The first Council session under the new Oath began in silence.
Not the hollow quiet of fear, not the tense stillness before a storm—but something deeper. Something new. The war room had been cleaned, the cracks in the stone sealed with silver sigils, the obsidian table repaired, its surface now etched with the rewritten runes. Twelve seats stood in a circle, no longer ranked by power, no longer divided by species. Human. Fae. Vampire. Werewolf. Witch. All equal. All present.
And at the center—
Us.
Kaelen and I sat side by side, not on thrones, not elevated, just on two plain chairs of black ash, our hands resting close but not touching. I wore a tunic of dark silver, simple, sharp, no crown, no jewels—just the sigil on my hip, glowing faintly beneath the fabric. Kaelen’s coat was unbuttoned, his fangs just visible, his scent restrained but not hidden. He didn’t look at me. Didn’t speak. But I felt him—the bond pulsing low and steady, like a heartbeat beneath my skin. Not screaming. Not demanding. Just… there. Alive. Ours.
The Human Liaison spoke first—her name was Elise, sharp-eyed, scent clean, untouched by magic. She stood slowly, hands clasped, voice calm. “The Council reconvenes under the rewritten Oath. The Blood Courts are no longer under singular rule. Co-leadership is recognized. The bond between River and Kaelen Duskbane is acknowledged as a union of choice, not compulsion. Do you both accept these terms?”
“We do,” I said, before Kaelen could answer.
He turned to me, those crimson eyes dark with something I couldn’t name. Not surprise. Not challenge. Pride.
And that—
That terrified me more than any lie, any blade, any oath ever could.
Because pride meant he believed in me.
And if he believed in me—
Then I had to believe in myself.
The Fae representative—a woman named Lysara, her hair like spun moonlight, her voice like silk and poison—leaned forward. “And what of the Blood District? The humans still wear collars. The brothels still operate. The tithes still flow. Will you, as co-rulers, address this?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes. The collars are to be destroyed by dawn tomorrow. The brothels will be converted into shelters. The tithes will be replaced with voluntary offerings—no coercion, no punishment. And any vampire found enforcing the old laws will be stripped of rank and tried for treason.”
Gasps rippled through the room.
But I didn’t flinch.
Just kept going. “This isn’t mercy. It’s justice. The Oath was rewritten to end servitude. That doesn’t apply only to witch-bloods. It applies to all who have been enslaved.”
“And what of the werewolves?” growled the Beta from the Ashen Pack—Talen, Torin’s second, his scent sharp with grief and anger. “Our packs still answer to vampire law. Our young are still taken for blood trials. When do we get our freedom?”
Kaelen finally spoke, voice low, dangerous. “The blood trials end today. No more pups taken. No more forced feedings. The packs will govern themselves, with one seat on the Council—equal to all others. And if any vampire dares to take a child again—” his fangs bared—“I’ll rip their throat out myself.”
Silence.
Not fear.
Not anger.
Respect.
And then—
The witch representative stood—a woman named Niamh, her skin marked with ancient sigils, her voice rough with power. “And what of the hybrid children? The ones born of mixed blood? They’ve been cast out. Hunted. Called abominations. Will they be recognized under the new law?”
I felt it then—
The weight of my own bloodline.
My mother’s sacrifice. My father’s silence. My own survival.
“They will be recognized,” I said, voice steady. “They will be protected. They will be seen. No more exile. No more shame. They are not abominations. They are the future.”
She didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. Just stared at me, those ancient eyes seeing too much. “Then the witches stand with you.”
And one by one, the others followed.
The vampires—except for a few elders who remained silent.
The Fae—some with hesitation, some with open hostility.
But they agreed.
Because they had no choice.
The Oath was rewritten.
The bond was transformed.
And we were still standing.
After the session, we walked through the Keep in silence, boots soft on the stone, shadows curling around us like a second skin. The halls were different now—cleaner, brighter, the scent of blood and decay replaced with the soft hum of magic, the quiet pulse of healing. Attendants moved with purpose, not fear. Guards stood at attention, not as enforcers, but as protectors.
“You didn’t let me speak,” Kaelen said, voice low, as we turned down the east wing.
I didn’t look at him. “You didn’t need to.”
“You’re not my mouthpiece.”
“No,” I said, stopping, turning to face him. “I’m your equal. And if you can’t handle that—”
“I can,” he said, stepping closer, until our bodies were nearly touching. His hand moved to my hip, over the sigil. It flared—hot, sharp—but not with pain. With *recognition*. With *release*. “I just… need to learn how to share.”
My breath caught.
Because he was right.
He *was* learning.
Not to command.
Not to control.
But to *follow*.
For once.
For me.
“Then let me teach you,” I said, stepping even closer, my hand moving to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “Not as your queen. Not as your mate. As your partner.”
He didn’t answer.
Just pressed his forehead to mine, his breath hot against my skin. “Then show me.”
And I did.
Not with words.
Not with magic.
With my mouth.
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, in the hall, with the Keep alive 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. “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.
Later that night, we stood on the balcony, the sea roaring below, the stars sharp in the sky. The Keep was quiet now—no alarms, no battles, no blood. Just peace. Just us.
“Mira sent a message,” Kaelen said, voice low, breaking the silence. “The rebellion succeeded. The collars are gone. The brothels are closed. Virell is in chains.”
I didn’t smile. Didn’t cheer. Just nodded. “Good.”
“And?”
“And she said to tell you—” I turned to face him, slow, deliberate—“she’s not your ally. She’s not your subject. She’s not your *problem*.”
He didn’t flinch. Just studied me, those crimson eyes dark with something I couldn’t name. Not anger. Not command. *Grief.*
“And what am I supposed to do?”
“Nothing,” I said, stepping closer, until our bodies were nearly touching. My hand moved to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “Let her be free. Let her fight her own battles. Let her be seen.”
He didn’t answer. Just pressed his forehead to mine, his breath hot 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 balcony, with the sea roaring below and the stars above.
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 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.
The next morning, we presided over a new law—the Equal Representation Act. No more single votes for species. No more majority rule. Every decision required consensus. Every voice mattered. And for the first time, a human, a witch, and a werewolf sat as equal members of the Blood Court’s inner circle.
As we signed the decree, Kaelen’s hand brushed mine under the table.
Just once.
A jolt of sensation shot through me, sharp and sweet. The bond flared. My breath hitched.
“You’re distracting me,” I whispered, not looking up.
He didn’t answer.
Just grinned.
And that—
That was the most dangerous thing of all.
Because if he could make me smile—
Then I was already lost.
And when the session ended, when the Council left, when the Keep was quiet once more—
I didn’t walk away.
I didn’t pull back.
I just stayed.
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.