The first thing I noticed when I woke was the silence.
Not the kind that comes before a storm—charged, electric, alive—but the quiet that follows surrender. The stillness of a battlefield after the last sword has fallen. The suite was dim, the torches burned low, the fire reduced to embers that cast flickering shadows across the black marble floor. The air smelled of night and blood and something softer—something warm and human that didn’t belong to either of us.
Kael—Elion—was gone.
The other side of the bed was untouched, the sheets cold, the space beside me empty. I didn’t know whether to feel relief or betrayal. Maybe both. Maybe neither. My body ached—not from magic, not from violence—but from the weight of everything that had happened. The journal. The name. The vision. The kiss.
That kiss.
It hadn’t been rage. It hadn’t been defiance. It hadn’t been a weapon.
It had been truth.
And I hated that I hadn’t wanted it to end.
I sat up slowly, the ring on my finger pulsing faintly with every heartbeat. The bond hummed beneath my skin, not with its usual warning flare, but with something deeper. Calmer. Like a river finally finding its course. I could still feel him—his presence, his pulse, the echo of his voice whispering my name like a prayer. But he wasn’t here. And I didn’t know if that was because he was giving me space… or because he was afraid of what would happen if we were alone again.
Because I was afraid too.
I stood, moving to the wardrobe, pulling out the clothes Riven had brought—dark trousers, a high-collared tunic, sturdy boots. Practical. Ready. I dressed in silence, each movement stiff, mechanical. My hair I left loose, wild, untamed—like the storm inside me. I needed to look like a weapon. Not a woman. Not a lover. Not a daughter.
Just a storm.
A knock at the door.
I tensed, magic coiling in my palms. “Enter.”
The door opened. Not a servant. Not Riven.
Kael.
He stepped in, dressed in black ceremonial robes edged with silver, his circlet back in place, his hair combed, his expression unreadable. He looked like a prince. Like a king. Like the monster I’d sworn to destroy.
But I knew better now.
“You’re up,” he said, his voice low, controlled.
“So are you,” I replied, folding my arms. “Early for politics.”
“The High Queen summoned us,” he said, stepping closer. “A formal reception. The first public appearance of the betrothed.”
My stomach dropped. “You’re joking.”
“I don’t joke.”
“You can’t be serious. After last night? After the ritual? After—” I cut myself off, jaw clenching. “They’ll tear us apart.”
“Or they’ll see us as a united front,” he said. “A fated bond that can’t be broken. A weapon they can’t control.”
“And if they see through it?”
“Then we make it real,” he said, stepping even closer. “We perform. We play the devoted couple. We make them believe.”
My breath caught.
Because the worst part wasn’t that he was asking me to lie.
It was that I wasn’t sure it would be a lie.
“You want me to pretend to be your fiancée,” I said, voice low. “To smile. To hold your hand. To let them watch us like we’re some kind of spectacle.”
“I want you to survive,” he corrected. “And right now, the only way to do that is to play the game. To make them believe the bond is unbreakable. That we’re united.”
“And what happens when the game ends?” I asked. “When we find the truth? When we break the curse? When I stand over the monster who destroyed my mother?”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Just studied me, his obsidian eyes dark, unreadable. “Then you do what you have to. But until then, you stay alive. You stay close. And you let me protect you.”
“I don’t need your protection,” I said, but my voice wavered.
“You do,” he said. “And you know it.”
I wanted to argue. To rage. To summon lightning and tear the room apart.
But I didn’t.
Because he was right.
And that was the worst part.
“Fine,” I said, voice cold. “I’ll play your little game. But don’t think this means I’m yours.”
“You already are,” he said, stepping closer, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair from my face. “You just haven’t accepted it yet.”
The bond flared—warm, deep, aching. My breath hitched. My body leaned into his touch without permission.
And I hated that I didn’t pull away.
“Don’t do that,” I whispered.
“Do what?”
“Touch me like you have the right.”
“I do,” he said. “The bond gives me every right.”
“The bond is a curse,” I shot back.
“Then why does it feel like salvation?”
I didn’t answer.
Because I didn’t know.
He stepped back, turning to the wardrobe. From behind a false panel, he pulled out a gown—deep red, high-waisted, sleeves slashed to reveal the inner arms. Elegant. Deadly. The color of blood and fire.
“You’ll wear this,” he said, holding it out.
“I’ll wear what I want.”
