The world narrows to a single point—the white fabric clinging to her bare thighs, the damp strands of hair curling at her neck, the smirk playing on her lips like she’s already won.
Lysara.
In his shirt.
On his bed.
And I—
I don’t move.
I don’t scream.
I don’t lunge.
I just freeze, my breath caught in my throat, my heart a war drum in my chest. The bond screams—not in sync, not in rhythm, but in agony. A raw, tearing pain that rips through my veins, like something inside me is being ripped out. My vision blurs. My knees buckle. I press a hand to the sigil on my hip, but it doesn’t sing anymore.
It screams.
“Am I interrupting?” Lysara asks, voice smooth, amused. She stretches, slow and deliberate, like a cat in sunlight. The shirt rides up, revealing more of her thigh. “We were just… catching up.”
“Where is he?” I manage, voice low, shaking.
She tilts her head. “Gone. To the Blood Archive. Said he had something to retrieve.” She smirks. “Something about a ledger. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
My stomach drops.
The ledger. The one with Malrik’s handwriting. The one that proves Cassian didn’t order my parents’ deaths.
And she knows.
She knows.
“You’re lying,” I say, stepping forward. My boots echo in the silence. “He wouldn’t let you near him. Not after what you did.”
“Did?” She laughs, soft and cruel. “I didn’t do anything. He invited me. He wanted me here.”
“He doesn’t want you.”
“No?” She slides off the bed, bare feet touching the stone. “Then why did he let me wear his shirt? Why did he let me bathe in his chambers? Why did he—”
“Stop.”
“—let me taste his blood?” she finishes, voice dropping to a whisper. “You should’ve seen him, Gold. So hungry. So desperate. Like he’d been starving for centuries.”
Lies.
They have to be lies.
But the bond—
The bond is breaking.
Pain lances through my chest, sharp and sudden, like a knife twisting in my ribs. I gasp, doubling over, pressing a hand to my sternum. My breath comes in ragged gasps. My skin burns, then goes cold. My magic flickers, unstable, like a dying flame.
“You feel it, don’t you?” Lysara murmurs, stepping closer. “The bond sickness. It happens when the connection is severed. When one half of the pair betrays the other.”
“He didn’t betray me,” I hiss, straightening, forcing myself to stand. “You’re lying.”
“Am I?” She reaches out, brushing a finger down my cheek. “Or are you just too weak to face the truth? Too broken to accept that he’ll never want you the way he wants me?”
I slap her hand away.
“Don’t touch me.”
She laughs. “You’re already his, Gold. But not because of love. Not because of choice. Because of magic. And magic can be broken.”
Another wave of pain hits me—worse this time. My legs give out. I collapse to my knees, gasping, clutching my chest. My vision darkens at the edges. The sigil on my hip burns like ice, then fire, then nothing at all.
“You’re dying,” she whispers, crouching in front of me. “And he’s not coming back. Not for you. Not ever.”
I look up at her—really look at her.
And for the first time, I see it.
Not triumph.
Not confidence.
Fear.
She’s afraid.
Because she knows I’m not just a threat.
I’m the truth.
And the truth doesn’t die quietly.
“You’re wrong,” I whisper, forcing myself to stand. My legs tremble, but I don’t fall. “He doesn’t want you. He never did. And if you touch him again—”
“You’ll what?” she challenges, rising. “Kill me? Go ahead. But he’ll never believe you then, will he? He’ll think you’re jealous. Hysterical. Insane.”
I don’t answer.
I just turn.
And walk out.
Because I can’t stay.
Not here.
Not where his scent is on her skin, where his shirt is on her body, where his lie is written in every smug curve of her smile.
I don’t run.
I don’t cry.
I just move—through the corridors, past the guards, past the whispers, until I reach my chambers. I slam the door shut, lock it with a flick of magic, and press my back against it, gasping for air.
The pain is worse now.
It’s not just in my chest.
It’s in my bones. My blood. My soul.
I stumble to the bed, collapsing onto it, curling into a ball. My skin burns. My magic flickers. My breath comes in shallow gasps. The bond is unraveling, thread by thread, and with it, something inside me is dying.
I press a hand to the sigil.
And for the first time—
I don’t feel it sing.
I don’t feel it burn.
I don’t feel it anything.
It’s gone.
And so am I.
—
I don’t know how long I lie there.
Hours. Days. Time doesn’t matter.
There’s only pain.
And silence.
No heartbeat in my ears. No breath in my lungs. No pulse in my veins.
Just emptiness.
I try to move. To sit up. To breathe. But my body won’t obey. My magic won’t answer. The sigil is cold, lifeless, like a dead thing branded into my skin.
I’m fading.
And no one is coming.
Not Cassian.
Not Kael.
Not even Mira.
I’m alone.
And I’m dying.
And then—
A knock.
Not soft. Not hesitant.
Hard. Demanding.
Three beats.
