The war room door clicked shut behind him, but the echo of Kael’s presence lingered like a brand—hot, inescapable, *violating.* My body still hummed from the near-kiss, the ghost of his mouth on mine, the way his hand had gripped my waist like he had every right. The bond flared beneath my skin, a slow, pulsing ache that made my breath shallow and my thighs press together. I hated it. I hated *him.*
But worse—I hated that part of me had *wanted* it.
I pressed my palms flat against the obsidian table, grounding myself. The cool stone helped. So did the familiar sting of blood welling beneath my glove as I dug my nails into my palm. Pain was honest. Pain didn’t lie.
I hadn’t come to Duskrend to be tempted. I’d come to survive. To prove I wasn’t just a pawn in Kael’s game. To find a way to kill him without killing myself in the process.
And now? Now I’d nearly kissed him.
I closed my eyes, forcing my pulse to slow. That wasn’t weakness. It was strategy. A moment of leverage. I’d seen the flicker in his eyes when I challenged him—surprise, then something darker: *interest.* He didn’t expect me to fight. Didn’t expect me to think. And that was my advantage.
Because if he thought I was just another woman to be claimed, he was already losing.
I straightened, smoothing my cloak. The war room was empty now, the maps still glowing faintly under the torchlight. I moved to the northern border lines, tracing the ward markers with my gloved finger. If the sabotage was real, the breach point would be along the eastern ridge—thin soil, weak ley lines. Easy to destabilize.
I needed proof. Not just for the council. For *me.* Because if I was going to survive ninety days in this fortress of shadows, I needed to know who I could trust. And right now, the only person who hadn’t lied to me was the dead.
My mother.
Her face flashed in my mind—pale, proud, unbroken even as the pyre consumed her name. I hadn’t been allowed to speak at her trial. Hadn’t been allowed to weep. I’d stood in the back of the chamber, hidden in the shadows, and watched them erase her.
And now, her killer sat on the throne.
Or did he?
Kael’s marginal note haunted me: *Overruled by Vexis. King’s plea for clemency denied.*
He’d tried to save her.
And failed.
Was that redemption? Or just another layer of manipulation?
I didn’t know. But I knew this—Vexis had wanted the bond to form. He’d orchestrated the ritual. He’d *smiled* when it happened. And now, he was letting Kael send me to Duskrend, the most volatile province in the Eastern Territories.
Why?
Because he thought I’d die here?
Or because he thought I’d *break?*
Either way, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
I turned to leave, but a sound stopped me—soft, rhythmic. Footsteps. Slow. Confident.
Then a voice, low and honeyed, dripping with false warmth.
“So *you’re* the one who touched him.”
I turned.
She stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the torchlight—tall, lithe, draped in nothing but a long, open black shirt that barely covered her thighs. Her skin was the color of moonlight on ash, her hair a cascade of ink-black waves that fell past her waist. Her eyes—crimson, like Kael’s—locked onto mine with a predator’s focus.
And on her left hand, gleaming like a brand, was a ring.
Black onyx, set in silver, carved with the same sigil as Kael’s signet.
My breath caught.
“You must be Nyx,” I said, forcing my voice steady.
She smiled. Slow. Deliberate. Like she already knew she’d won. “And you’re the little witch who thinks she can replace me.”
She stepped forward, the shirt parting with each movement, revealing the curve of her hip, the smooth line of her thigh. She wasn’t just wearing Kael’s shirt.
She was *wearing his scent.*
Winter pine. Dark earth. Iron.
My stomach twisted.
“I’m not trying to replace anyone,” I said. “I was *claimed.* Not chosen.”
“Claimed?” She laughed, a sound like broken glass. “Is that what he’s calling it now? How sweet. He used to call it *binding.* Or *blood-sharing.* Or, my favorite—*pleasure.*”
She traced a finger down her collarbone, then lower, stopping just above her breast. And there—just visible beneath the edge of her shirt—a mark.
A bite.
Deep. Fresh. Still healing.
My pulse spiked.
“He likes it when I scream his name,” she murmured, voice dropping to a whisper. “Especially when he bites me *here.*” She pressed two fingers against the mark, her lips parting on a soft moan. “You should hear him. The way he growls. The way he *takes* me. Like he’s starving.”
I clenched my jaw. The bond flared, a hot spike of jealousy so sharp it stole my breath. I shouldn’t care. I *couldn’t* care. Kael was my enemy. His past was none of my business.
But the bond didn’t listen to reason.
It only knew *hunger.*
And right now, it was screaming.
“If you’re so close to him,” I said, voice cold, “why aren’t you wearing his ring on your finger instead of his shirt on your body?”
Her smile didn’t waver. “Because he gave it to me as a *gift.* Not a promise. And I keep it close. Very close.” She slid a hand between her thighs, then brought it up, slow, letting her fingers trail along the inside of her arm. “He likes it when I wear it *there.*”
Disgust curled in my gut. This wasn’t just a rival. This was a *performance.* A calculated display of ownership, designed to break me.
And it was working.
Because no matter how much I told myself I didn’t care, no matter how many times I reminded myself that Kael was a monster, a liar, a murderer—
Part of me *ached.*
Part of me wanted to know what it felt like to have his teeth in my skin. To hear him growl my name. To be wanted like that—desperately, violently, *completely.*
And that was the most dangerous thought of all.
“You’re pathetic,” I said, stepping forward. “Using sex as a weapon. Did he tire of you? Is that why you’re slinking around in his clothes like a discarded pet?”
