The kiss didn’t last.
But it changed everything.
Not because it was tender—though it was. Not because it was soft—though my lips still burned from it. But because it wasn’t rage. It wasn’t defiance. It wasn’t a weapon.
It was surrender.
And that terrified me more than any battle ever had.
We stood in the doorway of the tower, rain still drizzling from the broken sky, Riven’s warning hanging in the air like a storm cloud. You look like you’re losing yourself.
Maybe I was.
Maybe I already had.
Kael’s hand remained at my back, warm through the soaked fabric of my gown. His presence—solid, unyielding—anchored me in a world that had just tilted off its axis. The bond hummed between us, no longer a warning, no longer a curse, but something deeper. Something alive.
And I hated that I didn’t want to pull away.
“We should go,” I said, voice low, rough. “The Council will want answers.”
“Let them wait,” he murmured, thumb brushing the nape of my neck. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
He didn’t argue. Just guided me inside, his hand steady, his steps deliberate. The corridors were dim, lit only by flickering sconces, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and old magic. Servants scurried past, eyes down, whispers trailing behind us like smoke.
There she is.
The storm-witch.
Did you see what she did to the terrace?
They say she tried to kill herself.
No. I heard she was fighting with him. That he had her pinned—
I clenched my jaw, magic crackling beneath my skin. One word. One spark. I could silence them all.
But I didn’t.
Because Kael was right. I was exhausted. Not just from the storm, not just from the fight with Lyra, but from the war inside me. The one I’d been losing since the moment our hands touched in the Grand Atrium.
We reached the suite. The fire had been lit, casting long shadows across the black marble floor. The bed—still unmade from the night before—loomed like a sacrificial altar.
“Sit,” Kael said, guiding me to the chaise near the hearth.
“I don’t need—”
“Sit.”
His voice wasn’t harsh. But it wasn’t a request either. It was a command. One I found myself obeying.
He knelt, pulling off my soaked slippers, then reached for the hem of my gown.
“What are you doing?” I snapped, pulling back.
“You’re soaked,” he said, unfazed. “You’ll catch cold. Or worse—Storm Sickness. The bond won’t tolerate it.”
“I can undress myself.”
“Clearly,” he said, eyes flicking to my trembling hands, “you can’t.”
Before I could protest, he lifted the gown over my head, leaving me in nothing but my undergarments—damp, clinging, revealing too much. I crossed my arms, but he didn’t look. Just reached for a thick woolen robe, wrapping it around my shoulders.
His fingers brushed my collarbone.
The bond flared.
Not with desire. Not with anger. But with something quieter. Something that made my breath catch.
Concern.
He felt it too.
“You don’t have to do this,” I whispered.
“No,” he said, tucking the robe around me. “But I want to.”
He stood, moving to the side table, pouring a glass of heated blood wine. “Drink. It’ll help.”
I took it, sipping slowly. The warmth spread through my chest, calming the storm in my veins. The ring on my finger pulsed, faintly, in time with my heartbeat.
“Why did you save me?” I asked, staring into the fire. “On the balcony. You didn’t have to. You could’ve let me fall.”
He didn’t answer at first. Just watched me, his obsidian eyes unreadable.
Then, softly: “Because you’re mine.”
“You keep saying that.”
“And you keep pretending it’s not true.”
I looked away. “It’s not real. It’s magic. Politics. A lie.”
“Then why does it feel like the only real thing in my life?”
I didn’t answer.
Because I didn’t know.
The door burst open.
A servant—pale, breathless—stumbled in. “Your Grace! My lady! The High Queen summons you to the Ritual Chamber. Immediately.”
Kael’s jaw tightened. “Why?”
“The bond,” the servant said. “It’s unstable. The Council fears it will break. They demand a strengthening ritual.”
My stomach dropped.
“No,” I said, standing. “I won’t do it.”
“You don’t have a choice,” Kael said, voice low. “If the bond breaks, it’s not just treason. It’s war.”
“Then let it burn.”
“And let thousands die?” He stepped closer, gripping my shoulders. “You don’t get to be selfish, Tide. Not anymore.”
“I’m not being selfish. I’m being *free*.”
“You’re not free,” he said. “And you never will be. Not from this. Not from me.”
I wanted to rage. To scream. To summon lightning and tear the room apart.
But I didn’t.
Because he was right.
And I hated that.
“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. “You just haven’t accepted it yet.”
The Ritual Chamber was deep beneath the Fae High Court, accessible only by a narrow stone staircase veined with glowing runes. The air grew colder with every step, thick with the scent of ancient magic and something darker—blood, old and dried, soaked into the stone.
The chamber itself was circular, its walls lined with obsidian mirrors that reflected nothing. No torches. No sconces. Just a single pedestal in the center, holding a black crystal chalice filled with liquid silver—blood essence, distilled from centuries of vampire oaths.
The Council stood in a half-circle, cloaked in their house colors. The High Queen at the center, her silver crown gleaming, her eyes sharp as daggers. Riven stood at the edge, arms crossed, expression grim. He met my gaze—just for a second—and I saw the warning in his eyes.
Be careful.
“Prince Kael Valen,” the High Queen intoned. “Tide of the Storm-Witch Line. You stand before the Council to stabilize your fated bond. Do you accept the ritual?”
Kael didn’t hesitate. “I do.”
