The first time the Summer Court breached the veil, it wasn’t with fire.
Not with war.
Not even with force.
It was with music.
Soft. Sweet. A melody spun from sunlight and lies, drifting through the northern gate like a poisoned breeze. I felt it the moment I stepped onto the balcony—barefoot on cold stone, the mating mark on my neck pulsing with quiet fire, the chain coiled around my wrist warm and alive. The Midnight Accord hummed beneath me—wards low, ley lines steady, the city breathing in the hush before the storm. But the air—
It was thick.
Not with frost. Not with silence.
But with glamour.
The kind that curled around your thoughts like silk, that made your breath catch, that made you forget why you were angry in the first place. That made you want to smile.
And then—
A single note.
Not from a violin. Not from a harp.
From a voice.
Clear. Pure. Dripping with false warmth. It rose from beyond the gate, weaving through the veil, slipping past the wards like they were made of mist. And for one breathless second, I saw it.
A woman—golden-haired, her gown the color of dawn, her eyes like honeyed sun—standing in a sunlit glade, her fingers brushing a sigil carved into golden bark. And then—
She looked up.
Not at me.
But through me.
And she said—
“You could have peace.”
And then—
The vision snapped.
I gasped, stumbling back, my hand flying to my chest, the Black Sigil pulsing beneath my ribs. The music faded—gone, like it had never been. But the warmth remained. Deep. Rooted. Real.
And I—
I wasn’t just Indigo.
I was tempted.
—
I didn’t tell Kaelen.
Not yet.
He was in the war room—maps spread across the table, his molten gold eyes scanning the ley lines, his fangs bared in concentration. The wound at his side had healed, but the venom’s shadow still lingered in his blood, a whisper of weakness he refused to admit. He had stood between me and the Prince’s blade. Again. Without hesitation. Without sound. Just a flicker of pain in his eyes before he’d pulled me closer, his fangs grazing my throat, just a whisper of pressure, a promise.
And I’d said, “Always.”
But now—
Now something else was coming.
Something warmer.
Something sweeter.
And far more dangerous.
So I kept it to myself.
Just me.
And the magic.
—
The Council had passed the second law—the Seal of Winter now rested at the center of the dais, pulsing with silver light, a silent witness to balance. The northern gate remained open—no longer a wound, but a bridge. The Winter Court had not attacked. Had not spoken. But they had appeared. And in their silence, they had changed everything.
But the Summer Court—
They didn’t believe in silence.
They believed in seduction.
And they weren’t here to conquer.
They were here to corrupt.
—
The music returned that night.
Not in the war room. Not in the throne chamber. But in my dreams.
I was standing in a sunlit glade—golden grass swaying, flowers blooming in impossible colors, the air thick with the scent of jasmine and honey. The sky was a perfect blue, the sun eternal, the world untouched by shadow. And then—
She appeared.
The Summer Queen.
Not a vision. Not a memory.
But real.
She stood before me, golden-haired, her gown the color of dawn, her eyes like honeyed sun. She didn’t speak. Just smiled—soft, warm, knowing—and raised her hand.
And the glade changed.
The grass turned to gold. The flowers became jewels. The sky split open, revealing a city of light—towers of crystal, streets paved with sunlight, people laughing, dancing, free. And then—
She stepped closer.
“You could have this,” she said, voice smooth, warm, dripping with false kindness. “No war. No chains. No silence. Just peace. Just light. Just love.”
I didn’t flinch. Just pressed a hand to the mating mark, feeling its pulse, its truth, its hers. “And what’s the price?” I asked.
She tilted her head, those golden eyes searching, testing. “Only one. Surrender the bond. Let go of the vampire. Let go of the Eclipse. Let go of the chains you wear so proudly.” She stepped closer, the warmth of her presence seeping into my skin. “You could be free. You could be happy.”
“I am happy,” I said, voice steady. “Not because I’m free. But because I’m awake.”
She didn’t speak.
Just raised her hand.
And the glade froze.
