The Fae High Court still hummed with the aftermath of revelation—runes fading from the floor, the scent of crushed violets and iron thick in the air, the silence heavier than stone. My body trembled, not from fear, but from the aftershocks of truth. I had unsealed my mother’s final memory. I had watched her die. I had seen Vexis pour poison into her mouth, watched him order her erasure, watched him smile as they dragged her body to the pyre. And now—everyone knew.
But knowing wasn’t enough.
Justice was.
And I wasn’t leaving until I had it.
—
I stepped back from Kael, my hands still fisted in his coat, my breath ragged. The tears had stopped, but the fire beneath them hadn’t. If anything, it had grown—fanned by grief, stoked by rage, sharpened by the knowledge that I had spent years hating the wrong man.
Kael had tried to save her.
He had fought for clemency. Offered his own life. Been forced to watch.
And I had blamed him.
But Vexis?
He had orchestrated it all. Murdered her. Framed her. Erased her.
And he was still standing.
Still smiling.
Still *untouched.*
“You killed her,” I said, my voice low, steady. “You murdered Seraphine Veyra. You poisoned her. You ordered her erasure. And you will answer for it.”
Vexis didn’t flinch. Just smoothed the fabric of his robes, his expression one of mild amusement, as if I were a child throwing a tantrum. “You have no proof,” he said. “Only a memory. A *feeling.* The Council does not convict on emotion.”
“Then let them see it,” I said, stepping forward. “Let them *feel* it. Let them witness the truth, not through my eyes—but through *hers.*”
The chamber stilled.
Even the statues seemed to lean in.
“You’re asking for a truth-projection,” Lord Malrik said, the Seelie Councillor to Vexis’s left. His voice was cautious, his silver eyes narrowed. “A full sensory transfer. That’s not done lightly. It can break a mind.”
“Then let it,” I said. “Let them see what he did. Let them *know* what he took from me.”
“And if they refuse?” Kael asked, his voice like ice.
I turned to him. His crimson eyes burned, not with anger, but with something deeper—*pride.* As if he had always known I would do this. As if he had been waiting for it.
“Then I’ll make them,” I said.
And I meant it.
—
The High Seat pulsed.
Not with light. Not with sound.
With *power.*
From the depths of the chamber, a figure emerged—tall, robed in starlight and shadow, her face veiled, her presence ancient. The High Magistrate. The final arbiter of fae law. She didn’t speak. Just raised a hand, and the runes on the floor flared—silver, then gold, then blood-red.
“Crimson Veyra,” she said, her voice echoing as if from a thousand throats. “Daughter of Seraphine. You stand accused of treason. The oath has cleared you. But you now accuse another—Lord Vexis, Councillor of the Seelie Court—of murder, conspiracy, and the unlawful erasure of a noble name. Is this your claim?”
“It is,” I said, lifting my chin.
“And do you have proof?”
“I *am* the proof,” I said. “But if the Council demands more, I will give it to them. I will show them what he did. Not through words. Not through memory. Through *truth.*”
The Magistrate studied me. Then turned to Vexis. “Do you deny the accusation?”
He didn’t answer. Just smiled.
And in that silence, the verdict was already written.
“Then it will be done,” she said. “A truth-projection. Full sensory transfer. All present will witness the final moments of Seraphine Veyra. And if the accusation is proven, Lord Vexis will be stripped of rank, exiled, and his name erased in turn.”
A murmur ran through the chamber.
Even Kael tensed.
Because a truth-projection wasn’t just seeing.
It was *feeling.*
Every breath. Every heartbeat. Every drop of blood. Every second of agony.
And I had to lead it.
—
I stepped to the center of the chamber.
My boots echoed on the bone-white stone. My gloves were gone. My witch-mark glowed faintly beneath the skin of my palm. The dagger was still in my boot, but I didn’t draw it. Not yet.
Instead, I drew a breath.
And I *pulled.*
Not from my magic.
