The war room was too quiet.
Not the silence of peace. Not the hush of resolution. But the kind of stillness that comes before a storm—the air thick, charged, every breath a spark waiting to ignite. The Heart of Duskbane sat on the obsidian table, its crimson pulse slow and steady, like a heartbeat buried beneath stone. Riven stood at the door, his broad shoulders tense, his gaze watchful. Kael stood beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat of him, the low thrum of his power, the way his breath hitched just slightly when my shoulder brushed his.
But he didn’t touch me.
Not since last night. Not since I’d whispered, *“Prove it.”*
And he had.
He’d torn through the keep, not as a king, but as a man possessed. He’d confronted Nyx in her chambers, found traces of synthetic vampire serum in her vials. He’d summoned Lyra, demanded the warrant, and when she produced it, he’d tasted the blood on the seal—his face going cold, his eyes flaring crimson. “This is not mine,” he’d said. “And you will answer for this.”
Then he’d come to me.
Not with words. Not with promises.
With action.
He’d knelt—Kael, the Hollow King, the immortal tyrant who had ruled for centuries—on one knee in the war room, his head bowed, his voice raw. “I failed you,” he said. “I let them hurt you. I let them doubt you. And I will spend every day from now until my death making it right.”
I hadn’t touched him.
Hadn’t spoken.
Just turned and walked to the window, my hands clenched into fists, my heart pounding like a war drum.
Because it wasn’t enough.
Apologies were easy. Regret was cheap. But trust? Trust was a blade you handed to someone knowing they could cut you open with it.
And I wasn’t ready to give him that knife.
—
The Council enforcers arrived at dawn.
Three of them—vampires in black armor, their eyes glowing faintly, their movements precise, lethal. They didn’t speak. Didn’t bow. Just filed into the war room and took positions around the table, their presence a silent verdict: *guilty until proven innocent.*
“You requested this,” Kael said, voice low, turning to me.
“You’re damn right I did,” I said. “I didn’t steal the relic. I didn’t break the seal. I didn’t forge your warrant. But someone did. And I want them *exposed.*”
“This is a Council interrogation,” one of the enforcers said, stepping forward. Malrik—his nameplate read. Cold eyes. Sharper fangs. “You will answer our questions. You will submit to truth-sensing. And you will not resist.”
“Or what?” I asked, lifting my chin. “You’ll lock me in a cell? Execute me? Because that’s what you do, isn’t it? When someone threatens the balance, when someone challenges the narrative, you silence them.”
“We uphold the law,” Malrik said.
“And who decides the law?” I shot back. “Vexis? The Council? Or the king who lets his enemies frame the woman he claims to love?”
The room stilled.
Kael didn’t flinch. But I felt it—the bond flaring, a hot pulse beneath my skin, like a star collapsing in his chest. He didn’t look at me. Just turned to Malrik. “She is under my protection. You will not harm her. You will not bind her. And if you so much as raise your voice to her, you will answer to me.”
Malrik hesitated. Then nodded. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”
“Good,” I said. “Now ask your questions.”
—
They started with the basics.
Where was I during the night? (In my chambers, reviewing border treaties.)
Who had access to my room? (No one. The door was warded.)
Did I know the combination to the vault? (No. Only Kael and the High Priestess did.)
Simple. Clean. Obvious.
Then they turned sharper.
“You have motive,” Malrik said, circling the table. “Your mother was executed for treason. You came to Duskrend to expose corruption. What better way to destabilize the king’s rule than to steal the Heart of Duskbane?”
“And weaken my own position?” I asked. “If the king falls, the co-ruler falls with him. The bond would kill me. So no, I don’t have motive. But *someone* does.”
“And who would that be?”
“The person who forged the warrant,” I said. “The person who planted the serum. The person who stood by while my room was ransacked. *Nyx.* And *Lyra.*”
Malrik glanced at Kael. “You’re accusing two high-ranking members of the court.”
“I’m stating facts,” I said. “Check the surveillance runes. Trace the serum. Ask the sentries who let them into my chambers. Or are you here to convict me, or to find the truth?”
“Truth is determined by evidence,” Malrik said.
“Then let’s find some,” I said. “Or are you afraid of what you’ll uncover?”
He didn’t answer. Just nodded to one of the other enforcers, who stepped forward with a silver-bound scroll—the truth-sensing sigil. “Place your hand on the parchment,” he said.
I didn’t hesitate.
Peeling off my glove, I pressed my palm to the ink. It flared blue, then crimson, then settled into a steady glow. The bond pulsed beneath my skin, a low, aching throb, like it knew what was coming.
“State your name,” the enforcer said.
“Crimson Veyra.”
“State your allegiance.”
“To justice. To truth. To the memory of my mother.”
“Did you steal the Heart of Duskbane?”
“No.”
The sigil flared—steady, unbroken. No flicker. No shadow.
“Did you conspire to steal it?”
“No.”
Flare. Steady.
“Did you enter the vault last night?”
“No.”
Flare. Steady.
“Did you know it was missing before it was reported?”
“No.”
Flare. Steady.
Malrik’s jaw tightened. “Remove your hand.”
I did, sliding my glove back on. The sigil dimmed. The enforcer rolled the scroll and stepped back.
“The truth-sensing confirms she did not steal the relic,” he said.
“But it doesn’t prove she’s innocent,” Malrik said. “She could still be involved. She could still be lying about her knowledge.”
“And you could still be blind,” I said. “The warrant was forged. The serum was synthetic. The seal was replicated. This wasn’t a theft. It was a *frame.* And you’re standing here, playing along.”
“Enough,” Kael said, stepping forward. “The truth-sensing has spoken. She is not guilty. And if you continue to harass her, you will answer to me.”
Malrik didn’t back down. Just held his ground. “The Council must be informed. This is a matter of national security.”