Not with ice.
Not with frost.
But with light.
The sun became a blade. The flowers turned to fire. The sky cracked, revealing not a city, but a void—endless, hungry, empty.
The dream snapped.
I woke gasping, my hand flying to my chest—no mark, no chain, but the warmth remained. Deep. Rooted. Real.
And I—
I wasn’t just dreaming.
I was tempted.
—
I didn’t go to the seers.
Not again.
They had already warned me. Already told me what was coming. And I couldn’t keep asking for answers I wasn’t ready to hear.
So I went to the archives.
Not to search. Not to hide.
But to fight.
I pulled down every grimoire bound in bone, unrolled every scroll sealed in silver, pried open every case of black iron. The scent of old paper, of ink and magic, clung to my skin. My fingers trembled as I turned pages, my breath shallow, my heart pounding. I wasn’t looking for a spell. Not for a weapon. Not for a way to break the chain.
I was looking for her.
And then—
I found it.
Not in a book. Not in a scroll.
But in a mirror.
It stood in the corner of the chamber—tall, framed in black stone, its surface cracked, its reflection distorted. I hadn’t noticed it before. But now—
Now it called to me.
I stepped closer, my boots soft on the stone, my breath shallow. The mirror didn’t show me. Not my face. Not my body. But a woman—golden-haired, her gown the color of dawn, her eyes like honeyed sun. She stood in a sunlit glade, her fingers brushing a sigil carved into golden bark. And then—
She looked up.
Not at me.
But through me.
And she said—
“You could have peace.”
I didn’t flinch. Just pressed my palm to the glass.
And the world burned.
Not with fire. Not with pain.
But with memory.
Not mine.
But hers.
A woman—golden-haired, her gown the color of dawn, her eyes like honeyed sun—standing in a sunlit glade, her fingers brushing a sigil carved into golden bark. A man—tall, dark, with eyes like storm clouds—kneeling before her, his voice low. *“You cannot seduce the Eclipse. You cannot bind what is free.”*
And then—
She raised her hand.
And the world burned.
The vision snapped.
I collapsed to my knees, gasping, my hand pressed to my chest, the Black Sigil pulsing like a second heartbeat. The mirror cracked further, a web of frost spreading across its surface. And then—
It shattered.
Not with sound. Not with force.
But with silence.
And I—
I wasn’t just Indigo.
I was awake.
—
I didn’t go to Kaelen.
Not yet.
But I didn’t have to.
He came to me.
Standing in the corridor outside the archives, his tunic open at the throat, his fangs just visible when he turned his head. His molten gold eyes locked onto mine, not with suspicion, not with anger, but with something deeper.
Recognition.
“You’ve seen her,” he said, voice low.
I didn’t flinch. Just nodded. “The Summer Queen. She’s coming.”
He didn’t question. Just studied me—those sharp, observant eyes searching, *testing*—then reached for my hand. Not to take it. But to press his palm to mine, his fingers brushing the mating mark.
“She was a liar,” he said. “Not a queen. Not a ruler. But a woman who tried to seduce what could not be bound. She tried to break the Eclipse. She tried to silence the truth.” He looked up, those golden eyes locking onto mine. “And now she’s back.”
“And if she breaks the bond?” I asked.
“Then we fight,” he said. “Not just for the throne. Not just for the balance. But for us.”
My breath caught.
And then—
He stepped closer.
Pressed his forehead to mine.
And whispered—
“You’re not alone.”
—
The next day, I went to the ritual chamber.
Not to hide. Not to flee.
But to challenge.
I laid my palm on the stone, the Black Sigil flaring beneath my ribs, and whispered the incantation Mira had taught me—words in a language older than the coven, older than the Dominion.
“Veritas sanguis. Veritas vinculum. Veritas cor.”
Truth in blood. Truth in bond. Truth in heart.
The sigils flared—indigo and silver, pulsing faster, brighter. The air thickened. The scent of old magic, of iron and storm, curled around me. And then—
A whisper.
