The first thing I felt when I woke was warmth.
Not the dull, fading heat of fever or the false comfort of enchanted blankets. This was deeper. Real. A living pulse of fire pressed against my back, arms wrapped tight around my waist, breath slow and steady against the nape of my neck. My body was tucked into the curve of someone else’s—hard chest to spine, thighs aligned, one leg thrown possessively over mine. The scent of him—cold fire, old blood, something darker, richer—filled my nose, my lungs, my soul.
Kaelen.
He was here.
And I wasn’t chained.
My fingers twitched, testing. No obsidian. No venom. No stone pressing into my skin. Just soft linen, cool air, and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my palm. The wound on my shoulder still throbbed—deep, jagged, laced with Cassian’s poison—but it was healing. I could feel the slow, steady burn of his magic knitting the flesh, sealing the veins, purging the rot. It hurt. But it was a clean pain. Honest. Not the suffocating, soul-deep ache of the bond-sickness.
The mating mark still glowed beneath my collar, faint but unbroken, pulsing in time with my pulse. Not with possession. Not with claim.
Promise.
I didn’t move. Didn’t open my eyes. Just lay there, breathing him in, feeling the weight of his body, the truth of his presence. He’d come for me. Broken into the Obsidian Pit. Carried me through the dark. Fought the venom with his own blood. And now—
Now he was holding me like I was something sacred.
Like I was his.
And for the first time, I didn’t want to pull away.
—
I must have shifted, because his arms tightened.
“You’re awake,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep. His lips brushed the shell of my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “Don’t pretend.”
I exhaled, slow and steady. “I wasn’t.”
He turned me, gently, until I was facing him, his molten gold eyes locking onto mine. The firelight from the hearth painted shadows across his face—sharp jaw, high cheekbones, the faint scar above his heart. He looked like a king. Like a predator. Like the man who had knelt in the rain and sworn he’d rather be damned than live without me.
And he looked alive.
Not cold. Not distant. Not the High Sovereign behind a mask of stone.
Just Kaelen.
“How do you feel?” he asked, thumb brushing the pulse point at my throat.
“Like I was bitten by a venomous bastard,” I said, voice dry. “But better. Thanks to you.”
He didn’t smile. Just studied me—those golden eyes searching, testing—then pressed his forehead to mine. “You don’t get to die. Not for me. Not for anyone.”
“I wasn’t dying,” I said, echoing his words from before. “I was fighting.”
“And I’ll fight with you,” he said. “But you don’t get to leave me.”
My breath caught.
And then—
I kissed him.
Not soft. Not gentle.
But hard—my mouth crashing into his, my fangs grazing his bottom lip, just enough to draw a bead of blood. He growled, rolling me beneath him, his body pressing into mine, his hands fisting in my hair. The bond flared, white-hot, blinding, ours. I gasped, arching into him, my legs tightening around his waist, my hips grinding against his, seeking friction, seeking more.
And then—
A knock.
Sharp. Insistent.
The door.
We broke apart, gasping, swollen-lipped, blood on our mouths. The mating mark pulsed, a live wire fused to my spine.
“Kaelen,” came Silas’s voice, muffled. “It’s urgent.”
Kaelen exhaled, long and slow, then pressed his forehead to mine. “Later,” he murmured. “This isn’t over.”
“It never is,” I said, smiling.
He stood, pulling on his tunic, his body still humming with the aftermath of my touch. I didn’t move, just watched him from the bed, my hair tangled, my skin flushed, my lips swollen. The Black Sigil pulsed beneath my ribs, a second heartbeat, hers, mine, ours.
He opened the door just enough to speak. Silas stood in the corridor, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
“Cassian’s calling another emergency session,” he said, voice low. “He’s bringing new evidence. Claims he has proof the bond is *forced*. That you used the blood oath to control her.”
Kaelen’s fangs bared.
“Let him try,” he said, voice cold. “The Council saw. The magic spoke. She’s mine.”
“And if he demands a separation test?” Silas asked. “To prove the bond isn’t dependent?”
Kaelen stilled.
Then—
“It won’t come to that,” he said. “Because I won’t let her go.”
Silas studied him—those sharp, observant eyes searching, testing—then nodded. “Then be ready. He’s not done.”
Kaelen closed the door.
Turned back to me.
I was already sitting up, pulling on my tunic, my movements slow, deliberate. The mating mark still glowed, but there was something different in my eyes—something softer. Warmer. Awake.
