The first time I saw Nyx’s ring, it was around her throat.
Not on her finger. Not gleaming on her collarbone. Around her neck, strung on a silver chain, pressed into the hollow between her breasts as she leaned across Kael’s desk, her lips brushing his ear, whispering secrets only lovers should know. I’d been standing in the war room doorway, my dagger hidden in my boot, my breath steady, my heart a locked vault. And for one wild, vicious second, I’d wanted to rip it from her flesh with my bare hands.
Now, it sat in my palm.
Heavy.
Real.
Not a memory. Not a ghost. Not a lie.
A relic.
Kael hadn’t touched it since the fight. Hadn’t looked at it. Hadn’t spoken her name. But he’d kept it—wrapped in black velvet, sealed with a drop of his blood, stored in the lowest drawer of his war chest, beneath maps of battle lines and lists of traitors. I’d found it two nights ago, while searching for the old treaty scroll Elara had mentioned. I hadn’t meant to pry. Hadn’t meant to reopen wounds.
But I had.
And now, standing at the edge of the Blood Garden where we’d sworn the new Blood Oaths, the ring in my hand felt like a key—one that could unlock every lie, every betrayal, every moment of doubt that still lived in the quiet spaces between us.
“You don’t have to do this,” Kael said, his voice low.
I didn’t look at him. Just stared at the ring—silver, ancient, its band etched with the Duskbane sigil, the same one he wore on his own hand. But this one was different. Smaller. Delicate. A woman’s ring. A *claim* ring.
“And yet,” I said, “I do.”
He didn’t argue. Just stepped beside me, his coat whispering against the obsidian, his presence a wall at my back. The bond pulsed between us—slow, deep, *alive*—a second heartbeat beneath our flesh. The garden was quiet now, the enforcers gone, the runes dimmed. Only the fountains sang, their water clear, their songs soft, rippling through the night like whispered secrets.
“She wore it,” I said. “In your chambers. In your bed. She told me you gave it to her. That you bit her in passion. That you whispered her name like a prayer.”
“And you believed her?” he asked, voice rough.
“For a moment,” I admitted. “Because I wanted to hate you. Because it was easier to believe you were just another monster who used women like currency. Because if you could love her, then maybe you could never love me.”
He didn’t flinch. Just reached out, slow, deliberate, and brushed a strand of hair from my face. His touch was warm, steady, *certain.* “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 ring hadn’t been a gift.
That was the first thing I learned when I took it to Elara.
Not through magic. Not through dreams. But in person.
She came to me at dusk, stepping out of the shadows beneath the Veil’s thinnest point, her silver hair glowing in the moonlight, her eyes sharp with centuries of knowing. I’d brought the ring in a glass vial, sealed with wax, my gloves on, my witch-mark hidden. I didn’t trust myself. Didn’t trust the past. Didn’t trust the way my heart still twisted at the thought of her—Nyx—laughing in Kael’s chambers, wearing his ring, whispering his name.
Elara didn’t speak at first. Just took the vial, held it up to the light, and closed her eyes.
And then—
She *saw.*
Not the future. Not the present.
The past.
“This was never given,” she said, her voice low, reverent. “It was *taken.*”
“By her?” I asked.
Elara shook her head. “By *him.*”
My breath caught.
“Not as a lover,” she said. “As a weapon. The ring was forged during the Blood Wars, when the Duskbane line was threatened by a rogue coven of vampire witches. It was meant to bind a blood-mate—unbreakable, eternal. But Kael’s father never used it. He buried it. And when Kael rose to power, he found it. Kept it. Not for love. For *control.*”
“And Nyx?”
“She was a pawn,” Elara said. “A beautiful, vicious thing, yes. But not his lover. A political tool. He wore the ring in public with her—once. At a treaty signing. To make the other houses believe he had a blood-mate. To show strength. To show unity. But it was a performance. A lie. And when it was over, he took it back.”
“And she stole it?”
“No,” Elara said. “He let her have it. Not out of affection. Out of *strategy.* He knew she’d use it against him. Knew she’d wear it, flash it, claim it as proof of their bond. And when she did, he’d have proof of her deception. A reason to exile her. To silence her. To remove her from the board.”
My stomach twisted.
“And you think he did?”
“I *know* he did,” Elara said. “Because I was there the night she was banished. He stood in the war room, his face cold, his eyes empty. And when she screamed that he loved her, he said—”
“—‘You were never mine,’” I whispered.
Elara nodded. “And then he took the ring. Crushed it in his hand. And threw it into the pyre.”
“But it’s not crushed,” I said. “It’s intact.”
“Because he lied,” Elara said. “He didn’t destroy it. He kept it. Not for her. For *you.*”
“For me?”
