The storm had passed, but the silence that followed was worse than the chaos.
Not empty. Not peaceful. But charged—thick with truth, with grief, with the echo of what we’d both seen. Tide’s face when she read her mother’s journal. The way her breath had hitched when I whispered my birth name—Elion. The vision that followed: her mother, standing in the dungeon, writing his name into a sigil, breaking the bond like it was nothing more than a thread.
And then the kiss.
Not desperate. Not angry. Not a weapon.
Real.
For the first time, she hadn’t fought it. For the first time, she’d leaned into me, her body softening, her magic humming in time with mine. The bond had flared—not with pain, not with warning, but with something deeper. Something like recognition.
And I’d let myself believe—just for a moment—that maybe, after centuries of control, of duty, of being the monster my father made me, I could be something else.
Something hers.
But the moment didn’t last.
Because I knew what was coming.
Vexen.
My father.
And he wouldn’t wait much longer.
I stood at the window of the suite, watching the first light of dawn bleed through the heavy crimson drapes. Tide was asleep on the chaise, wrapped in the woolen robe I’d given her, her storm-gray hair fanned out like a banner. She looked younger in sleep. Vulnerable. Not the storm-witch who’d shattered a Fae glamour with a single bolt of lightning. Not the avenger who’d come here to burn me to ash.
Just a woman.
And she was mine.
The thought sent a surge through me—hot, possessive, feral. My fangs ached. My blood hummed. The bond pulsed beneath my skin, a living thing, a second heartbeat.
I wanted to wake her. To pull her into my arms. To kiss her until she forgot her mother’s name, until she only knew mine.
But I didn’t.
Because I was still Kael Valen. Prince of the House of Blood. Heir to a throne built on lies and suffering. And I knew better than to believe in soft moments.
They were always followed by blood.
The door opened without a sound.
I didn’t turn. Didn’t flinch. Just let my shadow senses stretch outward—cold, silent tendrils of awareness that coiled through the suite, tasting the air, listening for the slightest shift in breath, the faintest tremor of magic.
It was Riven.
Werewolf. Beta of the Northern Pack. Tide’s ally.
And now, whether he liked it or not, mine.
“She’s asleep,” I said, voice low. “If you’ve come to warn her again, save your breath. She already knows the truth.”
He didn’t answer at first. Just stepped inside, closing the door behind him. His amber eyes flicked to Tide, then back to me. “She doesn’t know everything.”
“She knows enough.”
“She doesn’t know he’s coming.”
I turned. “And you do?”
“I’ve seen the signs,” he said. “The storm wasn’t natural. The wards didn’t just fail. They were unraveled. And the Fae—they’re restless. The High Queen’s playing both sides. She wants war.”
“And you think she’ll move against her?” I asked. “Against the bond?”
“I think she’ll use it,” he said. “To break you. To break her. And when she does, she’ll have an army waiting.”
I didn’t argue. Because he was right.
Mirelle had always wanted war. She’d used the Blood Wars to weaken the vampires. She’d used the Sundering to exile the witches. And now, with a fated bond between a Storm-Witch and a Valen prince? She’d use it to destroy us both.
“Then she’ll have to go through me,” I said.
“And if she doesn’t come for you?” Riven asked. “If she comes for her?”
My jaw tightened.
Because that was the truth I’d been avoiding.
They wouldn’t come for me.
They’d come for Tide.
And if they took her—if they broke her, if they hurt her, if they killed her—
I’d burn the world to ash.
“She’s not yours to protect,” Riven said, voice low. “Not yet.”
“She’s not yours either,” I said, stepping closer. “And if you think for one second that I’ll let you stand between me and her, you’re more of a fool than I thought.”
He didn’t back down. Just held my gaze, his posture rigid, his magic simmering beneath his skin. “I’ve known her longer. I’ve fought for her longer. I’ve loved her longer.”
