The raven arrives at dawn.
Not with a cry. Not with a flutter of wings. It simply *appears* on the windowsill of our chambers, black as night, its eyes glowing faintly with ancient magic. A vial is tied to its leg—glass, sealed with red wax, the sigil of the Thorned Blood etched into the side. My breath catches.
I know that sigil.
I’ve seen it a thousand times—on the locket, on the Chamber of Binding, on the bloodline scrolls. But never like this. Never with a message.
Never with a warning.
I reach for it, my fingers trembling, and the raven doesn’t flinch. It just watches me—unblinking, unyielding—like it knows what this means. Like it knows I’m not ready.
But I have to be.
I break the seal, pull out the slip of parchment, and unfold it with hands that don’t feel like my own.
One word.
“Traitor.”
That’s all.
No explanation. No context. No name.
Just that single, devastating word—inked in a hand I’d recognize anywhere.
Mira’s.
My chest tightens. My breath hitches. The bond flares—hot, sudden—sending a pulse of heat through me, a whisper of *him*. Kaelen. I can feel him in the war room, his presence a constant hum through the link, his magic coiled tight with tension. But I don’t go to him.
Not yet.
Because this isn’t about him.
This is about *her*.
The woman who raised me. Who taught me to cast fire from my fingertips. Who held me when I screamed in my sleep, haunted by the memory of my mother’s blood on black marble. Who told me, over and over, that Kaelen D’Rae was the monster who killed her.
And now—
She’s telling me that *someone else* did.
That the enemy I’ve been hunting my whole life—
Was never the one who pulled the knife.
I press my palm to the mark on my wrist. It flares—white-hot—sending a jolt of pain up my arm, down my spine. My magic surges—vines twitching beneath my skin, thorns pricking at my sleeves. I don’t fight it. I let it rise, let it coil around my ribs like a second skeleton, because if I don’t, I’ll scream.
I’ll break.
And I can’t.
Not now.
Not when I’m so close to the truth.
A knock.
“Rowan?” Kaelen’s voice, low, rough. “You’re not answering the bond. Are you hurt?”
I don’t move. Don’t speak. Just stare at the word.
“Traitor.”
“Rowan.” The door opens. He steps in, his golden eyes burning, his coat drawn tight, his fangs just visible behind his lips. He takes one look at me—pale, trembling, the parchment clutched in my hand—and his expression shifts. Not to anger. Not to impatience.
To fear.
“What is it?” he asks, stepping closer.
I don’t answer. Just hold out the slip.
He reads it. Once. Twice. Then lifts his gaze to mine. “Mira sent this.”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t know who she means.”
“No.” My voice is raw. “But I will.”
He studies me—long, hard—then steps forward, his hands framing my face. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
“I *do*.” I press my palm to the mark. “This is my bloodline. My past. My mother’s death. You can’t fight this for me.”
“I’m not trying to.” His thumbs brush my cheekbones. “I’m just asking you to let me stand beside you.”
My breath hitches.
And then—
I pull him into my chest, holding him, my fingers threading through his hair. “Then stay,” I whisper. “Just… stay.”
He doesn’t answer. Just holds me.
And for a heartbeat, I let myself believe—
That I’m not alone.
But the peace doesn’t last.
It never does.
“My lord,” Cassien calls from the hall. “The Council envoys have returned. They demand an audience.”
Kaelen pulls back, his jaw tight. “Now?”
“Now.”
He turns to me. “You don’t have to face them.”
“Yes, I do.” I straighten, tucking the parchment into my sleeve. “Because if Mira’s telling me there’s a traitor in my bloodline… they already know.”
He studies me. Then nods.
We find them in the Sanctum—three figures standing in a semicircle, their presence like a blade to the throat. The Seelie envoy. The Unseelie envoy. And the Arbiter, her silver hair braided with thorned vines, her eyes closed, her hands clasped before her.
But something’s different.
The air is heavier. The light darker. The silence sharper.
And when the Arbiter opens her eyes—
She’s not looking at me.
She’s looking *through* me.
“Rowan of the Thorned Blood,” she says, her voice like wind through dead leaves. “Daughter of Lysandra. You have been called.”
