The dagger lies on the table like a verdict.
Not the one I carry—my Fae-forged blade, stolen, sharp, alive—but the other one. The one Kael just ordered Silas to bring. The one that killed my father.
It’s heavier than I expected.
Not in weight. In memory.
Black iron, hilt wrapped in worn leather, the Draven sigil etched into the crossguard—coiled serpent, thorned wings. I know this blade. I’ve seen it in nightmares. In court records. In the hands of the executioner who raised it high beneath a blood-red dawn.
And now Kael is giving it to me.
“Let her see the truth,” he said. “Let her finish it.”
But what truth? That he kept the weapon that murdered my father? That he’s had it all this time, hidden in his vaults, like a trophy? Like a keepsake?
My hands tremble as I pick it up.
Not from fear.
From fury.
“You kept this?” I whisper, my voice raw. “All these years? While I was out there, training, planning, hating—you kept the blade that killed him?”
Kael doesn’t flinch. Just watches me, his storm-gray eyes dark, unreadable. “I kept it because it’s evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
“Of the lie,” he says. “The forged decree. The planted witnesses. The Fae High Court’s hand in it all. This blade—this thing—was never meant to kill your father. It was meant to silence him. To frame him. To break the Concord.”
“And you just let it happen?” I snap, my voice rising. “You stood there. You signed the decree. You wore the crown while they hanged him—”
“I tried to stop it,” he says, stepping closer. “I failed. And I’ve carried that failure every day since. But I didn’t destroy this blade because I knew one day, someone would come for the truth. And when they did—”
“You’d hand it to them like some kind of gift?” I hiss, gripping the hilt tighter. “You think this makes you noble? That you’re some kind of savior? You’re not. You’re the king who let it happen.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just stands there, silent, his presence a wall of power, his silence heavier than any command.
And I hate him for it.
For the way he looks at me—like he sees through the armor, like he knows the cracks in my soul, like he cares.
Because if he cares—
If he sees me—
Then I might not be able to hate him.
And I need to hate him.
I need it like I need air.
Because without it—
I’m lost.
“I should kill you with it,” I say, lifting the blade. “Right here. Right now. While the Council still trembles from your little display. While Lira still licks her wounds. While the world still believes you’re some kind of hero.”
He doesn’t move.
Just watches me, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Then do it,” he says.
My breath stills.
“What?”
“If you believe I’m guilty,” he says, stepping closer, “if you believe I deserve to die—then do it. Take your vengeance. End it. Right here. Right now.”
I raise the blade.
Point it at his heart.
And for a heartbeat—
I almost do.
But then—
The bond flares.
Not just a hum. Not just a thrum.
A scream.
Heat. Fire. A surge of pure, unfiltered sensation that rips through me like lightning. My skin ignites. My blood sings. My magic—trapped, stolen, alive—roars to life, responding to his touch like a starving thing.
I gasp.
So does he.
His eyes flare, darkening. His breath comes fast, ragged.
And I know—
I can’t do it.
Not because I’m weak.
Not because the bond controls me.
Because I see him.
Not the king. Not the executioner.
The man.
The one who tried to save my father.
The one who’s been fighting for me since the day I was born.
The one who loves me.
And that—
That’s the most dangerous thing of all.
I lower the blade.
“I won’t kill you,” I say, voice breaking. “Not yet. Because if I do—”
“Then what?” he asks, stepping closer.
“Then I’ll never know if you’re telling the truth,” I whisper. “If you really tried to stop it. If you really fought for him. If you really—”
“Love you?” he finishes.
I don’t answer.
Just look at him, my chest rising and falling, my breath mingling with his.
And then—
The door bursts open.
Silas stands there, his dark eyes sharp, his posture tense. “They’re coming,” he says. “The Lupari envoy. Varek. He’s in heat. The scent is already spreading through the halls. It’s affecting the bond.”
My breath catches.
Heat.
Biannual. Brutal. Scent-driven. Body-temperature spikes. Uncontrollable arousal if unmated.
And Varek—
He’s Alpha.
His scent will be overwhelming.
