The silence after the fight is worse than the violence.
Not the absence of sound—no, the courtyard still hums with the distant howl of wolves, the rustle of leaves, the drip of blood from a severed artery onto damp earth. No, it’s the silence between us. The space where words should be, where rage or triumph or even relief might live. But instead, there’s only the bond—pulsing, raw, alive—and the memory of her body grinding against that mercenary’s cock.
She didn’t do it to seduce.
She did it to survive.
And yet.
My wolf snarls beneath my skin, fur rippling, fangs pressing against my gums. It doesn’t care about logic. Doesn’t care about tactics. It only knows one thing: she was touched. By another male. And I didn’t stop it.
I should’ve killed him faster.
I should’ve protected her.
I should’ve *marked* her the second I felt the bond ignite in that hall.
But I didn’t.
And now, as she stands there—chest heaving, dagger still in hand, eyes blazing with defiance and something darker, something *hungry*—I want to do it anyway. To pin her to the nearest tree, tear open her gown, and sink my teeth into the soft flesh of her throat until she screams my name and no one else’s.
But I don’t.
Because she’s not just my mate.
She’s a weapon.
And weapons need to be controlled.
“We need to move,” she says, voice steady, though her breath still hitches. “That sigil in the wheel track—Malrik’s mark. He’s watching. He’s testing us.”
I nod, forcing my voice level. “Then we’ll give him something to watch.”
She narrows her eyes. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’re not leaving my sight.” I step forward, grabbing her wrist—again. The bond flares, a jolt of heat up my arm, straight to my core. Her pulse jumps beneath my fingers. “You’re confined to the royal wing. No exceptions.”
“You can’t—”
“I *can*,” I snap. “And I will. You think I don’t see what you’re doing? You think I don’t *feel* it? The way your magic flares when Nyx is near. The way your body betrays you when I touch you. You’re playing a game, Circe. And I’m done letting you set the rules.”
She yanks her hand back, but not before I see it—the flicker of fear. Not of me. Of *herself*.
Good.
Let her be afraid.
Because I’m afraid too.
—
Back in the Keep, I summon Kael.
He arrives within minutes, boots silent on stone, face unreadable. My Beta. My brother. The only one I trust to see the cracks in my armor and not try to exploit them.
“Report,” I say, pouring a glass of bloodwine. I don’t offer him one. He knows better than to drink on duty.
“The guards disposed of the bodies,” he says. “No trace. No witnesses.”
“And the sigil?”
“Mira’s analyzing it. She says it’s layered—Malrik’s bloodline mark, but woven with decay magic. Designed to weaken the carriage’s structural spells. A slow sabotage.”
I take a slow sip. “He’s not trying to kill the envoy. He’s trying to destabilize the Tribunal. To make it look like we can’t protect our allies.”
“And framing Circe is part of that.” Kael studies me. “You really believe she didn’t do it?”
“The sigil on the guard’s chest wasn’t hers,” I say. “This one isn’t either. Same taint. Same hand.”
“Then why keep her locked up?”
“Because she’s dangerous.” I set the glass down. “Not because she’s a killer. But because she’s *unpredictable*. She wants to ruin me. And right now, that desire is stronger than the bond.”
“And when it’s not?”
I don’t answer.
Because I know what happens when the bond wins.
I’ve seen it before.
Elara and I—we fought at first. She was Seelie, proud, sharp-tongued. I was Alpha, rigid, cold. We clashed for weeks. But then, one night, the bond took over. No words. No hesitation. Just heat and teeth and the desperate need to *claim*. And after? She looked at me like I was the only man in the world.
And then she died.
“You’re different with her,” Kael says, breaking the silence. “Softer. More alive.”
“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.
“She found something tonight,” I say, changing the subject. “A sigil. Hidden in the archives. Mira said it was ancient—Hollow Coven, but corrupted. She didn’t tell me. Didn’t report it.”
Kael’s eyes narrow. “You think she’s hiding something?”
“I *know* she is.” I clench my jaw. “But not what. And until I do, she stays confined. No magic. No visitors. And no more patrols.”
“You’re afraid she’ll run.”
“I’m afraid she’ll *win*.”
—
Her chambers are quiet when I arrive.
No sound from within. No flicker of candlelight beneath the door. Just silence.
I push it open.
She’s at the desk again, quill in hand, a book open in front of her. Her gloves are 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 quill down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t lie to me.” I cross the room, stopping beside the desk. “Mira told me. You found a sigil. Ancient. Corrupted. And you didn’t report it.”
Her eyes flash. “Mira has a big mouth.”
“And you have a death wish.” I lean down, bracing my hands on the desk, caging her in. “You think I don’t *feel* it? 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 another 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, the same book open in front of her, quill in 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 knock at the door.
“Enter,” I say.
The door opens.
Kael.
“Sire,” he says, voice tense. “We have a problem.”
“What is it?”
“The Tribunal. They’re calling for a truth ritual. Tonight. In the Chamber of Whispers.”
My blood runs cold.
The Chamber of Whispers.
A circular room beneath the Keep, lined with black quartz and carved with ancient runes. Blood magic is strongest there. The ritual forces honesty—no lies, no glamour, no deception. Only truth.
And if we’re forced to share a bed under the spell—
There will be no hiding.
No control.
Just raw, unfiltered *need*.
I look at Circe.
Her eyes are wide.
Not with fear.
With *dread*.
Because she knows.
Just like I do.
That if we’re locked in that room together—
We won’t make it out without breaking.
Or burning.
Or both.