The morning after my rage, the Keep felt different.
Not quieter—though the halls were still hushed, the guards watchful, the servants skittish—but *changed*. Like the air itself had been rewritten, charged with something new. Not just grief. Not just fury. But possibility. A fragile, dangerous kind of hope that curled in my chest like smoke, warm and sharp.
I woke in my room, tangled in black silk that wasn’t mine, the scent of dark amber and iron clinging to my skin. Kaelen hadn’t taken me to his chambers. I’d come back here—stormed in, really, boots loud on the stone, fists clenched, heart pounding—only to collapse onto the bed, still dressed, still trembling, still *his*.
And he’d let me go.
That was the part that haunted me.
After I’d hit him. After I’d screamed. After I’d kissed him like I wanted to devour him whole—he’d held me, yes, but he hadn’t forced me. Hadn’t dragged me back to his bed. Hadn’t claimed me in front of the broken tower like he had a right.
He’d let me leave.
And that?
That was more terrifying than any lie, any betrayal, any blade at my throat.
Because it meant he wasn’t just playing a game.
He *wanted* me to choose him.
And I didn’t know if I could.
I sat up, the silk slipping from my shoulders, and pressed a hand to the sigil on my hip. It pulsed—low, warm, not burning. Not accusing. Just… there. Like it knew. Like it had seen everything.
“You came to break his oath,” I whispered to the empty room, voice raw. “You’ll die before you serve you.”
The sigil didn’t burn.
Not because I was lying.
But because I wasn’t sure I meant it anymore.
I stood, stripped off the tunic still marked with my blood and his, and stepped into the bathing alcove. The water was warm, steam rising from the carved stone basin. I sank into it, letting the heat seep into my skin, trying to burn away the memory of his hands, of his mouth, of the way he’d taken every blow I’d given him and still pulled me closer.
But the bond didn’t care about water. It didn’t care about distance or denial. It pulsed in time with my heartbeat, a quiet, insistent reminder: He’s near. He’s waiting. You belong to him.
I washed quickly, dried off, and pulled on fresh clothes—dark trousers, a high-collared tunic, boots laced tight. Practical. Unremarkable. No gowns. No silks. No vulnerability.
Then I reached for the small leather pouch hidden beneath the mattress. My fingers trembled as I opened it—just slightly—but I forced them steady. Inside lay four things: a sliver of blackthorn bark, a vial of dried moonlight, a tiny silver pin etched with a sigil of disruption, and now—the blackthorn flower.
And now—
The memory of his mouth.
The echo of his hands.
The ghost of his breath on my skin.
I tucked the flower beside the others, my heart pounding. This was more than a weapon. More than a symbol.
It was a key.
My mother had used blackthorn in her rituals—the strongest binding-breaker in witch magic. But it required a personal token. A lock of hair. A drop of blood. A flower worn close to the heart.
And now I had one.
With this, I could weaken the Oath. Not just a rune. Not just a thread.
The whole thing.
And if the Oath broke—
Kaelen would burn with it.
The thought should have brought me satisfaction. Relief. Justice.
But it didn’t.
Instead, my chest tightened. My breath caught. My fingers curled around the pouch, pressing it to my hip like I could stop the ache.
I didn’t want him to die.
I didn’t want him to suffer.
I just wanted my family free.
And if that meant his death—
Then so be it.
I wouldn’t mourn him.
I couldn’t.
I stepped out of the room and into the hall.
The Keep was still quiet, but the silence felt different—charged, expectant. Like the world was holding its breath. I moved toward the servant’s passage, avoiding the main halls, the Council Spire, the east tower. I didn’t want to see him. Didn’t want to feel the bond flare, the sigil burn, my body betray me with a single glance.
But he was everywhere.
In the scent of dark amber lingering in the air. In the way the guards averted their eyes. In the way the torchlight seemed to pulse in time with my heartbeat.
And then—
A knock.
Not on my door.
On the wall beside a broken pipe, three sharp raps, then two.
Our signal.
I froze.
Then turned, heart pounding, and slipped into the narrow passage. Mira stood there, dark curls wild, leather jacket zipped to her throat, eyes sharp with urgency.
