The peace we’d forged felt fragile—like glass warmed by fire, beautiful but ready to shatter. After the interrogation, after Nyx’s arrest, the war room had exhaled. The tension didn’t vanish, but it shifted, like a blade drawn halfway from its sheath. Kael had stood by me. Not just in silence, not just with a glance, but with words, with action, with a vow that rang louder than any oath carved in blood-ink.
“I can’t live without you.”
Three words. Simple. Devastating.
And still, I didn’t know if I could trust them.
Because trust wasn’t a gift. It was a surrender. And I’d spent my life learning how to survive without it.
But the bond? The bond didn’t care about trust. It only knew hunger. And every time Kael stood too close, every time his hand brushed mine, every time his crimson eyes locked onto mine with that quiet, burning intensity, it flared—a slow, aching throb beneath my skin, like a second heartbeat I couldn’t silence.
And now, at the evening feast, it screamed.
The Great Hall of Duskrend was alight with torches, their flames dancing in sconces of black iron shaped like grasping hands. Long tables stretched the length of the chamber, laden with roasted venison, blood-tinged wine, and loaves of dark rye dusted with ash from sacred pyres. Werewolf envoys sat on one side, their fangs glinting in the firelight, their Alpha leader, Torin, watching me with a new wariness—respect, maybe, or suspicion. Vampires in polished armor lined the other, their eyes glowing faintly, their movements precise. And at the head of the high table, Kael sat like a god carved from shadow and steel.
And beside him—me.
I wore a gown of deep crimson silk, the same color as my name, the same shade as blood spilled in silence. My witch-mark was hidden beneath black gloves, my dagger still in my boot. I didn’t need it. Not for protection. But for reminder.
I was Crimson Veyra. Daughter of Seraphine. Not just a queen. Not just a mate. An avenger.
And vengeance wasn’t finished.
—
The feast began with silence.
No music. No laughter. Just the crackle of fire, the clink of silver, the low murmur of voices like wind through dead leaves. Kael raised his goblet—crystal, etched with runes of unity—and the room stilled.
“To peace,” he said, voice low, carrying. “To the bond between vampire and wolf. To the strength of Duskrend.”
Glasses lifted. Cheers, sharp and measured. I raised mine, the wine dark as midnight, swirling with flecks of silver. A ceremonial vintage, aged in fae-cursed oak. Said to reveal lies if drunk by a traitor.
I sipped.
The wine was rich, bitter, laced with something metallic—iron, maybe, or blood. It burned all the way down. The bond pulsed, a slow, steady rhythm, like it knew I was testing it.
Kael watched me over the rim of his glass, his eyes unreadable. Not cold. Not warm. Just… present. Like he’d memorized every breath I took.
“You don’t like it,” he said, when I set the goblet down.
“It tastes like betrayal,” I said.
A flicker in his gaze. “And if it did?”
“Then I’d know it wasn’t the wine.”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t flinch. Just refilled my glass. “Drink. It’s tradition.”
I did. Another sip. Another burn. Another pulse of the bond.
Across the table, Lyra watched us—her molten silver eyes sharp, her lips curled in something that wasn’t quite a smile. She hadn’t been punished. Not yet. The Council hadn’t ruled. But she’d been stripped of her advisory role, her access to the vaults revoked. And still, she sat here, like a viper coiled in velvet.
And she wasn’t alone.
At the far end of the hall, near the servants’ entrance, a figure lingered—hooded, cloaked, face shadowed. I’d seen him before, slipping through the corridors, always just out of sight. A courier, they said. From Nocturne. From the Council.
From Vexis.
My fingers tightened around the stem of my goblet.
“You’re tense,” Kael murmured, leaning close. His breath was warm against my ear, his voice a whisper. “Relax. Or they’ll think you’re guilty of something.”
“Maybe I am,” I said. “Maybe I’m guilty of seeing through their lies.”
“And what will you do when you prove them?”
“Burn them,” I said. “Like they burned my mother.”
He didn’t react. Just lifted his own glass, his thumb brushing mine as he reached past. A spark. A jolt. The bond flared, hot and sudden, like a star collapsing in my chest.
And then—
A sound.
Soft. Familiar.
Footsteps.
Riven entered, his armor gleaming, his expression unreadable. He moved to Kael’s side, murmured something too low to hear. Kael’s jaw tightened. Just a fraction. Just enough.
