The silence after Kael’s words should have shattered me.
Instead, it anchored me.
Standing on the balcony of his chambers, the wind howling through the Obsidian Spire’s ancient stones, his breath still warm on my neck, his voice echoing in my skull—*“You’re my queen”*—I didn’t run. Didn’t fight. Didn’t deny.
I just *breathed.*
For the first time in ten years, I let the weight of it all press down—my mother’s death, my exile, the vow I’d carved into my bones with every drop of blood magic I’d ever spilled—and I didn’t break.
Because I wasn’t alone.
Not anymore.
The bond pulsed beneath my collarbone, warm and alive, no longer a curse but a presence. A truth. And Kael—this man I’d come to destroy, this hybrid who’d ruled in silence while my mother burned—stood beside me, not as a conqueror, not as a threat, but as something I couldn’t name.
Protector.
Partner.
Maybe even… love.
I didn’t say it. Didn’t let the word form in my mind. Not yet. But I didn’t push it away either.
Behind us, the fire crackled, casting long, dancing shadows across the room. The scent of blood—mine, his, old and new—still clung to the air, but it no longer felt like a warning. It felt like a promise.
“You should rest,” Kael said, his voice low, rough.
“I’m not tired.”
“Liar.”
I almost smiled. Almost.
But then—
—a knock.
Soft. Deliberate.
Not Dain. Not a guard.
Maeve.
Kael stepped back, giving me space, but his hand lingered on the small of my back, a silent claim, a quiet comfort. I nodded, and he opened the door.
She stood in the archway, her hood pulled low, her staff tapping against the stone. Her storm-gray eyes—so like mine—flicked to Kael, then to me, then to the blood still drying on my palm.
“You’re fading,” she said, voice quiet.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “Blood magic drawn from life force doesn’t just weaken. It *consumes.* And you gave him too much.”
“He was dying,” I snapped. “I wasn’t going to let him turn feral.”
“And now you might.” She reached into her sleeve and pulled out a small, leather-bound journal—aged, brittle, the cover scorched at one corner. “This belonged to Elara. Her final words. Her truth.”
My breath caught.
“I’ve kept it hidden for ten years,” she said. “Waiting for you to come back. Waiting for the bond to find you. Waiting for the moment you’d finally stop fighting it.”
I took the journal, my fingers trembling as I opened it. The first page bore a single line, written in a hand that matched mine:
“Protect her. No matter what.”
My breath hitched.
And then—
—I read.
Page after page, her voice—my mother’s voice—filled my skull. Not with grief. Not with rage. But with *purpose.*
“They will come for you. They will try to break you. But you are stronger than they know. You are not just a witch. You are Fae. Unseelie. Stormborn. The last heir to the Unseelie Storm Throne. And the bond—it is not a chain. It is a key. A weapon. A shield. Kael will protect you. He will fight for you. He will die for you. And you—”
“—you must learn to trust him. Not just with your life. With your heart.”
Tears blurred the ink, but I didn’t wipe them away. Let them fall. Let them burn. Let them *cleanse.*
“She knew,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “She knew I’d come back. She knew the bond would find me. She knew—”
“That he’d save you,” Kael finished, stepping closer. “And I will. Every day. For the rest of our lives.”
I looked up at him, my eyes searching his. “Why? Why would she trust you? You were just a boy. You couldn’t stop them.”
“No,” he said. “But I never stopped trying. She gave me this the night before they killed her.” He reached into his coat and pulled out the silver locket—the one with her portrait. “She said, *‘Protect her. No matter what.’* And I swore I would.”
“And Lira?” I asked, my voice tight. “The scar? The pendant?”
“A glamour,” Maeve said. “A trick. Ravel used her to test Kael’s control. To turn you against him. But it failed.”
“Because you fought for him,” Kael said, his voice low. “Because you *care.*”
I didn’t answer.
Just closed the journal and tucked it into my coat, pressing it against my ribs like a second heart.
“You need to rest,” Maeve said. “The Council is calling an emergency session. Ravel’s already moving. But you—” She touched my arm, her grip firm. “—you cannot face him like this. Not weakened. Not vulnerable.”
“Then I’ll get stronger,” I said, standing. “I’ll rest. I’ll recover. And then I’ll burn him to the ground.”
Maeve smiled. “That’s my girl.”
She turned to leave, but I stopped her.
“Wait.” I reached into my coat and pulled out the blood contract vial—the one I’d stolen from the archives, the one that proved Ravel had shared blood with a Seelie noble. “Take this. Hide it. If anything happens to me—”
“Nothing will,” Kael said, voice sharp.
“If anything happens,” I repeated, “you finish what I started.”
Maeve took the vial, her expression grim. “I will.”
She nodded to Kael, then disappeared into the corridor.
Silence.
The fire crackled. The wind howled. The bond pulsed between us, warm, insistent, *alive.*
“You’re not losing me,” Kael said, stepping closer.
“I don’t *have* you,” I said, backing toward the door.
“You do.” He stepped forward. “And I’m not letting go.”
I didn’t answer.
