The morning after sharing Kael’s bed should have felt like surrender.
Instead, it felt like awakening.
I didn’t run. Didn’t bolt upright in panic. Didn’t curse myself for the way my body had curled into his in the dark, for the way his arm had held me like I belonged there, for the whispered words I didn’t remember saying—*“Don’t leave me.”*
I just… woke.
Slowly. Deliberately. My back still pressed to his chest, his breath warm on my neck, his hand resting on my hip like a brand. The bond hummed beneath my collarbone, steady, calm, *alive.* Not with the feverish heat of magic or the desperate pull of desire, but with something quieter. Deeper. Like a hearth fire after a storm.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Just let myself feel it—the weight of him, the warmth of him, the way my magic, usually a sharp, controlled thing, had softened, settled, *harmonized* with his in the night.
And then—
—I remembered.
Maeve.
Her blood on the stone. Her hand on my cheek. Her last words—*“You’re his queen.”*
The journal. My mother’s truth. The bond. The choice.
“Now I fight with you.”
I had said it. Meant it. And for the first time, it didn’t feel like betrayal.
It felt like coming home.
Kael stirred behind me, his chest rising against my back, his fingers tightening slightly on my hip. “You’re awake,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
“So are you.”
“I never slept.”
“Liar.”
He chuckled, low and warm, the sound vibrating through my bones. “Fine. I didn’t *close* my eyes. But I wasn’t asleep. I was… watching.”
“Creepy.”
“Protective.” He shifted, pulling me closer, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “You talked in your sleep.”
My breath caught. “I did not.”
“You did.” His voice dropped. “You said, *‘I hate you.’* Then you said, *‘Don’t leave me.’*”
Heat flooded my face. Not from anger. From something hotter. Something I couldn’t name.
“I was half-asleep,” I snapped. “I didn’t mean it.”
“Liar,” he said again, softer this time. “You meant both.”
I didn’t answer.
Just sat up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, my boots cold against the stone. The room was dim, the fire reduced to embers, the balcony doors cracked open to let in the pale morning light. The scent of smoke, frost, and storm still clung to the air—his scent. Our scent.
“You don’t have to run,” he said, sitting up behind me.
“I’m not running.” I stood, smoothing my tunic, checking my sigil-stone, my dagger. “I’m strategizing.”
“Same thing.”
“Not anymore.” I turned to face him. “I made a choice last night. I’m not going back on it.”
He studied me, his gold-flecked eyes sharp, searching. “And what choice was that?”
“To stop fighting you.” I stepped closer. “To stop pretending the bond is a curse. To stop hating you for something you didn’t do.”
“And?”
“And to fight *with* you.” I reached into my coat and pulled out the journal, holding it up. “My mother didn’t die for nothing. Maeve didn’t die for nothing. And Ravel?” I smiled, slow and dangerous. “He’s going to burn.”
Kael didn’t smile. Didn’t gloat. Just reached out, his thumb brushing the edge of my jaw. “Welcome home, Queen.”
And for the first time in ten years—
I believed it.
We didn’t speak as we dressed, as we left his chambers, as we moved through the Spire like shadows. 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—
—the whispers started.
“She’s compromised.”
“The bond has clouded her judgment.”
“She’s no longer fit to serve.”
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t slow. Just kept walking, my jaw set, my claws itching.
But Kael did.
He stopped, turning to face a cluster of vampire elders huddled near the eastern archway. Their red eyes widened. Their fangs retracted.
“You have something to say?” he asked, voice low, deadly calm.
One of them—ancient, pale, draped in blood-red silk—stepped forward. “We only speak the truth, High Arbiter. The bond is a flaw. A weakness. And weakness must be purged.”
“Then try,” I said, stepping beside Kael. My magic flared—crimson light spiraling around my hand. “Sever it. And watch us both die screaming.”
The elder hesitated. The others fell back.
Good.
Let them fear us.
We turned the corner toward the Council Hall, but Kael stopped again, his hand on my arm. “Wait.”
I turned. “What?”
He didn’t answer. Just pulled me into a shadowed alcove, his body caging mine against the wall, his breath hot on my neck. “They’re watching,” he murmured. “Ravel’s spies. Everywhere.”
“Let them watch.”
“Not like this.” His hand slid to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair. “Not without a fight.”
And then—
—he kissed me.
Not soft. Not gentle. Not a question.
A claim.
His lips crashed into mine, hard and hungry, his fangs grazing my lower lip just enough to draw a bead of blood. My magic flared—crimson light spiraling around us, binding us, *claiming* us. The bond *roared,* heat flooding my veins, light exploding behind my eyes.
And then—
—he pulled back.
“Now let them watch,” he said, voice rough. “Let them see what happens when they try to take you from me.”
I didn’t answer.
Just followed him to the Council Hall, my lips still tingling, my mark burning, my magic dancing beneath my skin.