And the bond—already frayed, already burning—will ignite.
Kael’s jaw tightens. “Then we contain it.”
“How?” Silas asks. “He’s already in the throne room. The Council’s with him. The witches are trying to suppress the scent, but it’s too strong. And Magnolia—”
“I’m fine,” I say, stepping back. “I can handle it.”
“No,” Kael says, stepping in front of me. “You can’t. The bond will react. The magic will turn on you. You could die.”
“Then let me go,” I say. “Let me disappear. Let me vanish into the shadows where I belong.”
“And let Mab win?” he says. “Let her break the Concord? Let her slaughter thousands because you’re too afraid to face what you are?”
“I’m not afraid,” I hiss.
“Then prove it,” he says, stepping closer. “Stay. Fight. Be my mate—not just in blood, but in truth.”
The word hangs between us—mate—loaded with everything we haven’t said.
Not just bond.
Not just magic.
Something deeper.
Something like choice.
I don’t answer.
Just turn and walk out.
The throne room is chaos.
Vampires still, their bodies rigid, their fangs pressing against their gums. Witches with their hands raised, chanting, their sigils flickering with strain. Fae with their glamour shifting, their faces twisting with desire. And in the center—Varek.
Alpha.
Wolf.
Heat.
He’s shirtless, his chest broad, his muscles taut, his scent thick with moon-heat and challenge. His eyes are gold, feral, locked on me the moment I enter.
“Magnolia,” he growls, stepping forward. “You feel it too, don’t you? The pull. The need. The hunger.”
I don’t answer.
Just stand there, rigid, my breath shallow, my body tense.
Because he’s right.
I do feel it.
Not just his scent—though it claws at my skin, my blood, my magic.
But the bond.
It’s screaming.
Not with magic. Not with ritual.
With jealousy.
Pure. Primal. A hunger so deep it feels like my soul is tearing in two.
And then—
Kael steps in front of me.
“You’re not welcome here,” he says, voice low, dangerous.
“I’m not here for you,” Varek says, his gaze flicking to me. “I’m here for her. The bond’s unstable. The heat’s affecting it. She needs to be contained. Protected.”
“I’m protecting her,” Kael says.
“By keeping her near you?” Varek laughs, low and rich. “You’re fueling it. The bond’s reacting to your scent, your presence. She needs distance. She needs calm.”
“And you think you can give it to her?” Kael demands.
“I can try,” Varek says, stepping closer. “Before the magic turns on her. Before she burns.”
My breath hitches.
Because he’s right.
The bond is unstable.
The heat is amplifying it.
And if it breaks—
I could die.
“Take her,” Kael says, stepping aside. “But if you touch her—”
“I won’t,” Varek says. “I’m not a fool.”
Kael turns to me. “Go. It’s safer.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll lock you in the wing myself,” he says. “And I won’t let you out until the heat passes.”
I glare at him.
But I go.
Varek leads me through the halls, his guards trailing behind, the scent of moon-heat thick in the air. The torches flicker with unnatural blue flames. The shadows stretch too long. Even the vampires in the halls move with tension, their stillness sharper, their eyes darker.
He takes me to a chamber deep in the palace—stone walls, iron door, no windows. A prison. A sanctuary.
“Stay here,” he says. “The walls are warded. The scent won’t reach you. The bond will stabilize.”
“And you?” I ask.
“I’ll be outside,” he says. “Guarding. Watching. Making sure no one—”
“No one what?” I snap. “Tries to kill me? Or tries to use me?”
He doesn’t answer.
Just closes the door.
And locks it.
I don’t move.
Just stand there, listening to the silence, feeling the echo of his touch on my skin.
But the bond doesn’t care.
It hums beneath my skin, a low, insistent thrum, growing stronger with every breath. My magic—trapped, restless—itches in my veins. My breath comes too fast. My pulse too loud.
And then—
The scent returns.
Not Varek’s.
Kael’s.
Dark. Intoxicating. Mine.