“You look like hell,” she said.
“Feel like it,” I muttered.
She didn’t smile. Just stepped closer, lowering her voice. “I found something. About Lyra. About Malrik.”
My breath caught. “What?”
“They’re working together. Not just allies. *Partners*. They’ve been planning this for months—using the Oath as a power play, not just to control the bloodlines, but to *steal* its power. Lyra’s blood bond with Kaelen? It’s a lie. But it’s *real enough*—she’s been feeding him glamour, making him think they had a past, making him doubt you.”
“He didn’t believe her,” I said, voice low.
“No,” Mira said. “But he *felt* it. The bond reacts to belief. To memory. And she’s been feeding him false ones. That’s why he hesitated when she showed the bite mark. That’s why he didn’t deny it outright.”
My stomach dropped.
“And Malrik?” I asked.
“He’s the one who poisoned the chalice. He’s the one who planted the Bloodstone in your room. He’s been feeding Lyra intel, using her to destabilize the bond, to make Kaelen question you, to push you both apart.”
“Why?”
“Because if the Oath breaks,” Mira said, “its power doesn’t vanish. It *transfers*. And Malrik wants it. He wants to be the one to claim it. But he can’t do it alone. He needs someone with Oath-breaking magic. Someone like *you*.”
My breath caught.
“He’s been watching you,” Mira said. “From the beginning. He knows what you are. He knows what your mother was. And he’s been waiting—for you to try to break the Oath, for the bond to weaken, for the moment when you’re vulnerable enough to *take*.”
I pressed a hand to the sigil on my hip. It flared—just a whisper, a warning burn. Not because I was lying. But because I was afraid.
“He wants to use me,” I said.
“Yes.”
“And Kaelen?”
“He’s a means to an end. If Malrik can break the Oath through you, he’ll kill Kaelen. Claim the power. Take the throne.”
I stared at her. The pieces were falling into place—Lyra’s lies, the planted evidence, the poison, the blood bond, the Council’s demands. It wasn’t just about control.
It was about *theft*.
And I was the key.
“Then I have to break it first,” I said, voice low.
“Not break it,” Mira said. “*Rewrite* it.”
I froze. “What?”
“Your mother didn’t try to destroy the Oath. She tried to *change* it. To make it fair. To free the bloodlines without killing the king. But the Council framed her, executed her, buried the truth. And now—” she stepped closer, eyes blazing—“you can finish what she started.”
My breath caught.
“Rewrite it,” I whispered.
“Yes. Not as a weapon. Not as revenge. As *justice*.”
And then—
A presence.
Dark. Quiet. Inevitable.
I didn’t turn. Just felt him—the bond flaring, heat rushing through me, my pulse jumping in my throat.
“River,” Kaelen said, his voice low, dangerous.
I turned.
He stood at the end of the passage, coat unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to his forearms, fangs just visible in the low light. His eyes—crimson, knowing—locked onto mine. He didn’t look at Mira. Didn’t speak to her. Just watched me, like he could see every secret, every lie, every time I’d touched myself in the dark and whispered his name.
“You’re avoiding me again,” he said.
“I’m not avoiding you,” I said, voice steady. “I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
“About how I’m supposed to destroy you when I can’t even look at you without my body betraying me.”
He stepped closer. I could feel the heat of him, the rise and fall of his chest, the low growl in his throat. “You don’t have to destroy me,” he said. “You could choose something else.”
“Like what?”
“Like *us*.”
I didn’t answer. Just stared at him, those dark eyes seeing too much. “There is no *us*. There’s a bond. A lie. A mission.”
“And yet,” he said, stepping closer, “you saved my life. You drank the poison. You let me feed from you. You let me *claim* you.”
“I didn’t *let* you do anything.”
“You didn’t stop me.”
“I was unconscious.”
“Your body responded.”
“It was instinct.”
“It was *need*.” He reached out, slow, and brushed his thumb over my lower lip. “And you feel it. Every second. Just like I do.”
My breath caught.
“You’re not what I expected,” I said, voice shaking.
“Neither are you.”
“I came here to destroy you.”
