The war room was silent when I entered, but not still.
No, silence was just the absence of sound. This was something deeper. Something heavier. The air hummed with tension—coiled like a serpent, ready to strike. The great obsidian table stretched before me, its surface etched with ancient sigils that pulsed faintly in the torchlight. Around it sat the elders of the vampire houses—cold, calculating, their eyes sharp with suspicion. At the far end, High Queen Mirelle reclined on her silver throne, her crown gleaming like ice, her gaze sharper.
And beside me—Tide.
She didn’t flinch as we walked in. Didn’t falter. Just held her head high, her storm-gray eyes blazing, her braid pulled tight like a weapon. She wore black—tight trousers, a high-collared tunic, boots that clicked against the stone with every step. No crown. No title. No throne.
But she carried power like a queen.
And I—Prince Kael Valen, heir to a house built on blood and lies—walked beside her like I belonged there.
Like I was hers.
The whispers started the moment we stepped inside.
There she is.
The storm-witch.
They say she broke the Hemorrhage Curse with his blood.
No. I heard she’s the one who shattered the pact. That she’s marked him.
Look at them. They’re not just bonded. They’re merged.
I didn’t react. Just guided Tide to the head of the table, my hand resting lightly on the small of her back. The bond flared—warm, deep, alive. Not with desire. Not with warning.
With recognition.
She didn’t pull away.
And that—more than the whispers, more than the stares—told me everything.
She was no longer fighting it.
She was accepting it.
“Prince Kael,” Mirelle said, her voice like silk over steel. “And your… consort. You’re late.”
“We were delayed,” I said, voice low, steady. “Vexen’s influence grows. The wards in the lower archives have been breached again. And the storm—”
“The storm is not our concern,” an elder interrupted—Lord Varn, his face lined with centuries of cruelty. “What concerns us is her.” He pointed at Tide. “A half-breed. A witch. A woman who has already broken one blood pact. What guarantee do we have she won’t break another? That she won’t turn on us when the time comes?”
Tide didn’t blink. Just turned her head, her gaze locking onto his. “You want a guarantee?” she asked, voice calm, dangerous. “Then ask yourself this: if I wanted you dead, you’d already be bleeding on the floor. I don’t need a pact to kill you. I just need to breathe.”
The room went still.
And then—
Mirelle smiled. Not warm. Not kind. But sharp. Calculating. “She has spirit,” she said. “I’ll give her that. But spirit won’t win a war. Strategy will. And loyalty. And power. Do you have those, little storm?”
“I have more than you,” Tide said, stepping forward. “I have truth. I have justice. And I have the one thing you’ll never understand—love for someone other than yourself.”
A murmur rippled through the room.
Mirelle’s smile didn’t waver. But her eyes—cold, silver, unblinking—narrowed. “Careful, witch. You stand in a room of immortals. One wrong word, and I can have you executed for treason.”
“And yet you won’t,” Tide said. “Because you need us. Because the bond between Kael and me—it’s not just magic. It’s a weapon. And you’re too afraid to face what we can do together.”
“Enough,” I said, stepping between them. My voice wasn’t loud. But it cut through the tension like a blade. “We didn’t come here to bicker. We came to fight.”
Mirelle leaned forward. “Then fight. Tell us, Prince Valen—what do you propose?”
I turned to the table. With a flick of my wrist, I summoned a blood-map—a swirling projection of crimson light that rose from the obsidian surface. It showed the Fae High Court, the vampire territories, the werewolf enclaves, the hidden sanctuaries of the witches. And at the center—Edinburgh, where the Supernal Accord was breaking.
“Vexen is gathering power,” I said. “He’s using blood magic to summon storms, to unravel wards, to weaken the Council’s hold. And he’s not working alone. There are traitors among us—Fae nobles loyal to Mirelle, vampire elders who want my house destroyed, even witches who’ve made pacts with him.”
“And you know this how?” Lord Varn sneered.
“Because I’ve seen it,” I said. “In the blood memories. In the storm. In the way the bond reacts when he’s near.” I glanced at Tide. “We’ve both seen it.”
“And what’s your solution?” Mirelle asked.
“We strike first,” I said. “We find the source of the storms—the anchor he’s using to channel his magic. It’s hidden in the old watchtower, beneath the ruins of the northern gate. If we destroy it, we cut off his power. We weaken him. And then—”
“Then what?” Varn demanded. “You think you can just walk into a trap and come out alive?”