“Then inform them,” I said. “Tell them the truth. Tell them that Vexis orchestrated this. That he used Nyx and Lyra to destroy me. That he’s been manipulating the king for centuries. And tell them that if they don’t act, *I* will.”
The enforcers exchanged glances. Then, slowly, they nodded. “We will report to the Council,” Malrik said. “But this isn’t over.”
“No,” I said. “It’s just beginning.”
They left.
The door clicked shut behind them, and the war room fell silent again. I pressed my palms flat against the table, grounding myself. My hands were trembling. My skin still hummed from the truth-sensing, from the bond, from the way Kael had stood beside me, his presence a wall at my back.
And then—his hand covered mine.
Not possessive. Not demanding.
Just… there.
Warm. Steady. *Real.*
I didn’t pull away.
Couldn’t.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, voice low.
“I didn’t do it for you,” he said. “I did it for me. Because if I’d let them accuse you, if I’d let them doubt you, I’d have lost something I can’t afford to lose.”
“And what’s that?”
“You.”
My breath caught.
He turned my hand over, his fingers intertwining with mine. The bond flared—a slow, steady pulse, like a heartbeat. “I don’t know if I can trust you,” he said. “And I know you don’t trust me. But I know this—I can’t live without you. And I won’t let anyone take you from me.”
“Even if it means war?” I asked.
“Even if it means burning the Council to the ground,” he said. “They framed you. They hurt you. And they will answer for it.”
I stared at him. The man who had claimed me. Who had fought for me. Who had knelt before me. The man who had let me hate him so I could live.
And for the first time, I didn’t see the Hollow King.
I saw *him.*
Broken. Scarred. *Alive.*
Just like me.
“You’re dangerous,” I whispered.
“And you’re afraid of me,” he murmured, his thumb brushing my knuckles.
“No,” I said. “I’m afraid of what I *want.*”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t gloat. Just leaned in, his forehead resting against mine, his breath warm against my lips. “Then stop running,” he said. “Stop hiding. Let me in.”
“And if I do?”
“Then I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret it.”
The bond flared—a surge so intense I thought I’d combust.
And for the first time since I’d entered the Obsidian Spire, I didn’t want to run.
I wanted to *stay.*
Because the truth was worse than I’d imagined.
I wasn’t here to kill the Hollow King.
I was here to love him.
And that was the most dangerous thought of all.
—
We found Nyx that night.
Not in her chambers. Not in the keep.
In the crypts beneath the fortress, where the old kings were buried in stone sarcophagi, their names carved in blood-ink. She stood over one of the tombs, her back to us, her hair a curtain of ink-black waves. In her hand—a vial of dark liquid. Synthetic serum. The same kind used to forge the warrant.
“You’re too late,” she said, not turning. “The message has already been sent. The Council knows. They’ll strip her of her title. They’ll dissolve the bond. And when they do, you’ll have no choice but to take me back.”
“No,” Kael said, stepping forward. “I’ll have a choice. And I’ll choose *her.*”
She turned then, her crimson eyes burning. “You don’t understand. Vexis won’t stop. He’ll destroy her. He’ll destroy *you.* And when he does, I’ll be the only one left who knows how to rule.”
“You don’t rule,” I said. “You manipulate. You lie. You use sex as a weapon because you’re too weak to earn loyalty.”
“And you?” she sneered. “You use the bond. You use his guilt. You use his *need* for you. You’re no better.”
“No,” I said. “I’m better. Because I don’t need to destroy others to feel powerful. I just need to be *me.*”
She lunged.
Fast. Desperate. The vial shattered against the stone, the serum hissing like acid. But Kael moved faster—shadow-walking in front of me, his hand closing around her throat, lifting her off the ground.
“You will not touch her,” he said, voice low, deadly. “You will not speak her name. And if you ever come near her again, I will bury you with the kings and let the worms feast on your lies.”
She didn’t fight. Just laughed—a broken, hollow sound. “You love her,” she whispered. “And that’s your weakness.”
“No,” he said. “It’s my strength.”
He dropped her.
She fell to her knees, gasping, her eyes wide with something I couldn’t name. Fear? Regret? *Envy?*
“Take her to the high cell,” Kael said to Riven, who had appeared in the doorway. “No visitors. No privileges. And if she tries to contact Vexis, cut her tongue out.”
Riven nodded, hauling her to her feet.
She didn’t resist. Just turned her head, her gaze locking onto mine. “You think you’ve won,” she said. “But you haven’t. Vexis is coming. And when he does, you’ll wish you’d died in that pyre with your mother.”
“Then I’ll see her again,” I said. “And I’ll tell her I finally avenged her.”
She didn’t answer.
Just let Riven drag her away.
—
Later, in Kael’s chambers, I stood at the window, watching the moon rise over Blackmire. The city was quiet, the torches flickering low, the sentries changed. The bond pulsed beneath my skin, steady, insistent, but no longer painful. Just… present. Like a second heartbeat I couldn’t silence.
He came up behind me, his presence a wall at my back. Not touching. Just… there.
“You were right,” I said, voice low. “About everything. About Nyx. About Lyra. About Vexis.”
“And you were right about me,” he said. “I didn’t trust you. I let them hurt you. And I’ll never forgive myself for it.”
“Then don’t,” I said, turning. “Don’t spend your life apologizing. Spend it proving you’ve changed.”
He didn’t answer. Just reached out, slow, and took my hand.
Our fingers intertwined.
The bond flared—a slow, steady pulse, like a heartbeat.
Not a leash.
Not a curse.
A *promise.*
And for the first time, I didn’t pull away.
Because the truth was worse than I’d imagined.
I wasn’t here to kill the Hollow King.
I was here to love him.
And that was the most dangerous thought of all.