The dawn over Duskrend bled like a wound—streaks of rust and violet across a sky too heavy to hold light. I stood at the edge of the keep’s highest parapet, the wind tearing at my cloak, my fingers gripping the black iron railing until my knuckles turned white. Below, the city stirred like a beast waking from a nightmare: smoke curling from chimneys, the clang of weapons being sharpened, the low growl of werewolf sentries changing shifts. It was a place built on blood and silence. A place that knew how to survive.
And so did I.
But not like this.
Not bound to him.
Not *wanting* him.
The memory of last night seared through me—the desperation of Kael’s kiss, the way his hand had moved between my thighs, the way my body had *shattered* under his touch. I’d come in his arms like I’d never come before—wild, gasping, *broken.* And worse, I hadn’t hated it. I hadn’t even pulled away. I’d *clung* to him, my nails digging into his shoulders, my breath ragging against his neck, my heart pounding out a rhythm that wasn’t mine anymore.
It was *ours.*
The bond pulsed beneath my skin, a slow, steady thrum, like a second heartbeat I couldn’t silence. It wasn’t just in my blood. It was in my breath, my thoughts, the way my pulse jumped when I remembered the heat of his mouth on mine. I could feel him—his presence a constant pressure against my spine, his emotions flickering at the edges of my awareness: not dominance, not possession.
*Need.*
And that terrified me more than any blade.
Because I *needed* him too.
Not because of magic. Not because of the cursed fated bond that had snapped into place the moment our hands touched.
Because he’d fought for my mother.
Because he’d failed trying.
Because he was just as broken as I was—and still standing.
And that made him dangerous.
Not because he could kill me.
Because he could *keep* me.
I closed my eyes, pressing my forehead to the cold iron. I’d told myself I wasn’t here to fall. That I’d come to the Obsidian Spire to burn him alive, to avenge my mother, to reclaim her name from the ashes.
And now?
Now, I was standing on the edge of his fortress, my body still humming from his touch, my heart torn between vengeance and something worse—*hope.*
I couldn’t stay.
I *wouldn’t.*
Because if I did, I’d lose myself completely.
And that was a fate worse than death.
—
I didn’t go to the interrogation. I didn’t face the saboteur. I didn’t stand beside Kael as he broke the man’s will with silence and shadow. I couldn’t.
Because every time I looked at him, I saw it—the way his jaw tightened when he lied, the way his breath hitched when I got too close, the way his hand had trembled when he touched my face. I saw the man beneath the king. The man who’d been punished for trying to save my mother. The man who’d carried that failure like a wound for over a century.
And I couldn’t hate him.
So I ran.
Not far. Not recklessly. I’d learned better than that. I moved through the keep like a ghost, silent, unseen, slipping past sentries with a flicker of glamour. My witch-mark burned beneath my glove, a warning. The bond tugged at me, a live wire beneath my skin, hot and insistent. I could feel him—his awareness sharpening, his focus turning inward, searching.
He knew I was gone.
But he didn’t come after me.
Not yet.
I reached the stables by sunrise, the air thick with the scent of hay, horse sweat, and damp earth. A chestnut mare stood in the nearest stall, her coat gleaming in the dim light, her dark eyes watchful. I pressed a hand to her neck, whispering a soothing charm—*Pax, amica, pax.* She nickered softly, lowering her head.
“Just need a ride,” I murmured, brushing my fingers over her muzzle. “Just need to *breathe.*”
I saddled her quickly, my movements precise, practiced. The dagger in my boot was still there—cold, familiar, a comfort. My only weapon. My only promise.
I led her out, the stable doors creaking open. The courtyard was quiet, the early light casting long, skeletal shadows across the bloodstone. I mounted in one smooth motion, the mare shifting beneath me, eager.
And then—
A voice.
Low. Calm. *Unreadable.*
“You’re not leaving.”
I turned.
Kael stood at the keep’s entrance, silhouetted against the torchlight, his coat whispering against the stone. He wasn’t angry. Wasn’t even tense. Just… *there.* Like he’d known I’d try. Like he’d been waiting.
