The wind howled through the mist-shrouded valleys like a wounded beast, tearing at my tunic, biting through the leather of my boots. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and old magic, the kind that clung to bones and whispered in forgotten tongues. Above, the sky was split—half storm, half starless void—as if the heavens themselves couldn’t decide whether to weep or burn. My sigil pulsed beneath my collarbone, gold and crimson and white spiraling beneath the fabric, not with warning, not with fear, but with certainty. We were close.
And so was he.
I didn’t look at Kael. Didn’t need to. I could feel him beside me—the heat of his body, the steady rhythm of his breath, the way his presence anchored me like a storm given form. He wore no coat, sleeves rolled to the elbows, fangs retracted but not hidden, claws sheathed but not denied. His gold-flecked eyes scanned the treeline, sharp, unyielding, alive with the same fire that burned in my veins. We hadn’t spoken since leaving the Spire. No need. The bond said everything.
We were not coming to negotiate.
We were coming to end him.
“The boy’s safe,” I said, voice low, rough with the weight of the night. “Lira’s with him. The wards are reinforced. If Ravel tries to breach the Spire—”
“He won’t,” Kael cut in, stepping over a fallen log, his movements silent, predatory. “He’s not after the boy. Not yet. He’s after us.” He turned his head, his eyes locking onto mine. “He wants the bond broken. He wants you weakened. He wants me feral.”
My breath caught.
Because he was right.
Ravel had spent centuries building his power on lies, on blood, on the fear of hybrids. And now, here we were—bonded, crowned, unbroken. A queen and her king. A witch and a hybrid. A storm and its shadow. We weren’t just a threat to his plans.
We were the end of his world.
“Then let him come,” I said, stepping forward, my fingers brushing the hilt of my dagger. “Let him see what happens when he tries to tear us apart.”
Kael didn’t smile. Didn’t laugh. Just reached for me, his hand lifting to the mark beneath my collarbone. It flared—gold and crimson and white bleeding through the fabric—then dimmed, like a heartbeat steadying. “You came here to destroy me,” he murmured, 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 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 stepped into the forest.
The trees here were ancient—blackened trunks, twisted branches, roots that coiled like serpents beneath the earth. The ground was soft, spongy with decay, each footstep silent, swallowed by the mist. The air thickened the deeper we went, charged with something older than the Spire, older than the Council, older than the blood that ran through our veins. Magic hummed beneath my skin, not my own, not Kael’s, but something darker. Older. Hungrier.
And then—
—we found it.
The ruins of the old Fae temple—half-buried in the earth, its stone cracked and scorched, its archways collapsed. The sigil beneath my collarbone ignited—gold and crimson and white spiraling beneath my skin, not with magic, not with fire, but with recognition. This wasn’t just a ruin. It was a tomb. A prison. A trap.
“He’s here,” I said, stepping forward, my boots silent against the stone. “Ravel. And he’s not alone.”
Kael didn’t answer. Just moved beside me, his body pressing into mine, his breath hot on my neck. His claws flexed, his fangs elongating, but he didn’t attack. Not yet. Just scanned the shadows, the broken pillars, the shattered altar at the center of the ruin. And then—
—he saw it.
The blood.
Not fresh. Not spilled.
Drawn.
In a circle around the altar—black, thick, still glistening in the torchlight. Fae script etched into the stone, the words pulsing with a sickly green light. I didn’t need to read it to know what it said. Binding. Breaking. Betrayal.
“He’s trying to sever the bond,” I said, voice low, dangerous. “Using Fae magic. Using blood. Using oaths.”
“And if it works?” Kael asked, stepping closer, his hand lifting to the small of my back.
“Then we die,” I said, turning to him, my storm-gray eyes blazing. “Not just physically. Not just magically. Soul-deep. The bond isn’t just a tether. It’s a crown. And if it’s broken—”
“—we’re unmade,” he finished, voice rough.
Dead silence.
The torches flickered. The wards hummed. The bond pulsed between us, warm, insistent, alive.
And then—
—the shadows moved.
Not with wind. Not with mist.
With laughter.
Low. Cold. Ancient.
“I knew you’d come,” a voice said from the darkness. “The queen and her mongrel king. How… predictable.”
We didn’t flinch.
Just turned.
Ravel stepped from the shadows, his crimson robes flowing like blood, his silver eyes gleaming with malice. He was taller than I remembered, broader, his fangs fully extended, his claws black as obsidian. But it wasn’t just him.
Behind him—
Lady Seraphine.
Tall. Slender. Silver eyes. A crown of thorns resting atop her pale hair. Her gown shimmered like moonlight on water, her voice honey laced with poison. She didn’t speak. Just watched us, studied us, like we were insects beneath her boot.
“You brought the Seelie bitch,” I said, stepping forward, my dagger drawn. “How poetic. The liar and the traitor. Together at last.”
She didn’t flinch. Just smiled. “You always were dramatic, little witch. But you don’t understand what’s at stake. The bond is an abomination. A corruption of blood. A plague.”
“And you’re just afraid,” I said, voice low, dangerous. “Afraid of what we represent. Afraid of what we are.”
“I’m not afraid,” she said, stepping forward. “I’m cleansing.”
“Then try,” Kael said, stepping in front of me, his body a wall of heat and power. “Try to break us. Try to sever the bond. And see what happens when you wake the storm.”