“And yet,” I said, stepping into his space, “she didn’t run to you when the storm came. She didn’t call your name when she was dying. She didn’t kiss you.”
His eyes flashed—gold, dangerous.
And then—
A whisper.
Not from the bond.
From the shadows.
Run.
I didn’t hesitate.
I turned, crossing the room in a heartbeat, and yanked Tide to her feet.
“Wake up,” I said, voice sharp. “Now.”
She blinked, disoriented, her storm-gray eyes wide. “What—”
“No time,” I said, pulling her toward the door. “We’re under attack.”
“What?”
“Fae assassins,” Riven said, moving to the other side of her. “They’re already in the tower.”
She didn’t argue. Just reached for the dagger at her belt—her witch’s blade, etched with storm sigils. “How many?”
“Too many,” I said. “And they’re not here for me.”
Her eyes met mine. “Then they’re here for me.”
“Yes.”
“And you’ll stop them.”
“I’ll kill them,” I said. “All of them.”
The corridors were dark, the torches extinguished, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and old magic. We moved in silence, shadows stretching like claws, the bond humming beneath my skin like a warning. Tide was between us, her breath steady, her magic coiled tight. I could feel it—hot, sharp, ready to strike.
And I could feel her.
Not just through the bond.
Through everything.
The way her shoulder brushed mine. The way her pulse jumped when I reached for her hand. The way her scent—storm and salt and something uniquely her—filled my senses.
She was mine.
And I wouldn’t let them take her.
We turned a corner—
And the ambush began.
Three Fae—cloaked in shadow, faces hidden—lunged from the darkness, blades drawn, magic flaring. One went for Tide. Two for me.
I moved.
Shadow Veil snapped around me—dark tendrils of night coiling through my limbs, folding space, carrying me across the corridor in a heartbeat. My fangs sank into the first assassin’s throat before he could scream. Blood—rich, warm, laced with Fae magic—flooded my mouth. I didn’t swallow. Just let it spill, painting the stone in crimson.
The second came at me with a dagger.
I caught his wrist, twisted—bone snapped. He screamed. I silenced him with a snap of his neck.
And then—
Tide.
She was fighting the third assassin—dueling, not killing. Her dagger clashed against his blade, sparks flying, her magic flaring with every strike. But she wasn’t trying to win.
She was trying to talk.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said, voice steady. “I know you’re under orders. But you don’t have to die for her.”
“The High Queen commands,” the assassin snarled. “And I obey.”
“Then you’re a fool,” she said—and drove her knee into his stomach.
He doubled over.
She brought the hilt of her dagger down on his temple.
He dropped.
“You didn’t kill him,” I said, stepping to her side.
“No,” she said, breathing hard. “Because he didn’t deserve to die for her lies.”
I didn’t argue. Just reached for her, pulling her close, my hand sliding to the small of her back. The bond flared—warm, deep, alive.
“You’re bleeding,” she said, touching my lip—where the assassin’s blade had grazed me.
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” she whispered. “You’re hurt. Because of me.”
“I’d bleed for you a thousand times,” I said. “And I’d die for you once.”
Her breath caught.
And then—
Another wave.
More assassins—six this time. Armed. Magical. Fae nobles, not mercenaries. They came from both ends of the corridor, blades drawn, sigils glowing on their skin.
“Stay behind me,” I said, stepping in front of her.
“No,” she said, moving to my side. “We fight together.”
I didn’t argue.
Just nodded.
And then—
We moved.
I struck first—Shadow Veil snapping, fangs bared, blood magic surging. My world narrowed to the rhythm of combat: the shift of weight, the flicker of magic, the taste of blood. I broke necks. I tore throats. I let the monster loose.
And beside me—
Tide.
She was fire. Lightning arced from her fingertips, striking down assassins with precision. Her dagger flashed, cutting through glamours, through flesh, through lies. She fought like she’d been born for war—graceful, deadly, relentless.
And every time she moved, every time she breathed, every time she lived—
The bond roared.