From my *mother.*
From the memory I had just unsealed. From the vial of poison. From the slab of cold stone. From the moment Vexis leaned over her, his voice honeyed, his eyes gleaming.
And then—I opened my eyes.
And the world *burned.*
Not with fire.
With *truth.*
The chamber dissolved. The Council vanished. And we were back—beneath the Obsidian Spire, in the crypts, where my mother had died.
But this time, they weren’t just watching.
They were *there.*
I felt it—the bond, flaring beneath my skin, a wildfire in my veins. But it wasn’t just me. It was *them.* Every Councillor. Every guard. Every soul in the chamber. They felt the cold stone beneath their feet. The scent of decay. The flickering torchlight. The weight of betrayal.
And then—
My mother.
She lay on the slab, her wrists bound, her face pale, her breath shallow. She wasn’t dead. Not yet. But she was dying.
And Vexis stood over her.
Not with a blade.
With a vial.
Dark liquid. Thick. *Wrong.*
“You should have bowed,” he said, his voice smooth, honeyed. “You should have sworn allegiance. But you were too proud. Too loyal to the wrong side.”
“I served the Council,” she whispered. “I served the realm.”
“And now you serve *me,*” he said, uncorking the vial. “With your death.”
And then—he poured it.
Not on her skin.
Into her mouth.
She choked. Gagged. Tried to turn her head, but he held her fast. The liquid burned—black, corrosive—eating through her from the inside. Her body convulsed. Her eyes rolled back. And then—
Stillness.
She was dead.
And Vexis smiled.
“Now,” he said, turning to the guard, “take her to the pyre. Let the Council believe she was executed for treason. Let them erase her name. And let the world forget she ever existed.”
And then—
Darkness.
—
The chamber snapped back into focus.
But it wasn’t the same.
The runes were cracked. The air was thick with the scent of bile and iron. Several Councillors had collapsed, their hands pressed to their temples, their faces pale. One had vomited. Another was weeping.
And Vexis?
He stood frozen, his face ashen, his hands clenched into fists. For the first time, he looked afraid.
“You felt it,” I said, stepping forward. “You *knew.* You knew she was innocent. You knew he murdered her. You knew he framed her. And you did nothing.”
“I didn’t know,” Malrik said, his voice trembling. “I *couldn’t* have known.”
“But you suspected,” I said. “And you stayed silent. You let them erase her. You let them burn her. You let them call her a traitor.”
He didn’t answer.
Just looked away.
And in that moment, I saw it—not just Vexis’s guilt, but the guilt of them all. The Council. The enforcers. The ones who had looked the other way. The ones who had traded justice for stability.
And I realized something.
This wasn’t just about my mother.
It was about *all* of them.
The ones who had been erased. The ones who had been silenced. The ones who had been forgotten.
And I wasn’t just here to reclaim her name.
I was here to *burn* the system that had taken it.
—
The High Magistrate raised her hand.
The chamber fell silent.
“The truth has been witnessed,” she said, her voice echoing. “Seraphine Veyra was murdered by Lord Vexis. Her erasure was unlawful. Her name was stolen. And justice has been delayed for too long.”
She turned to Vexis. “Lord Vexis, you are hereby stripped of rank, title, and seat on the Council. You are exiled from all fae territories. And your name will be erased from all records, as you erased hers. May your silence be as eternal as the one you forced upon the innocent.”
He didn’t move. Just stood there, his face blank, his body rigid.
And then—
He laughed.
Not a laugh of defiance.
But of *victory.*
“You think this changes anything?” he said, his voice low, guttural. “You think erasing my name will bring her back? You think exiling me will fix your broken world? I am not the disease, Crimson. I am the *symptom.* You want justice? Then burn the Council. Burn the Spire. Burn the Hollow King himself. Because as long as power exists, someone will corrupt it. And someone will die for it.”
And then—he turned to me.
