The Eastern Wastes were a graveyard of forgotten things—crumbling stone towers, rusted iron gates, and the bones of old battles half-buried in ash. The wind howled through the ruins like a mourning song, carrying with it the scent of decay and dried blood. This was where the Ashborn gathered—Malrik’s remnants, the dispossessed, the desperate—men and women who had nothing left but rage and a lie to cling to.
I stood at the edge of their camp, Cassia’s cloak flaring behind me in the wind, the fanged sun sigil glowing faintly in the predawn light. I wore no armor. No weapon. Just the truth, and the fire that had burned through me, through Kaelen, through the Veil itself.
They saw me.
Of course they did.
A whisper ran through the camp—*“It’s her. The witch. The queen.”* Some spat. Some gripped their blades. One, a vampire with hollow eyes and a scar across his throat, stepped forward, his voice raw with accusation.
“You killed Malrik,” he said. “You burned him to ash. And now you come here, to *us*, with that look in your eyes—like you’re better. Like you’re *righteous*.”
I didn’t flinch. Just stepped forward, my boots crunching on the cracked earth.
“I came here,” I said, voice calm, carrying, “because you’re spreading lies about my sister.”
“She was a traitor!” another shouted. A woman this time, her face twisted with grief. “She betrayed the Council! She consorted with Malrik! She—”
“She was his daughter,” I said, cutting her off. “And he used her. Framed her. Executed her to silence her.”
Silence.
Not stunned. Not shocked.
But the kind of silence that comes before a storm.
“You expect us to believe that?” the first man spat. “You expect us to believe *you*? A witch? A human? The mate of the warlord who let her die?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t expect you to believe me.”
I reached into the satchel at my side and pulled out a single item—the locket.
Not broken. Not burned.
Intact.
Kaelen had retrieved it from the ashes of the hearth. He hadn’t told me. Just placed it on the pillow beside me that morning, wrapped in black silk, the chain coiled like a promise.
Now, I opened it.
And there she was.
Cassia.
Smiling. Alive. Gone.
“This was hers,” I said, holding it up so they could all see. “And it was worn every night by Kaelen Duskbane—not because he loved her, not because he mourned her, but because she made him promise to protect me. And he did. Even when I hated him. Even when I tried to kill him. Even when I called him a monster.”
I closed the locket, pressing it to my chest.
“You want to know why Malrik executed her? Because she found out the truth. Because she knew he was using the Blood Markets to breed hybrids—twisted, broken things—to overthrow the Council. And when she threatened to expose him, he silenced her. With a lie. With a trial. With her death.”
The wind stilled.
Even the fire in the central pit seemed to pause, the flames licking upward in slow, silent waves.
“And now,” I said, stepping forward, “you’re using her name to justify your rebellion. You’re calling yourselves the Ashborn, as if you’re rising from the fire. But you’re not. You’re just repeating the lie. You’re dishonoring her memory. And you’re testing me.”
I looked at them—each face, each shadowed eye, each clenched fist.
“So here’s the truth. I came here to destroy Kaelen. To burn him. To make him pay for what he did. But I was wrong. Not about the pain. Not about the grief. But about *him*. He didn’t kill her. He protected her. And he protected me. Even when I wouldn’t let him.”
I let the silence stretch.
“So if you want to fight,” I said, voice rising, “then fight. But know this—you’re not fighting for justice. You’re fighting for a lie. And if you stand against us, if you raise a hand against the Veil, against the truth, then yes—I will burn you. Not in rage. Not in vengeance. But in memory of my sister. In defense of the world she died to save.”
And then—
I dropped the locket into the fire.
Not in anger.
Not in defiance.
But in release.
The flames swallowed it whole.
And I—
I didn’t look away.
For a long moment, no one moved. No one spoke. Then, slowly, the woman who had shouted stepped forward. She didn’t bow. Didn’t kneel. Just looked at me—really looked—and then turned to the others.
“She’s telling the truth,” she said. “I can feel it. In the fire. In her voice. In her eyes.”
Another stepped forward. Then another. Then another.
Not all.
But enough.
And when the last ember of the locket turned to ash, I turned and walked away.
I didn’t look back.
