The Fae High Court wasn’t built—it was grown.
Deep beneath Nocturne, in the hollow heart of the ancient city, roots of blackened oak spiraled upward like grasping hands, forming arches, pillars, a cathedral of living wood. Bioluminescent moss clung to the walls, pulsing faintly in shades of violet and silver, casting shifting shadows that slithered across the stone floor. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and ozone, of old magic and older oaths. No torches. No candles. Just the cold glow of the forest that had swallowed time.
I stood at the entrance, my boots silent on the moss-strewn path, my gloves tight over my palms, my dagger still in my boot. Not for protection. Not anymore.
For reminder.
I was Crimson Veyra. Daughter of Seraphine. Not just a queen. Not just a mate. An avenger.
And vengeance wasn’t finished.
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. He hadn’t spoken since we left Duskrend. Not on the shadow-walk through the undercity. Not during the descent into the Hollow Grove. Just walked beside me, his presence a wall at my back, his silence heavier than any vow.
And the bond?
It screamed.
Not with desire. Not with jealousy.
With *fear.*
Not mine.
His.
He was afraid for me.
The thought should have infuriated me. Should have made me pull away, remind him I wasn’t his to protect, that I’d survived long before he’d ever laid eyes on me.
But instead, my fingers twitched at my side, aching to reach for his.
And that—more than any blade, more than any bond—was the one thing I couldn’t afford.
—
We entered together.
The chamber opened into a vast, circular hall, the ceiling lost in shadow, the walls lined with Fae nobles in robes of twilight and thorn. Their faces were sharp, their eyes glowing faintly, their expressions unreadable. At the center of the hall stood the Oathstone—a monolith of black crystal, etched with runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. Before it, seated on thrones of woven root, were the three High Judges: Lysara, the Weaver of Truth; Malrik, the Enforcer of Oaths; and Vexis.
Of course.
He sat at the center, his silver hair coiled like a serpent, his smile sharp, his eyes glinting with something darker than malice. Triumph. He’d orchestrated this. The theft. The poisoning. Nyx’s release. All of it. He’d lured me here, not to judge me—but to destroy me.
And he thought he’d already won.
“Crimson Veyra,” Lysara intoned, her voice like wind through dead leaves. “You stand accused of treason, deception, and misuse of the mate-bond. You are summoned to undergo the Truth-Ordeal. Do you accept?”
“I do,” I said, voice steady.
“And do you swear, by blood and bone, by fang and flame, that you will speak only truth under the Oathstone’s gaze?”
“I do,” I said.
“Then approach.”
I stepped forward.
Kael didn’t move. Just stood at the edge of the circle, his arms crossed, his crimson eyes burning. Riven stood behind him, silent, watchful. The bond pulsed beneath my skin, a slow, aching throb, like it knew what was coming.
“Place your hand upon the stone,” Lysara said.
I did.
The moment my palm touched the crystal, the runes flared—crimson, then silver, then black. A jolt shot up my arm, sharp and sudden, like a blade through the wrist. My breath caught. My vision blurred. The chamber spun.
And then—
Darkness.
Not the absence of light.
The absence of *self.*
—
I was twelve again.
Back in the Obsidian Spire. The Council chamber. The air thick with incense and blood. My mother stood in the center, her head high, her voice steady. *“I did not conspire with the werewolves. I did not betray the Council. I served this realm with honor, and I will not be silenced.”*
And then—Vexis. Stepping forward, his smile sharp. *“Then let the oath be tested.”*
She knelt. The fae blade pressed to her palm. She spoke the words—*“I swear by blood and bone, I have not betrayed the Council.”*
The blade glowed silver.
And then—black.
“She lied,” Vexis said. “The oath is broken. Sentence: Erasure.”
But I knew the truth.
The blade had been tampered with. The oath hadn’t been broken.
She’d been framed.
And then—Kael. Standing at the edge of the dais, his face cold, his eyes empty. But beneath it—*grief.* A flicker. A crack. A whisper of something he’d buried for centuries.
And then—me. Hidden in the shadows, my hands pressed to my mouth, my breath silent, my heart breaking. I hadn’t been allowed to speak. Hadn’t been allowed to weep. I’d stood there, and watched them erase her.
And then—fire.
The pyre. The silver ink burning. The silence where her name used to be.
The chamber gasped.
Not at the memory.
At the *proof.*
The Oathstone wasn’t just showing them what I remembered.
It was showing them what was *true.*
—
The vision shifted.
Now I was in the war room. Kael on his knees, head bowed, voice raw. *“I failed you. I let them hurt you. I let them doubt you. And I will spend every day from now until my death making it right.”*
And then—me, turning away. My hands clenched into fists, my heart pounding like a war drum.
And then—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—Kael’s voice, quiet, firm: *“You’re not what I think?”* And then, softer: *“She’s not what you think.”*
The chamber stilled.
Even Vexis looked uneasy.
Because the Oathstone didn’t lie.
It only showed truth.
And the truth was—Nyx had never been his.
