The silence after she’s gone is worse than the screaming.
Not the crowd’s murmurs—those fade fast, swallowed by the weight of the moment. Not the guards dragging her away, boots thudding against stone. No, it’s the silence inside my skull. The hollow echo where her voice used to be, sharp and defiant, cutting through the lies I’ve worn like armor for ten years.
Circe.
Her name burns in my throat.
I knew it the second I touched her. Not her face—Livia Vale is a convincing mask, all cool elegance and practiced lies—but her blood. Beneath the perfume and the glamour, it sings a song only I would recognize. The Hollow Coven’s magic is ancient, rare. And I’ve tasted it before.
On the night they burned.
I gave the order. Yes. But not because I wanted them dead.
Because I was told she was already gone.
They said the Seelie got her. That she’d betrayed me. That she’d helped them murder Elara, my first mate, the woman I’d sworn to protect.
And when I found her body—heart bitten out, eyes wide with betrayal—I believed it.
But now?
Now she’s here. Alive. Standing in front of me, denying the sigil, denying the kill, denying me—and I don’t know what to believe.
The guard’s body lies at my feet, throat torn, chest branded with the Hollow mark. It’s a perfect frame. Clean. Obvious. Too obvious.
And yet—my wolf snarls, fur rippling beneath my skin. It wants to hunt. To kill. To bury its fangs in her throat and taste the truth in her blood.
But the man—the king—hesitates.
Because she didn’t flinch.
When I lunged, when I called her by name, when I accused her of murder—she didn’t run. Didn’t beg. She stood there, spine straight, eyes blazing, and said, “You burned my coven. You killed my mother.”
And she was right.
I did.
On false intel. On a lie.
And now someone’s using that lie to destroy us both.
“Sire.”
Kael’s voice cuts through the haze. My Beta. My brother in all but blood. He stands beside me, his dark eyes scanning the scene, jaw tight. “We should secure the body. And the sigil. It’s not just a mark—it’s a curse. Faint, but active.”
I crouch, gloved fingers hovering over the burned flesh. The sigil pulses faintly, a sickly green beneath the scorch. Not Hollow magic. Not fully. It’s been… twisted. Tainted.
“This isn’t her work,” I say, voice low.
Kael glances at me. “You’re defending her?”
“I’m not blind.” I stand, stripping off my gloves. “Circe’s magic is fire and bone. This? This is decay. Fae rot. Malrik’s signature.”
“Then why frame her?”
“Because he knows I’ll believe it.” I turn, scanning the hall. “Because he knows I still carry the guilt. The rage. The need to punish.”
Kael nods slowly. “And because she’s the only one who can prove he lied.”
“Exactly.”
“So what now?”
I look toward the corridor where they took her. “Now, I make sure she stays alive. Even if I have to lock her in a cell myself.”
—
Her new chambers are in the royal wing—adjacent to mine, just as the Council decreed. But now, they’re a prison. Two guards stand at the door, wolves from my inner circle, loyal to the bone. I don’t trust anyone else.
“No one enters,” I tell them. “No messages. No magic. If she tries to escape, subdue her. Do not harm her.”
They nod.
I push the door open.
She’s standing by the window, back to me, silhouette sharp against the moonlight. The black lace of her gown clings to her curves, the firelight catching the edge of her jaw, the slope of her neck. She doesn’t turn.
“You’re wasting your time,” she says. “I didn’t kill that guard.”
“I know.”
She whirls.
Her eyes are wide. Not with fear. With shock.
“You know?”
“The sigil was tainted,” I say, stepping inside. “Fae rot. Malrik’s work.”
She laughs—a brittle, broken sound. “And you believe me just like that?”
“No.” I close the door behind me. “I believe the magic. Not you.”
Her smile fades. “Then why aren’t I in a cell?”
“Because if you die, Malrik wins.” I cross the room, stopping just short of her. “And because the bond is real. And it’s screaming at me to keep you close.”
She flinches.
Good.
Let her feel it. Let her know she’s not the only one trapped.
“The bond doesn’t care about truth,” she says, voice low. “It only wants to be fed.”
