The letter sat on the nightstand like a coiled serpent.
The Summer Court demands alliance.
No signature. No seal. Just that single line, ink smudged as if written in haste, the paper thin and brittle, like it had been torn from an older scroll. It hadn’t been there when we went to bed. No servant had delivered it. No guard had seen it placed. It had simply appeared—beneath the pillow, tucked in the fold of Kaelen’s cloak, a whisper of threat wrapped in the guise of diplomacy.
I stared at it.
Not with fear.
With recognition.
The Summer Court didn’t demand. They manipulated. They whispered. They poisoned from the shadows, wrapped their lies in silk and illusion, made you believe you’d chosen your own destruction. They had backed Cassian. Funded his lies. Spread the rumors that the Eclipse Heir was a fraud. And now—
Now they wanted an alliance.
As if they hadn’t spent centuries trying to erase me.
As if they hadn’t tried to break the bond.
As if they hadn’t used Lira like a blade in the dark.
I picked up the letter, the paper cool against my fingertips. The ink didn’t bleed. Didn’t fade. It was real. And it was a test.
Kaelen stirred beside me, his arm tightening around my waist, his breath warm against my neck. He hadn’t slept deeply—no vampire truly did—but he had rested, his body still humming with the aftermath of our lovemaking, the bond singing between us, low and insistent. I didn’t wake him. Just slipped from his embrace, pulled on a tunic, and went to the window.
The city stretched below, hidden beneath the veil—a labyrinth of ancient stone and modern steel, torchlight flickering in the narrow alleys, the scent of old magic thick in the air. The Midnight Accord had always been a place of secrets, of power plays, of blood traded for silence. But now—
Now it was different.
The Accord of Three Moons had been reinstated. The Council was balanced. The Obsidian Pit sealed. Cassian awaited trial. And I—
I was no longer just a witch with a mission.
I was Eclipse.
And I would not be bartered.
—
Kaelen found me there, barefoot on the cold stone, the letter still in my hand.
He didn’t speak at first. Just stepped behind me, his body pressing into mine, his arms wrapping around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. His fangs were just visible when he turned his head, his molten gold eyes reflecting the torchlight. The mating mark on my neck pulsed, warm and alive, feeding on his presence, on the bond, on the sheer need that had been building since the moment our hands touched.
“They’re testing you,” he said, voice rough with sleep and something darker.
“They’re testing us,” I corrected.
He didn’t flinch. Just pressed a kiss to my throat, just below the mark, his lips cool, his breath hot. “Let them.”
I turned in his arms, my hands fisting in his tunic. “They don’t want an alliance. They want control. They want to weaken the Council. To divide us. To make you look weak for refusing—”
“Then I’ll look weak,” he said, voice calm. “And I’ll burn their court to ash.”
I stilled.
And then—
I smiled. Slow. Dangerous. Mine.
Because that was the truth of him. Not the cold sovereign, not the ruthless king, but the man who would tear the world apart for me. Who had already done it. Who had given up his throne, faced down Cassian, let the truth be known—not for power, not for politics, but because I was true.
And I—
I was his.
But not theirs.
—
We called the Council to the Hall that morning.
No fanfare. No ceremony. Just boots on stone, the scent of old magic clinging to the air, the sigils on the floor pulsing faintly with the ley lines beneath the city. The twelve thrones stood in a perfect circle now—no one elevated, no one hidden. At the center, the Eclipse throne waited, its indigo veins glowing softly, the sigil at its heart a quiet hum in the air.
We didn’t sit.
Just stood at the edge of the dais, side by side, hands laced, the bond singing between us, low and insistent. I wore a tunic of midnight blue, my hair loose, my feet bare. Kaelen wore black, no cloak, no crown. Just a dagger at his belt—his mother’s, the silver hilt worn with age.
And in my hand—
The letter.
They came one by one—vampires in velvet, werewolves in furs, fae in illusion-woven silk, witches in ink-stained linen. The werewolf Alpha stepped forward first, his fur-lined cloak shifting as he took his seat. The witch representative followed, her cracked obsidian eyes sharp, her fingers brushing the armrest like she was testing the magic. The fae ambassador glided in last, her gown shimmering with illusion, her smile sharp as a blade.
And then—
Silas.
He stood in the shadows, arms crossed, half-fae eyes sharp with something I couldn’t name. Not relief. Not triumph. But watchfulness. Like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like he knew this wasn’t over.
It wasn’t.
Because the Summer Court didn’t make demands.
They made wars.
—
“We gather under the Accord of Three Moons,” I said, voice clear, steady. “No ruler. No throne. Only guardians. Only equals.”
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
“And what summons us?” asked the witch representative, her voice hoarse.
I didn’t answer. Just held up the letter.
“The Summer Court demands alliance,” I said. “They want to strengthen the Council. To ‘unite the realms under one banner.’” I let the sarcasm curl around the words. “They say they’ve always supported the balance. That they never backed Cassian. That they only seek peace.”
“And do you believe them?” asked the werewolf Alpha, his voice deep, rough.
“No,” I said. “I believe they’re afraid. Afraid of what we’ve built. Afraid of the truth. Afraid of a Council that no longer dances to their tune.” I stepped forward, my boots clicking once on the stone. “They funded Cassian. They spread the lies. They used Lira to break the bond. And now they want to sit at our table like they’ve done nothing wrong?”
“And what would you have us do?” asked the fae ambassador, her voice like silk and poison. “Refuse? Risk war?”
