I didn’t let go until the pain started.
Not real pain—no, the bond hadn’t turned on us yet. Not officially. But something deeper, sharper, coiled in my chest the longer our skin touched. A warning. A promise. A reminder that this wasn’t just magic binding us. It was *him*.
His hand was warm—unnaturally so for a vampire—and his grip was firm, unyielding, like he expected me to fight. And maybe I should have. Maybe I should’ve yanked my hand back the second I felt the heat of him, the pulse of the bond surging between us like a live wire.
But I didn’t.
For one breath, two, I let myself feel it—the strength in his fingers, the way his thumb brushed over my knuckles like an accident, like a caress. His eyes, black as voids, held mine, and for a heartbeat, I thought he might say something. Something real. Something that wasn’t about duty or control or the cursed contract that now dictated our every move.
But then the knock came again—louder, more insistent.
“Lord Kaelen,” a voice called from the other side of the door. “The Council requires your presence. The Binding Proximity Enforcement begins at sunrise.”
He released me.
Just like that. No warning. No softening. One second, his hand was wrapped around mine, the bond humming like a plucked string; the next, he was three steps away, back straight, face unreadable, the Lord of the Blood Accord once more.
“Enter,” he said.
The door swung open, and two enforcers stepped in—vampires in black armor etched with silver runes, their faces expressionless, their eyes scanning the room with cold efficiency. They didn’t look at me. Not directly. But I felt their gaze, sharp and assessing, lingering on the space between Kaelen and me, on the unmade bed, on the faint scent of jasmine and iron that clung to the air.
One held a small silver box. The other carried a pair of cuffs—thin, delicate, almost beautiful, made of woven moonsteel and threaded with veins of crimson. Blood collars. Not for restraint. For *tracking*. For punishment.
“The contract is sealed,” the first enforcer said, opening the box to reveal two rings—black onyx set in silver thorns. “These must be worn at all times. If you exceed ten feet of each other, the bond-fever will begin. If you attempt to remove them, the collars will activate. Pain. Hallucinations. Death, if prolonged.”
Kaelen didn’t react. Just held out his hand.
The enforcer placed one ring in his palm. Then turned to me.
I didn’t move.
“Lady Vale,” the enforcer said, holding out the second ring. “Your cooperation is required.”
“Or what?” I asked, voice cool. “You’ll force it on me? In front of him?”
A flicker in the enforcer’s eyes. Not amusement. Annoyance. I’d just reminded him that this wasn’t just political theater. This was *personal*. And personal made people sloppy.
“The Council prefers voluntary compliance,” he said.
“Then I volunteer.”
I reached out, took the ring, and slid it onto my right hand—the same hand that bore my mother’s sigil beneath the glove. The metal was cold at first, then warmed quickly, almost *purring* against my skin as it synced with the bond. A shiver ran through me. Not from fear. From *recognition*. Like the ring had been waiting for me.
Kaelen watched me, silent, as he put on his own. The moment the silver thorn touched his skin, the bond flared—hot, sudden, a pulse of energy that made the candles in the room flicker. His jaw tightened. His fangs grazed his lower lip. And for the first time, I saw it—just for a fraction of a second—a crack in his control.
He felt it too.
Not just the magic. The *weight* of it.
“The collars remain as a safeguard,” the enforcer said. “You are permitted to move freely within Eterna, but you must remain within ten feet of each other at all times. Any violation will be met with immediate correction.”
“Understood,” Kaelen said.
The enforcers bowed and left.
The door closed.
Silence.
And then—
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said, turning to me. “You could’ve made a scene. Refused. Forced their hand.”
“And what? Let them chain us in public? Humiliate us?” I pulled my glove tighter over my sigil. “I may hate this bond, but I won’t give them the satisfaction of watching me break.”
He studied me. “You’re proud.”
“And you’re not?”
A ghost of a smile. “Pride is a luxury. I prefer control.”
“Control is an illusion.” I stepped past him, heading for the bathing chamber. “You’ll learn that soon enough.”
He didn’t follow. Just stood there, watching me go.
I needed to wash the night off me—the scent of him, the memory of his touch, the way my body had *ached* when he pulled away. I turned on the water, steam rising from the silver basin, and stripped quickly, tossing my clothes aside. The ring on my finger gleamed in the low light, the thorned setting catching the steam like a warning.
I stepped into the water, letting the heat seep into my muscles, trying to calm the storm inside me. But the bond was still there—pulsing, insistent, a second heartbeat that refused to be ignored. I could feel him on the other side of the door, not moving, not speaking, just *present*. Watching. Waiting.
And worse—I could feel *me*. The part of me that didn’t hate him. The part that had leaned into his touch, that had listened to his dreams, that had almost—*almost*—turned toward him in the dark.
I submerged myself, letting the water fill my ears, trying to drown it all out.
But I couldn’t.
When I finally emerged, wrapped in a black silk robe, he was gone.
The room was empty. The door to the study was open. I could hear the faint scratch of a pen, the rustle of parchment. He was working. Pretending none of this mattered.
Good.
Let him pretend.