“We have to go,” I said, voice low.
“You should rest,” he said. “After everything.”
“I’m not tired,” I said, standing. “I’m awake.”
He smiled—just once, faint, dangerous. “Then stay with me. Not in my bed. Not yet. But in my chambers. Where I can protect you. Where I can feel you.”
“You don’t get to decide what I do,” I whispered.
“No,” he agreed. “But the bond does.”
And then—
I reached for his hand.
And laced my fingers with mine.
The bond didn’t flare.
It sang.
—
The Council Hall was already half-full when we arrived.
Chandeliers of frozen moonlight hung above, casting long shadows across the black marble. The twelve thrones loomed in a semicircle, each marked with the sigil of its species. Vampires in velvet and silver. Werewolves in furs and bone. Fae in illusion-woven silk. Witches in ink-stained linen.
And at the center—Cassian.
He sat in his throne, back straight, hands resting on the armrests, his expression unreadable. But his eyes—those ancient, dead eyes—flicked to me the moment I entered. To the collar of my blouse. To the faint, indigo glow beneath the fabric.
He knew.
And he was smiling.
Indigo didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Just kept walking, her boots clicking once, twice, three times on the stone. My hand was still in hers, my grip firm, my presence a storm at her side.
We took our seats—side by side, per Council decree. The bond pulsed between us, low and insistent, feeding on the tension, on the hatred, on the sheer need that had been building since the moment our hands touched.
“Representatives,” Cassian began, voice oily, smooth, “we gather under emergency decree. Last night, the High Sovereign and the Eclipse Heir consummated their bond—”
A gasp rippled through the chamber.
“—and in doing so, sealed a union that may not be of their own will. The blood oath—public, witnessed—was a test of loyalty. But what if it was also a tool of control? What if the bond, though fated, has been *manipulated*? What if she—” He turned, those dead eyes locking onto Indigo. “—is not acting of her own free will?”
My pulse spiked.
“You dare—” I began, voice a whip.
“I dare,” Cassian cut in. “Because the Council has a right to know. Is this woman truly free? Or is she under the High Sovereign’s thrall?”
The chamber erupted.
Voices. Shouts. Demands for proof.
And then—
He raised a hand.
“There is a way,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “A test. A *public* test. The bond must be proven not in passion, not in blood, but in *separation*. For one full day, the High Sovereign and the Eclipse Heir must remain apart. No contact. No magic. No bond. And when the sun rises again—” He paused. “—we will see if the bond holds. If it is truly fated. Or if it is merely… *dependence*.”
My stomach dropped.
Indigo tensed beside me, her hand curling into a fist.
“You’re asking for torture,” I said, voice cold.
“I’m asking for truth,” Cassian replied, smiling. “And if the bond is real, then one day apart should mean nothing.”
“It’s not that simple,” Indigo said, standing. “The bond isn’t just magic. It’s *us*. And you can’t test that in a cage.”
“Then prove it,” Cassian said. “By enduring it.”
The chamber fell silent.
All eyes turned to us.
And then—
She looked at me.
Not with fear. Not with doubt.
But with trust.
And I—
I nodded.
Once.
A silent promise. A silent strength.
“Very well,” I said, standing. “I accept.”
—
The separation began at dusk.
They took her first—two Dominion guards, faces impassive, hands gloved. She didn’t resist. Just turned to me, those dark eyes locking onto mine, and said, “I’ll be fine.”
“Don’t lie to me,” I said, voice rough. “You won’t be.”
She smiled—just once, faint, dangerous. “Neither will you.”
And then she was gone.
They locked her in the eastern wing—a chamber warded against magic, warded against escape, warded against *me*. No windows. No doors. Just stone and silence.
And I—
I was left in my study, the fire low, the shadows long, the scent of her still clinging to the air—indigo and iron, midnight and fire.
And then—
It started.
Not with pain.
Not with fever.
But with emptiness.
Like something inside me had been ripped out, like the bond—the tether, the claim, the truth—had been severed. My chest ached. My lungs refused to fill. My pulse stuttered, not with fear, but with loss.
I pressed a hand to my heart, where the scar burned, where the bond had once hummed, where she had once been.
And then—
The visions came.
Not memories. Not magic.
Illusions.
I saw her—bloodied, broken, lying in a pool of her own magic. I saw Cassian standing over her, fangs bared, voice a whisper—“You should have killed her when you had the chance.” I saw her mother—pale, lifeless, the blade in her back, my name on her lips.
