The silence after the Council session was louder than any battle cry.
Not because of the oaths sworn, the blood contracts sealed, the treaties inked in magic and flesh. Not because of the way the Council had risen—slowly, grudgingly, but undeniably—to acknowledge *us.* Not even because of the way Kael’s fingers had brushed the inside of my thigh beneath the archway, sending a pulse of heat through the bond that made my breath hitch and my magic dance beneath my skin.
No.
The silence was loud because of what it meant.
We had won.
Not just a trial. Not just a rescue. Not just a declaration.
We had *shifted* the balance.
The High Arbiter and his queen. The hybrid and the Stormborn. The man who had ruled with cold precision and the woman who had come to burn it all down.
And now—
Now we stood together.
Equal.
United.
And that terrified me more than any war.
Kael didn’t speak as we walked through the Spire, our boots echoing against the stone, our hands brushing with every step. The corridors were quiet, the torches low, the wards humming with a new rhythm—one that matched the pulse of our bond. The air was thick with the scent of old magic, crushed moonpetal, and something deeper, richer: power. *Our* power.
And yet—
I could feel it.
The tension. The unease. The way the shadows seemed to stretch just a little too long, the way the whispers had changed from fear to something darker.
“She’s compromised.”
“The bond has clouded her judgment.”
“He’s no longer fit to rule.”
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 northern tower, 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 northern tower, my lips still tingling, my mark burning, my magic dancing beneath my skin.
We didn’t go to his chambers. Not yet. Instead, he led me to the War Chamber—a hidden room deep within the Spire, its walls lined with maps, sigils, and ancient tomes. The great obsidian table stood in the center, etched with the continent’s borders, the territories of the packs, the Houses, the Fae courts. Blood-red markers dotted the northern moors—Ravel’s last known location before exile.
Dain was already there, his wolf-gold eyes sharp, his posture tense. Lira stood beside him, her wrists still bound in silver cord, her red eyes reflecting the torchlight. She didn’t speak. Just watched me, studied me, like she was trying to understand how I’d walked into a death trap for a man I’d once sworn to destroy.
Maybe she never would.
Maybe I wouldn’t either.
“He’s not gone,” Kael said, stepping to the table, his fingers tracing the blood-red markers. “Exile doesn’t kill a man like Ravel. It fuels him.”
“He’s wounded,” Dain said. “Stripped of rank. Hunted by his own. He won’t last a week in the wilds.”
“You don’t know him,” I said, stepping forward, my fingers brushing the journal still tucked against my ribs. My mother’s final words. Her truth. “He’s not just a vampire. He’s a *predator.* And predators don’t die. They adapt.”
Kael turned to me, his gold-flecked eyes searching mine. “Then what do you think he’ll do?”
“He’ll strike where we’re weakest.” I reached for the map, my fingers tracing the southern border—where the Unseelie Fae courts lay hidden in the mist-shrouded valleys. “He’ll go to the Fae.”
“He already has,” Lira said, her voice quiet.
All eyes turned to her.
“What do you mean?” Kael asked.
“Before I gave you the journal,” she said, lifting her bound hands, “Ravel met with a Seelie envoy. Not just any envoy. *Lady Seraphine.* She’s one of the oldest, most powerful nobles in the Seelie Court. And she’s been conspiring with him for decades.”
My breath stopped.
“Why?” Kael asked, voice low.
“Because she wants the Unseelie Storm Throne,” I said, my voice hollow. “And she needed someone on the inside to help her take it.”
“And Ravel was her pawn,” Dain finished.
“Until I gave you the journal,” Lira said. “Now he’s desperate. And desperate men make dangerous allies.”
“He’ll bring the Fae to war,” I said, my fingers curling into fists. “Not just the Seelie. The Unseelie too. He’ll twist their courts against us. He’ll use their oaths, their magic, their *hunger* to tear the Council apart.”
