The keep was quiet after the Moon Festival.
Not peaceful. Not calm. But the kind of silence that follows a storm—charged, watchful, brittle. The kind of silence where every footstep echoes too loud, every breath feels like a betrayal. The kind of silence that means something has shifted. Something irreversible.
I stood in the east tower, high above the courtyard, the wind tugging at my coat, the city of Blackthorne spread below like a wound healing over. Torches flickered in the streets. Guards patrolled the walls. The scent of blood and fire still clung to the air—lingering traces of the rogue wolf, of the crowd’s frenzy, of *her*.
Athena.
She’d walked away from the dais with her head high, her hand in Kaelen’s, the mark on her throat pulsing faintly beneath the collar of her red silk. Not a prisoner. Not a pawn. A queen. And the city had bowed.
Not to him.
To *her*.
I’d seen it in their eyes—the way they watched her, not with fear, but with awe. The way they whispered as she passed, not her name, but *“the fire-witch,”* as if they already knew what she was becoming. As if they already knew she wasn’t just his wife.
She was his equal.
And that terrified me more than any war ever could.
Because Kaelen Duskbane didn’t do equals.
He did control. He did power. He did possession.
And now—now he’d marked her in front of the entire city. Not just a bite. Not just a claim.
A *vow*.
“This is my mate. My blood. My truth.”
I’d never heard him say those words to anyone. Not to Lirien, not to the other nobles who’d thrown themselves at his feet over the centuries. Not even to Cassia, though he’d protected her like a sister.
But Athena?
He’d said it like a man who’d finally found something worth losing himself for.
And that was the problem.
Because men like Kaelen—men who’d spent centuries building walls around their hearts—didn’t survive love. They *burned* in it. They shattered. And when they did, they took everyone around them down with them.
I turned from the window, my boots silent on the stone. The tower was cold, the torches low, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and dried ink. I’d come here to think. To write. To record what had happened—not for the Council, not for history, but for myself.
Because I was starting to believe something I’d never allowed myself to believe before.
That Kaelen might actually love her.
And if he did—
Then she was in more danger than she’d ever been.
I reached the desk, a heavy slab of black oak, its surface scarred with centuries of use. My journal lay open, the pages filled with tight, precise script—reports, observations, intelligence. But the last entry was blank.
I dipped my pen in ink, hesitated, then wrote:
She is not what I expected.
Not a spy. Not a weapon. Not a liability.
She was fire. Real fire. The kind that didn’t just burn—it *transformed*. And she’d done it in a single night. Burned through a blood seal. Burned Malrik’s assassins to ash. Burned through Kaelen’s control until he had no choice but to mark her.
And he had.
Not because the crowd demanded it.
Because *he* needed it.
Because he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else touching her.
Because he couldn’t stand the thought of losing her.
I set the pen down, rubbing my temples. My fangs ached—residual tension, the aftermath of battle, the weight of what I’d seen. I wasn’t supposed to care. I was his lieutenant. His Beta. His sword. I wasn’t supposed to question. I wasn’t supposed to *feel*.
But I did.
I’d seen the way he looked at her. Not with hunger. Not with possession.
With *recognition*.
Like he’d been waiting for her his entire existence.
And I’d seen the way she looked at him. Not with fear. Not with hatred.
With *challenge*.
Like she refused to be broken by him.
And that—
That was the most dangerous thing of all.
Because if she broke him first?
There’d be nothing left.
I closed the journal, sliding it into the drawer. I needed air. Needed to move. Needed to stop thinking about the way she’d stood there, blood on her throat, fire in her eyes, and *let* him mark her.
Like she trusted him.
Like she wanted it.
I left the tower, descending the spiral staircase, my steps slow, deliberate. The keep was quiet, the corridors dim, the guards standing at their posts like statues. I passed the armory, the dining hall, the council chamber—empty now, the echoes of power still clinging to the stone.
And then—
I saw her.
Athena.
She was in the library, sitting by the hearth, a book open in her lap, the firelight catching the gold in her hair. She wore a simple black dress tonight—no red, no defiance, no fire. Just stillness. Her fingers traced the page, her brow slightly furrowed, her lips parted in concentration. She looked… human.
And yet—
She wasn’t.
Not anymore.
I stepped inside, the door creaking softly. She looked up, her dark eyes sharp, alert. Not startled. Not afraid. Just… watchful.
“Silas,” she said, closing the book. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I could say the same,” I replied, stepping closer. “The library isn’t usually a place for warlords’ wives.”
“I’m not just a wife,” she said, voice steady. “I’m a woman who reads.”