“No,” Tide said, stepping forward. “But we don’t have to. The bond gives us an advantage. When we’re together, our magic amplifies. Storm and blood. Lightning and shadow. We’re stronger than any of you.”
“And if you fail?” Mirelle asked.
“Then war begins,” I said. “The vampire houses turn on each other. The Fae march on the northern territories. The werewolves take sides. And the balance collapses. Millions will die.”
“And if you succeed?” she pressed.
“Then we buy time,” I said. “Time to find the original bond contract. Time to break the curse. Time to destroy Vexen for good.”
The room was silent.
And then—
Mirelle leaned back. “And if we refuse?”
“Then I’ll do it alone,” Tide said, her voice low, dangerous. “With or without your blessing. With or without your army. I came here to break the bond. And I will. Even if I have to burn this entire court to the ground to do it.”
“You’d risk war?” Varn hissed.
“I’d risk everything,” she said. “For my mother. For justice. For the truth.”
Mirelle studied her—long, hard, unreadable. Then, finally: “You have your mission. But you don’t have my army. Not yet. Prove yourselves. Bring me the anchor. Bring me proof of Vexen’s return. And then—”
“Then what?” I asked.
“Then we’ll see,” she said, standing. “But know this: if you fail, you’ll be the ones blamed. And if you betray us—” She turned to Tide. “I’ll have you executed. Slowly. Painfully.”
“And if I kill you first?” Tide asked, her voice calm.
Mirelle smiled. “You’re welcome to try.”
The meeting ended in silence.
We left the war room, the weight of the ultimatum pressing between us. Back in the suite, the door clicked shut behind us, and I didn’t wait.
“You shouldn’t have threatened her,” I said, turning to Tide. “She’ll use it against you.”
“She was already going to,” she said, stripping off her coat, her movements sharp, deliberate. “She doesn’t want peace. She wants war. She’s using Vexen to destabilize the Council, to weaken the vampire houses, to take control.”
“And you think confronting her helps?” I asked.
“I think letting her think she’s in control is worse,” she shot back, turning to face me. “She thinks we’re pawns. That the bond makes us weak. That we’ll fall in line. But she doesn’t understand what we are.”
“And what are we?” I asked, stepping closer.
She didn’t back down. Just held my gaze, her storm-gray eyes blazing. “We’re a storm. We’re a weapon. We’re the only thing standing between her and total power.”
My breath caught.
Not from anger.
From the way her voice dropped—low, rough, intimate.
From the way my body responded—heat pooling low in my belly, the bond flaring beneath my skin.
“You’re not what I expected,” I said, voice barely above a whisper.
“Neither are you,” she said.
And then—
I kissed her.
Not like in the ritual chamber. Not for show.
This was need.
My mouth crashed into hers, hot and desperate, my fangs grazing her lip, drawing a bead of blood. The bond exploded—fire and lightning, hunger and rage, 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. Her magic flared—lightning crackling over her skin, the air thick with ozone and power. The torches flickered. The fire snapped.
And then—
She shoved me.
Hard.
I stumbled back, my back hitting the wall, my breath ragged. She stood there, her chest heaving, her lips swollen, her eyes blazing.
“Don’t,” she said, voice shaking. “Don’t make this about us. Not now. Not when the world is burning.”
“It’s always about us,” I said, stepping forward. “The bond. The mission. The war. It’s all connected. You can’t separate them.”
“I have to,” she whispered. “Because if I don’t, I’ll lose myself. I’ll forget why I came here. I’ll forget who I am.”
“And who are you?” I asked, closing the distance. “The avenger? The storm-witch? The woman who came to destroy me?”
She didn’t answer. Just looked at me—storm-gray eyes searching mine—trying to find the lie, the manipulation, the monster I’d once been.
But all she saw was truth.
And it terrified her.
“I don’t know,” she said, voice breaking. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”
“Then let me show you,” I said, reaching for her.
She didn’t pull away.
Just let me pull her into my arms, her body softening, her breath hitching. My hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer, my body pressing against hers. The bond hummed, warm, deep, alive.
And for the first time, I didn’t feel like a prince.
I felt like a man.
A man who had finally found the one thing he’d been searching for his entire life.