“Then we stop him before he can,” Kael said, stepping closer, his hand lifting to the mark beneath my collarbone. “Before he can rally them. Before he can turn the packs against us. Before he can—”
“Too late,” a voice said from the doorway.
We turned.
Dain was already moving, his claws extended, his wolf-gold eyes blazing. But it was Lira who spoke.
“Look,” she whispered, her red eyes wide.
Outside the narrow window, the sky was splitting open.
Not with storm.
With *fire.*
Great arcs of crimson and gold tore through the clouds, spiraling like serpents, crashing into the northern cliffs. The ground trembled. The wards shrieked. And then—
—the horns.
Low. Deep. Ancient.
The call of the Fae.
“They’re here,” Dain said, his voice tight. “The Unseelie. And they’re not coming in peace.”
“It’s a distraction,” I said, my magic flaring. “Ravel’s not with them. He’s using them to draw us out. To weaken the Spire.”
“Then where is he?” Kael asked.
“Where he’s always been,” I said, turning to him, my storm-gray eyes locking onto his. “In the shadows. Waiting. Watching. And now—” I reached for my blades, strapping them to my thighs. “—he’s coming for the heart.”
Kael didn’t argue. Just nodded, his fangs elongating, his claws tearing free of their sheaths. “Dain. Take the east wall. Hold the packs. Lira—” He turned to her. “You stay here. If we fall, you take the journal. You get it to the Storm Court.”
“And if I don’t?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“Then you die with us,” I said, stepping to the door. “But I’d rather burn the world than let Ravel win.”
We didn’t speak as we left the War Chamber, as we moved through the Spire like shadows. The corridors were chaos—vampire sentries rushing to the battlements, werewolf Betas shifting mid-stride, Fae illusions flickering in the torchlight. The air was thick with the scent of blood, smoke, and magic.
And then—
—we reached the outer wall.
The northern battlements were already aflame—literally. Great pillars of crimson fire erupted from the ground, tearing through the stone, sending rogues and guards alike screaming into the void. In the sky, winged Fae—Unseelie nobles with obsidian feathers and eyes like molten gold—swooped and dived, their magic crackling in the air.
But they weren’t attacking the Spire.
They were attacking *each other.*
“It’s a civil war,” I said, my breath catching. “The Seelie and Unseelie are turning on each other. Ravel’s not just using them. He’s *dividing* them.”
“And while they tear each other apart,” Kael said, his voice low, “he slips in. He takes the Spire. He takes *you.*”
“Then we don’t let him.” I stepped to the edge of the battlement, my blades raised, my magic flaring. “We hold the line. We protect the heart. And we *end* him.”
Kael turned to me, his gold-flecked eyes blazing. “You came here to destroy me,” he said, 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?” I whispered, though I already knew.
“That you’re not just my bondmate.” His lips brushed the shell of my ear. “You’re my *queen.* And I’m not letting you go.”
I didn’t shove him.
Didn’t slap him.
Didn’t run.
Just closed my eyes.
And for the first time in ten years—
I let myself believe it.
Then I opened them.
And I fought.
Blades sang. Magic flared. Blood spilled—mine, theirs, *his.* I moved like a storm given form, fast, brutal, relentless. One Fae noble lunged, and I sliced through his wing, sending him crashing to the stone. Another came from behind, and I twisted, driving my elbow into his throat, then spinning to decapitate a third with a clean arc of steel.
But there were too many.
And Kael was at my back, his body pressing into mine, his fangs bared, his claws extended. We fought like one being—our magic harmonizing, our movements in sync, the bond pulsing between us like a second heartbeat.
And then—
—the ground cracked.
A fissure tore through the battlement, black as night, deep as hell. From it rose a figure—tall, cloaked in shadows, his red eyes gleaming with triumph.
Ravel.
He wasn’t alone.
At his side stood Lady Seraphine—her silver gown shimmering, her hair like spun moonlight, her smile venomous. And behind them—
A dozen Fae warriors. Seelie and Unseelie alike. Bound by oaths. Twisted by lies.