Not loud. Not commanding.
But everywhere.
“You dare?” it said, smooth, warm, dripping with false kindness. “You dare awaken what was sealed? You dare defy the eternal light?”
I didn’t flinch. Just stepped forward, my boots clicking once on the stone. “The truth isn’t yours to silence,” I said. “It’s mine to awaken.”
The whisper grew louder. The sigils trembled. And then—
A shape.
Not solid. Not real.
But there.
The Summer Queen.
She stood before me, golden-haired, her gown the color of dawn, her eyes like honeyed sun—her face half-hidden in light, her fingers brushing a sigil carved into golden bark. She looked at me, really looked at me, and for one breathless second, I saw it.
Recognition.
“You are not ready,” she said, voice warm, sharp, hers.
“Then make me ready,” I said, stepping forward. “Or break me. But know this—I will not kneel.”
She didn’t speak. Just raised her hand.
And the chamber burned.
Not with fire.
Not with frost.
But with light.
The sigils dimmed. The torchlight flickered. The ley lines beneath the city stilled.
And then—
She vanished.
Not in smoke. Not in fire.
But in gold.
A single petal drifted down, landing on my wrist—warm, soft, laced with something older than summer.
And then—
The chamber cooled.
The sigils flared. The torchlight burned. The ley lines pulsed.
And the bond—
It was still there.
Warm. Alive. Mine.
—
I didn’t go to Kaelen.
Not yet.
But I didn’t have to.
He found me.
Standing in the corridor outside the ritual chamber, my breath shallow, my eyes wide, my hand pressed to the mating mark. He didn’t speak. Just stepped forward, his boots soft on the stone, his cloak bending light around him. His molten gold eyes locked onto mine, not with suspicion, not with anger, but with something deeper.
Recognition.
“You’ve seen her,” he said, voice low.
I didn’t flinch. Just nodded. “The Summer Queen. She’s coming.”
He didn’t question. Just studied me—those sharp, observant eyes searching, *testing*—then reached for my hand. Not to take it. But to press his palm to mine, his fingers brushing the mating mark.
“Then we prepare,” he said. “Not just for war. But for truth.”
My breath caught.
And then—
He stepped closer.
Pressed his forehead to mine.
And whispered—
“You’re not alone.”
—
Later, in the quiet of our chambers, I found the 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 Summer 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, the chain warm around my wrist, the key heavy in my hand, I knew—
This wasn’t over.
It had only just begun.
And I would not be silenced.
Not again.
Not ever.
Indigo’s Claim
The first time Indigo sees Kaelen D’Vire, he’s standing in shadow, his crimson-lined cloak pooling like spilled blood across marble. She came to the Midnight Accord under false papers, a witch with a mission: expose the vampire king’s treachery, dismantle his alliance with the Fae High Court, and reclaim the stolen Black Sigil — the artifact that proves her lineage as the last heir of the Eclipse Coven. But before she can speak, before she can even draw breath, the ancient Council binds them together with a cursed contract: *“One touch, one fate.”* Their palms meet — and the world *burns*.
A jolt of magic sears through them. Her skin flushes, her pulse roars. His eyes, once cold obsidian, flare with molten gold. For a heartbeat, they are not enemies — but *mates*, bound by a force older than war. He drags her close, his voice a velvet threat: *“You’re mine now, little witch. Fight me, and we both burn.”* She hisses back: *“I came here to bury you.”*
But the bond doesn’t lie. It *aches*. It *hungers*. And when a rival vampire emerges from his chambers wearing only his shirt, whispering of nights spent in his bed, Indigo’s fury ignites — and so does his jealousy. Secrets unravel. Blood is spilled. A ritual gone wrong leaves them naked in each other’s arms, marked, breathless, and trembling with forbidden need.
They are at war — with each other, with their courts, with the past. But their bodies know the truth: they were made to destroy — or save — each other. And in a world where power is blood, and love is a weapon, the only way out is *through*.