Just turned and walked out, my heart pounding, my mark burning, my mind screaming one thing over and over—
He touched me. And I didn’t want him to stop.
But this time—
This time, I didn’t run far.
I went to my chambers. Stripped off my bloodied tunic. Washed the dried blood from my hands. Sat on the edge of my bed, the journal pressed to my chest, and let the silence press in.
For the first time in ten years, I didn’t feel like a weapon.
I felt like a woman.
And that terrified me.
I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, the sky was dark, the torches in the corridor flickering with blue flame. The bond pulsed beneath my collarbone, not with pain, but with *urgency.*
Something was wrong.
I stood, grabbing my sigil-stone and dagger, and moved through the Spire like a shadow. The corridors were quiet, too quiet, the usual hum of activity dulled by the tension in the air. No guards. No sentries. Just silence.
And then—
—I saw it.
A smear of blood on the stone.
Not much. Just a streak, barely visible in the torchlight. But I knew that scent.
Maeve.
My breath caught.
I followed the trail—down the eastern corridor, past the vampire wing, into the lower levels where the old archives were hidden. The air grew colder the deeper I went, the scent of damp earth and old magic thick in my lungs.
And then—
—the door.
Her chamber.
It was ajar, a sliver of golden candlelight cutting through the darkness.
My hand trembled as I pushed it open.
The room was in ruins.
Books torn from shelves. Scrolls scattered across the floor. The small wooden table overturned. And in the center—
—Maeve.
She lay on her back, her staff broken beside her, her hood fallen back, her face pale, her storm-gray eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Blood pooled beneath her, thick and dark, spreading across the stone like ink.
“No,” I whispered, dropping to my knees beside her. “No, no, no—”
Her chest rose in a shallow breath.
She was alive.
“Maeve,” I said, my voice breaking. “Look at me. *Look at me.*”
Her eyes flicked to mine, unfocused at first, then sharpening, recognizing me.
“Parker,” she whispered, her voice weak. “You’re… here.”
“Who did this?” I demanded, my magic flaring, crimson light spiraling around my hands. “Was it Ravel? Was it Lira?”
She shook her head, wincing. “No. It was… a shadow. A blade. Too fast.”
“Where’s the vial?” I asked, my voice urgent. “The blood contract? Did they take it?”
She reached into her sleeve, her fingers trembling, and pulled out the vial—intact, unbroken. “Hidden… in the lining.”
I took it, pressing it into my coat. “I’ll avenge you. I’ll burn them all.”
“No.” She reached up, her hand trembling as it brushed my cheek. “Not vengeance. *Truth.*”
“What truth?”
Her breath came in shallow gasps. “The journal… you read it?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know… the bond isn’t just fated. It’s *necessary.* Without it… the Council falls. The packs fracture. The Houses rise. And the Fae—” She coughed, blood spilling from her lips. “—they’ll take everything.”
“Then I’ll stop them.”
“You already are.” She smiled, faint, fading. “You came to destroy him. But you’re not going to. Because you can’t. Not when every part of you *knows* the truth.”
“And what truth is that?”
Her hand tightened on mine. “That you’re not just his bondmate.”
Her breath hitched.
“You’re his *queen.*”
And then—
—she was gone.
I didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. Just held her hand, my magic flaring, my breath coming in short, sharp bursts, the vial burning in my coat like a brand.
She was gone.
My last anchor. My last link to the past. My mother’s friend. My mentor. My *family.*
And now—
—she was dead.
Because of me.
Because I’d trusted her with the truth. Because I’d given her the vial. Because I’d thought, for one stupid, fragile moment, that I was safe.
And then—
—a voice.
“Kael.”
Dain stood in the doorway, his wolf-gold eyes wide, his expression stunned. “The Council—”
“Not now,” I snarled, standing. My magic flared—crimson light spiraling around me, binding me, *claiming* me. “Tell them I’ll be there. But first—”
I turned to Maeve, my hands trembling as I closed her eyes. “I’ll make them pay.”
Dain didn’t argue. Just stepped back, letting me pass.
The corridors blurred as I ran, my boots echoing against the stone, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my heart a drum in my chest. The bond pulsed beneath my collarbone, not with warmth, but with *rage.*
And then—
—the Chamber of Echoes.
The twelve Council seats rose in a crescent around the central dais, each occupied by a representative of the four species. The werewolf Alphas sat stiff-backed, their scents sharp with suspicion. The vampire elders watched with cold, calculating eyes. The Fae envoy—same Seelie noble from the emergency session—traced a finger along her lips as I passed. And at the head of it all—
—Kael.
He stood behind the High Arbiter’s podium, his coat immaculate, his expression unreadable. But his gaze—gold-flecked, wolf-bright, *hungry*—locked onto mine the second I entered. And the bond—
It *pulsed.*
Not with anticipation.
With *warning.*
“Parker,” he said, voice low. “You’re late.”
“I was with Maeve,” I said, stepping forward. “She’s dead.”
A ripple went through the chamber. A werewolf Alpha snarled. A vampire elder hissed.
“And you expect us to believe that?” Ravel said, rising from his seat. “Another convenient death? Another martyr for your cause?”