“You won,” he said. “But you lost the war. Because now, you’re just like me. A killer. A destroyer. A *monster.*”
I didn’t flinch.
Just stepped forward, my hand lifting, slow, deliberate.
And then—I pressed my palm to his chest.
Not to hurt him.
To *claim* him.
“You’re right,” I said. “I *am* like you. I *am* a killer. I *am* a destroyer. But I’m not a monster. Because I don’t hide behind lies. I don’t poison in the dark. I don’t erase names to protect my power.”
My voice dropped, low, deadly. “I face my enemies. I fight my battles. And I *win.*”
And then—I stepped back.
And let the enforcers take him.
—
They dragged him from the chamber, his robes torn, his face blank, his body limp. No chains. No cuffs. Just the weight of his shame.
And then—
Stillness.
Not the quiet of peace.
But the kind of silence that comes after a storm—the air thick, spent, every breath a ghost of what had been.
And then—
Kael.
He stepped forward, not to me, but to the High Magistrate. “There is one more matter,” he said, his voice low, guttural. “Seraphine Veyra’s name was erased. Her legacy stolen. Her daughter hunted. It is time it was restored.”
The Magistrate nodded. “Then it will be done. The High Court recognizes Seraphine Veyra as innocent of all charges. Her name is restored to the records. Her title reinstated. And her daughter—Crimson Veyra—is hereby acknowledged as heir to the Unseelie Bloodline.”
A murmur ran through the chamber.
Not of protest.
Of *recognition.*
And then—
Kael turned to me.
Not with words.
With *action.*
He stepped forward, slow, deliberate, and took my hand. His touch was warm, steady, *certain.* And then—he lifted it to his lips.
And kissed it.
Not a lover’s kiss.
A *claim.*
Public. Unapologetic. Unbreakable.
“You did it,” he said, his voice low, rough. “You brought her back.”
My breath caught.
And then—I did something I hadn’t done in years.
I smiled.
Not a smirk. Not a challenge.
A *real* smile.
“I didn’t bring her back,” I said. “I just made sure the world remembers she was never gone.”
He didn’t answer.
Just pulled me into his arms, his coat whispering against the stone, his breath warm against my neck. The bond flared—a wildfire in my veins, burning through every wall, every lie, every reason I had to hate him.
And then—
He whispered, “Now let me do this.”
—
He didn’t say what “this” was.
But I knew.
Because when we stepped out of the Fae High Court, the sun was rising over Nocturne, its light cutting through the storm-heavy sky like a blade. The streets were empty. The spires stood silent. And at the base of the steps, a crowd had gathered.
Not of enforcers.
Not of Councillors.
Of *people.*
Witches. Werewolves. Vampires. Fae. Humans. All of them—watching. Waiting.
And in their eyes, I saw something I hadn’t seen in years.
Hope.
Kael didn’t speak. Just stepped forward, his presence commanding, his voice low but carrying. “Today,” he said, “the truth was revealed. Seraphine Veyra was not a traitor. She was a martyr. A hero. A woman who stood for justice in a world that punished it. And her name—her *legacy*—has been restored.”
He turned to me. “And her daughter—Crimson Veyra—has proven that vengeance is not the only path. That justice can be won without becoming the monster. That love is not weakness. That *truth* is power.”
The crowd was silent.
Then—
A single clap.
Then another.
And then—
The entire square erupted.
Cheers. Shouts. Tears.
And in the center of it all—me.
Not as an avenger.
Not as a weapon.
But as *Crimson.*
Daughter of Seraphine.
Heir to the Unseelie Bloodline.
Mate of the Hollow King.
And for the first time in my life—I didn’t feel the need to run.
Because I wasn’t alone.
I had him.
I had the truth.
And I had my mother’s name.
And that—more than any blade, more than any bond—was the one thing I couldn’t afford to lose.
But as I stood there, pressed against Kael, the crowd roaring around us, the sun rising over Nocturne, I realized something.
It was too late.
I already had.