Ravel laughed. “You think you’re strong? You think you’re safe?” He raised his hand—and the ground trembled.
Not with magic.
With blood.
The circle flared—green light spiraling up from the stone, wrapping around us like chains. The sigil beneath my collarbone screamed—gold and crimson and white flaring beneath my skin, not with recognition, not with power, but with agony. I dropped to one knee, my breath ragged, my magic flaring in protest. Kael roared, his claws tearing free, his fangs bared, but the chains held.
“You see?” Ravel hissed, stepping closer. “The bond is weak. Fragile. And all it takes is the right oath to break it.”
“Then why haven’t you?” I spat, forcing myself up, my dagger still in hand. “Because you’re afraid. Afraid of what happens when we’re truly free.”
He didn’t answer.
Just raised his hand higher.
The green light intensified—wrapping around our wrists, our throats, our hearts. The bond screamed. The magic fought. But the Fae oath was ancient. Binding. True.
And then—
—Kael did something I didn’t expect.
He laughed.
Not with fear. Not with pain.
With triumph.
“You think this will break us?” he growled, his voice low, rough, alive with power. “You think chains can hold a storm? You think oaths can silence a queen?” He turned his head, his gold-flecked eyes locking onto mine. “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 go.”
And then—
—the bond ignited.
Gold and crimson and white exploded from us—shattering the green chains, tearing through the Fae script, obliterating the altar in a single, blinding surge. The ground trembled. The sky split. The wind howled.
And we rose.
I didn’t hesitate. Just lunged—my dagger flashing, my magic flaring, my body a storm given form. Ravel snarled, his claws slashing, his fangs bared, but I was faster. I ducked under his strike, spun, and drove the blade into his side. Black blood spilled—thick, hot, alive—and he roared, stumbling back.
Lady Seraphine moved next—her hand outstretched, a ribbon of silver light lashing toward me like a whip. But Kael was faster. He intercepted, his body slamming into hers, his fangs grazing her neck, not to claim, not to mark—but to threaten. “Touch her,” he growled, “and I’ll rip your heart out with my teeth.”
She didn’t flinch. Just smiled. “You always were a beast.”
“And you,” I said, stepping forward, my dagger at Ravel’s throat, “are a corpse.”
He laughed, blood dripping from his lips. “You think this ends with me? You think the Council will accept a hybrid queen? A witch who burns with storm and shadow?”
“They already have,” I said, pressing the blade deeper. “And if they don’t—” I leaned in, my storm-gray eyes locking onto his. “—then they’ll burn with you.”
He didn’t answer.
Just spat blood in my face.
I didn’t wipe it.
Just smiled.
And then—
—the ground exploded.
Not from magic.
From fire.
Great pillars of crimson flame erupted from the earth, tearing through the ruins, sending Ravel and Seraphine flying. The sky split open—lightning crackling, thunder roaring, the storm answering my call. The sigil beneath my collarbone burned—gold and crimson and white spiraling beneath my skin, not with pain, not with magic, but with power.
“You see?” I said, stepping forward, my arms raised, my magic flaring. “This is what happens when you threaten what’s ours.”
Kael stepped beside me, his body pressing into mine, his breath hot on my neck. “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 claimed.
The storm answered.
Lightning struck—once, twice, three times—tearing through the ruins, obliterating the Fae script, reducing the altar to ash. Ravel screamed, his body burning, his magic failing. Seraphine tried to flee—her form dissolving into mist—but Kael was faster. He lunged, his claws sinking into her shadow, dragging her back into the light.
“No,” she hissed. “You don’t understand—”
“I understand perfectly,” I said, stepping forward, my dagger at her throat. “You wanted the Storm Throne. You wanted to control the Unseelie Court. You wanted to break us.” I leaned in, my storm-gray eyes locking onto hers. “But you forgot one thing.”
“And what’s that?” she whispered.
“The Storm doesn’t ask permission.” I smiled. “It claims.”
And then—
—I drove the dagger home.
She didn’t scream.
Just dissolved—into mist, into shadow, into nothing.
Ravel was next.
I didn’t hesitate. Just walked to him, my boots silent against the scorched stone. He was broken—his body burned, his magic gone, his eyes wide with fear. “Mercy,” he gasped. “I beg you—”
“You don’t get mercy,” I said, crouching beside him, my dagger at his heart. “You get justice.”
And then—
—I ended him.
The blade plunged.
Black blood spilled.
And silence fell.
The storm stilled. The wind died. The sky sealed itself like a wound closing.
And we stood together.
Bloodied. Breathing hard. Unbroken.
And the bond—
It pulsed.
Not with warning.
With power.
“It’s over,” Kael said, stepping beside me, his hand lifting to the mark beneath my collarbone. It flared—gold and crimson and white spiraling beneath the fabric—then dimmed, like a heartbeat steadying.
“No,” I said, standing, my storm-gray eyes blazing. “It’s not over. It’s just beginning.”
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.
And the bond—
It pulsed.
Not with warning.
With future.
We didn’t speak as we left the ruins, as we moved through the forest like shadows. The air was different now—cleaner, lighter, like the world itself had taken a breath. The torches flickered. The wards hummed. 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 now, neither was he.
And that was enough.