“You’re too late,” Ravel said, voice cutting through the chaos. “The bond is already fractured. The Council will fall. And you—” His gaze locked onto me. “—will die like your mother.”
My blood ran cold.
But I didn’t flinch.
Just stepped forward, caging Kael behind me, my blades raised. “You don’t get to speak her name.”
“Why not?” He smiled, slow and venomous. “She died screaming. Just like you will.”
“No.” Kael stepped beside me, his body pressing into mine, his fangs bared. “She’ll burn you first.”
Ravel laughed. “And how? You’re weakened. She’s bleeding. And the bond—” He raised a hand, and the wards flared—dark magic surging through the air. “—is *mine* to break.”
The bond *screamed.*
Kael staggered, his hand flying to his chest. I felt it too—a tearing sensation, like something inside me was being ripped apart. My knees buckled, but I didn’t fall. Just gritted my teeth and stood.
“You think you can sever it?” I spat, blood on my lips. “You think you can destroy what fate forged?”
“Fate?” He sneered. “There is no fate. Only power. And I have more than you.”
“No.” I stepped forward, my blades flashing. “You have *nothing.* No loyalty. No love. No truth. Just lies. Just blood. Just *weakness.*”
“Then prove it.” He raised his hand. “Kill her.”
The Fae warriors lunged.
I met them head-on.
Blades clashed. Magic flared. Blood spilled—mine, theirs, *his.* I fought like a woman possessed, like vengeance incarnate, like a queen reclaiming her throne. I cut through them—fast, brutal, relentless. One fell. Then another. Then another.
But there were too many.
And Kael was still weak.
A warrior got past me, blade aimed at his throat—
—and I threw myself in front of it.
The blade sank into my shoulder, hot and deep. I screamed, but didn’t fall. Just twisted, driving my own blade into the man’s gut, then kicking him away.
“Parker!” Kael roared.
“I’m fine,” I gasped, yanking the blade free. Blood poured down my arm, but I didn’t stop. Just turned to face the last few warriors.
And then—
—the bond *ignited.*
Not from pain.
Not from magic.
From *love.*
Kael surged forward, his body slamming into mine, his arms wrapping around me, his fangs grazing my neck—not to claim, not to mark—but to *protect.*
And the bond—
It *roared.*
Gold and crimson spiraled around us, binding us, *claiming* us. The sigils on our skin flared—twin marks, twin souls, twin power. The wards shattered. The warriors screamed. The ground cracked beneath us.
And then—
—Ravel.
He stood frozen, his red eyes wide, his mouth open in a silent scream.
“No,” he whispered. “It’s not possible.”
“It’s not about power,” I said, stepping forward, my voice low, dangerous. “It’s about *truth.* And you’ve never known it.”
I raised my blade.
But Kael stopped me.
His hand closed over mine, his gold-flecked eyes locking onto mine. “Not like this.”
“He deserves it.”
“And you don’t.” He pulled me into a fierce embrace, his mouth on my neck, his fangs grazing my skin. “You’re not a killer. You’re a queen.”
I didn’t argue.
Just let him hold me, my body trembling, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my blood soaking into his tunic.
And then—
—the sky split open.
Not with fire.
With *light.*
A single beam of silver pierced the clouds, illuminating the battlement, the fissure, the figures of Ravel and Seraphine.
And then—
—a voice.
Low. Ancient. Familiar.
“Enough.”
From the light stepped a figure—tall, regal, her hair like stormclouds, her eyes like lightning. She wore a gown of black silk, threaded with gold, and at her hip hung a dagger etched with the sigil of the Unseelie Storm Throne.
My breath stopped.
It was her.
The woman from my dreams.
The queen I’d never met.
My mother.
But not.
“You’re not real,” I whispered.
She smiled. “I am what you’ve always known. What you’ve always *been.*”
And then—
—she raised her hand.
And the world *burned.*