The Hollow Throne didn’t demand silence.
It demanded truth.
And after the weight of the throne room, after the quiet vow of those who stood with me—not because I ruled, but because they chose to—the only truth left was the one that pulsed beneath my skin, in my blood, in the storm that had finally found its center.
Kael—no, Elion—walked beside me as we left the ruins, his presence a steady shadow at my side. He didn’t speak. Didn’t touch me. But the bond hummed between us, warm, deep, alive, a current of something neither magic nor fate could name. It wasn’t desire. Not yet. It was… recognition. The kind that settles in your bones when you’ve fought through fire and come out the other side, not unscathed, but whole.
The suite was quiet when we returned. No alarms. No intruders. No ghosts. Just the soft crackle of the hearth, the faint scent of rain on stone, and the lingering warmth of the dawn that had broken over London like a promise. The drapes were open. The torches burned low. And for the first time in my life, the space didn’t feel like a cage.
It felt like a home.
“You should rest,” he said, stepping inside, his voice rough, low. “You’ve carried enough for one lifetime.”
“And you haven’t?” I asked, turning to face him. “You stood in the fire with me. You faced your father. You knelt when you didn’t have to.”
He didn’t flinch. Just met my gaze—obsidian eyes unreadable, yet filled with something I couldn’t name. Something that made my breath catch.
“I did what I had to,” he said. “Not for power. Not for survival. For you.”
My chest ached.
Not from anger.
From the truth in his voice.
From the way he looked at me—like I was the only thing left that mattered.
“And if I asked you to leave?” I said, stepping closer. “If I said I needed to be alone?”
He didn’t move. Just watched me—steady, unyielding.
“Then I would go,” he said. “But I wouldn’t stay far.”
“And if I asked you to stay?”
His breath hitched—just once. Just enough.
“Then I would,” he said. “But not as your guard. Not as your king. As your man.”
The bond flared—warm, deep, alive—and this time, I didn’t fight it.
I let it pull me in.
Not with magic.
Not with command.
With need.
I stepped forward—slow, deliberate—until I was close enough to feel the heat of his body, the faint pull of his scent, the way my pulse thundered in my ears. His hands stayed at his sides. His breath stayed even. But I could feel it—the tension, the restraint, the way his control was a blade balanced on a thread.
“You were supposed to be my ruin,” I whispered, lifting my hand, my fingers brushing his jaw. His skin was cool, but the contact sent fire through me. “You were supposed to be the monster I destroyed.”
“And I am,” he said, his voice low, rough, intimate. “And my salvation.”
My breath caught.
Not from anger.
From the way his voice dropped—low, rough, intimate.
From the way my body responded—heat pooling low in my belly, the bond flaring beneath my skin.
“Then prove it,” I said, stepping closer. “Not with words. Not with vows. With truth.”
He didn’t answer.
Just reached for me.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
His hand lifted, his thumb brushing my cheek, his fingers sliding into my hair. The bond flared—warm, deep, alive—and then—
He kissed me.
Not like before. Not angry. Not desperate.
Soft.
Slow.
Real.
His lips were cool, but the kiss was fire. His hands slid to my waist, pulling me closer, his body pressing against mine. The bond roared to life, a tidal wave of sensation—her voice, her magic, her love, flooding through us like a river breaking its banks. I moaned into his mouth, my fingers tangling in his coat, my body arching into his, the storm within me answering, lightning crackling over my skin, the air thick with ozone and power.
And for the first time, I didn’t fight it.
For the first time, I didn’t run.
For the first time, I let myself believe—
That maybe, just maybe, I hadn’t come here to destroy him.
Maybe I’d come here to save him.
And in saving him… save myself.
He pulled back, his thumb brushing my cheek, his obsidian eyes searching mine. “We did it,” he said. “We broke the chain.”
“And found something else,” I whispered.
He didn’t answer.
Just kissed me again—deeper, hungrier, more real. His hands slid under my shirt, his fingers tracing the curve of my spine, the heat of his touch searing through me. I gasped, my body trembling, my breath ragged. The bond flared—not with magic, not with fate, but with something deeper.
Need.
I tore at his coat, my fingers fumbling with the buttons, my breath coming in short, desperate gasps. He didn’t stop me. Just let it fall, then shrugged it off, his movements slow, deliberate, like he was giving me time to change my mind. But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.
