The storm hit at dusk.
Not a natural one. Not the kind born of wind and water. This was magic—raw, untamed, crackling with the signature of storm-born power. Lightning split the sky above Edinburgh, illuminating the jagged spires of the Fae High Court in bursts of violet and silver. Thunder rolled like cannon fire, shaking the stone beneath my boots. Rain fell in sheets, not water, but liquid shadow—thick, clinging, smelling of ozone and iron.
And at the center of it all—her.
Tide.
I felt her before I saw her. Not through the bond—though it hummed beneath my skin like a live wire—but through something deeper. A pull in my chest, a tightening in my gut, an instinct older than blood. She was out there. Alone. Exposed. And the bond was screaming.
“Your Grace,” the guard said, voice tight. “The western terrace is compromised. The wards are failing. And—” He hesitated. “She’s gone.”
I didn’t wait for permission.
I moved.
Shadow Veil snapped around me—dark tendrils of night coiling through my limbs, folding space, carrying me across the castle in a heartbeat. One moment, I was in the war room, the air thick with tension and the scent of blood ink. The next, I was on the terrace, wind tearing at my robes, rain stinging my skin like needles.
And there she was.
Standing at the edge of the balcony, arms outstretched, hair whipping around her like a storm given form. Her gown—deep red, the color of blood and fire—clung to her body, soaked through, revealing every curve. Her eyes were closed, her face tilted to the sky, lips parted as if drinking in the chaos. Lightning arced from her fingertips, splitting the clouds, illuminating her in flashes of blue-white light.
She was beautiful.
And she was mine.
The bond flared—hot, possessive, almost painful. I could feel her magic, wild and uncontrolled, feeding off her emotions. Anger. Grief. Jealousy. All of it channeled into the storm, as if she could tear the sky apart to prove she wasn’t bound.
She was.
And she always would be.
“Tide,” I called, stepping forward.
She didn’t turn. Didn’t acknowledge me. Just raised her hands higher, summoning another bolt of lightning that split the courtyard below, shattering a marble statue into dust.
“You’re going to bring the whole court down,” I said, voice calm, cutting through the wind.
Still nothing.
I moved closer, the bond tightening with every step. The rain didn’t touch me—my shadow magic repelled it, leaving me dry in the eye of her storm. But I could feel the heat of her, the pulse of her magic, the way her body trembled with the effort of holding it all back.
She wasn’t just angry.
She was breaking.
And I knew why.
Lyra’s words. The fight. The way I’d pinned her against the wall, my hand beneath her nightgown, my mouth on hers. The way she’d kissed me back—fierce, desperate, hungry. The way her body had arched into mine, betraying every vow she’d ever made.
She’d walked away from that moment hating herself.
And now, she was trying to burn it out.
“You can’t run from the bond,” I said, stopping just behind her. “You can’t fight it. You can’t destroy it.”
“Watch me,” she snarled, eyes snapping open. Storm-gray, blazing with power. “I’ll burn it all down before I let it chain me.”
“And what happens when you do?” I asked, stepping closer. “When the bond breaks? When the Supernal Accord collapses? When war erupts and thousands die because you couldn’t control your pride?”
“Then let them burn,” she spat. “Let the whole world burn. I don’t care.”
“You do,” I said, voice low. “You care too much.”
She turned to me, lightning crackling in her palms. “Don’t tell me what I feel.”
“I don’t have to,” I said. “I *feel* it. Every time you lie. Every time you rage. Every time you pretend you don’t want me.”
Her breath hitched.
Good.
“You don’t know me,” she whispered.
“I know you better than you know yourself,” I said, stepping closer. “I know the way your pulse jumps when I touch you. The way your magic flares when I’m near. The way your body betrays you every time I kiss you.”
“Stop it.”
“You want me,” I said, voice dropping to a growl. “You don’t want to kill me. You want to *claim* me.”
“I hate you,” she said, but her voice trembled.
“Then why do you taste like mine?”
And before she could answer, the terrace cracked.
A bolt of lightning—wild, uncontrolled—slammed into the stone beneath us, splitting the floor in two. The wards shattered. The railing gave way. Tide screamed as the edge collapsed, her body teetering on the brink—
I moved.
