The veil tore like silk.
Not with sound. Not with light. But with absence—a sudden hollow in the air, a breath sucked from the world, the golden shimmer of Summer’s illusion cracking open to reveal what lay beneath: not beauty, not grace, but hunger. Raw. Rancid. Desperate.
The Prince of Summer stood at the threshold, his dawn-colored silk now edged in shadow, his mirror-like eyes reflecting not our faces, but twisted versions—me as a broken doll, Kaelen as a snarling beast, the city in flames. His smile was still sharp, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He wasn’t here to conquer.
He was here to consume.
And he wasn’t alone.
From the rift stepped a dozen Summer fae—slim, elegant, their skin glowing with false light, their fingers tipped with venomous claws. Behind them, illusions bloomed: phantoms of war, of fire, of betrayal, designed to break our lines before the first blow was struck. The air thickened with the scent of jasmine and poison, the same cloying sweetness that had lured mortals to their deaths for centuries.
But I wasn’t mortal.
And I wasn’t afraid.
“You should have stayed in your garden,” I said, stepping forward, the vial’s remnants still clinging to Kaelen’s palm, the venom sizzling on the stone. “This isn’t your world.”
The Prince tilted his head, a mockery of curiosity. “And this isn’t yours, little Eclipse. You’re a half-blood. A mistake. A lie.” He spread his arms. “We are beauty. We are truth. We are eternal.”
“And I am real,” I said.
And then—
I moved.
Not with speed. Not with magic.
But with truth.
I stepped into the illusion, and it shattered—like glass under a hammer, like lies under light. The phantoms dissolved, the scent of jasmine curdled, and for one breathless second, the Prince’s mask slipped. Fear. Raw. Exposed.
Then he snarled.
And the battle began.
—
Kaelen was a storm at my back.
Not beside me. Not in front.
With me.
His body moved like a weapon forged for war—every step calculated, every strike precise, his fangs bared, his molten gold eyes blazing. He didn’t fight to kill. He fought to control. One fae lunged at me from the left—he intercepted, his dagger flashing, the blade slicing through venomous claws like paper. Another tried to flank—Kaelen spun, disarmed with a flick of his wrist, then slammed the fae’s head into the stone.
But they kept coming.
More illusions. More venom. More lies.
And then—
The Prince raised his hand.
A pulse of golden light surged outward, not aimed at us, but at the city. The veil above the Midnight Accord trembled, its edges fraying, the illusion of safety peeling away to reveal the truth beneath: the streets weren’t empty. They were full.
Mortals. Humans. Innocents caught in the crossfire.
And the Prince was going to use them as pawns.
“You don’t have to do this,” I said, voice low, steady. “You don’t have to die for his lies.”
One of the fae hesitated—just a flicker, a tremor in her hand. But it was enough.
I lunged.
Not at her. Not at the Prince.
But at the illusion.
I slammed my palm into the ground, channeled the Black Sigil, and pushed. Time slowed—just for a breath, just for a heartbeat—but it was enough. I saw the threads of the spell, the way it pulsed with stolen magic, the way it fed on fear. And then—
I cut it.
With a thought. With a whisper. With a truth that no illusion could withstand.
The golden light shattered.
The veil snapped back into place. The mortals vanished—safe, unaware, unharmed. The fae screamed—not in pain, but in betrayal. Because they’d been promised power. Promised victory. Promised eternity.
And I’d just taken it from them.
The Prince roared.
And then—
He came for me.
—
He was fast.
Faster than Kaelen. Faster than any fae I’d ever faced. His body blurred, his claws slashing, his voice a whisper in my mind—You’re weak. You’re alone. You’re nothing.
I dodged.
Spun.
Blocked with the lunar blade the Moonborn Alpha had given me.
But he was stronger. Faster. And he wasn’t fighting to win.
He was fighting to break me.
His claw raked my arm—venom searing into my skin, burning through muscle, through magic. I gasped, stumbled back, but didn’t fall. The mating mark flared—warm, alive, feeding me strength. The Black Sigil pulsed beneath my ribs, a second heartbeat, steady and deep.
And then—
Kaelen was there.
Not to save me.
But to fight beside me.
He didn’t move in front of me. Didn’t shield me. He stepped into the Prince’s blind spot, his dagger flashing, forcing the fae to turn, to split his attention. And in that second—
I struck.
Not with the blade.
Not with magic.
But with truth.
I reached into the bond—into the raw, unfiltered connection between us—and pulled. Not just my power. Not just Kaelen’s.
Ours.
The air exploded.
Indigo and crimson light surged from our joined hands, from our linked gazes, from the mating mark on my neck. The Prince screamed—raw, guttural, his—and staggered back, his perfect face twisting, his illusion crumbling. For the first time, I saw him—not as a prince, not as a monster.
Just a man.
Scared. Alone. Weak.
And then—
He did the one thing I didn’t expect.
He ran.
Not toward the veil. Not toward safety.
But toward the Council Hall.
“He’s going for the Eclipse throne,” I said, already moving.
