The door to my chambers clicked shut behind me, and the silence that followed was heavier than stone.
Not peaceful. Not safe. Just… hollow. Like the air had been drained from the room, leaving only echoes and shadows. I didn’t move. Just stood there, back against the cold stone, breath shallow, hands clenched into fists at my sides. My heart pounded, not from fear, but from the truth—my mother wasn’t a traitor.
She wasn’t weak.
She wasn’t a servant.
She was Elara Blackthorn.
My mother.
His mate.
And I had just walked out on the man who’d loved her.
The sigil on my hip flared—white-hot, searing. I gasped, doubling over, sweat breaking across my brow. The pain was sharp, relentless, but I welcomed it. I needed it. Because if I didn’t feel the burn, I’d feel the guilt. The grief. The terrifying, traitorous hope that maybe—just maybe—Kaelen hadn’t been the monster I’d believed him to be.
I pressed a hand to the mark, jaw clenched. “You’re not lying,” I whispered to the sigil. “You’re just… afraid.”
And I was.
Afraid of what it meant.
Afraid of what I’d become.
Afraid of what I’d have to do.
I pushed off the door and moved to the bed, boots silent on the stone. The room was small, circular, lit only by the faint blue glow of the hearth. No windows. No escape. Just the same black silk sheets, the same carved oak chest, the same hidden pouch beneath the mattress where I kept my weapons.
I knelt, fingers trembling as I pulled it free. The leather was worn, soft from years of hiding, of running. Inside lay the pieces of my mission: a sliver of blackthorn bark, a vial of dried moonlight, a silver pin etched with a sigil of disruption, and now—the blackthorn flower.
I pulled it out, holding it between my fingers. The petals were still fresh, edged in silver, the stem wrapped in a thread of moonlight. A symbol of loyalty. A promise. A warning.
And now?
It felt like a betrayal.
Because if my mother hadn’t failed—if she’d been framed—then everything I’d believed, everything I’d fought for, was built on a lie.
I pressed the flower to my chest, willing the ache to stop. But it didn’t. It only grew—deeper, sharper—like a knife twisting in my ribs.
And then—
A knock.
Soft. Deliberate. Not Kaelen. Not a guard.
Mira.
I didn’t answer. Just stayed on the floor, clutching the flower, my breath coming in shallow gasps.
The door opened anyway.
She stepped in, small and fierce, her dark curls wild, her eyes sharp with concern. She wore a leather corset, fingerless gloves, and a smirk that didn’t reach her eyes. In her hand, she held a vial—small, glass, filled with a shimmering, opalescent liquid.
“You look like shit,” she said, closing the door behind her.
“Thanks.”
She didn’t smile. Just crouched beside me, setting the vial on the floor. “I heard what happened. Kaelen told you the truth.”
“He told me a story,” I said, voice raw. “One I don’t know if I believe.”
“It’s not a story.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchment, yellowed with age. “It’s a record. From the Fae Archives. I had to steal it, bribe a guard, and nearly get caught by a glamour-walker, but I got it.”
I took it, hands shaking as I unfolded it. The ink was faded, but the words were clear: Elara Blackthorn, Bloodbreaker. Accused of sabotage. Executed under Order of the Council. Mate of Kaelen Duskbane, by fated bond. Status: Severed.
And beneath it, a sketch—faint, but unmistakable. A woman with dark hair, sharp cheekbones, eyes like midnight. Her hand pressed to her hip, where a sigil burned.
Just like mine.
Just like Kaelen’s.
“He wasn’t lying,” Mira said softly. “She was his mate. They were going to rewrite the Oath together. But the Council found out. Virell. Malrik. The Fae Queen. They framed her. Made it look like she was sabotaging the ritual. And when she was executed—”
“The bond severed,” I whispered.
“And he felt it.” Mira reached for the vial. “This is truth serum. Fae-made. One drop, and you can’t lie. Not even to yourself.”
I stared at it. “Why are you giving this to me?”
“Because you need to know the truth. Not just about her. About you. About what you’re really fighting for.”
I didn’t answer. Just took the vial, my fingers trembling as I uncorked it. The scent was sharp—moonlight, iron, something wild. One drop. That’s all it would take.
I pressed it to my tongue.
The world exploded.
Heat. Light. A surge of energy so intense it stole my breath. My knees buckled. I grabbed the edge of the bed to steady myself, and the contact only made it worse—better?—a wave of sensation crashing through me, from my mouth down my throat, into my chest, pooling between my legs.
“Breathe,” Mira said, voice distant. “It’ll pass.”
It didn’t.
It settled—low, insistent, like a second heartbeat—and with it came the truth.
Not just the words on the parchment.
Not just the locket.
But the memories.
Flashes. Fragments. My mother’s voice, soft and fierce: “They’ll come for us, River. But you must survive. You must be free.”
Her hands, pressing a blackthorn flower into mine: “This is our strength. Our blood. Our magic. Never forget who you are.”
And then—
The night they took her.
