The moors were silent the morning after the coronation.
Not the silence of absence, but the kind that follows a storm—the air still trembling with leftover magic, the ground still warm from fire, the sky still split with silver scars where the Storm had spoken. The Spire stood behind us, its black stone cracked but unbroken, its wards humming with a new rhythm, one that matched the pulse beneath my skin. I could feel it—the bond—gold and crimson and white spiraling beneath the surface, not as a tether, not as a curse, but as a crown.
I stood at the edge of the northern path, my boots pressing into damp earth, the hem of my gown—black silk threaded with gold—brushing the frost-kissed grass. The dagger at my hip was mine, the sigil-stone warm against my thigh, the crown of stormfire no longer on my brow, but in my blood. I didn’t need it to know who I was.
And yet.
There was one place left.
One truth I still hadn’t faced.
“You don’t have to go alone,” Kael said from beside me, his voice low, rough with sleep and something deeper—something that still made my breath catch. He wore a dark coat, sleeves rolled to the elbows, fangs retracted, claws sheathed, but I could feel the power coiled beneath his skin, the wolf restless, the vampire watchful. He didn’t touch me. Not yet. Just stood there, close enough that I could feel the bond pulse between us—steady, insistent, alive.
“I do,” I said, my voice quiet. “This isn’t about the Council. Not about the Fae. Not even about the throne.” I turned to him, my storm-gray eyes locking onto his gold-flecked ones. “This is about her.”
He didn’t flinch. Just reached up, his thumb brushing the edge of my jaw, the mark beneath my collarbone flaring beneath his touch. “Then I’ll wait.”
“No.” I stepped into him, my hands sliding up his chest, my body pressing to his. “You’ll come with me. But you won’t speak. You won’t interfere. You won’t protect.”
“And if I can’t help it?”
“Then you’ll learn.” I tilted my head, my breath catching as his fangs grazed my neck. “You came here to destroy me,” I whispered, echoing his own words back to 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?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.
“That you’re not just my bondmate.” I pressed my forehead to his, my breath mingling with his. “You’re my king. And I’m not letting go.”
He didn’t shove me.
Didn’t slap me.
Didn’t run.
Just closed his eyes.
And for the first time in thirty-four years—
He let himself believe it.
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 and white spiraling around us, binding us, claiming us. The bond roared, heat flooding my veins, light exploding behind my eyes. His hands slid down my back, pulling me against him, his body solid, real, mine. I could feel his heart—steady, strong, unbroken—and for the first time in ten years, I didn’t flinch at the closeness.
I leaned into it.
Into him.
And when he finally pulled back, his breath hot on my skin, his eyes blazing, I didn’t look away.
“You’re trembling,” he said, voice rough.
“So are you.”
“I thought I’d lost you.”
“You didn’t.”
“I almost did.” His arms tightened around me. “When your heart stopped. When the bond went silent. When you were gone—”
“I’m not gone.” I cupped his face, forcing him to look at me. “I’m here. And I’m not leaving. Not for the Council. Not for Ravel. Not for anyone.”
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.
We didn’t speak as we left the Spire. The corridors were quiet, the torches low, the wards humming with a new rhythm—one that matched the pulse of our bond. The whispers had changed.
“She’s back.”
“They survived.”
“The bond held.”
I didn’t stop. Didn’t acknowledge them. Just kept walking, my hand brushing his with every step, the bond pulsing between us like a second heartbeat.
The path to the northern moors was narrow, carved into the earth by centuries of feet—some human, some supernatural, some long forgotten. The mist curled around us like a lover’s breath, the air thick with the scent of crushed moonpetal and old magic. We didn’t take the hidden passage. Didn’t need to. This was not a secret. This was not a battle.
This was a reckoning.
And then—
—I saw it.
The clearing.
Small. Overgrown. Surrounded by ancient oaks, their bark etched with forgotten sigils. In the center—
A stone.
Not a grave marker. Not a tomb. Just a flat slab of black stone, weathered by time, cracked by frost, stained with something dark that wasn’t moss.
Blood.
My breath stopped.
Kael didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just stepped behind me, his presence a wall of heat and power, his silence a vow.
I stepped forward, my boots silent against the earth, my fingers brushing the hilt of my dagger. The air was thick with memory—smoke, fire, screams. The scent of her perfume—storm-lily and iron. The sound of her voice, whispering, “Protect her.”
I dropped to my knees.
The stone was cold beneath my palms, the cracks deep, the edges worn smooth by rain and wind and grief. I pressed my forehead to it, my breath coming in shallow pulls, my vision blurring.