Kaelen didn’t answer. Just ran beside me, our boots striking the stone once, twice, three times, the bond singing between us, low and insistent. The city blurred around us—torchlight flickering, shadows stretching, the scent of old magic thick in the air. We didn’t speak. Didn’t plan. Just knew.
He wanted to destroy what we’d built.
And we wouldn’t let him.
—
The Council Hall was silent when we burst through the doors.
No torches. No banners. No velvet drapes. Just the stone, the sigils, the silence. The twelve thrones stood in a perfect circle, no one elevated, no one hidden. At the center, the Eclipse throne waited, its indigo veins glowing faintly, the sigil at its heart a quiet hum in the air.
And there he was.
The Prince of Summer.
He stood before it, his hand raised, a dagger of golden light forming in his palm. His breath came fast, his eyes wild, his illusion gone. He wasn’t beautiful anymore. He was desperate.
“You think this changes anything?” he spat, voice raw. “You think your little bond, your little council, your little truth means anything? We are eternal. We are beauty. We are—”
“You’re afraid,” I said, stepping forward. “You’re afraid of what happens when the world sees you for what you are. Not gods. Not rulers. Just liars.”
He snarled and lunged—
But Kaelen was faster.
He intercepted, his body a wall, his dagger flashing. The Prince deflected, spun, but Kaelen pressed—relentless, unyielding, a storm given flesh. Their blades clashed, sparks flying, the sound echoing through the chamber like thunder.
And then—
The Prince made his mistake.
He reached for me.
Not with the blade.
But with illusion.
A whisper in my mind—You’re alone. You’re weak. You’re not worthy.—and for one heartbeat, I believed it.
My knees buckled.
My magic faltered.
And then—
Kaelen screamed.
Not in pain.
Not in rage.
But in love.
He broke from the fight, lunged for me, caught me before I hit the stone. His arms wrapped around me, his fangs grazing my neck, just a whisper of pressure, a promise. The bond erupted—not with fire, not with need, but with truth.
I wasn’t alone.
I wasn’t weak.
I was hers.
And I was his.
I gasped, my magic surging, the Black Sigil flaring beneath my ribs. The mating mark glowed like a brand, warm and alive, feeding on his presence, on the bond, on the sheer need that had been building since the moment our hands touched.
And then—
I stood.
Not slowly. Not carefully.
But with purpose.
I stepped past Kaelen, my boots clicking once on the stone, my eyes locked onto the Prince. He didn’t flinch. Just raised the golden dagger, his hand trembling.
“You don’t have to do this,” I said, voice low. “You can walk away. You can live.”
“And be nothing?” he spat. “No. Better to die a king than live a beggar.”
And then—
He charged.
Not at me.
But at the Eclipse throne.
He meant to destroy it. To shatter the symbol of our unity. To break the balance.
But he didn’t understand.
The throne wasn’t just stone.
It was alive.
I didn’t move.
Just pressed my palm to the Black Sigil—and called.
Not with magic.
Not with force.
But with truth.
The throne answered.
Indigo light surged from its veins, the sigil at its heart blazing, the air thickening with power. The Prince screamed as the light hit him—raw, guttural, his—and staggered back, the golden dagger dissolving in his hand.
And then—
He fell.
Not dead.
Not broken.
But exposed.
His illusion gone. His power gone. Just a man in a ruined gown, his breath coming in gasps, his eyes wide with something I couldn’t name.
Fear?
Regret?
Or just… truth?
I didn’t kill him.
Just stepped forward, pressed a hand to his chest—just above his heart—and said, “You don’t have to be afraid. You don’t have to lie. You don’t have to be nothing.”
He didn’t answer.
Just looked at me—really looked at me—and for the first time, I saw it.
Hope.
And then—
He was gone.
Not by my hand.
Not by Kaelen’s.
But by his own.
He vanished—like mist in the morning sun, like a lie under light. The golden dagger clattered to the stone. The illusion shattered. And the Council Hall was silent.
But not for long.
—
The fae who had fought with him—they didn’t flee. Didn’t attack. Just stood there, their venomous claws lowered, their false light dimmed. And then—
One by one, they knelt.
Not to me.
Not to Kaelen.
But to the Eclipse throne.
And to the truth.
I didn’t speak. Just pressed a hand to the mating mark, my fingers brushing the scar above my heart. The Black Sigil pulsed beneath my ribs, steady and deep. The bond sang between us, low and insistent.
And then—
Kaelen stepped beside me.
Not in front. Not behind.
Beside.
His hand found mine. Fingers laced. The bond didn’t flare.
It sang.
—
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.
“It’s not over,” he said, voice rough.
“No,” I agreed. “But we’re ready.”
He turned me in his arms, his hands framing my face, his molten gold eyes locking onto mine. “You were incredible,” he said. “Not because of magic. Not because of fate. But because you’re true.”
I didn’t flinch. Just pulled him into a kiss—slow, deep, ours—my body pressing into his, my hands fisting in his tunic. He growled, rolling me beneath him, his body pressing into mine, 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 final 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 Winter Court is moving.
I didn’t speak. Just handed it to Kaelen.
He read it once. Then again. Then set it down on the nightstand.
“Then let them move,” 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.