Not execution. Not betrayal.
Rescue.
She hadn’t been trying to break the Oath.
She’d been trying to save it.
She’d discovered the Council’s plan—their real goal wasn’t to maintain balance. It was to control it. To use the Oath to enslave not just witches, but werewolves, Fae, anyone who wasn’t vampire. And when she tried to expose it—
They silenced her.
They made it look like sabotage.
And they let Kaelen believe she’d betrayed him.
“Oh God,” I whispered, tears spilling down my temples. “She wasn’t trying to break it.”
“No,” Mira said. “She was trying to fix it.”
“And I’ve been trying to destroy it.”
“Because you thought she failed.”
“And now—” My breath hitched. “Now I don’t know what to do.”
Mira didn’t answer. Just pulled me into her arms, holding me as I broke. As the truth settled in. As the mission I’d carried for a lifetime cracked and shifted, revealing something deeper. Something real.
I wasn’t here to destroy Kaelen.
I was here to finish what my mother started.
And if that meant working with the man who’d loved her—
Then so be it.
But the bond—God, the bond—it pulsed beneath my skin, low and insistent, pulling me toward him, even as my mind screamed to run.
“You need to see him,” Mira said, pulling back. “Not as the king. Not as the enemy. But as the man who loved your mother. The man who’s been waiting for you.”
“I can’t.”
“You have to.”
“He’ll want me to stay. To trust him. To believe.”
“And?”
“And I don’t know if I can.”
She cupped my face, her eyes fierce. “Then find out. Because if you don’t—if you run, if you hide, if you keep fighting him instead of with him—you’ll lose more than the mission.”
“What?”
“Yourself.”
The words hit me like a slap.
Because she was right.
I wasn’t just fighting for my family’s freedom.
I was fighting for my soul.
And if I lost that—
There’d be nothing left to save.
“Stay here,” I said, standing. “I need to think.”
“You need to act,” she said. “Before they do.”
“Who?”
“Malrik. Virell. Lyra. They know the truth now. They know who you are. And they’ll use it.”
I didn’t answer. Just turned and walked to the door.
“River.”
I stopped, hand on the handle, but didn’t turn.
“Be careful,” she said. “They’ll try to break you. To turn you against him.”
“I know.”
“And if they do—”
“I won’t.”
I opened the door and stepped into the hall.
The Keep was quiet. Too quiet. No guards. No attendants. Just silence and shadow. The storm had passed. The repairs were still underway—cracks in the walls, pools of shadow-water on the floor, the occasional groan of settling stone. But it was holding. Like me.
I moved toward the eastern wing, toward the Crimson Altar. Not to sabotage. Not yet.
To understand.
To learn.
To see the magic I meant to break.
I turned the final corner—and froze.
The door to Kaelen’s private chambers stood open.
And inside—
A woman.
She stepped into the hall, barefoot, draped in nothing but one of Kaelen’s black silk shirts—long enough to cover her thighs, but not her legs, not the curve of her hips, not the silver chain around her ankle that glinted in the low light. Her hair was platinum blonde, cascading in waves down her back. Her skin was pale, flawless, glowing with a faint, unnatural luminescence. And her eyes—
Fae gold.
She didn’t look at me. Just stepped into the hall, stretched like a cat, and let out a soft, satisfied sigh.
Then she turned.
And her gaze locked onto mine.
“Oh,” she said, voice like honey and smoke. “You must be her.”
My blood ran cold.
“And you must be the ghost everyone’s too afraid to name,” I said, forcing my voice steady.
She smiled—slow, dangerous. “Lyra Vex. Former consort to the king. And—” she leaned in, just slightly, “—the last woman he fed from for three nights straight.”
The bond flared—hot, sharp, painful.
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Just stared at her, at the way her fingers toyed with the top button of the shirt, at the way her scent—Fae glamour, dark rose, something metallic—filled the air.
“Three nights?” I said. “How… intimate.”
“It was,” she purred. “He screamed my name.”
My stomach dropped.
She saw it. Felt it. Her smile widened.
“You didn’t know, did you?” she said, stepping closer. “The blood bond? Three exchanges—irreversible. Addiction. Ownership.”
“Kaelen doesn’t own anyone,” I said.
“He owned me,” she said, lifting her wrist. There, just above her pulse, was a bite mark—two small punctures, healed but still visible, glowing faintly silver. “And he’ll own you too. If you survive.”
The sigil on my hip flared—white-hot, searing. I gasped, doubling over. Sweat broke across my brow. My vision blurred.
She didn’t move. Just watched. “Liar,” she murmured. “You’re already his. I can smell it on you. Your scent—wolf, witch, need—it’s all over you.”
I lifted my head, glaring. “I don’t belong to him.”
“You will.” She stepped even closer, until we were barely a breath apart. Her Fae glamour pressed against me—soft, warm, seductive. “And when he finally bites you, when he finally claims you—” her voice dropped to a whisper—“he’ll forget I ever existed.”
“He already has.”