“I expect you to *see* it,” I snapped, pulling the vial from my coat. “I expect you to *read* the truth. That you conspired with a Seelie noble to frame my mother. That you killed Maeve to silence her. That you’ll do anything to keep your power.”
“Enough.” Kael’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade. He stepped down from the podium, his boots echoing against the stone. “The evidence is real. The forgery is proven. And if anyone”—his gaze swept the chamber—“attempts to sever the bond, they will answer to me.”
“You cannot protect her forever,” Ravel said. “The bond is a flaw. A weakness. And weakness must be purged.”
“Then try,” I snapped. “Sever it. And watch us both die screaming.”
The Council murmured. The Fae envoy’s smile faltered. Even Ravel hesitated.
They knew the truth.
The bond was reciprocal. My death was his. And his power—his control—depended on mine.
“This session is adjourned,” Kael said. “Until further notice.”
He turned to me. “It’s over. For now.”
I didn’t answer.
Just tucked the vial back into my coat and walked out, my boots echoing against the stone, my mark burning beneath my collarbone.
The emergency session had been a victory.
But the war had just begun.
I didn’t go to my room. I couldn’t. Not with Maeve’s blood still on my hands, not with her last words echoing in my skull—*“You’re his queen”*—not with the vial burning in my coat like a brand.
I took the northern passage—the one that led to the ruins of the old temple, half-collapsed and overgrown with ivy, its shattered spires clawing at the moonlit sky. The wind howled through the broken arches, carrying the scent of damp earth and old magic. I stepped inside, the stone cold beneath my boots, the air thick with the weight of forgotten prayers.
And then—
—I wasn’t alone.
“You always run,” Kael said, stepping from the shadows.
I spun, sigil-stone already in hand. “I don’t run. I *strategize.*”
“You ran from the kiss.”
“I didn’t run. I *left.*”
“Same thing.” He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. “You felt it, didn’t you? The way our magic harmonized. The way your body answered to mine.”
“It was the bond,” I said, backing away. “Adrenaline. Magic resonance. It didn’t mean anything.”
“Liar.” He closed the distance in one stride, caging me against a crumbling pillar, his hands braced on either side of my head. “You felt it. The truth. The way your breath caught when I touched you. The way your hips pressed into mine. The way you *kissed me back.*”
My pulse jumped.
“I hate you,” I whispered.
“No.” His voice dropped to a growl. “You hate that you *want* me. That your mission means nothing compared to the way I make you feel.”
“You don’t make me feel anything.”
“Then why is your pulse racing?” He pressed two fingers to the side of my neck, his touch searing. “Why is your breath shallow? Why is your magic *dancing* beneath your skin?”
I didn’t answer.
Because he was right.
And that terrified me.
“You came here to destroy me,” he said, his voice a velvet threat. “But you’re not going to. Because you can’t. Not when every part of you *knows* the truth.”
“And what truth is that?”
He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “That you’re not just my bondmate.”
His breath was hot on my neck.
“You’re my *queen.*”
“Don’t,” I hissed, shoving him. But he didn’t move. Just tightened his grip, his body pressing into mine, his heat flooding my senses.
“Don’t you *dare* use that word.”
“Why not?” He nipped my earlobe, just enough to draw a gasp. “You are. The Unseelie Storm Throne is yours. Your mother didn’t just protect the Fae—she *led* them. And you?” His hand slid down, gripping my hip, pulling me against him. “You’re her heir. And I will *not* let anyone take that from you. Not Ravel. Not the Council. Not even *you.*”
My breath caught.
“You don’t know that,” I whispered.
“I do.” He reached into his coat, pulling out the silver locket—my mother’s locket. “She gave this to me. The night before they killed her. She said, *‘Protect her. No matter what.’*”
My hands trembled.
“She knew,” he said. “She knew you’d come back. She knew the bond would find you. And she knew—”
“That you’d save me,” I finished, voice breaking.
He nodded. “And I will. Every day. For the rest of our lives.”
Silence.
The wind howled. The ruins groaned. The bond pulsed between us, warm, insistent, *alive.*
And then—
—a voice.
“Kael.”
Dain stood in the archway, his face grim. “We have a problem.”
Kael didn’t move. Didn’t look away from me. “What is it?”
“Lira.” Dain’s gaze flicked to me, then back to Kael. “She’s telling everyone. About the bond. About the ritual. About… *this.*”
Kael finally turned. “Let her.”
“It’s too late.” Dain stepped inside, lowering his voice. “The Council knows. They’re calling an emergency session. They’re saying the bond is a threat. That it needs to be severed.”
My blood ran cold.
“Let them try,” Kael said, voice deadly calm. “And when they fail, I’ll remind them who holds the thirteenth seat.”
Dain nodded, then left.
Kael turned back to me. “You’re not losing me, Parker.”
“I don’t *have* you,” I said, backing toward the door.
“You do.” He stepped forward. “And I’m not letting go.”
I didn’t answer.
I turned and walked out, my heart pounding, my mark burning, my mind screaming one thing over and over—
He touched me. And I didn’t want him to stop.