Then he turned to me. “A message from Nocturne. The Council requests your presence at the next session. To answer for the theft. To… clarify your role.”
“Clarify?” I asked. “Or condemn?”
“They’re the same thing, in their eyes.”
I stared at him. “You’re not sending me.”
“No,” he said. “I’m not.”
Relief, sharp and sudden. But then—
“But they’ll come for you,” I said. “If I don’t go, they’ll send enforcers. They’ll drag me back in chains.”
“Let them try,” he said. “This is Duskrend. My kingdom. My rules.”
“And what if they overrule you?”
“Then we burn the Council to the ground,” he said, voice low. “And build something new from the ashes.”
My breath caught.
He wasn’t joking.
He’d do it. For me.
And gods help me, I believed him.
—
The feast continued.
Dishes were cleared. New courses brought. A roasted boar, its eyes replaced with black opals, its mouth open in a silent scream. Blood-pie, its crust flaky, its filling dark and glistening. I didn’t eat. Just watched. Listened. Waited.
And then—
Kael stood.
The room stilled. All eyes turned to him. He raised his goblet again, the wine catching the torchlight like liquid fire.
“A toast,” he said. “To the woman who stood when others would have fallen. To the one who faced the Council’s enforcers and did not break. To Crimson Veyra—my co-ruler, my equal, my *truth.*”
The silence was absolute.
No one moved. No one spoke. Not even a breath.
And then—
Torin, the werewolf Alpha, lifted his glass. “To the witch who fights like a queen.”
One by one, the others followed. The vampires. The witches. Even Lyra, though her eyes burned with something darker than wine.
But I didn’t lift mine.
Just stared at Kael. 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 in that moment, something cracked.
Not my resolve.
My heart.
Because he wasn’t just toasting me.
He was claiming me. In front of them all. In front of the world.
And I didn’t know if I wanted to run.
Or stay.
—
The feast ended. The guests filed out, their whispers sharp, their glances heavier than stone. Riven escorted Lyra from the hall, his hand on her arm, not gentle. Kael remained at the head of the table, his presence a shadow against the firelight.
And I?
I stood, my legs unsteady, my skin humming. The wine. The bond. The toast. It was too much. Too real.
“I need air,” I said.
He didn’t stop me. Just nodded. “The courtyard. I’ll be there shortly.”
I didn’t answer. Just turned and walked, my boots clicking too loud in the silence. The corridors were dim, the torches flickering low. The bond pulsed, a slow, aching throb, like it knew I was unraveling.
I reached the courtyard. Cold wind slapped my face, sharp with the scent of iron and storm. The sky was black, the moon a sliver of bone. I stumbled toward the fountain—a basin of black stone, its water still, dark, reflecting nothing.
And then—
Pain.
Sharp. Sudden. Like a blade through the gut.
I gasped, doubling over, my hands flying to my stomach. My vision blurred. My breath came in ragged gasps. The bond screamed—a hot, searing pulse that stole my breath, burned through my veins.
Not desire.
Not jealousy.
*Pain.*
I fell to my knees, my gloves scraping against the bloodstone. My skin burned. My heart pounded. My mouth filled with the taste of copper—blood. My own? Or something else?
And then—
Memory.
Not mine.
*His.*
Kael, standing over a pyre. My mother’s name burning in silver ink. His face—cold. Empty. But beneath it—*grief.* A flicker. A crack. A whisper of something he’d buried for centuries.
And then—
Another memory.
Nyx, in his chambers. Her hand on his chest. Her lips on his neck. Her voice, low, seductive. *“You used to beg for my blood. For my touch. For my scream.”*
But it wasn’t true.
It was a lie. A performance. A knife meant for me.
And then—
Another.
Me. In the war room. Slapping him. Kneeling before him. His voice, raw, broken. *“I failed you, Seraphine. But I won’t fail her.”*
The bond wasn’t just screaming.
It was *showing* me.
Every truth he’d buried. Every lie I’d believed. Every moment he’d let me hate him so I could live.
And then—
Darkness.
I collapsed.
—
I woke to warmth.
Not the cold stone of the courtyard. Not the wind on my face.
Heat. A furnace. A heartbeat.
I was in Kael’s arms.
He was carrying me through the keep, his coat whispering against the stone, his breath steady, his crimson eyes burning. His face was pale, his jaw tight, his hands gripping me like I might vanish.
“You’re awake,” he said, voice rough.