“And now?”
I didn’t answer. Just stared at him, those dark eyes seeing too much. “Now I don’t know what I want.”
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.
Not hate.
Not fury.
But *doubt*.
And I knew—
If she doubted…
She might just survive this.
And if she survived—
She might just break me.
He stepped closer, until our bodies were nearly touching. His hand moved to my hip, over the sigil, pressing down, firm, unrelenting. The mark flared—hot, sharp—but it didn’t burn. Not really. It just… shifted. Like it knew.
Like it *recognized* him.
“Then let me show you,” he murmured, voice low. “Let me show you what it means to be mine.”
My breath hitched.
And then—
Mira cleared her throat.
We both turned.
She stood there, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “As much as I *love* watching you two dance around each other like starving wolves, we have a problem.”
Kaelen didn’t look at her. Just kept his gaze on me. “We’re listening.”
“Malrik and Lyra are working together,” she said. “They’re not just trying to break the bond. They’re trying to steal the Oath’s power. And they’re using River to do it.”
His eyes darkened.
“They’ve been feeding him false memories,” Mira continued. “Glamour. Lies. Making him doubt her. Making him hesitate.”
“I don’t doubt her,” Kaelen said, voice low, dangerous.
“But you *felt* it,” I said, stepping back. “When she showed the bite mark. When she said you screamed her name. You hesitated.”
He didn’t deny it. Just stared at me, those crimson eyes seeing too much. “I felt *something*. But it wasn’t real. It wasn’t *you*.”
“And now they’re going to use me,” I said. “To break the Oath. To take its power.”
“Then we stop them,” Kaelen said. “Together.”
I stared at him. This vampire king, this predator, this *killer*—who had denied his nature, who had held me through the worst of it, who had refused to take what he could have.
And for the first time since I’d walked into Blackthorn Keep, I didn’t see a monster.
I saw a man.
And that terrified me more than any blade, any oath, any lie ever could.
“We fight them together,” I said, voice steady.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t smirk. Just nodded. “As equals.”
And the bond—
It pulsed, steady, strong.
Like a heartbeat not my own.
Like a promise.
Like a vow.
Mira exhaled, sharp. “Good. Now that we’re all on the same page—” she turned to me, eyes blazing—“you’re not breaking the Oath. You’re *rewriting* it.”
I looked at her. “What?”
“Your mother didn’t want to destroy it. She wanted to *change* it. To make it fair. To free the bloodlines without killing the king. And now—” she stepped closer, voice low—“you can finish what she started.”
My breath caught.
And Kaelen—
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t growl. Just looked at me, those crimson eyes dark with something I couldn’t name.
“Then do it,” he said, voice rough. “Rewrite it. Free your bloodline. But don’t destroy me.”
“Why?” I asked, voice shaking. “Why would you let me?”
“Because I love you,” he said, voice low, raw. “And I’d rather die free than rule a lie.”
The sigil on my hip flared—white-hot, searing. I gasped, doubling over. Sweat broke across my brow. My vision blurred.
But not from pain.
From truth.
And for the first time since I’d walked into Blackthorn Keep, I didn’t feel like a prisoner.
I felt like a woman.
And that terrified me more than any blade, any oath, any lie ever could.
Because if he wasn’t the monster I’d believed him to be—
Then what did that make me?
What did that make us?
I didn’t have an answer.
Not yet.
But as I stood there, his arms still around me, his breath warm against my neck, I had to admit one terrible, shameful truth:
I didn’t want him to let go.
And when I finally lifted my head, when I met his eyes in the dim light, when I saw the hunger still there—barely restrained, barely contained—I didn’t look away.
Because part of me—shameful, traitorous, hungry—wanted to say yes.
Wanted to arch into him.
Wanted to beg.
But I didn’t.
Because if I gave in—if I let him touch me, let the bond pull me under—I wouldn’t just lose my mission.
I’d lose myself.
And then, there’d be nothing left to save.
So I stayed still.
Stayed silent.
And when he finally leaned in, when his lips hovered over mine, when his breath ghosted over my skin—
I didn’t say yes.
But my body arched into his.