?”
She doesn’t answer.
Just stares at me, defiance burning in her gaze.
“You think I don’t feel it?” I lean down, bracing my hands on the desk, caging her in. “Every time you use magic, the bond screams. Every time you hide something, it aches. You’re not just defying me. You’re defying us.”
She doesn’t flinch. “Maybe I don’t want us.”
“Too late.” I reach out, slow, and lift her wrist. The sigil pulses beneath my fingers, warm, alive. “This mark—it’s tied to your blood. To your pain. To your pleasure. And right now, it’s afraid.”
Her breath hitches.
“You don’t know what it means,” she whispers.
“Then tell me.”
She pulls her hand back, but her eyes stay on mine. “It’s a bloodline seal. Passed down through the Hollow women. It binds our magic to our blood. To our oaths.”
“And what oath are you hiding?”
She stands, turning to the window. “You want to rule. I want to ruin you.”
“And yet here we are.” I step behind her, close enough to feel the heat of her body. “Trapped. Together. Bound.”
“It’s not fair.”
“Life isn’t fair.” I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “But this? This is fate.”
She shivers.
But she doesn’t move away.
And for the first time, I let myself hope.
That maybe—just maybe—she’s not the enemy.
Maybe she’s the only one who can save me.
From myself.
From the past.
From the fire that’s been burning inside me since the night I lost everything.
—
Later, in my chambers, I pour a glass of bloodwine and stare into the fire.
Kael finds me there.
“We’ve got something,” he says, stepping inside. “From the archives. A sealed report—dated the night of the coven massacre. Signed by Malrik.”
My blood runs cold.
“What does it say?”
He hands me the parchment.
I read it once.
Then again.
And then—
I laugh.
Low. Dark. A sound that curls through my spine like smoke.
Because it’s not a report.
It’s a confession.
“The witch Circe of the Hollow Coven has been identified as the assassin responsible for the murder of Queen Elara. She acted in concert with Seelie agents. The coven is to be extinguished. No survivors.”
Forged.
Every word.
Malrik signed it in my name.
He used my seal.
He gave the order to burn her coven—in my name—and made me believe she was already dead.
And I believed it.
I gave the command to execute the survivors.
And now—
Now she’s here.
Alive.
And I’ve been hunting her for a crime he committed.
“He’s been playing us both,” I say, voice rough.
“And now he’s killing anyone who helps her,” Kael says. “Mira knew the truth. She was helping her decode his magic. And now she’s dead.”
I crush the parchment in my fist.
“Then we find him.”
“And Circe?”
I don’t answer.
Because I know what I have to do.
—
The next morning, I stand outside her door.
The guards step aside.
I don’t knock.
I push the door open and step inside.
She’s at the desk, the same book open in front of her, Mira’s locket in her hand. Her gloves are off. And on her wrist—
The sigil.
Still glowing.
My pulse jumps.
She looks up, startled, then quickly pulls her sleeve down.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” she says.
“I’m the king,” I say, stepping forward. “I go where I want.”
“And what do you want now?”
“To talk.” I stop beside the desk, gaze locked on her wrist. “That sigil. Is it always active?”
She hesitates. “Only when I use blood magic.”
“And last night?”
“I didn’t touch that guard.”
“I know.” I reach out, slow, and lift her wrist. “But someone did. And they used your mark.”
She doesn’t pull away. Her skin is warm. Soft. The sigil pulses faintly beneath my fingers.
“It’s a bloodline seal,” she says. “Passed down through the Hollow women. It binds our magic to our blood. To our pain.”
“And pleasure?”
Her breath catches.
“Yes,” she whispers. “Pleasure too.”
The air thickens.
I should let go.
But I don’t.
“Then it’s no wonder the bond wants you,” I say, voice low. “You’re made for it. For me.”
She pulls her hand back, but her eyes stay on mine. “You don’t know me.”
“I know enough.”
“You know nothing.”
“I know you’re afraid.”
“Of you?”
“Of wanting me.”
She stands, turning to the window. “You want to rule. I want to ruin you.”
“And yet here we are.” I step behind her, close enough to feel the heat of her body. “Trapped. Together. Bound.”
“It’s not fair.”
“Life isn’t fair.” I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “But this? This is fate.”
She shivers.
But she doesn’t move away.
And for the first time, I let myself hope.
That maybe—just maybe—she’s not the enemy.
Maybe she’s the only one who can save me.
From myself.
From the past.
From the fire that’s been burning inside me since the night I lost everything.
And now, for the first time in ten years—
I don’t want to fight it.
I want to burn.
But before I can say more, a scream.
High. Piercing. From the hall.
We both freeze.
Then—
I’m moving.
Out the door, down the corridor, boots striking stone. Circe follows, silent, deadly, her magic flaring at her fingertips.
The scream came from the eastern wing.
By the time we get there, a crowd has gathered. Guards form a perimeter around a body on the floor.
Another guard.
Throat torn out.
And on his chest—
A sigil.
Burned into the flesh.
My blood runs cold.
It’s her sigil.
The Hollow mark.
But I know the truth now.
It’s not hers.
It’s Malrik’s.
He’s framing her again.
But this time—
This time, I won’t fall for it.
I crouch beside the body, gloved fingers hovering over the sigil. The corruption is there—Fae rot, subtle, precise. But I can taste the lie. Smell the deceit.
“It’s not her,” I say, standing. “It’s a frame. Same as before.”
The crowd murmurs.
“Then who?” a wolf guard asks.
“Malrik.” I turn to the guards. “Lock down the Keep. No one enters or leaves. Kael—search the eastern wing. Find anything. Anything.”
They move.
I look at Circe.
She’s standing there, spine straight, eyes blazing, but I see it—the flicker of fear. Not of me. Of herself.
“You’re not a killer,” I say, stepping toward her. “But you’re either a killer,” I say, voice low, “or the only one who can save me.”
She doesn’t answer.
Just stares at me, her chest rising and falling, her scent—fire and thyme, yes, but beneath it, something sweeter, something alive—wrapping around me like a vice.
And for the first time, I know.
She’s not the enemy.
She’s the only one who can save us both.
From him.
From the past.
From the fire that’s been burning inside me since the night I lost everything.
And now, for the first time in ten years—
I don’t want to fight it.
I want to burn.
With her.
For her.
And if that means destroying the man who framed us both—
Then so be it.
Because this time—
This time, I won’t lose her.
Not to vengeance.
Not to fate.
Not to the fire.
Not to anything.
She’s mine.
And I’ll burn the world down to keep her.