The night before the Veilbreakers’ moon, the silence returned.
Not the silence of peace. Not the silence of stillness.
The silence of waiting.
It pressed against the Spire like a living thing—thick, suffocating, humming with the weight of what was coming. The torches in the corridors burned low, their flames unnaturally still. The wind had died. Even the distant hum of the undercity had gone quiet, as if the city itself were holding its breath.
I stood at the edge of the balcony, barefoot on cold obsidian, my gown gone, my witch-mark glowing faintly beneath my palm. The new dagger—forged from Nyx’s ring, tempered by truth—was strapped to my thigh, its weight a vow I didn’t need to speak aloud. The city below was dark. No lanterns. No movement. Just shadows, deep and still.
Kael came up behind me, his arms sliding around my waist, his breath warm against my neck. He didn’t speak. Just held me, his presence a wall at my back, his heartbeat steady beneath my palm. The bond pulsed between us—slow, deep, *alive*—a second heartbeat beneath our flesh.
“You’re quiet,” he said, his voice low, rough.
“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 war.”
I leaned into him, my body a furnace against his, the heat of him seeping into my bones. “And if I don’t want war?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “What if I want… this?”
He didn’t answer. Just tightened his arms around me, his fingers splayed across my stomach, his thumb brushing the scar at my hip—the one from the rebellion, the one he kissed every night like it was sacred. “Then take it,” he said. “Before it’s gone.”
My breath caught.
He felt it. But he didn’t press. Just turned me in his arms, slow, deliberate, until I was facing him, my hands pressed to his chest, my storm-colored eyes locking onto his crimson ones. The moonlight caught the sharp line of his jaw, the scar at the corner of his mouth, the way his fangs glinted faintly when he spoke. “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.
—
We didn’t go to our chambers.
Not yet.
Instead, we walked.
Through the silent halls of the Spire, past the sealed war room, past the throne chamber where our shared seat still stood, its serpents’ eyes glowing faintly in the dark. No guards. No enforcers. No whispers from the shadows. Just us. Two people who had burned the old world and now stood on the edge of another fire.
He didn’t speak. Just laced his fingers through mine, his grip firm, *reassuring.* I didn’t either. Just let the silence wrap around us like a shroud, let the bond pulse between us like a living thing.
And then—we stopped.
At the edge of the Blood Garden.
The same place where we’d sworn the new Blood Oaths. Where the enforcers had knelt. Where the light had risen from the basin and wrapped around us like a chain of fire and truth.
Now, the garden was still. The fountains silent. The runes dim. But the air hummed—thick with magic, with memory, with the weight of what we’d built.
Kael stepped forward, slow, deliberate, and knelt.
Not in submission.
In *vow.*
He didn’t look up. Just reached into his tunic and withdrew a small, flat box—black wood, inlaid with silver serpents. The same one from the garden walk. The same one that had held the ring.
My breath caught.
He saw it. But he didn’t open it. Just held it out to me, his crimson eyes burning.
“Open it,” he said.
I did.
Inside—
Not a ring.
A vial.
Black glass. Stoppered with silver. Inside, a single drop of blood floated—dark, thick, *familiar.*
My blood.
From the night I’d healed him. From the night he’d let me stab him. From the night I’d chosen him over vengeance.
“This is mine,” he said, his voice low, raw. “But it’s also yours. I kept it. Not as a trophy. Not as proof. As a *promise.* That I would never ask you to choose again. That I would never make you bleed for me unless it was your choice. That I would spend every day proving I’m worthy of you.”
Tears burned behind my eyes.
But I didn’t cry. Just took the vial, my fingers trembling, the glass cold against my skin. “And if I don’t want promises?” I asked, my voice breaking. “What if I want… *you*?”
He didn’t flinch. Just reached up, slow, deliberate, and brushed a strand of hair from my face. His touch was warm, steady, *certain.* “Then take me,” he said. “Not as your king. Not as your mate. As your *man.* As the one who would burn the world for you.”
My breath hitched.
He felt it. But he didn’t press. Just stayed there, on his knees, his hand still on my cheek, his crimson eyes burning into mine. “You don’t get to touch me,” I whispered.
“I already do,” he said, his thumb circling my pulse point, 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.
—
I didn’t make him rise.