“And what does it want from me?” I ask, stepping closer. “From us?”
Her breath hitches. The air between us hums, charged with the pull of the fated tie. I can smell her—fire and thyme, yes, but beneath it, something sweeter. Something alive. Her pulse jumps in her throat, visible, tempting.
“It wants what all bonds want,” she says. “Consummation. Completion.”
“And you’re afraid of that.”
“I’m afraid of you.”
“No.” I reach out, slow, deliberate, and brush my thumb along her jaw. She doesn’t pull away. “You’re afraid of wanting me.”
Her eyes close. Just for a second. But it’s enough.
“I came here to kill you,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“And now?”
I lean in, my lips a breath from hers. “Now, you’re not sure.”
She opens her eyes. “You’re not what I expected.”
“Neither are you.”
We stand there, suspended. The bond thrums between us, a live wire, pulling us closer. I can feel her breath on my skin. The heat of her body. The way her chest rises and falls, fast, uneven.
And then—
She steps back.
“Don’t,” she says. “Don’t use this against me.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. You know I feel it. You know it’s tearing me apart. And you’re enjoying it.”
I clench my jaw. “I’m not enjoying anything.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because I need to know the truth.” I turn, pacing to the hearth. “About Elara. About the night your coven burned. About why Malrik is so desperate to keep us apart.”
She crosses her arms. “And you think I have answers?”
“I think you have questions.” I face her. “And I think you’re the only one who can ask them.”
She stares at me. “You really don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
“That Malrik is my uncle.”
The words hit like a blade.
“What?”
“My mother was his sister,” she says, voice flat. “He disowned her when she married a witch. But he never stopped watching. Never stopped hating.”
“And Elara?”
“He killed her,” she says. “And he made sure you’d blame me.”
My wolf roars.
Not in rage.
In recognition.
It makes sense. Too much sense. Malrik has always wanted the Tribunal. Always wanted power. And Elara—strong, brilliant, beloved—was in his way. So he killed her. Framed the Hollow Coven. Used me to burn them.
And now he’s using me again.
To destroy the only person who can expose him.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” I ask.
“Because I didn’t know,” she says. “Not for certain. Not until tonight. The sigil—it’s his bloodline mark. I’ve seen it before. In my mother’s journal.”
I step toward her. “Then we’re both being played.”
“We’ve always been played,” she says. “By him. By the Fae. By the bond.”
“Then stop fighting it.”
“What?”
“Stop fighting me.” I close the distance between us. “We’re fated. The magic doesn’t lie. And whether we like it or not, we’re in this together.”
She looks up at me, eyes searching mine. “And what if I don’t want to be?”
“Too late.” I cup her face, thumb brushing her lower lip. “You’re already mine.”
She doesn’t pull away.
But she doesn’t yield either.
—
Later, in my chambers, I pour a glass of bloodwine and stare into the fire.
Kael finds me there.
“You really believe her?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe.
“I believe the sigil,” I say. “I believe the magic.”
“And your wolf?”
I take a slow sip. “My wolf wants to claim her. To mark her. To make sure no one else ever touches her.”
“And the man?”
“The man wants to trust her.”
Kael exhales. “That’s dangerous.”
“So is being alone.”
He studies me. “You’re different tonight.”
“Aren’t I always?”
“No.” He steps inside, closing the door. “You’ve been a ghost since Elara died. Cold. Controlled. Now? You’re alive. And it’s because of her.”
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 taken lovers—cold, strategic couplings, nothing more. 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.
“She’s dangerous,” Kael says.
“So am I.”
“She wants to destroy you.”
“And yet she didn’t run tonight. She didn’t fight. She let you take her.”
“Because she’s smarter than that.”
“Or because she knows the truth will set her free.”
Kael shakes his head. “You’re risking everything.”
“I’ve already lost everything,” I say. “Except this.”
He doesn’t ask what this is.
He knows.
—
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, a book open in front of her, quill in hand. Her gloves are off. And on her wrist—
A sigil.
Faint, but glowing. Ancient. Hollow.
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.