Shadow Veil wrapped around us both, folding space, pulling us back—but not fast enough.
She fell.
Not far. Just a few feet—onto a lower balcony, slick with rain and shadow. But the impact knocked the breath from her lungs, sent her magic spiraling out of control. Lightning arced from her body, striking the walls, the floor, the sky. The storm roared louder, the wind howling like a wounded beast.
I landed beside her, crouching, grabbing her wrist. “Tide—”
She lashed out.
Not with magic. With her nails.
Her hand raked across my cheek, drawing blood. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t let go.
“Let me go!” she screamed, struggling, her body thrashing beneath mine as I pinned her to the wet stone. “I don’t want your help! I don’t want *you*!”
“Too bad,” I said, pressing down, my body flush with hers. “You’re stuck with me.”
“I’ll kill you,” she hissed, her breath hot against my neck. “I’ll find a way.”
“You could’ve killed me in the Hall,” I said. “You could’ve killed me in my suite. You could’ve killed me a hundred times by now. But you haven’t.” I leaned in, my lips brushing her ear. “Because you don’t want to.”
She stilled.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
The storm faltered. The lightning dimmed. The wind slowed.
And then—
She broke.
Not with magic. Not with rage.
With a sob.
Quiet. Shattered. Raw.
Her body trembled beneath mine, her fingers clutching my robes, her face buried in my chest. The storm above us quieted, the rain softening to a drizzle, the clouds parting just enough to let a sliver of moonlight through.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Just held her.
Let her cry.
Let her grieve.
Let her feel.
Because I knew—this wasn’t just about Lyra. This wasn’t just about the bond. This was about her mother. About the life stolen. About the years of vengeance that had shaped her into a weapon, a storm, a woman who didn’t know how to *feel* without rage.
And now, for the first time, she was feeling something else.
And it terrified her.
Minutes passed.
The storm faded. The courtyard was silent, save for the drip of rain and the distant echo of thunder.
Slowly, she pulled back, wiping her face with the back of her hand. Her eyes were red, her lips swollen, her hair a wild tangle. She looked wrecked.
And beautiful.
“You’re not what I expected,” she said, voice hoarse.
“Neither are you,” I admitted.
She looked up at me, her storm-gray eyes searching mine. “Why did you save me?”
“Because you’re mine,” I said simply. “And I don’t let go of what’s mine.”
She exhaled, a shaky breath. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“I already did.”
She didn’t argue. Just looked away, her fingers tracing the ring on her hand—the blackened silver, the pulsing rubies. “This isn’t real,” she whispered. “It’s magic. It’s politics. It’s a lie.”
“Then why does it feel like truth?”
She didn’t answer.
And I didn’t press.
Instead, I stood, offering her my hand. “Come on. We need to get back before the guards send a search party.”
She hesitated—then took it.
Her skin was cold. Wet. But the moment our hands touched, the bond flared—warm, deep, undeniable. I could feel her pulse, her breath, the way her body still trembled from the storm, from the tears, from the kiss that hadn’t happened.
I pulled her to her feet.
And then—
The wind shifted.
Not magic.
Nature.
A cold front rolled in, sharp and sudden, cutting through the drizzle like a blade. The temperature dropped. The rain turned to sleet. The path back to the main tower was slick, treacherous.
And she was barefoot.
“We can’t walk back,” I said. “The path is unstable. The wards are down. We’ll have to go around.”
She nodded, already moving—but her legs gave out.
I caught her before she fell.
“You’re exhausted,” I said, voice firm. “And you’re not walking anywhere.”
“I can walk,” she snapped, trying to pull away.
“No, you can’t.”
Before she could argue, I bent down, sliding one arm beneath her knees, the other around her back, and lifted.
She gasped, arms flying to my shoulders. “Put me down!”
“No.”
“Kael—”
“Stop fighting me,” I said, voice low. “Just for once, stop fighting.”
She glared—but didn’t struggle.
Good.
