The morning after Borin’s death, Frostfen woke to silence.
Not the peaceful kind. Not the hush of snowfall or the lull between storms. This was the silence of fear—the kind that settles in the bones, thick and suffocating, like a blade pressed to the throat. The fortress, once alive with the clang of steel and the bark of commands, now moved in whispers. Sentinels stood rigid at their posts, eyes scanning the tree line, hands never far from their weapons. The pack elders gathered in hushed clusters, their voices low, their glances sharp. And everywhere I walked, I felt it—the weight of suspicion, the unspoken accusation.
She’s the enemy.
She brought the blood.
She’s poisoning the King.
I didn’t flinch. I didn’t look away. I wore my defiance like armor, my spine straight, my gaze steady. Let them stare. Let them hate. I wasn’t here to win their loyalty. I was here to survive. To expose the truth. To reclaim what was mine.
But last night—last night had cracked something inside me.
The kiss. The heat. The way my body had arched into his, the way my hands had clawed at his back, the way my magic had surged like a storm breaking. The way his hand had slipped under my shirt, calloused fingers burning against my skin, his breath hot on my neck—almost.
And then—sirens. Blood. Death. A message in silver.
I hadn’t slept. I’d lain on the cot, staring at the ceiling, my skin still humming from his touch, my heart pounding with something I refused to name. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face—his mouth on mine, his eyes dark with hunger, his voice raw as he said, *“You’re the only one who’s ever made me feel this.”*
And I believed him.
Worse—I wanted to believe him.
But now, as I stood in the training yard, the wind biting at my cheeks, the scent of frost and old blood in the air, I reminded myself: this wasn’t love. This wasn’t redemption. This was war. And in war, sentiment was a death sentence.
—
Riven found me at dawn.
He didn’t speak. Just stood beside me, his presence like a storm held at bay. His jaw was clenched, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He hadn’t shaved. The silver in his hair caught the pale light, and for the first time, I saw it—not just the king, not just the alpha, but the man beneath. Tired. Worn. Hurting.
“They’re questioning my judgment,” he said, voice low. “Thorne’s stirring dissent. Says I’m compromised. That the bond has clouded my mind.”
“And what do you say?”
He turned to me. “I say they can question all they want. But they’ll answer to me.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Then they die.”
I didn’t flinch. “You’d kill your own pack?”
“For you?” He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
My breath caught.
It should have enraged me. It should have confirmed every fear I had—that he was a monster, a tyrant, a man who valued control over conscience.
But it didn’t.
Because beneath the threat, beneath the cold certainty, I heard it—fear. Not for himself. For me.
“You don’t have to protect me,” I said.
“Yes, I do.”
“I can fight my own battles.”
“And I’ll fight beside you.”
Our eyes locked. The bond pulsed between us, low and steady, a thrum beneath my skin. I wanted to pull away. I wanted to believe this was just magic, just fate, just biology.
But it wasn’t.
It was us.
And I was starting to hate how much I felt it.
“Thorne’s behind this,” I said, breaking the silence. “Borin’s death. The ring. The message. It’s all him. He’s trying to divide us. To turn the pack against you.”
“And against you.”
“Then let him try.”
He studied me. “You’re reckless.”
“And you’re cautious.”
“Someone has to be.”
“Someone has to act,” I shot back. “We can’t just wait for him to strike again. We need proof. We need to move.”
“And do what?”
“Confront him. In front of the pack. With the scroll. With the key. With everything we have.”
“And if he denies it?”
“Then we make him.”
He exhaled, slow. “You’re playing with fire.”
“I’ve been playing with fire since the day I was born.”
He didn’t answer.
Just looked at me. Really looked.
And for the first time, I saw it—not just hunger, not just possession.
Respect.
“Then we do it,” he said. “Today. In the great hall. We call him out. We expose him. And if he resists—”
“Then we end him.”
He nodded. “Together.”
And just like that, the war had a new front.
—
The great hall was packed by midday.
Every sentinel, every soldier, every elder stood in rigid formation, their eyes forward, their expressions unreadable. The air was thick with tension, with the scent of pine and sweat and something darker—anticipation. Kael stood at the head of the room, his Beta instincts on high alert. Mira watched from the back, her face calm, her hands folded. The two fae were absent—likely still under guard, still unwelcome in the inner sanctum.
Riven and I stood at the center of the long stone table, side by side, our presence a challenge. Thorne stood at the far end, his silver ring glinting in the torchlight, his expression unreadable.
“We gather today,” Riven began, voice carrying, “to address the murder of Borin of the Northern Watch. A loyal soldier. A trusted warrior. And a victim of betrayal.”
Murmurs rose from the crowd.
“The evidence,” Riven continued, “points to Elder Thorne.”
The room stilled.
Thorne’s eyes narrowed. “You accuse me without proof?”
“We have proof,” I said, stepping forward. I unrolled the scroll—the one from Londra, the one with my mother’s handwriting. “This was hidden in the archives beneath the Fae Court. Written by Queen Mirelle herself.”
I read the words aloud, my voice steady, cold:
“The betrayal comes from within. The wolf who howls loudest is the one who bites in the dark. Trust no one with silver in their veins.”
And then—
“Elder Thorne.”
The gasps were audible.
Thorne’s face went still. “Forged. A trick. A hybrid’s lie.”
“And this?” I said, pulling the Key of Tides from my belt. The silver wave-shaped key caught the light, shimmering like water. “This was given to Riven by my mother on the night she died. A key to the Vault of Echoes. A key to the Crown of Tides. And a key to the truth.”
“You stole that!” Thorne snarled.
“No,” Riven said. “I gave it to her. Because she’s the only one who can claim it.”
