The silence after the coronation was not peace.
It was the quiet of a storm that had passed too quickly, leaving behind wreckage no one knew how to name. The throne room stood empty—twelve seats abandoned, torches flickering, shadows pooling in the corners like spilled ink. The air smelled of old blood, rain, and something sharper—power, raw and untamed, still pulsing beneath the stone. My body ached—wrists raw from the fight, ribs bruised from Malrik’s grip, arm still burning where Lyra’s blood vial had seared me. But I was alive. And so was he.
Kaelen.
He stood beside me, coat unbuttoned, fangs just visible in the low light, one hand resting on the back of my throne—our throne. Not a gesture of possession. Not a claim. But a tether. A reminder that we were still here. Still standing. Still bound.
The bond pulsed between us—low, steady, not screaming, not burning. Just… present. Like a second heartbeat beneath my skin. And for the first time since I’d walked into Blackthorn Keep with a blade in my boot and murder in my heart, I didn’t hate it.
“They’re gone,” I said, voice quiet.
“For now,” he replied, not looking at me. “The Council doesn’t bow. They bide.”
I turned to face him. “And you? Do you bow?”
He finally looked at me, those crimson eyes dark with something I couldn’t name. Not hunger. Not command. Grief. “I don’t have to. You already broke me.”
My breath caught.
And the bond—
It flared. Not with pain. Not with need. With truth.
He was right.
I had broken him.
Not with a blade. Not with magic. Not even with the rewritten Oath.
With my refusal to be owned. With my choice to stay. With the way I’d looked at him—not as a king, not as a monster, but as a man who’d loved me enough to let me go.
And now?
Now he stood before me, unguarded. Unarmored. Unmade.
“I didn’t come here to destroy you,” I said, voice low. “I came to break the Oath. To free my bloodline. To avenge my mother.”
“And now?”
I didn’t answer. Just stepped forward, slow, deliberate, until our bodies were nearly touching. My hand moved to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. Not fast. Not frantic. Just… there. Alive. His.
“Now I don’t know what I want,” I admitted, voice breaking. “I thought I did. I thought I wanted revenge. Justice. Freedom. But now?” I lifted my gaze to his. “Now I want you. Not because the bond demands it. Not because the Oath binds us. But because you’re the only one who’s ever seen me. The only one who’s ever let me be me.”
He didn’t move. Just stared at me, those dark eyes seeing too much. Not my face. Not my body. But the storm inside me—the fear, the doubt, the wanting.
And then—
He kissed me.
Not soft. Not slow.
Hard. Desperate. A clash of teeth and tongue and breath, a surge of heat so intense it stole my breath. My hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, my body arching into his, my core clenching, already slick, already ready.
He groaned, low and deep, his fangs grazing my lip. “Gods, you taste like mine.”
And then—
The world shifted.
The wind stilled. The sea calmed. The bond—
It screamed.
Not pain.
Pleasure.
A wave of energy so intense it tore through me, white-hot, electric, crashing through my veins, pooling between my legs, making me climax—right there, in his arms, in the throne room, with the thrones at our backs and the shadows curling around us.
I cried out, my body arching, my fingers digging into his shoulders. He held me, groaning, his breath hot against my skin. “That’s it,” he murmured. “Let go. Let me have you.”
And I did.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of the magic.
But because, for one terrible, shameful moment, I wanted it.
Wanted him.
Needed him.
And when it was over, when the wind returned, when the sea roared, when the bond settled into a quiet, insistent hum—
I was still in his arms.
Still breathing hard.
Still his.
He pulled back, just enough to look at me. His eyes were dark, his lips swollen, his breath uneven. Blood streaked his cheek, my blood, his blood, ours. “Better?” he asked, voice rough.
I didn’t answer. Just stared at him, those dark eyes seeing too much. “You’re not what I expected,” I said.
“Neither are you.”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t smirk. Just watched me, like I was something precious, not prey.
And that?
That was the most dangerous thing of all.
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.
And then—
I pulled back.
Just enough.
And I looked at him.
Really looked.
Not at the king. Not at the predator. Not at the monster.
At the man.
The one who had held me through the worst of it. Who had denied his nature. Who had let me break him. Who had burned his brother to ash with his own blood.
And I knew—
This wasn’t about revenge.
Not anymore.
It was about justice.
For my mother.
For Torin.
For all of us.
“We need to bury him,” I said, voice steady.
Kaelen didn’t flinch. Just nodded. “Torin.”
“He died for us.”
“And we’ll honor him.”
“Not with silence,” I said, stepping away, my boots clicking on the stone. “Not with shadows. With fire. With truth. With a memorial that says: He was not forgotten.”
He didn’t argue. Just followed as I left the throne room, shadows curling around us like a second skin. The halls were quiet—no guards, no attendants, just the occasional flicker of torchlight, the distant echo of footsteps. 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 us.
We found Torin’s body in the east wing—wrapped in black silk, laid on a slab of cold stone. His face was peaceful, his hands folded over his chest, a single blackthorn blossom resting between his fingers. Mira stood beside him, her eyes red, her arms crossed, her scent sharp with grief and defiance.
“He wouldn’t want a funeral,” she said, voice rough. “He’d want a reckoning.”
“Then we’ll give him one,” I said.
She looked at me, then at Kaelen. “You two. Together. Public. No more secrets. No more lies. You stand before the Keep and say his name. You say what he did. You say what he meant.”