Because I didn’t need to.
The truth had been spoken.
And it had been heard.
—
Kaelen was waiting for me at the gates of Blackthorne Keep.
He stood tall, coat open, fangs retracted, red eyes burning with something I hadn’t seen before—pride. Not just in me. In *us*.
He didn’t speak as I approached. Just stepped forward, his hand lifting to cup my jaw, his thumb brushing the fresh mark at my throat. The sigil still pulsed, hot and deep, a brand of fire and shadow.
“You didn’t bring the locket back,” he said.
“No,” I said. “I gave it to the fire.”
He didn’t flinch. Just pulled me into his arms, his body pressing to mine until there was no space between us. The bond screamed—a live wire, a pulse of heat and need. I could feel his thoughts, not in words, but in sensation: closer, more, now.
But this time—this time it wasn’t the fever. Not the bond. Not the magic.
It was me.
He broke the embrace, just enough to look at me, to see the raw, unguarded emotion in his eyes.
“No fangs,” I whispered.
He smiled—just slightly, just enough. “No blood. No magic. Just… this.”
And then he kissed me.
Not slow. Not careful.
Fire.
Teeth and tongue and desperation. He groaned, his arms locking around me, pulling me closer, until there was no space between us. The bond screamed—a live wire, a pulse of heat and need. I could feel his thoughts, not in words, but in sensation: closer, more, now.
His hands slid down my back, under the curve of my ass, lifting me slightly, pressing me against the hard length of him. I gasped, my hips grinding down, seeking friction. He growled, his mouth trailing down my jaw, to the pulse point at my throat. I arched, offering myself.
“Kaelen—”
“Tell me to stop,” he said, his fangs grazing my skin. “Or I won’t.”
I didn’t answer.
I arched my neck, offering myself.
And gods help me, I wanted him to take me.
I wanted him to bite. To mark. To claim me in front of every root, every vine, every secret this cursed world held.
But then—
He saw it.
In the flicker of my pulse, in the hitch of my breath, in the way my fingers trembled where they gripped his coat.
Trust.
Not of the bond.
Not of fate.
Of him.
And that—
That was the line.
He pulled back.
Not far. Just enough to break the contact. His hand still in my hair. His body still pressed to mine. His breath ragged.
“No,” he said, voice raw. “Not like this.”
I blinked, dazed. “What?”
“I won’t take you like this,” he said. “Not with the bond screaming in your blood. Not with your mind torn between vengeance and desire. Not when you don’t know if you want me—or if you just want to destroy me.”
My eyes darkened. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“I do,” he said. “Because if I take you now, it won’t be you choosing me. It’ll be the magic. And I want you. Not a spell. Not a bond. You.”
I stared at him. Then—anger. Hot, fierce, beautiful.
“You’re a coward,” I spat. “You don’t get to touch me and then walk away like some noble martyr. You don’t get to—”
“I don’t want to walk away,” he said, cutting me off. “I want to stay. I want to fight for you. I want to earn you. But not like this. Not when the bond is forcing us.”
I shoved him—hard. He let me. Stepped back, giving me space. My chest heaved. My eyes burned.
“You hate me,” I said.
“You don’t,” he said. “You hate that you want me.”
I didn’t answer. Just turned, snatching up the satchel, my movements sharp, furious.
And then—
I froze.
My breath stopped.
My eyes locked onto something at his neck.
The locket.
I’d forgotten it. In the heat, the hunger, the need—I’d forgotten it was there. The silver chain, thin and old, the locket itself small, antique. Cassia’s face inside. Her dark hair, high cheekbones, haunting smile.
He’d worn it every night since she died. Hidden beneath his shirt. A secret. A penance. A promise.
And now it was exposed.
I reached out—slow, trembling—and snapped it open.
And there she was.
Cassia.
Smiling. Alive. Gone.
My breath came in short, desperate gasps. My fingers tightened around the locket. My eyes filled with tears—but not of grief.
Of rage.
“You kept this,” I whispered. “All this time. You kept her close.”
“Because she asked me to.”
“And you never showed it to me?”
“I didn’t think you’d want to see it.”
“You didn’t think you’d want to see my sister’s face?”