The Chamber of Echoes was already full when we entered—twelve Council seats occupied, the air thick with tension, the scent of blood-wine and old magic cloying in my nose. 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—
—Ravel.
He stood behind the central dais, his pureblood features sharp, his crimson robes immaculate, his red eyes gleaming with triumph. He didn’t speak. Didn’t gesture. Just held up a single image—etched onto a silver disc, glowing with dark magic.
My breath stopped.
It was us.
Kael and me.
In the ruins.
Pressed against the crumbling pillar, his hands caging me, his lips on my neck, my body arched into his, my mouth open in a gasp. The moment before Dain interrupted. The moment before the truth broke me.
And then—
—another image.
The ritual chamber.
Kael’s hand on my bare back, my body arched into his touch, the sigils on our skin glowing gold, Dain frozen in the doorway.
And then—
—another.
His chambers.
Me on the bed, half-naked, his body pressed to mine, his hand on my hip, my eyes closed, my mouth parted in surrender.
The room erupted.
“Scandal!” a werewolf Alpha snarled.
“The bond is corrupting her!” a vampire elder hissed.
“She’s no longer fit to serve!” another cried.
Ravel raised his hand, silencing them. “The evidence is clear. The bond has compromised her judgment. She is no longer a neutral envoy. She is *his* queen. And as such—”
“As such, she is *mine,*” Kael said, stepping forward, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. “And I will not let anyone take her from me.”
“The bond is a threat,” Ravel said. “A flaw in the Council’s structure. And flaws must be—”
“Purged?” I snapped, stepping beside Kael. “Is that what you call it? Murder? Betrayal? Framing an innocent woman and burning her at the stake?”
The chamber stilled.
“You know nothing,” Ravel said, his voice icy.
“I know *everything.*” I pulled the journal from my coat and slammed it onto the dais. “My mother’s final words. Her truth. That you conspired with a Seelie noble to frame her. That you killed Maeve to silence her. That you’ll do anything to keep your power.”
“Lies,” Ravel spat. “Convenient lies from a woman who has lost all objectivity.”
“Then let the magic decide,” I said, my voice low, dangerous. “Let the bond speak. Let it show you the truth.”
“And how do you propose we do that?”
I didn’t answer.
Just reached for Kael’s hand.
Our fingers intertwined.
And the bond—
It *ignited.*
Not with heat. Not with fire.
With *light.*
Gold and crimson spiraled around us, binding us, *claiming* us. The sigils on our skin flared—twin marks, twin souls, twin power. The chamber trembled. The wards hummed. The Council members staggered back, their eyes wide, their fangs bared.
And then—
—the vision.
Not mine. Not Kael’s.
Ours.
A shared memory—my mother’s execution. The flames. The crowd. The Council watching in silence. And in the shadows—Kael. A boy. No more than sixteen. His gold-flecked eyes wide with horror, his hands clenched into fists, his voice whispering, *“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”*
And then—
Another.
Maeve’s death. The shadow. The blade. The vial hidden in her sleeve. And Ravel—standing in the corridor, his red eyes gleaming, his lips curled in a smile.
The chamber was silent.
No one moved. No one spoke.
Until Ravel.
“Enough.” His voice was a whip. “The bond is unstable. Dangerous. It must be severed.”
“Try,” Kael said, stepping forward, his body caging mine. “Sever it. And watch us both die. Watch the Council fall. Watch the packs fracture. Watch the Houses rise. And watch the Fae—”
“Take everything,” I finished, stepping beside him. “And you’ll be the one who let them.”
Ravel’s eyes narrowed. “Then exile her.”
“No,” Kael said. “She stays. With me.”
“Then the Council demands a trial.”
“For what?”
“For treason.” Ravel’s gaze locked onto mine. “For conspiring with the Fae. For stealing Council secrets. For destabilizing the bond.”
“And the punishment?”
“Death.”
The word hung in the air like a blade.
But I didn’t flinch.
Just smiled.
“Then let the trial begin,” I said. “And let the bond be the judge.”
Ravel didn’t answer.
Just turned and walked out, his crimson robes swirling like blood in water.
The chamber emptied behind him, the Council members whispering, their eyes wide with fear, with doubt, with *hope.*
And then—
—it was just us.
Kael turned to me, his hand lifting, his thumb brushing the edge of my jaw. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do.” I stepped into him, my hands on his chest, my forehead resting against his. “I came to burn the Council to the ground. But I’m not going to. Not like this. Not alone. I’m going to burn *him.* And I’m going to do it with you.”
He didn’t answer.
Just pulled me into a fierce embrace, his mouth on my neck, his fangs grazing my skin, not to claim, not to mark—but to *promise.*
And the bond—
It *pulsed.*
Not with warning.
With *power.*
The war wasn’t over.
But I wasn’t fighting it alone anymore.
And that was enough.