And I wasn’t going to let her go.
“We fight together,” I said, my voice low, rough. “Or we die divided.”
She looked up at me. “And if I die?”
“Then I’ll burn the world to ash,” I said. “And I’ll follow you into the fire.”
She didn’t answer.
Just kissed me—soft, slow, real.
And in that moment, I knew.
The war wasn’t just coming.
It was already here.
And we were the only ones who could stop it.
The storm broke that night.
Not metaphorically.
For real.
Thunder cracked above the Fae High Court, lightning splitting the sky in jagged bolts of violet and silver. Rain—thick, heavy, smelling of ozone and iron—slammed against the windows, rattling the glass. The wind screamed through the corridors, tearing at the torches, extinguishing them one by one.
And in the silence between the thunder—
A whisper.
Not from the storm.
From the bond.
Run.
I didn’t hesitate.
I grabbed my coat, yanked it around my shoulders, and bolted for the door.
Tide was already there, her cloak in hand, her eyes blazing. “You felt it too,” she said.
“Another storm,” I said. “But not like the last one. This one’s different. Stronger. Darker.”
“Vexen,” she said. “He’s testing us.”
“Or preparing,” I said. “If he’s using the watchtower as an anchor, he’ll need to reinforce it. To protect it.”
“Then we go now,” she said. “Before he’s ready.”
“It’s a trap,” I said.
“Of course it is,” she said, stepping closer. “But we’re the only ones who can walk into it and come out alive.”
I didn’t argue.
Just nodded.
And then—
We ran.
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 storm howling above. Guards were nowhere to be seen. Servants had vanished. The court was empty—abandoned, or trapped.
“Where are we going?” Tide asked, breathless.
“The northern gate,” I said. “The watchtower is hidden beneath the ruins. If Vexen’s using it as an anchor, that’s where he’ll be.”
“And if he’s not?”
“Then we die,” I said simply.
She didn’t argue.
Just ran.
The storm worsened with every step. The wind screamed through the corridors, tearing at our clothes, our hair. Rain seeped through the cracks, pooling on the stone. Lightning flashed—once, twice—illuminating the walls in bursts of silver, revealing sigils I didn’t recognize, runes that pulsed with dark magic.
And then—
The floor cracked.
A bolt of lightning—wild, uncontrolled—slammed into the stone beneath us, splitting the corridor in two. The ward shattered. The ceiling groaned. Debris rained down.
I moved.
Shadow Veil snapped around us—dark tendrils of night coiling through my limbs, folding space, carrying us across the gap in a heartbeat. One moment, we were on the collapsing floor. The next, we were on solid ground, the debris crashing behind us.
“Thanks,” she said, breathless.
“Don’t thank me yet,” I said, gripping her wrist. “We’re not out of this.”
We reached the northern gate—a crumbling arch of blackened stone, its surface etched with ancient runes. The watchtower loomed above, half-collapsed, its roof torn open by the storm. Wind screamed through the gaps, rain slashing in, lightning splitting the sky.
“We need to seal the storm,” Tide said, teeth chattering. “Break the anchor.”
“We can’t,” I said. “The ritual’s too strong. The only way to stop it is to share body heat. To keep each other warm.”
Her breath caught.
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not,” I said, moving toward her. “If we don’t, we’ll die. The cold will take us. The storm will consume us. And Vexen will win.”
“And if we do?”
“Then we live,” I said. “And we fight another day.”
She wanted to argue. To rage. To summon lightning and tear the tower apart.
But she didn’t.
Because she knew I was right.
And that was the worst part.
“Fine,” she said, voice cold. “But don’t think this means anything.”
“It means survival,” I said. “And that’s enough.”
I stepped closer, pulling her into my arms.
Not roughly. Not possessively.
Gently.
And she didn’t fight it.
She buried her face in my chest, her body trembling, her breath hitching. My arms tightened around her, her scent—storm and salt and something uniquely hers—filling my senses. The bond hummed, warm, deep, alive.
And then—
The storm flared.
Not with wind.
With heat.
Fire ripped through my veins. Lightning crackled over her skin. Our vision whited out. And then—
We were no longer in the tower.
We were in each other’s minds.
Memories. Emotions. Sensations. All flooding into us like a river breaking its banks.
And in that moment, we weren’t just bonded.
We were one.
And the war—
It had already begun.