“I came back,” I whispered, voice raw. “I found the truth. I burned the lies. I took the throne.” I pressed my hand to the sigil beneath my collarbone. “And I found him.”
My voice broke.
“I didn’t know,” I said, tears burning down my cheeks. “I didn’t see. I thought you were a traitor. I thought you’d conspired with the Fae. I thought you’d abandoned me.” I clenched my fists. “And I hated them. I hated the Council. I hated Kael. I hated *myself* for not being strong enough to save you.”
The wind howled.
The oaks groaned.
And then—
—a scent.
Not smoke.
Not blood.
Storm-lily.
I lifted my head.
And there, nestled in the cracks of the stone, was a single flower—white petals edged in silver, its center glowing faintly with inner light. A stormflower. Rare. Sacred. Said to bloom only where truth was spoken.
My breath caught.
I reached for it, my fingers trembling, and plucked it from the stone. The moment I touched it, the sigil beneath my collarbone flared—gold and crimson and white spiraling beneath my skin, not with pain, not with magic, but with recognition.
“You knew,” I whispered. “You knew I’d come back. You knew I’d find the truth. You knew I’d become what you wanted me to be.”
And then—
—I laughed.
Not bitter. Not broken.
A storm.
“You always said I was too much,” I said, voice rough. “Too fierce. Too wild. Too dangerous. And you were right.” I stood, the stormflower cradled in my palm, my storm-gray eyes blazing. “But not because I was wrong. Because I was yours.”
I didn’t turn to Kael. Didn’t need to. I could feel him behind me, his breath hot on my neck, his presence a vow.
“I came here to burn the Council to the ground,” I said, voice cutting through the silence. “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 stepped forward, his hand lifting to the small of my back, his body pressing into mine. “Let them see us together,” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Let them see what happens when you try to break what fate forged.”
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate. Just turned to him, my storm-gray eyes locking onto his. “You came here to destroy me,” I whispered. “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 murmured.
“That you’re not just my bondmate.” I pressed my forehead to his, my breath mingling with his. “You’re my king. And I’m not letting go.”
He didn’t shove me.
Didn’t slap me.
Didn’t run.
Just closed his eyes.
And for the first time in thirty-four years—
He let himself believe it.
Then he kissed me.
Slow. Deep. Reverent.
Like I was something precious. Something sacred. Something his.
And I let him.
Let his lips trace mine. Let his hands slide up my sides, beneath my tunic, over the curve of my ribs. Let his breath warm my skin, his scent fill my lungs, his magic harmonize with mine.
And when he finally pulled back, his breath unsteady, his eyes blazing, I didn’t look away.
“She’d be proud,” he said, voice rough.
I smiled. “She’d say I took too long.”
He didn’t laugh. Didn’t smile. Just wrapped his coat around me, pulling me close, his body a wall of heat and power. “You’re not fragile,” he murmured, his lips brushing my temple. “You’re not broken. And you’re not running.”
“No,” I said, leaning into him. “I’m not.”
We didn’t go back the same way we came. We didn’t take the narrow path. We didn’t walk in silence. We moved through the moors like a storm given form—fast, relentless, unstoppable. The mist parted before us. The wind stilled. The earth trembled.
And when we reached the Spire, the gates opened before we touched them.
Dain was waiting.
He stood at the threshold, his wolf-gold eyes sharp, his posture tense. Lira was beside him, her red eyes reflecting the torchlight, her wrists no longer bound. 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.
“The northern pack accepts her,” Dain said, stepping forward. “For now.”
“Good,” Kael said, caging me beside him. “She’ll need allies.”
“We all will,” I said, stepping forward, my storm-gray eyes blazing. “Ravel’s gone, but the war isn’t over. The Fae are divided. The Council is fractured. And the balance—” I turned to Kael, my hand lifting to the sigil beneath my collarbone. “—is still fragile.”
He didn’t argue. Just stepped beside me, his body pressing into mine, his fangs bared, his claws extended. “Then let the trial begin,” he said, voice deadly calm. “And let the bond be the judge.”
Dain nodded. Lira didn’t move.
And then—
—I lifted my hand.
The stormflower glowed in my palm, its silver edges catching the torchlight, its inner light pulsing like a heartbeat. I didn’t throw it. Didn’t crush it. Just held it—like a promise, like a vow, like a truth.
“This isn’t just about vengeance,” I said, voice cutting through the silence. “It’s about legacy. About who we are. About who we become.” I turned to Kael. “And I’m not doing it alone.”
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.