The northern battlements were a battlefield of fire and fury, but the real war wasn’t being fought in the sky or beneath our feet.
It was being waged in the silence between heartbeats. In the way Kael’s hand never left the small of my back. In the way my magic hummed beneath my skin, not with rage, not with vengeance—but with *recognition.* The Storm had spoken. The bond had answered. And now, standing at the edge of the crumbling stone, watching crimson arcs tear through the clouds, I could feel it.
Something was coming.
Not just Ravel.
Not just war.
Something older. Deeper. Something that had been waiting for me long before I’d set foot in the Spire.
“They’re distracted,” I said, my voice low, cutting through the chaos. “The Seelie and Unseelie tearing each other apart—Ravel’s using them to split the courts, weaken the wards, draw us out.”
Kael didn’t look at me. His gold-flecked eyes were locked on the horizon, where the sky split open like a wound, where winged Fae clashed in midair, their magic crackling like lightning. “He wants the Spire,” he said, voice rough. “But not just the throne. He wants *you.*”
“Then he’ll have to go through you first.”
“And you.” He finally turned, his hand lifting to the mark beneath my collarbone. It flared—gold and crimson and white spiraling beneath my skin, a pulse of power that made the air hum. “But this isn’t just about the Council. This is about your bloodline. Your crown.”
I didn’t flinch. Just pressed my fingers to the sigil, feeling the truth in it. The weight. The legacy. “I didn’t ask for a throne.”
“No,” he said, stepping closer, his breath hot on my neck. “But it asked for *you.*”
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 and white 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.*
No.
It *remembered.*
The silver light didn’t consume. It *revealed.*
And in that light, I saw it—everything.
My mother, not burning—but *rising.* From the pyre, wreathed in stormfire, her arms outstretched, her voice thundering: “I pass the throne to you. Not in ceremony. Not in blood ritual. But in truth. In fire. In memory. You are Stormborn, Parker. And the bond—it is not a curse. It is a key. A weapon. A shield. Kael is not your enemy. He is your protector. Your equal. Your fated.”
And then—
—the light faded.
The fissure sealed. The warriors vanished. The fire died.
And Ravel—
Was gone.
Not dead. Not exiled.
Just… *erased.*
Like he’d never been.
“What… what just happened?” Dain asked, stepping onto the battlement, his wolf-gold eyes wide.
“The Storm claimed its own,” I said, my voice hollow.
Kael turned to me, his hand lifting to the mark beneath my collarbone. “You’re pale. Your pulse is weak. Your magic—”
“I’m fine.” I stepped into him, my body pressing to his, my breath mingling with his. “I’m *alive.* And so are you.”
He didn’t argue. Just pulled me into a fierce embrace, his mouth on my neck, his fangs grazing my skin. “You came here to destroy me,” he murmured, voice rough. “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.
“That you’re not just my bondmate.” His lips brushed the shell of my ear. “You’re my *queen.* And I’m not letting 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.
The wind howled. The Spire groaned. The bond pulsed between us, warm, insistent, *alive.*
And I knew—
The war wasn’t over.
But I wasn’t fighting it alone anymore.
And that was enough.
We returned to the northern tower in silence. The corridors were quiet, the torches low, the wards humming with a new rhythm—one that matched the pulse of our bond. Kael carried me the last stretch, his arms unyielding, his breath steady against my neck. I didn’t protest. Didn’t push him away. Just let myself be held, my head resting against his chest, my fingers curled into the fabric of his coat.
For the first time in ten years, I wasn’t fighting.
I was just… *here.*
He laid me on the bed, the black silk cool against my skin, then knelt beside me, his hand pressing to the wound on my shoulder. It was already healing—sealed by magic, by blood, by the bond—but he didn’t stop. Just kept his palm there, his eyes closed, his breath unsteady.
“You scared me,” he said, voice raw.
“Good.” I reached for him, my fingers brushing the scar above his brow. “You should be scared. I’m not done with you yet.”
He exhaled—a shaky, ragged breath—and finally pulled me into his lap, cradling me against his chest. “You nearly died.”
“So did you.”
“But you came back.” His arms tightened. “And I would have followed you into the void if you hadn’t.”
My breath caught.
“You think I could live in a world where you don’t exist?” he murmured, his lips brushing my temple. “Where your fire doesn’t burn beside mine? Where your hands don’t touch me like I’m something worth saving?”
I didn’t answer.
Just leaned into him, my body softening, my breath steadying.
And then—
—a knock.
Not Dain. Not Lira.
Something different.
Kael didn’t move. Just held me tighter, his fangs elongating, his claws instinctively sheathing and re-sheathing. “Enter,” he called, voice cold, dangerous.
The door opened.
A Fae messenger stood in the archway—tall, slender, her skin like moonlight, her eyes silver as frost. She wore a gown of woven mist, and in her hands, she held a scroll sealed with ice-blue wax, etched with the sigil of the Unseelie Court.
“Queen Nyx commands your presence,” she said, her voice like wind through frozen branches. “The Storm Throne demands its heir.”
My breath stopped.
Kael didn’t let me go. Just turned his head, his gold-flecked eyes blazing. “She’s not going anywhere.”
“She must.” The messenger didn’t flinch. “The Court has spoken. The Storm has awakened. And the heir must claim her birthright—or forfeit it forever.”
“And if she refuses?”
“Then the throne will pass to another. And the balance will break.”
Silence.
And then—
—I lifted my head, my storm-gray eyes locking onto the messenger. “When?”
“At dawn.”
“And if I don’t come?”
“Then the Storm will come for you.”
The messenger bowed, then vanished—like mist dissolving into shadow.
Kael turned to me, his grip tightening. “You’re not going.”
“I have to.” I sat up, my hand lifting to the sigil beneath my collarbone. It pulsed—stronger now, deeper, like a heartbeat I’d always known. “This isn’t just about a throne. It’s about who I am. What I am.”
“And if it’s a trap?”
“Then we walk into it together.” I framed his face, my thumbs brushing his cheekbones. “You said I was your queen. That means I rule. That means I choose. And I choose to face this. But I won’t do it alone.”
He didn’t argue.
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.*
“Then we go together,” he said, voice rough. “And if they try to take you from me—”
“They won’t.” I kissed him—slow, deep, endless. “Because I’m not just their heir.” I pulled back, my storm-gray eyes blazing. “I’m *yours.*”
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.