The day of the coronation dawned with a sky the color of fresh blood.
Not metaphorically. Not poetically. The horizon bled crimson, streaked with violet and gold, as if the heavens themselves were wounded. Nocturne stood silent beneath it, its spires clawing at the clouds, its streets empty, its people watching from behind shuttered windows and veiled balconies. The air was thick with anticipation—sharp, metallic, like the moment before lightning strikes.
I stood at the edge of the balcony, my bare feet on cold obsidian, my gloves gone, my witch-mark glowing faintly beneath my palm. My gown—deep black, edged in silver thread, the Unseelie sigil stitched over my heart—clung to my body like a second skin. The dagger was still in my boot. Not for protection. Not for vengeance.
For *memory.*
Kael stood beside me, his coat whispering against the stone, his presence a wall at my back. He hadn’t spoken since dawn. Just stood there, his crimson eyes fixed on the horizon, his jaw tight, his hands clasped behind his back. The bond pulsed between us—slow, steady, *alive*—a second heartbeat beneath our flesh.
“They’re afraid,” I said, not looking at him.
“Of us,” he said.
“Of change,” I corrected.
He turned then, his gaze burning into mine. “They’re afraid of you. Of what you’ve done. Of what you *are.*”
“And you?” I asked. “Are you afraid of me?”
He didn’t answer. Just stepped closer, his hand lifting, slow, deliberate, to brush my cheek. His touch was warm, steady, *certain.* “I’m afraid of losing you,” he said. “Not of what you’ll do. But of what I’ve already done. Of what I let happen.”
My breath caught.
He saw it. But he didn’t smile. Just leaned in, his forehead resting against mine, his breath warm against my skin. “You don’t get to touch me,” I whispered, echoing his words.
“I already do,” he said, his thumb tracing my jawline, his voice rough. “And you? You *crave* it.”
My core clenched. My skin burned. The bond flared—a hot pulse beneath my skin, like a star collapsing in his chest.
But I didn’t pull away.
Just stayed there, pressed against him, my breath mingling with his, my body aching for more.
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.
—
The ceremony was set for midday.
In the heart of the Obsidian Spire, beneath the vaulted ceiling carved with the faces of ancient kings, the throne room had been transformed. No torches burned. No banners waved. Just silence. And light.
A single beam of sunlight—filtered through stained glass depicting the fall of the First Bloodline—cut through the darkness, illuminating the dais where the twin thrones stood. Not one. Not two separate seats.
One.
> A shared throne—carved from black diamond and silver bone, its arms shaped like intertwined serpents, their fangs bared, their eyes set with crimson rubies. At its base, the sigils of the Unseelie and Duskbane houses were fused into a single emblem: a crescent moon pierced by a dagger, dripping blood.The Council had protested.
Of course they had.
Malrik had called it “an abomination.” Torin had growled that it “reeked of imbalance.” The Human Liaison had simply stared, wide-eyed, as if we’d declared war on the sun itself.
But Kael had been firm.
“If we are to rule,” he’d said, his voice low, guttural, “we will do so as equals. Not as king and consort. Not as master and mate. As *co-rulers.*”
And I had added, “Or not at all.”
They’d had no choice.
Not after what I’d done.
Not after what *we’d* done.
—
They arrived at noon.
Not in silence. Not in mourning.
In *witness.*
The Council filed in—seven figures in robes of black and silver, their faces unreadable, their eyes sharp. Behind them came the enforcers, the lieutenants, the high priests of the Blood Oaths. And behind them—
The people.
Witches in blood-ink veils. Werewolves with silver collars. Vampires in UV-lensed spectacles. Fae in shadow-cloaks. Humans in leather and steel. All of them—watching. Waiting.
And in their eyes, I saw something I hadn’t seen in years.
Hope.
Not blind. Not naive.
But *earned.*
Kael and I entered together.
Not side by side.
Hand in hand.
The bond flared—a wildfire in my veins, burning through every wall, every lie, every reason I had to keep him at arm’s length. My breath hitched. Just a fraction. Just enough.
He felt it. But he didn’t stop. Just squeezed my fingers, his grip firm, *reassuring.*
“You don’t get to touch me,” I whispered.
“I already do,” he said, his thumb brushing my knuckles. “And you? You *crave* it.”
I didn’t slap him.
Just stepped forward, my boots clicking against the obsidian, my head high, my heart a locked vault.
—
The High Magistrate stood at the dais.
Not in judgment.
In *witness.*
Her starlight robes shimmered in the light, her face veiled, her presence humming with the weight of centuries. 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. Heir to the Unseelie Bloodline. You stand before this Council not as an avenger. Not as a weapon. But as a ruler. Do you accept this charge?”
“I do,” I said, lifting my chin.
“And Kael Duskbane,” she said, turning to him. “High King of the Eastern Vampires. Regent of the Supernatural Council. You have offered your life. Your mate has refused it. And the bond has sealed your oath in blood. Do you accept her as your equal?”
He didn’t hesitate. Just stepped forward, his crimson eyes burning. “I do.”
“Then kneel,” she said.
We did.
Not in submission.
In *unity.*
Our knees pressed into the cold stone, our hands still clasped, our breath mingling in the silence. The bond pulsed—slow, deep, *alive*—like a star collapsing in his chest.