Just knelt beside him, my leather creaking, my witch-mark glowing faintly beneath my palm. The garden was silent. The moon hung low, swollen and crimson, its light pooling around us like blood.
And then—I spoke.
Not to the Council. Not to the world.
To *him.*
“I came here to destroy you,” I said, my voice low, steady. “To burn you alive. To erase your name like they erased my mother’s. I didn’t come to love you. I didn’t come to *need* you. I came to kill the monster they said you were.”
He didn’t move. Just watched me, his jaw tight, his breath steady.
“And you were a monster,” I said. “Cold. Ruthless. Untouchable. You let them erase her. You let them silence her. You stood there and did nothing.”
“I did,” he said, his voice raw. “And I’ll carry that failure until I die.”
“But you didn’t stop,” I said. “You didn’t turn away. You fought for me. You bled for me. You let me stab you. And when I healed you—when I *felt* you—you didn’t take it as victory. You took it as *gift.*”
Tears burned behind my eyes.
But I didn’t let them fall.
“And I hated you for it,” I said. “Because it made me weak. Because it made me *care.* And I couldn’t afford to care. Not when I had a mission. Not when I had a vow.”
He reached for my hand. Not to hold it. To press it to his chest, over his heart. “And now?” he asked.
I didn’t answer. Just let my fingers splay over his coat, feeling the steady beat beneath, the warmth, the life. “Now,” I said, “I don’t want to be free of you. I want to be *bound.* Not by magic. Not by fate. By *choice.* By *truth.* By *us.*”
He didn’t speak. Just pulled me into his lap, slow, deliberate, until I was straddling him, my knees on either side of his hips, my hands pressed to his chest. His crimson eyes burned into mine. “Then say it,” he said. “Not for the world. For me.”
My breath caught.
He felt it. But he didn’t press. Just waited, his hands on my waist, his breath warm against my neck.
And then—I did.
“I love you,” I said, the words raw, unfiltered, *true.* “Not because of the bond. Not because of the magic. Not because you’re the Hollow King. Because you’re *Kael.* Because you’re broken. Because you’re still standing. Because you fight for me even when I push you away. Because you’re the only one who’s ever looked at me and seen *me.* Not a weapon. Not a pawn. Not a half-breed. Just… *Crimson.*”
He didn’t answer.
Just pressed his forehead to mine, his breath mingling with mine, his hands tightening on my waist. “You don’t get to touch me,” I whispered.
“I already do,” he said, his thumb brushing 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.
—
He didn’t kiss me.
Not yet.
Just reached into the vial and withdrew the drop of blood—still suspended in the oil, still glowing faintly. He didn’t speak. Just pressed it to his lips, his fangs glinting, and let it dissolve on his tongue.
And then—
The bond *exploded.*
Not with pain. Not with fire.
With *light.*
A surge so intense I thought I’d die. My vision blurred. My heart pounded. My core clenched, *aching.* The runes beneath us flared—silver, then gold, then blood-red—and the basin filled, not with water, but with liquid light, swirling, merging, until it glowed with a power that wasn’t of this world.
And then—
He kissed me.
Not soft. Not slow.
Hard.
Desperate.
*Needing.*
His mouth crashed down on mine, his fangs grazing my lip, his hands fisting in my hair, not to dominate, not to possess—
To *connect.*
My hands flew to his coat, not to push him away, but to hold on. My body arched into his, my breath hot against his lips. The light flared, the runes ignited, the moon above pulsed like a heartbeat.
And when I finally pulled back, breathless, my forehead resting against his, I whispered the only truth that mattered:
“I’m not letting you die tomorrow,” I said. “Not for me. Not for the world. Not for *anything.* If the Veilbreakers come, we face them together. If they break the seal, we rebuild it. If they try to take you from me—”
“—you’ll burn them first,” he finished.
I nodded. “And if I fall?”
He didn’t hesitate. Just pressed his forehead to mine, his breath mingling with mine. “Then I’ll follow you into the dark. And I’ll drag you back.”
My breath caught.
He saw it. But he didn’t smile. 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 finger—the ring from the garden walk 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.
I already *wanted* him.
Not just because of the bond.
Not just because of the mission.
But because he’d *fought* for her.
Because he’d *failed* trying.
Because he was broken—and still standing.
Just like me.
And maybe—just maybe—that was enough.
And maybe—just maybe—that was everything.