“I’m not your prisoner,” I said, gripping the reins.
“No,” he agreed. “You’re my *partner.*”
“Then let me go.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because the bond won’t allow it.”
“Then break it.”
He stepped forward, slow, deliberate. “I can’t. And even if I could—” He stopped just outside the mare’s reach, his crimson eyes locking onto mine. “I wouldn’t.”
My breath caught. The bond flared, a hot spike of awareness that made my skin tighten. He was close enough that I could smell him—winter pine, dark earth, iron. Close enough that I could see the faint scar on his jaw, the way his pulse jumped in his throat.
“You don’t get to decide that,” I said, voice low.
“I already have,” he said. “And you knew the rules. Twenty-four hours apart, and the bond sickness begins. Forty-eight, and you’ll hallucinate. After that? The bond will consume you. Slowly. Painfully.”
“Then let it,” I said. “Let me die trying.”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Just stared at me, his gaze burning. “And if I let you go, and you die in the wilderness, alone, screaming in the dark—how is that justice for your mother? How is that *honor?*”
My throat tightened.
“You think I care about honor?” I shot back. “You think I came here for *peace?* I came to kill you. To burn your legacy to ash. And now you want me to *obey?* To play your perfect little queen?”
“No,” he said. “I want you to *live.*”
“And what if I don’t want to?”
He stepped closer. The mare shifted, uneasy, but I held her steady. “Then you’re not the woman I thought you were.”
“And what woman is that?”
“The one who fights. Who survives. Who *refuses* to break.”
I stared at him. The wind tore at my hair, my cloak. The bond pulsed, a slow, aching throb, like it knew I was lying to myself.
“You don’t know me,” I whispered.
“I know your scent,” he said. “Storm and iron. Vengeance and truth. I know the way your pulse jumps when I get too close. I know the lies you hide behind your teeth.”
“And what do you feel now?” I challenged.
He didn’t answer. Just stepped back, his hands at his sides. “Go. Ride. Run. But know this—when the fever hits, when the visions come, when you’re screaming in the dark and begging for me—I *will* find you. And next time, I won’t let you wake up.”
My blood ran cold.
But I didn’t hesitate.
I turned the mare and kicked her into a gallop.
The gates opened. The world blurred.
And I was gone.
—
The wilderness of Duskrend swallowed me whole.
Cliffs sheared by wind. Forests choked with thorn. Rivers that ran the color of rust. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth, gunpowder, and something feral—wolf musk, vampire rot, the faint, acrid tang of fae decay. I rode hard, the mare’s hooves pounding against the bloodstone road, my breath ragged, my heart pounding.
I didn’t look back.
I didn’t slow.
I just *ran.*
And for a while, it worked.
The wind in my face. The rhythm of the gallop. The silence of the open road. It felt like freedom. Like I could breathe again. Like I could forget the way his hand had moved between my thighs, the way my body had *shattered* under his touch.
But then—
A tremor.
Subtle at first. A flicker in my vision. A sharp pain behind my eyes. I blinked, shaking my head. The road blurred. The trees twisted. For a second, I thought I saw her—my mother—standing in the clearing ahead, her dress torn, her face bloodied, her eyes hollow.
“You failed me,” she whispered.
I gasped, wrenching the mare to a stop. My heart slammed against my ribs. Sweat beaded on my forehead. The vision faded, but the ache remained—a deep, hollow throb behind my eyes, like a wound that would never close.
Not yet.
Not for another hour.
I pressed a hand to my temple, steadying my breath. The bond wasn’t supposed to hit this fast. Not unless—
Unless he’d *pushed* it.
Unless he’d willed it into me, like a curse, like a punishment.
I looked back the way I’d come. The keep was gone, swallowed by the mist. But I could still feel him—his presence a constant pressure against my spine, his emotions flickering at the edges of my awareness: not anger. Not triumph.
*Regret.*
He hadn’t wanted me to suffer.