“She’s not a true heir!” Thorne shouted. “She’s a half-breed! An abomination! You’re being blinded by the bond, Riven! By her lies! By her—”
“Enough,” Riven said, voice like ice. “You’re under arrest. For treason. For murder. For conspiring with vampires to overthrow the throne.”
Thorne didn’t move. Just smiled. Cold. Calculating.
And then—
“You’re too late,” he said.
Before anyone could react, the great hall doors burst open.
And she walked in.
Lyria.
She wore a gown of black silk, her dark hair coiled like a serpent, her eyes gleaming with triumph. But it wasn’t her entrance that froze the room.
It was what she was wearing.
Riven’s ceremonial cloak—black wolf pelt lined with silver thread—draped over her shoulders. And beneath it, clinging to her like a second skin, a tunic I recognized too well.
His tunic.
The one he’d worn the night we were locked in the Ritual Chamber. The one he’d slept in. The one that still carried his scent.
And then—
She stepped forward.
Stopped in front of him.
And without warning, she reached up, cupped his face, and kissed him.
Not a peck. Not a tease.
A claim.
Her lips pressed against his, slow, deliberate, possessive. Her fingers tangled in his hair. Her body pressed into his. And for one endless, devastating second—
He didn’t pull away.
The world stopped.
My breath caught. My pulse roared. My vision blurred at the edges.
And then—
He shoved her back.
“You’re insane,” he growled, wiping his mouth.
But it was too late.
The damage was done.
The pack was in chaos. Growls rose from the elders. Sentinels shifted, hands on weapons. Kael stepped forward, his eyes blazing. Mira’s face was stone.
And I—
I stood there, frozen, my heart shattering like glass.
Because it didn’t matter that he’d pushed her away.
It didn’t matter that he’d wiped his mouth.
It didn’t matter that he turned to me, his eyes wide, his voice urgent—“Tide, it’s not what you think.”
Because I’d seen it.
The hesitation.
The second it took for him to react.
The way his hands had twitched before he shoved her.
And worst of all—the way his scent had spiked.
Arousal.
Sharp. Sweet. Unmistakable.
He’d wanted it.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
—
I didn’t wait for explanations.
I didn’t stay for declarations.
I turned and walked out.
No one stopped me. No one called my name. The bond screamed in my veins, a jagged pulse of heat and pain, but I ignored it. I walked through the corridors, my boots echoing like gunshots, my hands clenched into fists, my breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts.
Outside, the wind howled, biting at my skin, but I didn’t feel it.
Inside, I was burning.
Not from the bond.
From him.
From the man who had kissed me like I was his salvation, who had whispered that I was the only one who’d ever made him feel alive, who had promised to stand beside me—only to let another woman press her lips to his in front of the entire pack.
And worse—
He’d liked it.
I reached the edge of the courtyard, the snow crunching beneath my boots, the fortress looming behind me like a tomb. I stopped. Turned.
And there he was.
Riven.
He stood in the archway, his face shadowed, his chest rising and falling fast. He didn’t call my name. Didn’t try to touch me.
Just watched.
“You’re wrong,” he said, voice low. “I didn’t want it.”
“Your body said otherwise,” I shot back.
“The bond—”
“Don’t hide behind it,” I snapped. “You felt it. I smelled it. You were aroused.”
He didn’t deny it.
And that was worse than any lie.
“It was a reflex,” he said. “A biological response. It didn’t mean anything.”
“Then why didn’t you pull away faster?”
“I—”
“You hesitated,” I said, stepping closer. “Just for a second. But it was enough. You let her touch you. You let her kiss you. And you didn’t stop her.”
“I did stop her.”
“Too late.”
He exhaled, slow. “You think I don’t hate myself for it? You think I don’t feel like I’m drowning every time I look at you? Every time I touch you? Every time I remember how you tasted when I kissed you last night?”
My breath caught.
“I want you,” he said, voice raw. “Only you. But the bond—it’s not just emotion. It’s instinct. And when she touched me, my body reacted before my mind could catch up.”
“And what about your heart?” I whispered. “Does that react too?”
He didn’t answer.
But I saw it—the flicker in his eyes. The doubt. The guilt.
And I knew.
He didn’t know either.
“You say you want me,” I said, stepping back. “But your body tells a different story. And if I can’t trust your body, how can I trust your words?”
“Tide—”
“No.” I shook my head. “Don’t. Just… don’t.”
I turned to leave.
“Wait.”
I stopped.
“I didn’t stop her fast enough,” he said. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life hating myself for it. But I swear to you—on my throne, on my blood, on the bond between us—I want you. Only you. And if you walk away now, I’ll let you. But know this—I’ll spend every day after chasing you. Fighting for you. Proving I’m yours.”
I didn’t turn.
Couldn’t.
Because if I did, I’d break.
“You were supposed to be my enemy,” I whispered. “Now you’re my ruin.”
And then I walked away.
Not because I didn’t care.
But because I cared too much.
—
That night, I stood in the bathing chamber, the water steaming in the iron basin, my reflection fractured in the ripples. I stripped off my tunic, my fingers trembling, and stepped in.
The heat soothed my muscles, but not my mind.
Outside, the fortress was silent. The pack was in chaos. Thorne had vanished. Lyria had disappeared into the night. Riven had issued a decree—anyone found aiding them would be executed.
But none of it mattered.
Because I’d seen the truth.
Not in the scroll.
Not in the key.
But in the way his body had responded to her touch.
And I knew—
If I stayed, I’d lose myself.
If I fought, I’d break.
And if I loved him—
I’d burn.
I dipped under the water, letting it swallow me, the silence pressing in, the heat searing my skin.
And in that moment, I made a decision.
I would not be used.
I would not be played.
I would not be hers.
And if Riven couldn’t choose me—
Then I’d choose myself.
Even if it meant burning this place to the ground.