The morning of Vexis’s execution dawned with blood in the sky.
Not metaphor. Not prophecy.
Real.
Streaks of crimson bled across the horizon as the sun rose over Nocturne, staining the spires of the Obsidian Spire like wounds. The air was thick with silence—no birds, no wind, no distant hum of the undercity. Just stillness. The kind that comes before a storm. Before a reckoning.
I stood at the balcony of our chambers, barefoot on cold obsidian, my gown gone, my witch-mark glowing faintly beneath my palm. The new dagger—forged from Nyx’s ring—was strapped to my thigh, its weight familiar, its presence a vow. Not of vengeance. Not of violence.
Of closure.
Kael came up behind me, his arms sliding around my waist, his breath warm against my neck. “You’re quiet,” he said.
“I’m always quiet,” I replied.
“Not like this,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. “This is the kind of quiet that leads to peace.”
I leaned into him, my body a furnace against his, the bond pulsing between us—slow, deep, *alive*—a second heartbeat beneath our flesh. “And if I don’t want peace?” I asked, my voice low. “What if I want justice?”
He didn’t answer. Just held me tighter, his fingers splayed across my stomach, his thumb brushing the scar at my hip—the one from the rebellion, the one he’d kissed every night since. “You already have it,” he said. “Today isn’t about punishment. It’s about truth.”
“And if the truth isn’t enough?” I asked.
“Then we burn the world until it is,” he said, voice rough, unyielding.
I didn’t smile. But I turned in his arms, my storm-colored eyes locking onto his crimson ones. “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 execution was set for noon.
In the heart of the Spire, where the pyre once stood—the same one where my mother’s name had burned in silver ink. The stone had been rebuilt. The sigils restored. But the memory remained. Not in the air. Not in the shadows.
In me.
We arrived together—hand in hand, not in silence, but in *witness.* The Council had protested, of course. Virel had called it “barbaric.” The witch councillor had whispered that “justice should be cold, not theatrical.” But Elias had stood, his cane tapping against the stone, his voice steady. “She watched her mother die on this spot,” he said. “Let her watch the man who killed her fall in the same place.”
And Kael had added, “Or we burn the Council with him.”
They’d had no choice.
Not after what we’d done.
Not after what *we’d* become.
—
The pyre was not for fire.
Not this time.
It was for display.
A raised dais of black marble, etched with runes that pulsed faintly, their light shifting from silver to gold to blood-red. At its center, a single chair—forged from fae-glass, transparent, sharp, humming with stolen power. And in it—
Vexis.
Bound. Not with chains. Not with steel.
With *truth.*
His wrists were bound by glowing sigils drawn in his own blood, the same ink used in the oath-blade that had framed my mother. His mouth was sealed—not by magic, but by a silver gag inscribed with the words of his lies, now reversed. His eyes—once so sharp, so calculating—were wide, unblinking, *terrified.*
And he saw me.
Not as a queen. Not as a co-ruler.
As the daughter of the woman he’d erased.
As the storm that had come to burn him down.
I didn’t flinch.
Just stepped forward, my boots clicking against the stone, my head high, my heart a locked vault. The dagger on my thigh hummed, not with magic, but with *memory.* Not of Nyx. Not of Vexis.
Of my mother.
“Crimson Veyra,” the High Magistrate intoned, her starlight robes shimmering in the light, her face veiled, her presence humming with the weight of centuries. “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, slow, deliberate, and took my hand. “I do.”
“Then speak,” she said.
I didn’t step onto the dais.
Just stood at its edge, my voice calm, steady, *certain.* “Vexis of the Seelie Court. You stand accused of treason, conspiracy, and the unlawful execution of Seraphine Veyra, rightful heir to the Unseelie Bloodline. You tampered with the fae oath-blade. You poisoned the oath. You framed an innocent woman. And you erased her name from history.”
The runes on the dais flared—silver, then gold, then blood-red. And then—
Memory.
Not mine.
His.
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 your 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 memory faded. The Council stood frozen, their faces pale, their eyes wide. Even Virel looked shaken. Torin had his claws dug into the armrest of his seat, his amber gaze sharp.
And Vexis—
He was sobbing.
Not silently. Not with dignity.
With *terror.* His body trembled, his breath came in ragged gasps, his eyes wide with the horror of what he’d done—and what he was about to lose.
I didn’t pity him.
Just stepped forward, slow, deliberate, and drew the dagger from my thigh.
Not the one from my boot.
The new one.
Forged from Nyx’s ring. Tempered by truth. Bound by memory.
“This is not for vengeance,” I said, holding it high, the cracked ruby in its pommel catching the light. “This is not for blood. This is for *balance.* For the ones who were silenced. For the ones who were erased. For the ones who were *lied* to.”
And then—I turned to the Council.
“You will not forget her,” I said. “You will not pretend she never existed. You will not let another lie take root in this hall. And if you do—”
I pressed the blade to the sigil on the dais.
It flared—bright, blinding, *unbearable.*
“—then you will answer to *me.*”
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.
—
I didn’t kill him.
Not with the blade.
Not with fire.
Not with blood.
Just with truth.
The High Magistrate stepped forward, her voice echoing as if from a thousand throats. “Vexis of the Seelie Court, you are found guilty of treason, conspiracy, and the unlawful execution of Seraphine Veyra. By the power of the Fae High Court, by the blood of the innocent, by the silence of the erased, your life is forfeit.”
And then—she raised her hand.
Not with a blade.
With a *sigil.*
Drawn in air, glowing with ancient magic. A mark of erasure. Not of name. Not of memory.
Of *power.*
It descended upon him—slow, deliberate, *unforgiving.*
And then—
He screamed.
Not in pain.
In *loss.*
His magic unraveled. His title dissolved. His bloodline severed. His name—still intact, still remembered—stripped of its authority, its influence, its *legacy.*
And when it was over, he was not dead.
But he was *nothing.*
Just a man. A broken, trembling thing, his hands pressed to his face, his breath ragged, his power gone.
And I—
I didn’t gloat.
Didn’t triumph.
Just turned and walked away.
Because justice was not in his death.
It was in his silence.
—
Later, in the quiet of our chambers, I stood at the balcony, barefoot on cold obsidian, my gown gone, my witch-mark glowing faintly beneath my palm. The city below was alive—lights flickering in the undercity, voices rising in song, the scent of burning blood and fae dreams replaced by something sweeter. Something *clean.*
Kael came up behind me, his arms sliding around my waist, his breath warm against my neck. “You’re thinking,” he said.
“I’m always thinking,” I replied.
“Not like this,” he said, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. “This is the kind of thinking that leads to peace.”
I leaned into him, my body a furnace against his. “Then let’s make it last.”
He didn’t answer.
Just held me, his arms tight around my waist, his breath warm against my skin.
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.