“What happened?” I whispered, my throat raw.
“You were poisoned,” he said. “The wine. Someone laced it with fae-fire extract. Slow-acting. Meant to kill you slowly. Painfully.”
My breath caught. “And you?”
“I didn’t drink it,” he said. “I saw the courier. The one from Nocturne. He slipped something into your goblet when you weren’t looking. I was about to stop him—but then you drank.”
“And you?”
“I drank after you,” he said. “To trigger the bond. To pull the poison into me.”
My heart stopped. “You *what?*”
“The bond shares pain,” he said. “Shares poison. Shares death. I took it from you. But it’s not out of your system. Not yet.”
“You idiot,” I said, my voice breaking. “You could have died.”
“And you would have,” he said. “If I hadn’t.”
Tears burned behind my eyes. Not from the poison. From *him.* From the truth. From the way he’d chosen me. Again. Even when I didn’t deserve it.
“Why?” I whispered. “Why would you do that?”
He didn’t answer. Just held me tighter, his face buried in my neck, his breath warm against my skin. “Don’t leave me,” he murmured. “Not now. Not ever.”
And then—
Pain.
Sharp. Sudden. Like a blade through the gut.
He gasped, staggering, his grip tightening. His skin burned. His breath came in ragged gasps. The bond screamed—a hot, searing pulse that stole my breath.
He’d taken the poison.
And it was killing him.
“Kael,” I said, my voice trembling. “You have to let me go. You have to—”
“No,” he growled. “I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever.”
He carried me into his chambers, kicked the door shut behind him, and laid me on the bed. His hands were shaking. His face was pale. Blood trickled from the corner of his lip—dark, thick, *wrong.*
“You need healing,” I said, trying to sit up.
“No,” he said, pressing me back. “You’re weak. The poison’s still in you. Let me—”
“You’re dying,” I said.
“And if I am,” he said, “I’ll die holding you.”
Tears spilled over. I didn’t wipe them away. Just reached up, my fingers brushing his cheek, his jaw, the blood at his lip. “You don’t get to die,” I whispered. “Not while I’m still breathing.”
“Then stay,” he said. “Stay with me. Fight with me. *Live* with me.”
My breath hitched.
And then—my hands moved. Not to push him away. Not to fight.
To *heal.*
I pressed my palms to his chest, over his heart, and whispered the incantation—*Sanguis aperio, veritas regnat.* Blood opens, truth reigns.
My magic flared—a surge of heat, of power, of *need.* The bond screamed, a wildfire in my veins, burning through every lie, every wall, every reason I had to hate him.
And then—
Connection.
Not just through the bond.
Through *us.*
I felt him—his pain, his fear, his love, his guilt, his need. I saw his memories—his first love’s execution, his century of silence, the moment our hands touched, the way his breath caught when I walked into a room.
And I let him feel me.
My mother’s trial. The pyre. The silence where her name used to be. The dagger in my boot. The vow to kill him.
And then—
Us.
The near-kiss in the war room. The blood-sharing ritual. The way his hands felt on my skin. The way his voice sounded when he said, *“You’re already mine.”*
The poison burned. The magic surged. The bond roared.
And then—
Stillness.
He gasped, his body arching, his hands flying to my waist. His skin cooled. His breath steadied. The blood at his lip stopped.
He was alive.
And I was—
Shattered.
Because I hadn’t just healed him.
I’d *felt* him.
And I’d liked it.
“You saved me,” he whispered, his forehead resting against mine, his breath warm against my lips.
“You saved me first,” I said, my voice raw.
“Then we’re even,” he said.
“No,” I said. “We’re not.”
“Then what are we?”
I didn’t answer.
Just leaned in, my lips brushing his.
Not a kiss.
A *promise.*
And gods help me, he answered it.
His mouth crashed down on mine—hard, desperate, *needing.* Not to dominate. Not to possess.
To *connect.*
His hands fisted in my hair, his body pressing me into the bed, his breath hot against my lips. The bond roared, a wildfire in my veins, burning through every lie, every wall, every reason I had to keep him at arm’s length.
But this wasn’t just desire.
This was *surrender.*
And when I finally pulled back, breathless, my forehead resting against his, I whispered the only truth that mattered:
“I saved you,” I said. “Why does that terrify me?”
He didn’t answer.
Just held me, his arms tight around my waist, his face buried in my neck. “Because,” he murmured, “you’re finally starting to care.”
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.