She laughed—low, dark. “You think so? You think he doesn’t dream of me? That he doesn’t wake up with my name on his lips?”
“He dreams of me,” I said, voice shaking. “And he wakes up with my scent on his skin.”
Her smile faltered—just for a second. Then it returned, sharper. “You’re strong. I’ll give you that. But you’re not her.”
“Who?”
“The one who broke him.”
My breath caught.
“He’s never fed from a lover’s throat,” she said. “Never wanted to. Until me.”
“Then why did he stop?”
“Because I left.” She tilted her head. “Because I knew he’d destroy me if I stayed.”
“And now you’re back.”
“And now I’m here.” She stepped back, smoothing the shirt over her hips. “To remind him what he’s about to lose.”
“He doesn’t lose anything,” I said. “He gains a mate.”
“A mate?” She laughed. “You think that’s what you are? A mate?” She leaned in, close enough that her breath ghosted over my lips. “You’re a threat. A saboteur. A weapon. And when he’s done using you to stabilize the bond, he’ll discard you like he did me.”
“He didn’t discard you,” I said. “You ran.”
“And you’ll run too,” she whispered. “When you realize he’ll never love you. Not the way he loved me.”
The bond flared—hotter, sharper. Pain lanced through me. I clenched my jaw, refusing to cry out.
She saw it. Smiled. “You feel it, don’t you? The jealousy. The fear. The need.”
“I don’t need him.”
“You do,” she said. “And you’ll beg for him before this is over.”
She turned, started to walk away. Then paused, glancing over her shoulder. “Oh, and River?”
I didn’t answer.
“Welcome to the court,” she said, smile sharp as a blade. “It’s so much darker than you think.”
And then she was gone.
I stood there, heart pounding, breath unsteady. The bond hummed, restless. The sigil on my hip still throbbed. But I didn’t care.
She was wrong.
She had to be.
Kaelen hadn’t loved her. Couldn’t have. Not the way he’d looked at me—like I was something precious, not prey. Not the way he’d denied his nature, held me through the Heat, refused to take what he could have.
That wasn’t ownership.
That was protection.
That was care.
Wasn’t it?
I turned and walked back to my room, boots silent on the stone. The halls were still quiet. No guards. No attendants. Just silence and shadow.
But I wasn’t alone.
The bond pulsed—hot, insistent. And beneath it, something else.
Doubt.
It crept in like a thief, quiet, relentless. What if Lyra was right? What if Kaelen had loved her? What if the blood bond was real? What if he’d screamed her name, fed from her throat, claimed her in a way he’d never claim me?
And what if—when the Oath was broken, when the bond was tested—when he had to choose—
He chose her?
I reached my room, closed the door, and leaned against it, sliding down until I was sitting on the floor. My breath came in shallow gasps. My hands trembled. I pressed them to my hips, to the sigil, to the leather pouch hidden beneath the mattress.
I had weapons.
I had a mission.
I had a plan.
But I didn’t have answers.
And for the first time since I’d walked into Blackthorn Keep, I didn’t know what to do.
I didn’t know who to trust.
I didn’t know if I was fighting for justice—or just my own survival.
The sigil flared—just a whisper, a warning burn. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t gasp. Just pressed a hand to the mark, my jaw clenched.
I wasn’t lying.
Not exactly.
But I wasn’t telling the truth either.
Because the truth was—I didn’t want him to let go.
I didn’t want him to leave.
I wanted to feel his arms around me again. Wanted to press my face to his chest and breathe him in. Wanted to arch into him and beg—not from Heat, not from instinct—but from something deeper. Something real.
And that was the real betrayal.
Not the Oath.
Not the blood.
But the fact that, despite everything—despite the lies, the death, the centuries of hate—I was starting to trust him.
I tucked the flower into the seam of my sleeve, where it wouldn’t be seen. Then I stood, wiped my face, and walked to the mirror.
My reflection stared back—wild-eyed, dark hair tangled, lips swollen. Not from a kiss. From biting them to keep quiet.
“You came to break his oath,” I whispered to the glass. “You’ll die before you serve you.”
The sigil burned.
Not because I was lying.
Because, deep down, I wasn’t sure I meant it.
And Kaelen knew it.
Outside, the moon rose high over Blackthorn Keep. The Oath was renewed.
And the bond between us?
It was just beginning.
He’d called me his mate.
I called him a monster.
But when I closed my eyes, all I felt was the ghost of his breath on my skin.
And the terrifying truth:
I wanted him to do it again.
Not to test me.
Not to claim me.
But because I needed it.
Because I needed him.
And that?
That was the real betrayal.
Not the Oath.
Not the mission.
But the fact that, despite everything—despite the lies, the blood, the centuries of hate—I was already falling.
And I didn’t want to land.
Because when I did?
There’d be nothing left to save.
But as I lay in my room that night, the echo of his touch still burning on my skin, I had to admit one terrible, shameful truth:
I wasn’t sure I wanted to be saved.
I just wanted him.