I started down the path, my shadow magic forming a protective veil around us, shielding us from the worst of the storm. She was light in my arms, her body pressed to mine, her breath warm against my neck. Her scent—storm and salt and something uniquely her—filled my senses, driving me to the edge of control.
She shifted, her legs tightening around my waist. “You don’t have to carry me.”
“I know,” I said. “But I want to.”
She went still.
Then, softly: “Why?”
I didn’t answer at first. Just kept walking, my boots silent on the stone, the sleet pattering against my veil. The bond hummed between us, warm, deep, alive. I could feel her heartbeat, her breath, the way her body responded to my touch.
“Because,” I said finally, “you’ve spent your whole life carrying the weight of your mother’s death. Your vengeance. Your hatred. Your mission.” I glanced down at her. “Let someone carry you for once.”
Her eyes widened.
And then—
She buried her face in my chest.
Didn’t cry. Didn’t speak.
Just held on.
And I held her tighter.
The path wound through the lower gardens—twisted hedges, black roses, statues of forgotten gods. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and magic. My shadow veil kept the worst of the storm at bay, but the cold still seeped through, making her shiver.
“You’re cold,” I said.
“I’m fine.”
Liar.
I adjusted my grip, pulling her closer, letting my body heat seep into hers. She didn’t protest. Just curled into me, her fingers tightening in my robes.
And then—
She spoke.
Quiet. Fragile.
“My mother used to carry me like this,” she said. “When I was little. After the nightmares. She’d hum this old witch’s lullaby, and I’d fall asleep in her arms.”
I didn’t respond. Just listened.
“She was strong,” she whispered. “But gentle. She taught me magic. Taught me to fight. Taught me to survive.” Her voice cracked. “And then they took her. And I swore I’d make them pay.”
“And now?” I asked.
She was silent for a long time.
Then, softly: “Now I don’t know what I want.”
The bond flared—warm, deep, aching.
I didn’t offer empty comfort. Didn’t promise revenge. Didn’t lie.
Just held her.
And kept walking.
The tower came into view—its black spires piercing the storm-wracked sky. Lights flickered in the windows. Guards patrolled the walls. The world was still turning.
But everything had changed.
Because for the first time, she wasn’t fighting.
For the first time, she was letting me in.
When we reached the door, I set her down—but didn’t let go. One hand stayed at her back, steadying her, the other brushing a strand of wet hair from her face.
“You’re not alone,” I said, voice low. “Not anymore.”
She looked up at me, her eyes searching mine. “You’re not what I expected,” she said again.
“Neither are you,” I said.
And then—
She rose on her toes.
And kissed me.
Not like before. Not angry. Not desperate.
Soft.
Slow.
Real.
Her lips were cold, but the kiss was fire. Her hands slid up my chest, tangling in my robes, pulling me closer. The bond roared to life, a tidal wave of sensation—her taste, her scent, the way her body arched into mine, begging for more.
I deepened it, one hand sliding to the back of her neck, the other to her waist, pulling her flush against me. She moaned, the sound swallowed by my mouth, her body trembling—not from cold, but from need.
And then—
A voice.
“There you are.”
We broke apart.
Riven stood in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “The Council’s been looking for you. They’re worried the storm was an attack.”
“It wasn’t,” I said, stepping back, but not far. My hand stayed at Tide’s back. “It was a release.”
Riven’s eyes flicked to her—her swollen lips, her disheveled hair, the way she leaned into me. “I can see that.”
She straightened, wiping her mouth. “We’re fine.”
“Are you?” Riven asked, voice low. “Because you look like you’re losing yourself.”
She didn’t answer.
And I didn’t let her.
“She’s not losing herself,” I said, stepping forward. “She’s finding herself. And if you can’t see that, then you don’t know her at all.”
Riven studied me—then nodded, just once. “Take care of her.”
“I will,” I said. “Or die trying.”
He turned, walking back inside.
Tide looked up at me, her storm-gray eyes wide. “You didn’t have to say that.”
“I meant it,” I said.
And I did.
Because for the first time in my life, I wasn’t just surviving.
I was claiming.
And I wasn’t letting go.
Not of her.
Not of us.
Not of the storm.