My pulse hammers. “For what?”
“To answer for your blood.”
Kaelen steps forward. “She answers to no one but the bond.”
“The bond does not absolve blood guilt,” the Seelie says, his illusion flickering. “And if her line is tainted—”
“Then she is not fit to rule,” the Unseelie finishes, her claws flexing.
My magic flares—vines erupting from my skin, curling around my arms, my neck. “And what blood guilt? What *taint*? You have no proof.”
“We have *sight*,” the Arbiter says, stepping forward. “The bloodline speaks. The magic remembers. And it whispers of betrayal. Of a sister’s hand in a sister’s heart. Of a vow broken in shadow.”
My breath stops.
“You speak of my aunt,” I say, voice low, deadly. “Aurelia.”
The Arbiter doesn’t confirm. Doesn’t deny. Just watches me.
And I know—
She’s not here to judge.
She’s here to *witness*.
“Where is she?” I demand. “Where is Aurelia?”
“She has requested sanctuary,” the Seelie says. “Within the Fae High Court.”
“And you gave it to her?” Kaelen growls.
“We uphold the law,” the Unseelie hisses. “Not your bond.”
“Then the law is blind,” I say, stepping forward. “Because my mother didn’t die by your law. She died by *her* hand. By betrayal. By blood.”
“Prove it,” the Seelie says, smiling. “And we will deliver her to you.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then she remains protected. And you—” His gaze flicks to Kaelen. “—remain a half-blood usurper.”
The bond flares—hot, sudden—like a spark igniting dry tinder. My magic surges—vines erupting from the floor, the air, the walls, lashing out like whips, wrapping around the envoys, yanking them off their feet, thorns digging into their robes, drawing blood.
They don’t fight. Don’t scream. Just watch me.
And I know—
This is what they want.
For me to lose control.
For me to become the monster they say I am.
So I let go.
The vines retreat. The magic stills. But I don’t back down.
“I’ll prove it,” I say, voice low, deadly. “And when I do—” I press my palm to the mark. “—you’ll kneel.”
The Arbiter smiles.
“Then go, child. Find your truth. But know this—” Her eyes lock onto mine. “—some truths do not set you free. They destroy you.”
And with that—
They’re gone.
Kaelen turns to me, his golden eyes burning. “You’re not going alone.”
“I have to.” I press my palm to the mark. “This is my bloodline. My past. My mother’s death. You can’t fight this for me.”
“I’m not trying to.” He cups my face in his hands. “I’m just asking you to let me stand beside you.”
My breath hitches.
And then—
I pull him into my chest, holding him, my fingers threading through his hair. “Then stay,” I whisper. “Just… stay.”
He doesn’t answer. Just holds me.
And for a heartbeat, I let myself believe—
That I’m not alone.
But I am.
Because this is something I have to face alone.
So I go.
Alone.
Blackthorn Vale is colder than I remember—trees twisted, roots blackened, fog so thick it feels like drowning. The air is thick with the scent of decay, of magic gone wrong, of old blood and older pain. I move fast, my boots silent on the frost-covered earth, my magic simmering beneath my skin, ready. The bond hums between us, a live wire of unspent desire, of fear, of love. I can feel him—Kaelen—watching, waiting, ready to come if I call.
But I won’t.
Not yet.
The Fae High Court rises from the mist—walls of living wood, thorned vines coiling around the towers, the gates guarded by fae in silver armor, their eyes glowing with ancient magic. They don’t stop me. Don’t speak. Just bow and step aside.
Like they’ve been expecting me.
I find her in the Garden of Whispers—a clearing surrounded by weeping willows, their branches heavy with silver leaves, their roots tangled in bone. She stands at the center, her back to me, her silver hair cascading down her back, her gown the color of dried blood.
Aurelia.
My mother’s sister. My last living blood relative. The woman who raised me after Mira took me from the woods.
And now—
The woman who killed her.
“You came,” she says, not turning. “I knew you would.”
“You knew I’d come to kill you.”
She laughs—low, brittle. “And yet, here you are. Still breathing. Still *his*.”