“You’ll wear this,” he repeated, voice low, firm. “Because it’s what the court expects. Because it’s what the bond demands. Because it’s what I want.”
I stared at him. At the man who had once been my enemy. At the boy who had brought my mother water. At the man who had whispered her name like a prayer.
And I didn’t know whether to hate him… or claim him.
“Fine,” I said, snatching the gown. “But don’t expect me to smile.”
“I don’t need you to smile,” he said. “I need you to survive.”
I changed in silence, the fabric cool against my skin, the cut of the gown revealing just enough to be dangerous. The ring on my finger pulsed with every heartbeat, a living thing fused to my skin. A leash. A tether. A promise.
Kael didn’t watch. Didn’t comment. Just waited by the door, his presence a steady weight against the silence.
When I was ready, he turned, offering me his arm.
“Ready?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “But I’ll go anyway.”
He didn’t smile. Just nodded. “Then let’s burn the world down together.”
The Hall of Mirrors was the Fae High Court’s grandest chamber—walls lined with enchanted glass that reflected not your image, but your deepest desires. Nobles said if you stared too long, you’d lose yourself in the visions. I didn’t look. I kept my eyes forward, my spine straight, my hand clenched in Kael’s as we walked down the long, torch-lit aisle.
The chamber was packed—Fae in glittering gowns, vampires in blood-dyed robes, werewolves in leather and steel. All watching. All whispering.
There she is.
The Storm-Witch.
Blood-bound to Valen.
Did you see her face when he put the ring on? She looked like she wanted to kill him.
Maybe she still will.
I kept my chin high. My gaze steady. My magic coiled just beneath the surface, ready to strike.
Kael didn’t speak. Didn’t react. Just guided me to the dais, his hand firm on the small of my back. The High Queen stood at the center, her silver crown gleaming, her eyes sharp as daggers.
“Prince Kael Valen,” she intoned. “And Tide of the Storm-Witch Line. You stand before the court as betrothed. May your union bring peace… or war.”
A ripple of unease passed through the hall. Even the Fae, masters of deception, couldn’t hide their tension. Peace was a fragile thing. And our bond? It wasn’t peace. It was a spark over dry tinder.
Kael turned to me, his hand lifting to cup my jaw. His thumb brushed my lower lip.
And he kissed me.
Not like in the Hall. Not like in the Ritual Chamber.
This was performance.
His lips were cool, but the kiss was fire. His fangs grazed my lip—just once—and I gasped, the sound swallowed by his mouth. The bond roared to life, a tidal wave of sensation—his hunger, my pulse, the way my body arched toward him without permission.
The hall erupted.
Cheers. Gasps. The scrape of steel.
And then he pulled back, his eyes black with need, his voice a growl only I could hear.
“Smile,” he murmured. “Or they’ll know you want to kill me.”
I bared my teeth.
Not in a smile.
In a threat.
But it was enough.
The court believed.
They saw devotion. They saw passion. They saw a bond that couldn’t be broken.
And I hated that I wasn’t entirely pretending.
We moved through the reception like a single entity—his hand on my back, my arm in his, our steps in sync. Vampires bowed. Fae curtsied. Werewolves nodded in grim respect. All watching. All judging.
Lyra appeared like a shadow, her silver-blonde hair cascading over one shoulder, her gown the color of moonlight and poison. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“Congratulations,” she said, voice like honey over glass. “I hear the bond is… unbreakable.”
“It is,” Kael said, his grip tightening on my waist. “And she bears my mark.”
Lyra’s smile faltered. “And yet, I still dream of your hands on me.”
“Then you’ll wake disappointed,” I said, stepping forward. “Because he’s mine. And he always will be.”
She laughed—soft, brittle. “We’ll see.”
And then she was gone.
I exhaled, my body trembling. Kael’s hand slid lower, his fingers pressing into the curve of my hip.
“You’re jealous,” he murmured.
“I’m not,” I lied.
“Prove it,” he said, pulling me closer. “Kiss me.”
“Here?”
“Here.”
And before I could argue, he kissed me again—slow, deep, possessive. The bond flared, warm and deep, a silent claim. My hands fisted in his robes, pulling him closer, my body arching into his.
And for the first time, I didn’t care who was watching.
Because maybe—just maybe—I was starting to believe it too.
Maybe I wasn’t here to destroy him.
Maybe I was here to save him.
And in saving him… save myself.
The thought terrified me more than any battle ever had.
Because if I let myself believe it…
I might never want to let go.