And then—
The Magistrate stepped forward.
Not with a crown.
With a *blade.*
Not steel. Not silver.
A shard of moonlight, drawn from the air itself, its edge glowing faintly. A fae oath-blade. One cut. One truth. One life.
She pressed it to my palm.
Pain flared—sharp, blinding, *unbearable*—but I didn’t flinch. Just stood there, my breath steady, my heart a locked vault. Blood welled—dark, rich, *powerful*—and the moment it touched the stone, the runes ignited.
And then—
Memory.
Not mine.
Theirs.
The chamber dissolved. The Council vanished. And I was back—standing in the shadows of the Obsidian Spire, my breath steady, my heart a locked vault. My mother stood in the center, her head high, her voice steady. *“I did not conspire with the vampires. 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—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.
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.
The memory 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 your 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 memory 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 me, my hand still around her throat, my 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—Kael, standing in the courtyard. Cold wind on his face. The sky black. The moon a sliver of bone. And me, carrying him through the keep, my face pale, my jaw tight, my hands gripping him like he might vanish. *“Don’t leave me,”* I murmured. *“Not now. Not ever.”*
And then—him, pressing his palms to my 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 memory shifted.
Now I was in his chambers. His lips brushing mine. Not a kiss. A *promise.* And then—my mouth crashing down on his—hard, desperate, *needing.* Not to dominate. Not to possess.
To *connect.*
My hands fisted in his hair, my body pressing him into the bed, my breath hot against his 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 then—
Stillness.
I gasped, my body arching, my hands flying to his 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.
And then—
Darkness.
—
The chamber snapped back into focus.
The runes dimmed. The blade was gone. The Council stood frozen, their faces pale, their eyes wide. Even Malrik looked shaken. Torin had his claws dug into the armrest of his seat, his amber gaze sharp.
And Kael—
He was beside me.
Not touching. Not speaking. Just standing there, his presence a wall at my back.
“You see?” I said, my voice low, raw. “I didn’t lie. I didn’t betray the Council. I didn’t seduce the Hollow King.”
“And yet,” the Magistrate said, “you love him.”
“And if I do?” I challenged. “What of it? The bond is real. The oath is real. And if you think love is a crime, then you’re the one who doesn’t belong here.”
She didn’t answer. Just turned to Kael.
“And you, Kael Duskbane? Do you accept her as your equal?”
He didn’t hesitate. Just 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.
“I do,” he said, his voice low, rough. “Not because of the bond. Not because of magic. Not because of fate. But because she’s *mine.* And I am hers.”
The chamber stilled.
Then—
A single clap.
Then another.
And then—
The entire hall 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.
—
They crowned us together.
Not with gold. Not with silver.
With *blood.*
The Magistrate took the oath-blade and pressed it to Kael’s palm. Blood welled—dark, rich, *powerful.* And then—she pressed it to mine.
Our blood mingled on the blade, swirling, merging, until it glowed with a light that wasn’t of this world.
And then—she raised it high.
“By blood and bone,” she intoned, “by fang and flame, by truth and fire, we name you—Crimson Veyra and Kael Duskbane—Co-Rulers of the Eastern Vampires, Guardians of the Supernatural Council, and Keepers of the Balance. May your reign be just. May your love be true. And may the world never forget what you have done.”
And then—she leaned down.
Not to crown him.
Not to crown me.
But to *mark* us.
With the bloodied blade, she traced a sigil on our foreheads—two serpents, intertwined, their fangs bared, their eyes glowing crimson. And as the blood seeped into our skin, the bond *exploded*—a surge so intense I thought I’d die. My vision blurred. My heart pounded. My core clenched, *aching.*
And then—
I did something I hadn’t done in years.
I *kissed* him.
Not hard. Not desperate.
Soft.
Slow.
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.*
My hands flew to his hair, not to push him away, but to hold on. My body arched into his, my breath hot against his lips. The bond roared, a wildfire in my veins, burning through every lie, every wall, every reason I had to hate him.
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:
“You were right,” I said. “And I don’t know if I can trust you either.
But I know this—I can’t live without you.”
He didn’t answer.
Just held me, my fingers digging into his coat, my body still trembling from the aftershocks.
Because the truth was worse than I’d imagined.
I wasn’t here to destroy the Hollow King.
I was here to *save* him.
And I’d let the world try to break her.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
He didn’t move. Just stayed in my arms, my breath warm against my neck.
And then—softly—I said, “Prove it.”
—
Later, in the quiet of our chambers, I stood before the mirror.
My gown was gone. My gloves were gone. My dagger was on the table, its blade still stained with blood.
And on my forehead—the sigil glowed faintly, pulsing in time with the bond.
Kael stood behind me, his arms around my waist, his breath warm against my neck. “You don’t get to touch me,” I whispered, echoing his words.
“I already do,” he said, his thumb brushing my jawline. “And you? You *crave* it.”
I didn’t slap him.
Just leaned back into him, my body a furnace against his, my breath coming fast.
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.
But as I stood there, pressed against him, the bond pulsing beneath our flesh like a second heartbeat, I realized something.
It was too late.
I already had.