“War is already here,” Kaelen said, stepping forward. His voice cut through the noise like a blade. “It just hasn’t drawn blood yet.”
The chamber stilled.
Every eye turned to him.
Even the fae ambassador’s breath hitched.
“The Summer Court doesn’t want peace,” he said. “They want control. They want to divide us. To make us weak. And if we refuse their alliance, they’ll paint us as the aggressors. If we accept, they’ll use it to manipulate us from within.” He turned to me. “But they’ve made one mistake.”
“And what’s that?” I asked.
“They think we’re still playing their game,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “They think we’ll negotiate. That we’ll bargain. That we’ll trade our truth for their lies.” He stepped down from the dais, his boots striking the stone once, twice, three times. “But we’re not. We’re done.”
“Then what do you propose?” asked the witch representative.
Kaelen didn’t hesitate. “We send a message.”
“And what message is that?”
“That we are not afraid,” I said. “That we will not be bartered. That the Eclipse Coven is not dead. That the bond is not broken. And that if they want war—” I turned, those dark eyes locking onto the fae ambassador, “—then they’ll get it.”
The chamber erupted.
Voices. Shouts. Demands for caution.
And then—
The werewolf Alpha stood.
Not to me. Not to Kaelen.
But to the Eclipse throne.
He placed a hand on the armrest, his fur-lined cloak shifting as he bowed his head. “The Lunar Pact stands with you,” he said, voice deep, rough. “We have lived in the shadows long enough.”
One by one, they came.
The witch representative. The vampire elders. Even the Summer Court envoy, her silk gown shimmering with illusion, her eyes sharp with something like fear.
They didn’t kneel.
Didn’t swear oaths.
They just placed a hand on the throne.
And let the magic speak.
—
The answer came at dusk.
Not by messenger. Not by scroll.
But by blood.
A single drop, suspended in the air above the Council Hall, glowing with golden light. It hung there, trembling, the scent of jasmine and poison curling around it. And then—
It fell.
Not on stone.
Not on blood.
But on the Eclipse throne.
It struck the indigo stone with a soft hiss, and the sigil at its center flared—bright, undeniable, real. The air thickened. The torchlight flickered. And then—
A voice.
Not loud. Not commanding.
But everywhere.
“You refuse our offer,” it said, smooth, silky, dripping with false sorrow. “You choose war over unity. You choose destruction over peace. And so the Summer Court will answer in kind.”
“Then answer,” I said, stepping forward. “We’re listening.”
“The Prince of Summer demands your hand in marriage,” the voice said. “A union of blood and magic. A bond to unite our courts. A pledge of loyalty.”
The chamber stilled.
Not stunned. Not shocked.
But charged.
Like the air before lightning.
And then—
Kaelen moved.
Not fast. Not desperate.
But with purpose.
He stepped in front of me, his body a wall between me and the voice, his fangs bared, his molten gold eyes blazing. “She is not for sale,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “She is not a prize. She is not a pawn. She is mine.”
“And if she chooses otherwise?” the voice asked, sweet as poison.
“Then I’ll burn your court to ash,” Kaelen said, stepping forward, his boots striking the stone once, twice, three times. “I’ll tear your illusions apart. I’ll drown your prince in his own blood. And I’ll make sure the world knows—no one takes what is mine.”
The drop of blood trembled.
And then—
It vanished.
The voice was gone.
But the threat remained.
—
We returned to our chambers in silence.
No torches. No servants. No sound. Just the low hum of the wards and the distant echo of the city beyond the veil. I didn’t go to the desk. Didn’t summon Mira. Didn’t call for wine or council or war.
I went to the window.
Kaelen followed, his presence a storm no one could ignore. He didn’t speak. Just stepped behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. The mating mark on my neck pulsed, warm and alive, feeding on his presence, on the bond, on the sheer need that had been building since the moment our hands touched.
“They’ll come for you,” he said, voice rough.
“Let them,” I said.
He turned me in his arms, his hands framing my face, his molten gold eyes locking onto mine. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to face them. I can—”
“No,” I said, pressing a finger to his lips. “This isn’t just about us. It’s about the balance. About the truth. About every half-blood, every hybrid, every one of us who’s been told they don’t belong.” I stepped closer, my body pressing into his, my hands fisting in his tunic. “And I won’t let them take it from us. Not again.”
He didn’t flinch. Just pulled me into a kiss—hard, hungry, endless—his mouth crashing into mine, his fangs grazing my bottom lip, just enough to draw a bead of blood. I growled, rolling him beneath me, my body pressing into his, my legs tightening around his waist, seeking friction, seeking more.
And then—
He pulled back.
Breathless. Swollen-lipped. Blood on his mouth.
“I love you,” he said, voice rough.
And I—
I didn’t hesitate.
Just kissed him again.
Slow. Deep. Ours.
And when I pulled back, my voice was steady. “And I love you. Not because of magic. Not because of fate. But because you’re true.”
—
Later, in the quiet of our chambers, I found the second letter.
Not on the desk. Not in the drawer.
But tucked beneath the pillow, the paper thin, the ink smudged. No name. No seal. Just a single line:
The Prince of Summer will arrive at dawn.
I didn’t speak. Just handed it to Kaelen.
He read it once. Then again. Then set it down on the nightstand.
“Then let him come,” he said, pulling me into his arms. “We’ve faced worse.”
And as I fell asleep in his embrace, the mating mark glowing like a brand, the Black Sigil pulsing beneath my ribs, I knew—
This wasn’t the end.
It was just the beginning.
And I would not be silenced.
Not again.
Not ever.