I almost smiled. Almost. “What are you reading?”
She held up the book—a treatise on ancient blood pacts, one of the oldest in the collection. “Trying to understand how bonds work. How they can be broken. How they can be used.”
My jaw tightened. “You think the Council will try to dissolve it?”
“I think *someone* will.”
“Malrik?”
“Or Riven. Or Lirien. Or you.”
I didn’t flinch. “Me?”
“You’re his most trusted advisor,” she said. “If he’s ever going to doubt the bond, it’ll be because you planted the seed.”
“And would that be so bad?” I asked, stepping closer. “A man like Kaelen doesn’t do love. He does control. And when love threatens control?”
She lifted her chin. “He fights it.”
“And loses himself.”
She stilled. “You think he’ll hurt me.”
“I think he’ll destroy you if you break his heart.”
The fire crackled. The bond flared—hot, deep, a pulse between us, though I wasn’t her mate. I could still feel it. The tension. The need. The *truth*.
She didn’t look away. “And if I don’t break it?”
“Then he’ll destroy himself trying to keep you.”
She exhaled, slow, controlled. “You’re not here to warn me about Malrik, are you?”
“No,” I admitted. “I’m here to warn you about *him*.”
She stood, setting the book aside. “You think I don’t know what he is? You think I don’t see the monster in him?”
“I think you see it,” I said. “And you don’t flinch. And that’s what scares me.”
“Why?”
“Because men like him don’t survive love,” I said, voice low. “They burn in it. They shatter. And when they do, they take everyone with them. And you—”
“I’m not afraid of fire,” she said, stepping closer. “I *am* fire.”
“This isn’t just fire,” I said. “This is *him*. And he’s not just a man. He’s a warlord. A tyrant. A man who’s spent centuries learning how to break people. And now he’s in love with you. Do you really think he’ll let you walk away?”
“I don’t want to walk away,” she said, voice breaking. “That’s the problem.”
I stilled.
She looked at me—really looked at me—and I saw it. Not defiance. Not anger.
Fear.
Not of him.
Of *herself*.
“I came here to kill him,” she whispered. “To destroy him. To make him pay for what he did to my sister. And now—now I don’t know what I want. I don’t know if I hate him. I don’t know if I love him. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to do either.”
My chest tightened.
“Then run,” I said. “Now. Before it’s too late.”
“And go where?” she asked, voice sharp. “Back to a life of lies? Back to pretending I don’t have magic? Back to hiding who I am? I can’t. Not after everything. Not after what I’ve seen. Not after what I’ve *become*.”
“Then stay,” I said. “But know this—Kaelen Duskbane doesn’t do half measures. If you stay, you’re his. Fully. Completely. And if you ever try to leave?”
“He’ll hunt me.”
“No,” I said. “He’ll *die*.”
She didn’t answer.
Just stared at me, her breath coming fast, her chest rising and falling.
And then—
“You care about him,” she said.
“Of course I do,” I said. “He’s my lord. My commander. My king.”
“But you’re warning me.”
“Because I care about *you* too.”
She blinked. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough,” I said. “I know you burned through a blood seal. I know you burned Malrik’s men to ash. I know you stood on that dais and let him mark you—not because the crowd demanded it, but because *you* wanted it.”
Her breath caught.
“And I know,” I said, stepping closer, “that I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you.”
She didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Just stood there, the firelight dancing in her eyes, the bond humming beneath her skin.
And then—
“What do you want from me?” she asked.
“I want you to be careful,” I said. “I want you to see him for what he is. Not just a man. Not just a monster. But a man who’s spent centuries building walls—and you just walked through them like they weren’t even there.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then one of you will break,” I said. “And I don’t know which of you I’d rather see survive.”
The fire crackled. The silence stretched.
And then—
“Thank you,” she said, voice quiet.
“For what?”
“For telling me the truth.”
I nodded, stepping back. “Don’t thank me. Just remember it.”
She picked up the book, holding it close. “I will.”
I turned to leave.
And then—
“Silas,” she said.
I paused.
“If I do break him…”
I didn’t look back. “Then make sure you’re strong enough to carry the weight of it.”
And I walked away.
The keep was quiet.
The silence was heavier now.
Because I knew—
Something had changed.
Not just in her.
Not just in him.
But in all of us.
And there was no going back.
Not from fire.
Not from truth.
Not from love.
And as I climbed the stairs to the west wing, the wind howling through the towers, I made a silent vow.
I would protect him.
Not just from his enemies.
But from the woman he loved.
Because if she broke him—
I would be the one to pick up the pieces.
And I didn’t know if I could.