Kaelen didn’t hesitate. “We will.”
She nodded, then turned back to Torin. “He loved you,” she said, voice breaking. “Not like that. Not in the way you think. But he admired you. Respected you. He said you were the first person he’d ever seen him hesitate for.”
My breath caught.
And the bond—
It pulsed, low, insistent.
Because I remembered.
The night of the Blood Moon. The heat cycle. The way Kaelen had found me delirious, fevered, aching—and stopped. Not because he didn’t want me. But because he did. Because he refused to take me like prey. Like a conquest. Like them.
And Torin had seen it.
Had known.
And in that moment, I realized—
Torin hadn’t died for us.
He’d died for me.
Because he’d seen what I was becoming. What I was fighting to be. And he’d believed in it.
Believed in me.
“We’ll do it at dawn,” I said, voice steady. “On the cliffs. With fire. With the sea. With the wind.”
Mira nodded. “And I’ll speak.”
“So will I,” Kaelen said.
She looked at him, then at me. “You’re not what I expected,” she said.
“Neither are you,” I replied.
And then—
We prepared.
Not for war.
For mourning.
For memory.
We carried Torin’s body to the cliffs ourselves—Kaelen bearing the weight, me walking beside him, Mira trailing behind with the blackthorn blossoms. The sky was still dark, the stars fading, the first light of dawn bleeding across the horizon. The sea roared below, waves crashing against the rocks, mist rising like smoke.
We laid him on a pyre of driftwood and thorn branches, wrapped in black silk, the blossom still in his hand. Mira lit the fire—no magic, just a match, her hands steady despite the wind. The flames caught, slow at first, then surged, climbing the wood, turning the night to gold.
And then—
We spoke.
Mira first—her voice sharp, fierce, unapologetic. She spoke of Torin’s loyalty, his quiet strength, his refusal to bow. She spoke of the way he’d protected me when no one else would. The way he’d stood between me and Kaelen when the bond had first ignited. The way he’d whispered, “He’s never hesitated. Not until you.”
And then—
Kaelen.
He stepped forward, coat unbuttoned, fangs bared, eyes shadowed. He didn’t speak of duty. Of loyalty. Of war.
He spoke of loss.
Of the brother he’d never had. Of the friend who’d stood by him when no one else would. Of the man who’d died protecting the woman he loved—not with passion, but with purpose.
“He didn’t die for me,” Kaelen said, voice raw. “He died for her. Because he believed in her. Because he saw what I was too blind to see—that she wasn’t my enemy. She was my equal.”
And then—
Me.
I stepped forward, boots crunching on stone, the heat of the fire on my face. I didn’t speak of vengeance. Of justice. Of the Oath.
I spoke of him.
Of the Beta who’d never been a pawn. Of the warrior who’d chosen loyalty over fear. Of the man who’d died so I could live.
“You didn’t have to,” I said, voice breaking. “You could’ve run. You could’ve saved yourself. But you stayed. You fought. You died. And I—” I swallowed. “I don’t know how to live in a world where you’re not in it.”
The fire roared. The wind howled. The sea screamed.
And then—
Stillness.
The flames burned low. The sky lightened. The sea stilled.
And we were left with silence.
Not empty. Not hollow.
Full.
Of memory. Of grief. Of love.
Kaelen stepped beside me, one arm around my waist, pulling me against him. His breath was hot against my neck, his fangs grazing my skin—not to bite, not to claim—just to feel. To know I was alive. To know I was his.
“We’ll rebuild,” I said, voice low.
“Together,” he said.
“Not as king and queen,” I said. “As us.”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t smirk. Just pressed his forehead to mine, his breath warm against my skin. “Then let me show you,” he murmured. “Let me show you what it means to be mine.”
My breath caught.
And then—
I kissed him.
Not soft. Not slow.
Hard. Desperate. A clash of teeth and tongue and breath, a surge of heat so intense it stole my breath. My hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, my body arching into his, my core clenching, already slick, already ready.
He groaned, low and deep, his fangs grazing my lip. “Gods, you taste like mine.”
And then—
The world shifted.
The wind stilled. The sea calmed. The bond—
It screamed.
Not pain.
Pleasure.
A wave of energy so intense it tore through me, white-hot, electric, crashing through my veins, pooling between my legs, making me climax—right there, in his arms, on the cliffs, with the ashes of our friend rising into the dawn.
I cried out, my body arching, my fingers digging into his shoulders.
He held me, groaning, his breath hot against my skin. “That’s it,” he murmured. “Let go. Let me have you.”
And I did.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of the magic.
But because, for one terrible, shameful moment, I wanted it.
Wanted him.
Needed him.
And when it was over, when the wind returned, when the sea roared, when the bond settled into a quiet, insistent hum—
I was still in his arms.
Still breathing hard.
Still his.
He pulled back, just enough to look at me. His eyes were dark, his lips swollen, his breath uneven. “Better?” he asked, voice rough.
I didn’t answer. Just stared at him, those dark eyes seeing too much. “You’re not what I expected,” I said.
“Neither are you.”
He smiled—slow, dangerous. “Now imagine what it’ll be like when I’m inside you.”
My breath caught.
And the bond—
It screamed again.
I didn’t push him away.
Didn’t walk out.
Just stayed in his arms, my body still trembling, my breath still unsteady.
And when he 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.
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.