His shirt followed—white, crisp, now undone, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the faint scars that marked his past, the pulse of his heart beneath his skin. I touched him—slow, reverent—my fingers tracing the lines of his collarbone, the ridges of his abdomen, the heat of his body under my hands.
“You’re not what I expected,” I said, voice hoarse.
“Neither are you,” he said, his hands sliding to my hips, pulling me against him. “You were supposed to be my ruin.”
“And I am,” I whispered. “And my salvation.”
And then—
I kissed him.
Not like before. Not angry. Not desperate.
Soft.
Slow.
Real.
His lips were cool, but the kiss was fire. His hands slid to my waist, pulling me closer, his body pressing against mine. The bond roared to life, a tidal wave of sensation—her voice, her magic, her love, flooding through us like a river breaking its banks.
And for the first time, I didn’t fight it.
For the first time, I didn’t run.
For the first time, I let myself believe—
That maybe, just maybe, I hadn’t come here to destroy him.
Maybe I’d come here to save him.
And in saving him… save myself.
He lifted me—effortless, like I weighed nothing—and carried me to the bed. The firelight danced over his skin, casting shadows that moved like living things. He laid me down gently, his body hovering over mine, his eyes searching mine, asking permission, waiting for me to say no.
I didn’t.
Just reached for him—slow, deliberate—and pulled him down.
His weight settled over me, solid, real, mine. His hands slid under my shirt, peeling it off, his fingers brushing the bare skin of my stomach, my ribs, my breasts. I arched into his touch, my breath catching, my body trembling. The bond flared—warm, deep, alive—and then—
His mouth found my neck.
Not with fangs.
With kisses.
Soft. Slow. Real.
Each one sent fire through me, each one deepened the bond, each one pulled me closer to the edge. His hands moved lower, unfastening my pants, sliding them down, his fingers brushing the inside of my thigh, making me gasp, making me need.
“Elion,” I whispered, my voice breaking.
He lifted his head, his obsidian eyes searching mine. “Say it again.”
“Elion,” I said, louder this time. “I need you. Not the prince. Not the vampire. You.”
He didn’t answer.
Just kissed me—deep, desperate, real.
And then—
He moved.
Slow. Deliberate. Reverent.
His body sliding against mine, his hands guiding me, his mouth never leaving my skin. And when he finally entered me—slow, deep, whole—I cried out, not from pain, but from the sheer, unbearable truth of it.
This wasn’t conquest.
This wasn’t vengeance.
This was love.
His rhythm was steady, deep, unhurried, each thrust a promise, each movement a vow. The bond flared—warm, deep, alive—not with magic, not with fate, but with something deeper.
Connection.
I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him deeper, my hands gripping his back, my body arching into his. The storm answered—lightning crackling over our skin, the air thick with power, the room trembling with the force of it. But I didn’t care. Not anymore.
Because I was seen.
Because I was loved.
And because for the first time in my life—I was free.
He kissed me—soft, slow, real—his lips cool, but the kiss was fire. His hands slid to my waist, pulling me closer, his body pressing against mine. The bond roared to life, a tidal wave of sensation—her voice, her magic, her love, flooding through us like a river breaking its banks.
And for the first time, I didn’t fight it.
For the first time, I didn’t run.
For the first time, I let myself believe—
That maybe, just maybe, I hadn’t come here to destroy him.
Maybe I’d come here to save him.
And in saving him… save myself.
He pulled back, his thumb brushing my cheek, his obsidian eyes searching mine. “We did it,” he said. “We broke the chain.”
“And found something else,” I whispered.
He didn’t answer.
Just pulled me into his arms, his body shielding mine, his breath warm against my neck. The bond hummed—warm, deep, alive—not with magic, not with fate, but with something deeper.
Love.
And as the first light of dawn broke through the drapes, painting the room in gold and shadow, I knew—
The mission had changed.
The enemy was gone.
And the world—
Was finally ready to burn.
Not with hate.
But with light.
I didn’t sleep.
Not right away.
Just lay there, my head on his chest, my hand resting over his heart, feeling the slow, steady beat beneath my fingers. He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just held me—tight, possessive, mine. The bond hummed between us, warm, deep, alive, a current of something neither of us could name.
“You’re not what I expected,” I said, voice hoarse.
He turned his head, his lips brushing my forehead. “Neither are you.”
And then—
I let myself believe it.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of the magic.
But because he was good. Because he’d tried. Because he’d wept.
Because he’d loved her.
And now—
He loved me.
And that was enough.