“I didn’t think you’d want to see it around my neck.”
I stared at him. The bond flared—pain, heat, truth.
And then—
I slapped him.
Not hard. Not cruel. But sharp. A crack in the silence. His head snapped to the side. He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
“Did you love her?” I asked, voice breaking. “Did you love her?”
“No,” he said, turning back to me. “I protected her. I promised her I’d keep you safe. And I will. Even if you hate me. Even if you never believe me. Even if you never stop fighting me.”
I didn’t answer.
Just stared at the locket. At her face. At the promise he’d made.
And then—
I stood.
Not running. Not screaming. Just standing. Slow. Deliberate. My eyes dark, unreadable.
“I need air,” I said.
And I walked out of the war room.
He didn’t stop me.
He couldn’t.
Because for the first time in four hundred years—
He was afraid.
Afraid I might believe him.
Afraid I might not.
Afraid that if I did, he’d lose me anyway.
The keep was quiet.
The fire between us?
It wasn’t just beginning.
It was consuming us.
And I didn’t know if we’d survive it.
But this time—
I wouldn’t let go.
Not of him.
Not of us.
Not of the truth.
And as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in blood and gold, I made a silent vow.
I would fight for him.
Not just with fangs and blood and fire.
But with every broken piece of my soul.
Because Kaelen wasn’t just my fated mate.
He was my redemption.
And I would not lose him.
Even if it killed me.
Even if he never loved me back.
Even if he never stopped hating me.
I would fight for him.
Because he was worth it.
And as I stood there, the courtyard silent, the ashes of Riven scattered by the wind, I realized—
For the first time in four hundred years—
I wasn’t afraid of love.
I was afraid of losing it.
And that—
That was the difference.
—
The coronation was held at dusk.
The Obsidian Spire rose above the keep, its jagged peak piercing the sky, the fanged sun sigil etched into its side glowing with ancient magic. The Council had returned—witches, werewolves, fae, vampires—all watching as Kaelen and I stood side by side, our hands clasped, our bond humming like a second heartbeat.
There was no crown.
No scepter.
Just fire.
And truth.
As the final words of the oath were spoken—*“By blood, by fire, by vow, we stand as one”*—the sky split open. Not with storm. Not with shadow. But with light. A golden-white flame spiraled down from the heavens, wrapping around us both, sealing the vow not just in magic, but in soul.
And then—
He kissed me.
Not fire. Not teeth. Not desperation.
Forever.
His lips sealed over mine, not claiming, not conquering, but answering. And I answered back. My hands fisted in his coat, pulling him closer, until there was no space between us. The bond screamed—a live wire, a pulse of heat and need. I could feel his thoughts, not in words, but in sensation: closer, more, now.
But this time—this time it wasn’t the fever. Not the bond. Not the magic.
It was me.
When we broke apart, the world was silent.
No cheers. No gasps. No whispers.
Just stillness.
And then—
A single clap.
From Maeve.
Then another.
From Silas.
Then another.
And another.
Until the entire spire rang with it.
Kaelen turned to me, his red eyes burning. “It’s done.”
“It’s not done,” I said. “It’s just beginning.”
He didn’t argue. Just pulled me into his arms, his lips finding mine—slow, deep, devouring. Not fire. Not teeth. But truth.
And I answered back.
Because I was no longer afraid.
Because I was no longer alone.
Because I was *home*.
Later, in the quiet of our chambers, I stood at the window, the moon high above, the keep alive with light and sound. He came up behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder.
“You’re quiet,” he said.
“I’m thinking,” I said.
“About her.”
“About *us*,” I said. “About the future. About the child growing inside me.”
He stilled. “You’re…?”
I turned in his arms, smiling. “Yes.”
He didn’t speak. Just pulled me close, his face burying in my neck, his breath hot against my skin.
“You were my vengeance,” I whispered.
He lifted his head, his red eyes searching mine.
“Now,” I said, “you’re my vow.”
And as the first light of dawn broke over Blackthorne Keep, painting the sky in fire and gold, I realized—
For the first time in five years—
I wasn’t running.
I wasn’t hiding.
I wasn’t fighting alone.
I had him.
And that—
That was everything.