Just like his heartbeat.
My breath catches.
It can’t be.
He’s with her.
He’s chosen her.
“Go away,” I whisper.
“Open the door,” he says, voice low, rough. “Now.”
“I can’t.”
“You will.”
Another knock—louder this time. The door shudders in its frame.
I don’t move.
Can’t.
“Gold.” His voice is softer now. “I can feel you. You’re in pain. Let me in.”
“You don’t get to care,” I whisper. “Not after what you did.”
“What I did?” His voice hardens. “You think I touched her? You think I wanted her?”
“She was in your shirt. In your bed. She said—”
“She lies,” he growls. “She’s been in my chambers for three days. I sealed her in. I haven’t touched her. I haven’t spoken to her. I’ve been searching for you.”
My breath hitches.
“You don’t believe me,” he says. “I can feel it. But I don’t care. Because I know the truth. And I’m not letting you die because of her lies.”
And then—
The door explodes inward.
Not broken. Not splintered.
Shattered.
Wood and stone fly across the room. Dust fills the air. And there he is—tall, furious, shadows writhing around him like living things. His storm-gray eyes lock onto mine, and the bond surges, a hot pulse of energy that makes me gasp.
He’s here.
He’s real.
He crosses the room in three strides, dropping to his knees beside the bed. His hands—cold, sure—press to my face, my neck, my chest. “You’re burning,” he murmurs. “And your pulse is fading.”
“I’m dying,” I whisper.
“No,” he says. “Not while I’m here.”
He lifts me—effortless, like I weigh nothing—and carries me to the center of the room. He lays me down on the cold stone, then kneels beside me, pressing his palm to the sigil on my hip.
Nothing happens.
“The bond is breaking,” I say, voice weak. “It’s too late.”
“It’s not,” he says. “But you have to let me in. You have to touch me.”
“I can’t.”
“You can,” he says. “Or you’ll die.”
I look at him—really look at him.
His jaw is tight. His eyes are dark. His throat moves when he swallows.
He’s afraid.
Not for himself.
For me.
And that’s what breaks me.
I lift my hand—slow, trembling—and press it to his chest.
The moment our skin touches—
Fire.
Not pain. Not magic.
Life.
It erupts through me, a searing, blinding heat that makes me cry out, arching off the floor. His heartbeat slams into mine. His breath fills my lungs. His presence—cold, vast, hungry—presses against my mind. And beneath it—his need, raw and undeniable, echoing in my core.
“You feel that?” he murmurs, his hand still on the sigil, his eyes locked on mine. “That’s not the bond. That’s us.”
I can’t speak.
Can’t breathe.
Can only feel.
And then—
He pulls me into his arms.
Not roughly. Not possessively.
Gently.
Like I’m something fragile. Something precious.
He sits on the floor, cradling me against his chest, one arm around my waist, the other hand tangled in my hair. My back presses to his front, his body a wall of heat and strength. His breath brushes my neck. Cold. Electric.
“Stay with me,” he whispers. “Just… stay.”
I press my hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath my palm.
And for the first time—
I don’t feel it as a prison.
I don’t feel it as a promise.
I feel it as a home.
—
We stay like that for hours.
Maybe days.
Time doesn’t matter.
There’s only this—the rise and fall of his chest, the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his body against mine. The bond hums, low and steady, no longer screaming, no longer breaking, but healing.
I don’t speak.
Don’t move.
Just let myself be.
And then—
“She’s gone,” he says, voice low. “I exiled her. If she comes near you again, I’ll kill her.”
I don’t answer.
Don’t care.
Because she was never the threat.
The real threat was me.
My fear. My doubt. My refusal to believe in us.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He tenses. “For what?”
“For not trusting you. For believing her. For letting the bond break.”
He turns me in his arms, cupping my face in his hands. His storm-gray eyes search mine. “You don’t have to be sorry. You were hurt. You were afraid. I would’ve done the same.”
“No,” I say. “You wouldn’t. You would’ve fought. You would’ve believed.”
“I did,” he says. “I believed in you. Even when you didn’t believe in me.”
Tears burn in my eyes.
“I do now,” I whisper. “I believe in you. In us.”
He doesn’t smile.
Just pulls me closer, pressing his forehead to mine. “Then don’t let go. Not again.”
I press my hand to the sigil.
And for the first time—
I don’t feel it burn.
I don’t feel it sing.
I feel it thrum—steady, strong, alive.
Because the truth—
The terrible, undeniable truth—
Is that I didn’t stop the kiss because I hate him.
I stopped it because I don’t.
And that’s not a weakness.
It’s my greatest strength.
And when the real war comes—
When Malrik makes his move—
I won’t run.
I won’t hide.
I’ll stand.
With him.
Because if the bond is a prison—
Then I’ll wear it like a crown.
And if it’s a promise—
Then I’ll keep it with my life.
Even if it costs me everything.