I press my hands to my face, trying to cool the fire in my veins, but it does nothing. The bond won’t be denied. It pulls me toward him, a live wire, a siren song. My skin remembers the weight of his body. My blood remembers the sound of his heartbeat. My magic—stolen, hunted, alive—itches to reach out, to touch, to connect.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Stop,” I whisper. “Just stop.”
But it doesn’t.
It only grows stronger.
And then—
The door opens.
I freeze.
Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Maybe he’ll go back. Maybe he’ll leave me alone.
But he doesn’t.
Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.
He’s coming.
My heart hammers.
Should I reach for the dagger? Should I fight? Should I scream?
No.
Because part of me—
Part of me wants him to come.
The footsteps stop at the edge of the room.
I don’t look.
Just stand there, rigid, my breath shallow, my body tense.
And then—
“Magnolia.”
His voice.
Low. Rough. Hers.
I turn.
He’s standing there, shirtless, his chest a map of scars and power, his storm-gray eyes dark with hunger, his fangs just visible behind his lips. He doesn’t move. Just watches me, waiting.
“I hate you,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says.
“And I don’t want this.”
“You do,” he says. “You just don’t want to want it.”
My breath catches.
He’s right.
I do.
“Then why,” I say, voice breaking, “do you keep making it so hard to hate you?”
He steps forward. Slow. Deliberate.
“Because I’m not your enemy,” he says. “I’m your mate.”
“You’re the man who signed my father’s death warrant.”
“I tried to stop it,” he says, stepping closer. “I failed. And I’ve carried that failure every day since. But I won’t fail you.”
“You already have,” I whisper. “You let him die.”
“And I’d give my life to bring him back,” he says. “But I can’t. All I can do is protect the woman he left behind. The woman he loved. The woman I love.”
My chest tightens.
“Don’t,” I breathe. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not?” he demands. “Because it’s true? Because you feel it too? The bond isn’t just magic, Magnolia. It’s us. It’s this.”
He reaches out, brushes a strand of hair from my face.
His fingers are warm. Gentle.
And the bond screams.
Heat. Fire. A surge of pure, unfiltered sensation that rips through me like lightning. My skin ignites. My blood sings. My magic roars to life, responding to his touch like a starving thing.
I gasp.
So does he.
“You feel that,” he murmurs. “Not the bond. Not magic. Us.”
I don’t answer.
Because he’s right.
And that’s the most dangerous thing of all.
He steps closer. Until we’re inches apart. Until our breaths mingle. Until the heat of him sears through my skin.
“I need you,” he says, voice rough. “Not because of the Concord. Not because of the Council. Because I need you. Because I’ve needed you since the moment I saw you. And if you tell me to stop, I’ll stop. But if you don’t—”
I don’t let him finish.
I step forward. Close the distance. Press my lips to his.
Not soft. Not sweet.
Hard. Angry. Needing.
His hands snap to my waist, pulling me against him, his body hard and hot, his fangs grazing my lip. I moan, my hands fisting in his hair, my body arching into his, aching for more, for everything.
And then—
The door slams shut.
We stumble apart, breathless, disoriented.
Varek stands there, his golden eyes blazing. “You shouldn’t be here,” he growls.
“And you shouldn’t have locked her in,” Kael says, stepping in front of me. “The bond’s stronger than wards. It’s tied to the ley lines. To her.”
“Then what do you suggest?” Varek snaps.
“That we stabilize it,” Kael says. “Together. Before the magic turns on her.”
Varek hesitates. “How?”
“By containing the heat,” Kael says. “By locking us in a room—no scent, no distractions, just the bond. Just us.”
Varek looks at me. “You’ll be trapped. With him.”
“I know,” I say, stepping forward. “And I’m not afraid.”
He nods. “Then go. But if he hurts you—”
“He won’t,” I say. “Because if he does—”
“I’ll kill him myself,” Varek finishes.
Kael doesn’t flinch.
Just takes my hand.
And leads me away.
The room is small. Stone. No windows. Iron door.
But it doesn’t matter.
Because the moment the door closes—
We’re already on each other.
Hands. Mouths. Teeth. Skin.
And the bond—
It doesn’t just flare.
It explodes.