All eyes turned to me.
I could feel them. The weight. The expectation. The threat.
And I could feel him—his presence, his pulse, the way his fingers twitched at his side, as if he wanted to reach for me.
I took a breath.
“I do,” I said.
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
Not triumph. Not joy.
Disbelief.
The High Queen smiled—a thin, knowing curve of her lips. “Then let the ritual begin.”
A vampire elder stepped forward, holding a silver blade etched with Valen runes. “The bond must be fed. Blood to blood. Breath to breath. Soul to soul.”
He handed the blade to Kael.
“Cut deep,” the elder said. “Let the magic flow.”
Kael took my hand, turning it palm-up. His touch was gentle. Reverent. And it made my stomach twist.
“This will hurt,” he murmured.
“I’ve survived worse,” I said.
He didn’t argue. Just dragged the blade across my palm.
Blood welled—dark, rich, humming with storm magic. It dripped into the chalice, sizzling as it met the silver liquid. The runes on the walls flared to life, glowing crimson.
Then Kael cut his own palm, pressing it to mine.
The bond exploded.
Not a surge. Not a spark.
A tsunami.
Fire ripped through my veins. Lightning crackled over my skin. My vision whited out. And then—
I was no longer in the chamber.
I was in his mind.
Memories. Emotions. Sensations. All flooding into me like a river breaking its banks.
A boy—seventeen, pale, sharp-featured—standing in a dungeon cell, watching a woman with storm-gray eyes and wild black hair. My mother. Her wrists chained, her body broken, her magic suppressed. Kael reaching through the bars, offering her a vial of water. Her whispering, “Don’t help me. They’ll punish you.” Him saying, “I can’t let you suffer.” A guard dragging him away. The crack of a whip. His father’s voice, cold, cruel: “You will learn obedience, boy.”
I gasped, staggering back—but the magic held me, binding us together in a way that wasn’t just physical.
It was intimate.
“You tried to help her,” I whispered, tears burning my eyes. “You were just a boy.”
“And I failed,” he said, voice raw. “I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t stop him. I was powerless.”
“You weren’t,” I said. “You cared. That’s more than anyone else did.”
The bond flared again—brighter, hotter, deeper. The chalice cracked. The liquid silver began to bubble, turning black. The runes flickered—then dimmed.
“The magic is failing!” a noble cried.
“The bond is rejecting the ritual!” another shouted.
“No,” Kael said, gripping my hand tighter. “It’s not rejecting. It’s evolving.”
And then—
The doors slammed shut.
The mirrors shattered.
The runes went dark.
And the chamber was sealed.
Trapped.
Alone.
With him.
“What the hell was that?” I demanded, yanking my hand back, but the bond still held us, a live wire between our souls.
“The bond is alive,” Kael said, stepping closer. “It’s not just magic. It’s *us*. And it’s refusing to be controlled.”
“Then let it break,” I said, backing away. “Let it burn.”
“And condemn us both?” He moved with vampire speed, closing the distance, his hands gripping my arms. “You feel it too, don’t you? The pull. The need. The way your body betrays you when I touch you.”
“I hate you,” I whispered.
“Then why do you taste like mine?”
And before I could answer, he kissed me.
Not like in the Hall. Not like on the balcony.
This was desperation.
His mouth crashed into mine, hot and demanding, his fangs grazing my lip, drawing a bead of blood. The bond roared to life, a tidal wave of sensation—his hunger, my pulse, the way my body arched toward him without permission. My hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, my magic crackling between us like lightning meeting storm.
He groaned, one hand tangling in my hair, the other sliding down, gripping my thigh, lifting me—
And I didn’t stop him.
I couldn’t.
Because for the first time, I wasn’t fighting.
For the first time, I was feeling.
His lips trailed down my neck, his fangs scraping my skin, sending shivers through my body. My head fell back, a moan escaping my lips. His hands were everywhere—my waist, my hips, beneath my robe, his touch like fire on my skin.
“Kael,” I gasped, my voice breaking.
“Say my name again,” he growled, his mouth at my ear.
“Kael—”
He kissed me again, deeper, hungrier, his body pressing me against the wall, his thigh sliding between mine. Heat pooled low in my belly, the bond flaring with every heartbeat. I could feel his desire, sharp and sudden, like a blade. Could taste the iron of his blood on my tongue.
His hand slipped beneath my undergarments, his fingers brushing—
And then—
A sound.
Heavy. Metallic.
The door.
It burst open.
Guards. Nobles. The High Queen.
They froze.
The chamber was a wreck—mirrors shattered, runes dark, the chalice overturned. And us—half-undressed, breathless, drenched in magic and each other’s scent.
Kael didn’t move. Didn’t release me. Just turned his head, his fangs still bared, his eyes black with need.
“You will leave,” he said, voice a growl. “Or die.”
The High Queen raised a hand. “Enough.”
Silence.
“The bond is stable,” she said. “For now. But you will marry within seven days. Or you will be executed for treason.”
Then she was gone.
The guards followed.
And we were alone again.
Kael slowly lowered me, his hands still on my hips, his eyes searching mine. “You’re not going to kill me,” he said again. “Not today.”
“No,” I whispered. “Not today.”
But tomorrow?
Tomorrow, I wasn’t so sure.
Because for the first time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to.