The peace didn’t last.
It never does.
Three days after the ruins burned, after Ravel fell and Seraphine dissolved into shadow, the first tremor shook the Spire. Not magic. Not storm. But something deeper. Older. A pulse beneath the earth, like a heartbeat rising from the core of the world. The wards flickered—silver-white flames guttering, then surging—and the sigil beneath my collarbone spiked, gold and crimson and white spiraling beneath my skin not with warning, but with recognition. Not of an enemy.
Of a reckoning.
I stood at the edge of the Chamber of Echoes, my boots silent against the black stone, my hand resting on the hilt of my dagger. The boy—Kael’s son, our son now—was asleep in the healing chambers, curled beneath a blanket, his silver-white hair catching the torchlight, his twin-moon eyes closed. He hadn’t spoken yet, but he didn’t need to. His presence was a quiet hum in the bond, a pulse of life that anchored me when the storm threatened to tear me apart.
And it was coming.
“You feel it,” Kael said from behind me, his voice low, rough with the weight of what we both knew. He didn’t touch me. Not yet. Just stood there, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body, the steady rhythm of his breath, the way his presence grounded me like a storm given form. His gold-flecked eyes scanned the horizon beyond the arched windows—where the mist-shrouded valleys stretched out like a sea of shadows, where the ruins of the Fae temple still smoldered in the distance.
“I feel it,” I said, not turning. “It’s not Ravel. Not Seraphine. It’s… something else.”
“Something worse,” he said, stepping forward, 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. “They weren’t the end. They were the beginning.”
My breath caught.
Because he was right.
We’d killed the puppeteers, but the strings still trembled. The Council was fractured. The Fae courts were divided. The packs were restless. And somewhere, in the dark between worlds, something ancient had woken. Something that had watched. Waited. Whispered.
And now, it was coming for us.
“Then let it come,” I said, turning to him, my storm-gray eyes blazing. “Let them all come. We’ve already broken the rules. The bond. The throne. The pact. Why stop now?”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t laugh. Just reached for me, his fingers brushing the edge of my jaw, his fangs retracted but not hidden, his claws sheathed but not denied. “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 War Chamber.
The map was already on the table—etched in obsidian, its borders glowing faintly with the pulse of the wards. Blood-red markers dotted the northern moors, the southern valleys, the eastern forests. Dain stood at the edge, his wolf-gold eyes sharp, his posture tense. Lira was beside him, her red eyes reflecting the torchlight, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She wasn’t bound anymore. No silver cord. No chains. But she still moved like a prisoner—hesitant, watchful, like she expected a blade at any moment.
“They’re coming,” Dain said, stepping forward. “From all sides. The Seelie remnants. The Unseelie warlords. Even the southern vampire Houses—they’re gathering. They say the bond is a corruption. That you’ve broken the natural order.”
“And?” I asked, stepping to the table, my fingers brushing the journal still tucked against my ribs. My mother’s final words. Her truth. “What do they want?”
“They want the boy,” Lira said, her voice quiet. “They say he’s an abomination. A Daywalker. A child of fire and storm. They say he’ll burn the world if he’s not stopped.”
“Then they’ll have to go through us,” Kael said, stepping beside me, his hand lifting to the small of my back. “Through me. Through her.”
“And the Council?” I asked, turning to Dain. “What do they say?”
“They’re silent,” he said, voice tight. “Watching. Waiting. Some want to side with you. Others say the bond makes you unstable. That you’re too dangerous to rule.”
“Then they’re already dead,” I said, my voice low, dangerous. “Because I’m not asking for their loyalty. I’m not begging for their approval. I’m claiming it.” I reached for my dagger, strapping it to my thigh. “And if they stand in my way—” I let my fangs elongate, my claws tear free of their sheaths. “—they’ll learn what it means to cross a queen.”
Dead silence.
The torches flickered. The wards hummed. The bond pulsed between us, warm, insistent, alive.
And then—
—the ground split open.
Not with magic. Not with fire.
With sound.
A low, deafening roar tore through the earth, shaking the Spire to its foundation. The torches flared. The wards shrieked. And then—
—the sky split.