“As a warning,” she said. “A reminder of what happens when love is used as a weapon. Of what happens when trust is broken. And now—now that you’ve found it, now that you’re holding it—you have a choice.”
“What choice?”
“To burn it,” she said. “Or to wear it.”
And then she was gone—stepping back into the shadows, her form dissolving like smoke in the wind.
And I was left alone.
With the truth.
With the ring.
With the past.
—
I didn’t tell Kael what I’d learned.
Not at first.
Just carried the ring in my pocket, its weight a constant reminder, its presence a question I wasn’t ready to answer. Did I trust him? Did I believe him? Did I believe *us*?
And then, last night, I dreamed of her.
Not as a ghost. Not as a memory.
As a warning.
She stood in the war room, her hair wild, her eyes blazing, the ring around her throat, her voice a knife in the dark. *“You think you’ve won?”* she’d hissed. *“You think you’ve taken everything from me? He still looks at me. He still dreams of me. And one day, when you’re weak, when you’re afraid, when you doubt him—he’ll turn to me. And you’ll be the one erased.”*
I woke gasping, my hand flying to my chest, my witch-mark glowing faintly beneath my palm. Kael was already awake, his body a wall at my back, his hand on my shoulder, warm, steady, *certain.*
“Again?” he asked.
I didn’t answer. Just turned in his arms, my storm-colored eyes locking onto his crimson ones. “Did you love her?” I asked.
He didn’t flinch. Just held my gaze, his jaw tight, his breath steady. “No,” he said. “I used her. Like she used me. Like we all use each other in this game. But you—”
“—are different,” I finished.
He nodded. “Because I didn’t choose you. The bond did. And then I *fought* it. Because I was afraid. Afraid of needing someone. Afraid of failing them. Afraid of becoming my father. But you—”
“—you didn’t fight me,” I said. “You fought *for* me.”
“And I’ll keep fighting,” he said. “Every day. Every breath. Every heartbeat. Not because of the bond. Not because of magic. Because you’re *you.* And I’d burn the world before I let anyone take you from me.”
And gods help me, I believed him.
—
Now, standing in the Blood Garden, the ring in my palm, the moon high above, I knew what I had to do.
Not for him.
Not for me.
For *us.*
“This ends tonight,” I said, stepping toward the basin where we’d sworn the Blood Oaths. The stone was still warm, the runes still faintly glowing, the air thick with the residue of magic. I didn’t need a blade. Didn’t need fire.
Just truth.
I held the ring over the basin, my fingers trembling—not with fear, but with *certainty.*
“This was a lie,” I said, my voice clear, steady. “A weapon. A game. A chain meant to bind, to control, to destroy. But it doesn’t belong to the past. It doesn’t belong to her. It doesn’t even belong to you.”
Kael didn’t move. Just watched me, his crimson eyes burning.
“It belongs to *me,*” I said. “And I’m not keeping it.”
And then—I dropped it.
Not into the basin.
Onto the obsidian tiles at my feet.
And then—I stepped on it.
Not with rage. Not with fire.
With *purpose.*
My boot came down hard, the leather creaking, the stone cracking beneath the impact. Once. Twice. Three times. Until the silver band split, until the Duskbane sigil shattered, until the rubies cracked and fell like blood to the ground.
And then—
I knelt.
And gathered the pieces.
Not to keep. Not to bury.
To *transform.*
“You don’t get to touch me,” I whispered, my fingers brushing the broken metal.
“I already do,” Kael said, stepping beside me, his hand on my shoulder. “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 next morning, I took the pieces to the forge.
Not the royal forge. Not the vampire blacksmiths. To Riven.
He didn’t ask questions. Just took the shards, weighed them in his palm, and nodded. “I can melt it,” he said. “But it’ll take time. The silver’s enchanted. The rubies are bound to blood magic.”
“Then make it stronger,” I said. “Not a ring. Not a chain. A *blade.*”
He studied me—my storm-colored eyes, my chiseled jaw, the scar at the corner of my mouth. “For her?”
“For *me,*” I said. “A reminder. Not of what she was. Of what I survived. Of what we built from the ashes.”
He didn’t smile. Just nodded. “It’ll be ready by dawn.”
—
And it was.
A dagger—small, sleek, its blade forged from the melted silver, its hilt wrapped in black leather, its pommel set with one of the cracked rubies. Not a weapon of war. A weapon of *memory.*
I took it to the garden at sunrise.
Planted it at the base of the silver-barked tree, where my mother’s plaque stood. Not as a threat. Not as a warning.
As a *promise.*
That the past could be remade.
That love could be chosen.
That even the sharpest lies could be forged into something true.
And when I stepped back, the wind carried the scent of jasmine through the garden.
And for the first time since I’d entered the Obsidian Spire, 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.