He’d just wanted me to *stay.*
I kicked the mare forward.
I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
—
By midday, the fever had taken root.
My skin burned. My vision blurred. My breath came in ragged gasps. The bond pulsed like a live wire beneath my skin, hot and insistent. I could feel him—his awareness sharpening, his focus turning inward, searching. He was coming. I could feel it in the way the wind shifted, in the way the shadows lengthened, in the way my body *ached* for his touch.
I dismounted in a narrow valley, the mare trembling beneath me. I stumbled forward, my legs unsteady, my hands clutching at the earth. The world spun. The trees twisted. I saw them—visions, sharp and sudden: Kael on his knees, hands bound, face bloodied, eyes hollow as Vexis stood over him, laughing. My mother’s voice, raw and defiant: *“You’ll fail her too, Hollow King. But when you do, don’t let her hate you.”* The pyre. The silver ink burning. The silence where her name used to be.
“No,” I whispered, pressing my hands to my ears. “Not now. Not like this.”
But the bond didn’t care.
It only knew *hunger.*
I crawled forward, my breath ragged, my skin slick with sweat. The dagger in my boot was still there—cold, familiar, a comfort. I gripped the hilt, dragging it free. The steel glinted in the dim light, sharp enough to cut through flesh, through bone, through *magic.*
If I severed my hand, would the bond break?
If I bled out, would it release me?
I didn’t know.
But I was about to find out.
I raised the blade.
And then—
A sound.
Soft. Familiar.
Footsteps.
I turned.
He stood at the edge of the clearing, silhouetted against the dying light, his coat whispering against the stone. Not running. Not frantic. Just… *there.* Like he’d known I’d fail. Like he’d been waiting.
“Put it down,” he said, voice low.
“No,” I hissed, raising the blade higher. “Stay back.”
He didn’t. Just stepped forward, slow, deliberate. “You’re sick. You’re burning. You’re *breaking.*”
“And you’re not?” I snapped. “Don’t pretend you don’t feel it. The bond—it’s tearing you apart too.”
“Yes,” he said. “But I’m not the one trying to cut my way out of it.”
“Maybe I should.”
“And if you do,” he said, stepping closer, “you’ll die. Slowly. Painfully. And I’ll be there to watch. Because the bond won’t let me leave. It won’t let me *lose* you.”
My breath caught. The blade trembled in my hand.
“You don’t own me,” I whispered.
“No,” he agreed. “But the bond does. And so does your heart.”
I wanted to scream. To slash at him. To make him bleed.
But my body betrayed me.
The fever spiked. My vision blurred. My legs gave out. I collapsed to my knees, the dagger clattering to the ground. My breath came in gasps. My skin burned. My blood felt like fire.
And then—
He was there.
His arms around me. His coat wrapping around my shaking body. His voice in my ear—low, steady, *real.*
“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
I tried to fight. To shove him away. To bite, to scratch, to *hurt.*
But I was weak. Broken. *Sick.*
And he was strong.
He lifted me like I weighed nothing, cradling me against his chest. My face pressed to his coat, my nose against the cold silk of his shirt. His heartbeat thundered against my ear—fast, unsteady, *alive.*
“You shouldn’t have run,” he said, voice rough.
“You shouldn’t have followed,” I whispered.
“And if I hadn’t?” he asked. “If I’d let you die out here? Would that have proven your strength? Or just your stupidity?”
I didn’t answer. Just closed my eyes, my body trembling.
He started walking—slow, steady, like he had all the time in the world. The bond pulsed between us, a slow, steady rhythm, like a heartbeat. Not a leash. Not a curse.
A *lifeline.*
“You’re not getting rid of me,” he said, his voice low, almost gentle. “Not through running. Not through fighting. Not through *dying.*”
“Then what do you want?” I whispered.
He didn’t answer. Just held me tighter, his breath warm against my hair.
And for the first time since I’d entered the Obsidian Spire, I didn’t want to fight.
I wanted to *stay.*
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.