“No,” I whispered, staggering back. “Not real. Not real.”
But it felt real. Too real. The scent of blood. The sound of her scream. The way her body had gone still.
And then—
Her voice.
Not from the illusion.
From her.
“Kaelen.”
Just a whisper. Just a breath.
But it cut through the noise, through the chaos, through the sheer need that had been building since the moment our hands touched.
I closed my eyes.
Reached deep—into the well of my magic, into the blood of my ancestors, into the bond that tied me to her. I felt it—still there. Faint. Frayed. But real.
And then—
I *pulled*.
Not with force.
Not with rage.
But with *need*.
For truth.
For justice.
For her.
The air stilled.
Not a breath. Not a whisper. Not a heartbeat.
And then—
Time snapped back.
I was on my knees, hands pressed to the floor, fangs bared, sweat dripping down my temples. The fire had gone out. The shadows were thick. And the bond—
It was still there.
But it was hurting.
—
The hours passed like centuries.
I didn’t eat. Didn’t drink. Didn’t move. Just knelt there, in the dark, in the silence, in the *emptiness*. The visions came and went—her dying, her hating me, her leaving me. I fought them. Beat them back with centuries of discipline. But the ache—the *need*—only grew.
And then—
At midnight, it hit.
Not a vision.
Not a memory.
But pain.
White-hot, blinding, inescapable. It ripped through me—my chest, my spine, my throat—like the bond was tearing me apart from the inside. I gasped, doubling over, my fangs sinking into my own arm to keep from screaming. Blood—dark, ancient—dripped onto the stone, sizzling where it met the wards.
And then—
Her voice.
Again.
“Kaelen.”
Not a whisper.
A scream.
And I knew—
She was feeling it too.
—
I don’t know how long I lasted.
Minutes? Hours? Days?
Time lost meaning. The world blurred. The pain was all that existed—sharp, relentless, real. I crawled to the door, my body weak, my magic fading, my fangs bared. I pounded on the wood, once, twice, three times—
“Let me go,” I growled. “Let me to her.”
No answer.
Just silence.
And then—
Footsteps.
Silas appeared in the corridor, his half-fae features shadowed in the dim light, his expression unreadable.
“You’re breaking,” he said.
“So are you,” I said, voice raw. “You can feel it too. The bond. The pain. The *need*.”
He didn’t flinch. Just studied me—those sharp, observant eyes searching, testing—then nodded. “She’s worse.”
My breath caught.
“They’ve warded her chamber. No magic. No contact. But the bond—” He hesitated. “—it’s killing her.”
I didn’t speak.
Just moved.
Faster than thought, faster than shadow, I was at his throat, fangs bared, hands like claws. “Open the door,” I snarled. “Or I’ll tear this place apart.”
He didn’t fight. Just met my gaze, steady, unyielding. “I can’t. The wards—”
“Then break them,” I said, voice rough. “Or so help me, I’ll burn this city to ash.”
He stilled.
Then—
He nodded.
And then—
He stepped aside.
“You’ll have to do it yourself,” he said. “But know this—once you cross that threshold, there’s no going back. The Council will see. Cassian will know. And the war will begin.”
I didn’t hesitate.
Just moved.
Down the corridor. Past the silver case. Past the double doors of my private wing. To the eastern wing.
And then—
I saw her.
Through the enchanted glass.
She was on the floor, curled in on herself, her body trembling, her hands clutching her chest, her lips moving—“Kaelen… Kaelen… Kaelen…”
The bond screamed.
Not with need.
With hurt.
I didn’t think.
Just acted.
I slammed my shoulder into the door—once, twice, three times—until the wards cracked, until the wood splintered, until the lock gave way.
And then—
I was inside.
I dropped to my knees beside her, pulling her into my arms, her body cold, her breath shallow, her pulse fluttering like a dying bird.
“I’m here,” I whispered, pressing my forehead to hers. “I’m here.”
She didn’t speak. Just turned her face into my chest, her fingers fisting in my tunic, her body trembling.
And then—
The bond erupted.
Not with fire.
Not with pain.
But with relief.
Warm. Alive. Ours.
And as she fell asleep in my arms, her breathing steady, her body warm, I knew—
They could lock us in cages.
They could ward us with spells.
They could tear us apart.
But they would never break us.
Because we weren’t just bound by magic.
We were bound by love.
And I would never let her go.
Not ever.