I dressed quickly—dark trousers, a high-collared tunic in deep violet, boots that laced to my knees. Practical. Powerful. Not the delicate envoy. Not Elira Vale. *Gwendolyn.* The woman who had come to burn the throne room down.
I checked the mirror. My face was composed. My glamour held. No one would guess the war inside me.
And then—
I felt it.
The bond tugged, sharp and sudden, like a leash snapping tight. Not pain. Not yet. But a *pull*. A demand.
He was moving.
I stepped into the study.
He sat at the desk, pen in hand, reviewing what looked like Council reports. His coat was off, sleeves rolled up, revealing the silver cuff on his wrist—the one meant to dampen the bond. But it wasn’t activated. He was feeling every second of this. Every pulse. Every breath.
“You’re supposed to stay within ten feet,” I said.
“I didn’t leave the suite,” he replied, not looking up. “The bond allows a buffer within shared living spaces. We’re still connected.”
“Convenient.”
“Necessary.” He set the pen down. “We have a Council briefing in one hour. You’ll attend as my counterpart. We present unity. We follow protocol. We do *not* draw attention to the bond.”
“And if someone asks why we’re suddenly inseparable?”
“We say it’s a security measure. That the Council fears assassination attempts on key envoys.”
“Lies.”
“Diplomacy.”
I crossed my arms. “And what if I refuse?”
“Then the fever starts. You’ll collapse before you reach the door.”
“And you’ll carry me again?”
His eyes lifted. “If I have to.”
The bond flared.
Hot. Sudden. A pulse of heat low in my belly. I clenched my jaw. He saw it. Of course he did.
“You’re enjoying this,” I said.
“No.” He stood, slow, deliberate. “I’m enduring it. Just like you.”
And then he walked past me, heading for the door.
I followed.
We moved through the halls of Eterna in silence, the bond humming between us, a constant reminder of our proximity. Vampires bowed. Fae nobles stared. Witches whispered. The rumors had already started—*Did you see them? The vampire lord and the witch envoy—bound by magic? Lovers? Prisoners?*—but no one dared speak aloud.
Good.
Let them wonder.
We reached our quarters after the briefing—hours of political posturing, veiled threats, and meaningless declarations of peace. I was exhausted. My head throbbed. The bond had been relentless, flaring every time someone got too close, every time Kaelen shifted in his seat, every time his damn *scent* drifted toward me.
I just wanted a moment. A breath. A second of silence.
I opened the door.
And froze.
The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the Moon Garden outside. The bed was rumpled. The sheets twisted. And on it—
Her.
Taryn.
Unseelie princess. Fae noble. Kaelen’s *past*.
She lounged against the pillows, one leg bent, the other stretched out, her bare foot tapping lazily against the mattress. Her hair—pale gold, almost silver—was loose, cascading over one shoulder. Her lips were painted blood-red. And she was wearing *his shirt*.
Not just any shirt.
The one he’d worn last night. The one that still carried his scent—jasmine and iron and something dark, something *his*—now wrapped around *her*.
She looked up as I entered, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her face.
“Oh,” she purred. “You’re back.”
I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared at her. At the way her fingers toyed with the top button. At the way her bare thigh peeked through the open fabric. At the way she *reeked* of him.
“I was just catching up with Kaelen,” she said, voice dripping with honey and venom. “We have… *history*.”
My pulse roared in my ears.
And then—
He walked in behind me.
I felt him before I saw him—the bond flaring, the heat spiking, the air thickening with tension. He stopped just behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat of him, the way his breath stirred the hair at my nape.
“Taryn,” he said, voice flat. “I thought I made it clear. We’re done.”
She laughed—a light, musical sound that grated against my nerves. “Oh, darling, we’re *never* done. Not when you still look at me like that.”
“I don’t.”
“Liar.” She sat up, slowly unbuttoning the shirt, revealing just enough to make my stomach twist. “You always did love this shirt.”
“Take it off,” he said. “Now.”
“Make me.”
The bond *screamed*.
Not pain. Not fever.
*Jealousy.*
Raw. Primal. A surge of heat and rage so strong I stumbled, my hand flying to my chest. My vision blurred. I could *feel* him—his anger, his tension, the way his fangs ached—but beneath it, something else. Something darker. A hunger. A possession.
And then—
Taryn smiled at me.
Slow. Deliberate. Triumphant.
“He likes it when I wear his clothes,” she said, voice soft, intimate. “Doesn’t he, *darling*?”
I didn’t answer.
I couldn’t.
Because in that moment, I believed her.
I believed that he had touched her. That he had *wanted* her. That he still did.
And worse—I believed that *I* was the one who didn’t belong.
I turned.
And walked out.
I didn’t look back. Didn’t speak. Just moved, fast and hard, through the halls, the bond screaming behind me, punishing me for every step I took away from him. Dizziness hit. My vision blurred. My legs trembled.
But I didn’t stop.
And then—
“Gwendolyn.”
His voice.
Close.
Too close.
I turned.
He was there—blocking my path, eyes black with fury, chest heaving, the bond *pulsing* between us like a war drum.
“You don’t believe her, do you?” he growled.
I didn’t answer.
Because I wasn’t sure I didn’t.
And the silence—
Was the loudest answer of all.