Not with pain.
With pride.
We were a weapon.
Together.
The last assassin fell—his body crumpling to the stone, his blade clattering beside him. The corridor was silent, the air thick with blood and magic. Tide was breathing hard, her cheeks flushed, her eyes blazing. Blood streaked her cheek—mine or hers, I didn’t know.
I reached for her.
“You’re hurt,” I said, brushing the blood from her skin.
“I’m fine,” she said. “But they’ll send more.”
“Let them come,” I said. “I’ll kill them all.”
She didn’t argue. Just stepped closer, her hand lifting to my chest, her fingers pressing against the torn fabric of my coat. “You didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to fight for me.”
“I didn’t fight for you,” I said, voice low. “I fought with you. And I’ll keep fighting. Until the last breath in my body.”
Her eyes searched mine—storm-gray, fierce, beautiful.
And then—
She kissed me.
Not like before. Not soft. Not slow.
This was hunger.
Her mouth crashed into mine, hot and desperate, her fangs grazing my lip, drawing blood. The bond exploded—fire and lightning, magic and need, desire so sharp it was pain. My hands fisted in her hair, pulling her closer, my body pressing against hers, every inch of me screaming for more.
She groaned, her hands sliding up, gripping my shoulders, her nails biting into my skin.
And then—
A whisper.
Not from the bond.
From the shadows.
Run.
I broke the kiss, turning—
And saw it.
An arrow.
Black. Barbed. Dripping with poison.
Flying straight for her heart.
I didn’t think.
I moved.
Shadow Veil snapped, carrying me in front of her, my body taking the hit. The arrow struck my chest—ripping through coat, through muscle, through bone. Pain—white-hot, searing—exploded through me.
I fell.
But I didn’t let go.
I reached for her, yanking her down with me, my body shielding hers as we hit the stone. Blood—mine—spilled over her hands, her clothes, the floor.
“Kael!” she screamed.
“Get up,” I growled, shoving her back. “Fight!”
She didn’t hesitate.
Lightning arced from her hands, striking the archer—a Fae noble, hidden in the shadows. He screamed as the magic tore through him, his body convulsing, his sigils burning out.
And then—
Silence.
She turned back to me.
Her hands were on my chest, pressing against the wound, her magic flaring. “Hold on,” she said, voice breaking. “Just hold on.”
“Tide—”
“Don’t you dare die on me,” she snarled. “Not after everything. Not now.”
I wanted to smile.
But I couldn’t.
Because the poison was spreading—cold, dark, consuming. My vision blurred. My body went numb.
“I won’t,” I whispered. “I can’t. You’re mine. And I don’t let go of what’s mine.”
Her tears fell—hot, salt, sacred—landing on my face, mixing with my blood.
And then—
She did the one thing I never expected.
She bit me.
Not on the neck.
Not as a claim.
On the wound.
Her fangs sank into the torn flesh around the arrow, her mouth sealing the wound, her magic surging through her teeth, into my blood, into my soul.
The poison burned.
But so did her.
Fire and storm, magic and need, love and rage—all flooding into me, driving the darkness back, healing what should’ve killed me.
I gasped.
My eyes flew open.
And there she was—above me, her storm-gray eyes blazing, her lips stained with my blood, her magic humming like a war drum.
“You’re not dying,” she said, voice raw. “Not today. Not ever. Not while I’m still breathing.”
I didn’t speak.
Just reached for her, pulling her down, my mouth crashing into hers—hot, desperate, real.
And the bond—
It didn’t roar.
It sang.
Back in the suite, the door clicked shut behind us, and I didn’t wait.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, pulling her into my arms. “You didn’t have to save me.”
“Yes, I did,” she said, burying her face in my chest. “Because you’re mine. And I don’t let go of what’s mine.”
I didn’t answer.
Just held her—tight, fierce, forever.
Because for the first time, I believed it.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of fate.
But because she’d chosen me.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.