“He didn’t kill her,” I say, stepping forward. “You did.”
She turns, her violet eyes burning. “And if I did? What then? Will you strike me down in front of the Court? Will you spill fae blood on sacred ground?”
“I don’t care about your laws.” I press my palm to the mark. “I care about the truth.”
“The truth?” She steps closer, her voice a whisper. “The truth is your mother was weak. She married a witch. She bore a half-blood child. She *betrayed* our bloodline.”
“And you killed her for it?”
“I *saved* our bloodline.” Her hand lifts, fingers brushing my cheek. “You were supposed to die with her. But Mira took you. Hid you. Raised you to hate the wrong enemy.”
My magic flares—vines erupting from my skin, curling around her wrist, thorns digging into her flesh, drawing blood.
She doesn’t flinch. Just smiles. “You’re just like her. Passionate. Reckless. *Foolish*.”
“And you’re just like Orin,” I say, pressing closer. “Power-hungry. Cruel. *Dead*.”
She laughs—cold, sharp. “You think you can kill me? You think the Court will let you?”
“I don’t need their permission.” I press my palm to the mark. “I have the bond. I have the truth. And I have *this*.”
The bond explodes.
Heat crashes through me, a wave so intense I scream, my magic erupting in a storm of thorned vines, wrapping around Aurelia, lifting her off the ground, squeezing, crushing—
And then—
A hand grabs my wrist.
I turn—
And see him.
Kaelen.
His golden eyes burn, his fangs bared, his hand clamped around my wrist like a vise. “Stop,” he growls. “She’s not worth your soul.”
“She killed my mother,” I hiss. “She *betrayed* us.”
“And killing her won’t bring her back.” His grip tightens. “But it’ll destroy you.”
My breath hitches.
And then—
I let go.
The vines retreat. Aurelia falls to her knees, gasping, blood on her lips, her eyes burning with hate.
“You’re weak,” she spits. “Just like your mother.”
“No.” I step forward, my voice low, deadly. “I’m *stronger*.”
And then—
I press my palm to the mark.
The bond ignites.
Heat crashes through me, a wave so intense I cry out, my magic flaring—vines erupting from the ground, the air, the willows, wrapping around Aurelia, binding her, *containing* her. I send a vision—my mother bleeding out, Aurelia’s hand on the dagger, Orin’s cold words—through the link, down the thread that ties me to Kaelen, into the minds of every fae in the Court.
And I feel it—
Her shock.
Her fear.
Her rage.
And beneath it all—
Jealousy.
Raw. Unfiltered. And it’s not just about power.
It’s about *me*.
“You see it, don’t you?” I whisper, stepping closer. “You see the truth. She never loved you. She never chose you. And she never will.”
She struggles, but the vines hold. Her violet eyes burn with hate. “You’re not better than me,” she spits. “You’re just *lucky*.”
“No.” I lift my chin. “I’m chosen.”
And then—
Kaelen steps forward.
He doesn’t look at her. Doesn’t speak to her. Just walks to me, his golden eyes burning, his presence a wall of heat and shadow. He stops beside me, his hand lifting to my wrist, his thumb stroking the mark.
“You lied about something,” he says, voice low.
My breath catches.
“But not about me.”
I lift my gaze to his. “Never about you.”
And then—
He turns to Aurelia.
“You killed her,” he says, voice cold, final. “You betrayed your blood. You tried to break our bond. You tried to *kill* her.”
She stares at him. “And you love *her*?”
“I would die for her.”
Her breath hitches.
And then—
She laughs. Low. Broken. “Then you’ll die.”
“Maybe,” he says, stepping closer. “But I’ll die knowing I chose right.”
He turns to the Arbiter. “She’s yours. Do with her what you will.”
The Arbiter nods. “Then let justice be served.”
And as the fae drag Aurelia away—screaming, cursing, vowing revenge—I press my palm to the mark.
The bond hums—steady, alive—like a second heartbeat.
And for the first time—
I don’t feel like a weapon.
I don’t feel like a prisoner.
I feel like *home*.
But as we walk back to the Obsidian Court, the bond humming between us, I know—
This isn’t over.
It’s only just begun.