Great arcs of crimson and gold tore through the clouds, spiraling like serpents, crashing into the northern cliffs. The ground trembled. The air thickened, charged with magic, with memory, with something older than the Spire itself. And then—
—the horns.
Low. Deep. Ancient.
The call of war.
“They’re here,” Dain said, his voice tight. “All of them. And they’re not coming in peace.”
“It’s not a siege,” I said, my magic flaring. “It’s a purge. They’re not here to negotiate. They’re here to erase us.”
“Then we don’t let them,” Kael said, stepping closer, his hand lifting to the mark beneath my collarbone. “We hold the line. We protect the heart. And we end them.”
“And the boy?” Lira asked, her voice trembling.
“He stays here,” I said, turning to her. “With the strongest wards. With the healers. With you.”
“And if they breach the Spire?”
“Then you die with us,” I said, stepping to the door. “But I’d rather burn the world than let them 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—Seelie and Unseelie alike—swooped and dived, their magic crackling in the air. Vampire legions marched from the east, their crimson banners flapping in the wind. Werewolf packs howled from the south, their silver eyes blazing with fury.
They weren’t attacking each other.
They were attacking us.
“It’s not just a war,” I said, my breath catching. “It’s a crusade. They’re not here to conquer. They’re here to cleanse.”
“And they’ll fail,” Kael said, stepping beside me, his body pressing into mine, his breath hot on my neck. “Because they don’t understand what we are.”
“And what are we?” I asked, turning to him, my storm-gray eyes locking onto his.
“We’re not just a queen and a king.” His lips brushed the shell of my ear. “We’re not just a witch and a hybrid. We’re the storm. And the storm doesn’t ask permission.”
“It claims.” I finished.
And then—
—I stepped forward.
My blades were in my hands, my magic flaring, my fangs bared. The sigil beneath my collarbone ignited—gold and crimson and white spiraling beneath my skin, not with fear, not with magic, but with truth. I wasn’t just fighting for the Spire. Not just for the boy. Not just for Kael.
I was fighting for us.
The battle raged for hours—fire and fury, blood and magic, the sky split open with oaths and lies. I fought like a woman possessed, like vengeance incarnate, like a queen reclaiming her throne. Kael was at my side—fanged, clawed, relentless—his body pressing into mine, his breath hot on my neck, his fangs grazing my skin not to claim, not to mark—but to protect.
And then—
—it happened.
A Seelie warlord—tall, silver-eyed, his wings black as obsidian—lunged at me, his blade aimed for my heart. I dodged, spun, drove my dagger into his side. He screamed, fell. But not before his magic lashed out—silver light wrapping around Kael, binding him, dragging him to the edge of the battlement.
“Kael!” I screamed.
He didn’t answer.
Just fell.
Over the edge.
Into the abyss.
Time stopped.
The battle raged around me, but I didn’t see it. Didn’t hear it. Didn’t feel it. All I saw was him—falling, broken, his gold-flecked eyes wide with shock. All I heard was the bond—screaming, tearing, dying.
And then—
—I jumped.
I didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. Just leapt over the edge, my body a storm given form, my magic flaring, my fangs bared. The wind tore at my hair, the ground rushed up, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t lose him. Not now. Not after everything.
I caught him mid-fall.
My arms wrapped around his waist, my magic flaring, the bond surging—not with warning, not with fire, but with life. We crashed into the earth together, rolling, bloodied, broken. But alive.
“You idiot,” I gasped, pressing my hand to his chest. His heart was weak. Fading. “Why didn’t you fight back?”
“Because I knew you’d come,” he said, his voice rough, his fangs retracted. “I told you I’d kill you myself.”
I didn’t laugh.
Just pressed my palm to his chest, my blood mixing with his, my magic flowing into him—crimson and white spiraling around us, binding us, claiming us. The bond flared—gold and crimson and white igniting beneath my skin—not with magic, not with fire, but with truth.
He wasn’t just my king.
He was my heart.
And I wasn’t letting go.
The battle raged above us, but we didn’t move. Just lay there, bloodied, broken, unbroken. And when the last enemy fell, when the fire died, when the sky sealed itself like a wound closing—
—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 returned to the Spire, as we moved through the corridors like shadows. 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.