Not in blood.
Not in body.
Not in soul.
—
The vision shifted again.
Now I was in the crypts. Nyx on her knees, gasping, her eyes wide with something I couldn’t name. Fear? Regret? *Envy?* And Kael, his hand still around her throat, his voice low, deadly: *“You will not touch her. 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.”*
And then—me, standing in the courtyard. Cold wind on my face. The sky black. The moon a sliver of bone. And Kael, carrying me through the keep, his face pale, his jaw tight, his hands gripping me like I might vanish. *“Don’t leave me,”* he murmured. *“Not now. Not ever.”*
And then—me, pressing my palms to his chest, whispering the incantation—*Sanguis aperio, veritas regnat.* Blood opens, truth reigns.
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 chamber erupted.
Not in sound.
In *silence.*
A silence so deep it pressed against my eardrums, so heavy it felt like drowning. Every noble in the hall turned to Vexis. Even Lysara’s gaze narrowed. Because they saw it—what I’d seen. What the bond had shown me.
Kael hadn’t just defended me.
He’d *chosen* me.
Not out of duty.
Not out of magic.
Out of *love.*
And I—
I’d saved him.
Not because I had to.
Because I *wanted* to.
—
The vision shifted.
Now I was in the war room. Last night. The maps scattered. The inkwells spilled. Kael’s hands on me. His mouth on my neck. His fingers inside me. Me—writhing, gasping, *begging.*
“You don’t get to want me,” I whispered, my voice breaking.
“I already do,” he said, his fingers circling, slow, torturous. “And you? You *crave* it.”
And then—me, lifting my hips, my eyes locking onto his. “Don’t you dare stop.”
And then—him, thrusting deep, claiming me, filling me.
The chamber *burned* with silence.
Not scandal. Not outrage.
Awe.
Because the Oathstone didn’t just show truth.
It showed *consequence.*
And the consequence was—this wasn’t just a bond.
It wasn’t just a political alliance.
It was a *union.*
Soul-deep.
Unbreakable.
And Vexis had tried to destroy it.
—
The final vision came like a blade.
Not of the past.
Of the future.
Me—standing before the Council, my mother’s name restored, the truth spoken. Kael beside me, not as king, but as *mate.* As *equal.* As *love.*
And then—Vexis, on his knees, his silver hair uncoiled, his face broken, his voice raw. *“You were supposed to destroy each other. You were supposed to tear the Council apart. But instead, you’ve made it stronger.”*
And then—me, stepping forward, my voice cold. *“No. We’ve made it just.”*
The runes flared—white, blinding, *final.*
And then—
Stillness.
I gasped, yanking my hand from the stone, my body collapsing to my knees. My gloves were gone. My gown was torn. My skin burned. My heart pounded. The bond pulsed, a slow, steady rhythm, like a heartbeat I’d finally learned to match.
The chamber was silent.
Not a breath. Not a whisper. Just the low hum of the Oathstone, fading into darkness.
And then—
Lysara rose.
“The Truth-Ordeal is complete,” she said, voice echoing. “Crimson Veyra has spoken only truth. She is not a traitor. She is not a liar. She is not a whore.”
She turned to Vexis. “But you are.”
The chamber erupted.
Not in outrage.
In *justice.*
Malrik moved first—blurring across the floor, his hand closing around Vexis’s throat, lifting him from the throne. The Seelie Councillor didn’t fight. Just laughed—a broken, hollow sound—as the runes of binding flared around his wrists.
“You think this changes anything?” he spat. “The Council is rotten. The bond is a curse. And love?” He turned to me, his eyes burning. “Love is weakness. And it will destroy you.”
I rose.
Slow. Steady. My storm-colored eyes locking onto his. “No,” I said. “Love is power. And it will *save* me.”
He didn’t answer.
Just let Malrik drag him away, his silver hair trailing like a shroud.
—
And then—
Kael was there.
Not with words. Not with promises.
With action.
He stepped forward, his coat whispering against the stone, his presence a wall at my back. And then—he lifted me.
Not like a king.
Not like a tyrant.
Like a man who’d just watched the woman he loved face death and walk away unbroken.
My face buried in his neck, his breath warm against my skin, his arms tight around my waist. The bond flared—a surge so intense I thought I’d combust. I could smell him—winter pine, dark earth, iron. Could feel him—his heartbeat, his breath, his *need.*
And for the first time, I didn’t pull away.
Just clung to him, my fingers digging into his coat, my body still trembling from the ordeal.
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.
—
Later, in the silence, we stood at the edge of the Hollow Grove, the moss pulsing beneath our feet, the air thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine. The bond pulsed beneath my skin, a slow, steady rhythm, like a heartbeat.
Not a leash.
Not a curse.
A *promise.*
“You were right,” I said, voice low. “And I don’t know if I can trust you either.
But I know this—I can’t live without you.”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t gloat.
Just reached out, slow, and took my hand.
Our fingers intertwined.
The bond flared—a slow, steady pulse, like a heartbeat.
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.