She didn’t flinch. Just tilted her head, studying me. “You think I’m afraid of you? A half-breed with a dagger in her boot and a death wish in her eyes?” She stepped closer, her scent hitting me—vampire musk, laced with something darker: desire, decay, *possession.* “I’ve been his blood-mate. His lover. His *equal.* And I still am. Because no matter what that cursed bond says, he’ll always come back to me. He *needs* me.”
“And what do you need?” I shot back. “Validation? Attention? Or just the thrill of watching me squirm?”
Her eyes flashed. “I need *him.* And I’ll destroy anyone who tries to take him from me.”
“Then you’ll have to kill me,” I said. “Because I’m not leaving.”
“Oh, you will,” she purred. “One way or another. The bond will consume you. Or he’ll grow tired of you. Or *I’ll* make sure you’re gone.”
She reached out, her fingers brushing my cheek. I didn’t pull away. Didn’t blink.
“You smell like storm,” she murmured. “And iron. Like you’re made of thunder and blood.” She inhaled deeply. “But underneath? Fear. So much fear. You’re afraid of him. Afraid of the bond. Afraid of what you *want.*”
My breath hitched.
“And that,” she whispered, “is why you’ll lose.”
Then she turned and walked away, the shirt swaying with each step, the ring glinting on her finger like a warning.
I stood there, trembling, my skin burning where she’d touched me. The bond pulsed, a low, aching throb, like it knew I was unraveling.
She was right.
I *was* afraid.
Not of death. Not of pain.
But of *wanting* him.
Of needing him.
Of becoming just another woman who’d been claimed and discarded.
I pressed my hand to my chest, trying to steady my breath. But the scent of him—of *them*—still clung to the air. I could almost feel his mouth on my neck, his hands on my waist, his voice in my ear: *You’re already mine.*
I turned and left the war room, my boots clicking too loud in the silence. I didn’t know where I was going. Just *away.* Away from the memories. Away from the bond. Away from the truth I couldn’t face.
But the corridors of the keep were a labyrinth of shadows and steel, and no matter how fast I walked, I couldn’t escape the feeling of being watched.
Then—voices.
Low. Familiar.
I stopped at the end of a narrow hall, hidden in the gloom. Kael’s chambers were just ahead. The door was ajar.
And inside—Nyx.
She stood with her back to me, her bare shoulders gleaming in the candlelight. Kael faced her, his expression unreadable.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice low.
“And you shouldn’t have let her touch you,” she shot back. “That bond is a curse. It’ll destroy you.”
“It’s already sealed.”
“Then break it.”
“I can’t.”
She stepped closer, her hand sliding up his chest. “You don’t need a fated bond. You have *me.* You always have.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. Just stared at her, his jaw tight.
“You know what I am,” she whispered. “You know what we are. Don’t throw that away for some half-breed witch with a death wish.”
“She’s not what you think,” he said.
“And you’re not what *I* think?” she challenged. “You used to beg for my blood. For my touch. For my *scream.* Now you’re letting her *live* in your chambers?”
“She’s my co-ruler.”
“She’s your *weakness.*”
He didn’t answer.
And in that silence, I felt it—the bond, flaring like a star collapsing. Pain lanced through my chest, sharp and sudden, stealing my breath. My vision blurred. For a second, I thought I’d been stabbed.
But it wasn’t a blade.
It was *jealousy.*
Pure. Vicious. *Unbearable.*
I turned and ran.
I didn’t know where I was going. Just *away.* Away from the keep. Away from the bond. Away from the truth that I was losing myself.
I burst into the courtyard, the cold wind slapping my face. The sky was black, the moon a sliver of bone. I stumbled toward the stables, my boots slipping on the bloodstone. I needed a horse. Needed to ride. Needed to *escape.*
But the bond wouldn’t let me.
Twenty-four hours apart. Fever. Hallucinations. Death.
I pressed my hand to my chest, trying to steady my breath. I couldn’t run. Couldn’t fight. Couldn’t even *think* without the bond screaming in my veins.
And then—Riven.
He stepped out of the shadows, his armor gleaming, his expression unreadable.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I snapped.
“No,” he agreed. “But you need to breathe.”
I glared at him. “You saw her. In his chambers. In his *shirt.*”
He didn’t deny it. Just nodded. “Nyx. She’s been coming here for years. Claims she’s his blood-mate. Says he bit her in passion. Says he promised her the throne.”
“And is it true?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “But I’ve never seen him look at anyone like he looks at *you.* Not even her.”
My breath caught.
“He’s cold,” Riven continued. “Controlled. But with you? He’s… *alive.* Like something long dead has started beating again.”
I shook my head. “It’s the bond. It’s magic. It’s not real.”
“Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe you’re the only one who’s ever made him *feel* something.”
I looked away. The wind howled, carrying the scent of iron and storm.
“I came here to kill him,” I whispered.
“And now?”
I didn’t answer.
Because the truth was worse than I’d imagined.
I wasn’t here to kill the Hollow King.
I was here to survive him.
And if I wasn’t careful, I’d end up wanting to keep him.
And that—more than any blade, more than any bond—was the one thing I couldn’t afford.
I turned and walked back toward the keep, my steps slow, my heart heavy.
But as I passed the war room, I stopped.
The door was open.
And on the table—where I’d left it—was the map of the northern border.
But now, something was different.
A single drop of blood, fresh and glistening, had been smeared across the eastern ridge.
The breach point.
My breath caught.
Someone had been here.
Someone had *known.*
And they’d left a message.
I reached for the map, my fingers trembling.
The game had changed.
And this time, I wasn’t just playing for survival.
I was playing for my soul.