The peace doesn’t last.
It never does.
After the bath, after the quiet, after the way Kaelen held me like I was something fragile and sacred—I thought, for one heartbeat, that maybe we’d won. That the truth had set us free. That the ghosts of my mother, of Aurelia, of the lies that had shaped my life, were finally laid to rest.
But the world doesn’t work that way.
And Mira—
She’s still out there.
I press my palm to the mark on my wrist. It flares—warm, alive—but this time, the pulse of heat is wrong. Faint. Distant. Like the bond is stretched thin, like something’s pulling it apart. My breath hitches. I close my eyes, reaching through the link, searching for her. Not Kaelen. Not the Court. Not the war.
Mira.
My mentor. My mother in all but blood. The woman who raised me in the shadows, who taught me how 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.
And now—
She’s gone.
Not dead. Not yet. But captured. I can feel it in the way the bloodline sigil beneath my sleeve burns—faint, persistent, a warning. A plea. She’s alive. But she’s in pain. And she’s calling for me.
I open my eyes. The chamber is quiet. The wreckage from our last battle—shattered mirrors, splintered wood, vines embedded in the walls—has been cleared, but the air still hums with residual magic, like the room remembers what happened here. What we survived. What we became.
Kaelen stands by the window, his back to me, his coat drawn tight against the chill. The moonlight slices through the glass, painting silver across his shoulders, the hard line of his jaw, the scar on his neck—faint, old, a relic of a battle I never saw. He hasn’t spoken since we left the bath. Not since I told him I felt her. Not since I said, “She’s in trouble.”
And now—
He turns.
Golden eyes burning. Jaw tight. Fists clenched.
“You’re going,” he says, voice low.
“Yes.”
“And if it’s a trap?”
“It is.” I step forward, my boots silent on the cold marble. “But she sent me the truth. She risked everything to give me the name. And now she’s paying for it.”
“And you’re willing to do the same?”
“I don’t have a choice.” I press my palm to the mark. “This isn’t just about her. It’s about *us*. If they have her, they have access to my bloodline. To my magic. To the bond.”
He steps closer, his hand lifting to my face, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. “And if you die?”
“Then you’ll know I died for someone who mattered.”
He stills.
And then—
He pulls me into his chest, holding me, his face burying in my hair, his breath hot against my neck. “You’re not going alone,” he murmurs. “Not this time.”
“Kaelen—”
“No.” He pulls back, his golden eyes burning into mine. “You don’t get to sacrifice yourself for someone else. Not again. Not after what happened with Aurelia. You don’t get to walk into a trap and expect me to wait.”
My breath catches.
“And if I say no?”
“Then I’ll follow you anyway.” He steps back, adjusting his coat, his voice hardening. “I’m not letting you die for me. And I’m not letting you die for her. Not without me.”
I want to argue. I want to tell him to stay. To protect the Court. To rule. To be the king he was meant to be.
But I don’t.
Because I know—
He’s not coming to save her.
He’s coming to save *me*.
And I need him.
So I nod.
We ride at dusk, a small contingent of Night Guard flanking us, our cloaks drawn tight against the chill. The air is thick with the scent of iron and frost, the sky bruised with storm clouds. The bond hums between us, steady and insistent, a second heartbeat that pulses in time with my own. But beneath it—
Something darker.
A pull. A whisper. A thread leading deep into the heart of the Iron Spire—the crumbling fortress of the Supernatural Council, now abandoned, now *occupied*.
And I know—
She’s there.
They’ve taken her to the very place where Orin plotted his coup. Where the Blood Sigil was forged. Where the Hollow King was reborn.
They want me to come.
They want me to break.
And they want me to fail.
We reach the Spire by midnight.
It rises from the mist like a broken spine, its towers cracked, its walls scorched, its gates hanging off their hinges. The air is thick with the scent of decay, of magic gone wrong, of old blood and older pain. The Night Guard fan out, weapons drawn, eyes sharp. Cassien moves like a shadow at my side, his presence steady, but I can feel it—something’s changed. Not in the Court. Not in the bond. But in *him*. A distance. A fracture. Like he’s stepped back to watch, not protect.
And Kaelen—
He walks beside me, his hand brushing mine, his presence a wall of heat and shadow. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t look at me. Just stays close, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
And maybe I will.
We move through the ruins, boots crunching on shattered stone, breath visible in the cold. The halls are dark, the torches long dead, the air thick with dust and silence. But I can feel her. Not through the bond. Not through magic. But through blood. Through memory. Through the thousand nights she spent teaching me how to cast a fire spell, how to dodge a blade, how to hold my breath when the world was falling apart.
And now—
I have to do the same for her.
We find her in the Chamber of Binding—the same room where I was claimed, where the runes etched into the floor still pulse faintly with ancient magic. She’s chained to the center pillar, her body limp, her face pale, her hair matted with blood. Her hands are bound, her mouth gagged, her eyes closed. But she’s alive. I can feel it. The bloodline sigil beneath my sleeve burns hotter, a pulse of heat that matches her heartbeat.
“Mira,” I whisper, rushing forward.
“Wait,” Kaelen growls, grabbing my arm. “It’s a trap.”
“I don’t care.” I yank free, stepping forward. “She’s *here*. She’s *alive*.”
And then—
She opens her eyes.
Not with fear. Not with pain.
With *warning*.
“Rowan,” she rasps, her voice weak, broken. “Don’t—”
And then—
The floor explodes.
Chains of living shadow erupt from the runes, wrapping around my wrists, my ankles, yanking me off my feet, slamming me to the ground. I cry out, my magic flaring—vines erupting from my skin, curling around the chains, trying to break free—but they’re too strong. Too ancient. Too *familiar*.
“No,” I gasp. “Not again.”
Across the chamber, Kaelen is thrown back, his body slamming into the wall, blood trickling from his temple. He roars, struggling to rise, but the shadows hold him, pinning him like a beast in a cage. The Night Guard are down—some unconscious, some bound, some bleeding. Cassien is on his knees, his sword shattered, his face twisted in pain.
And then—
She appears.
Lyria.
She walks like a queen—tall, elegant, draped in black silk that clings to her curves like shadow. Her silver hair is pulled back, her violet eyes burning, her lips painted the color of dried blood. She smirks as she steps into the chamber, her gaze flicking to me, then to Kaelen, then to Mira.
“You came,” she purrs. “I knew you would.”
“You’re supposed to be dead,” I hiss, struggling against the chains.
“And yet, here I am.” She steps forward, her boots crunching on the stone. “Because I’ve been waiting. Watching. Planning. While you played at being queen, I was rebuilding. While you wept for your mother, I was gathering power. While you *loved* him—” She jerks her head toward Kaelen. “—I was preparing for this.”
“And what is this?” I demand. “A revenge plot? A power grab? You’ll never take the Court.”
“I don’t want the Court.” She kneels beside Mira, her fingers brushing the older woman’s cheek. “I want *you*. I want your magic. I want your bond. I want your *pain*.”
My breath hitches.
“And Mira?”
“She’s bait.” Lyria smiles. “But she’s also a witness. She knows the truth. She knows who really killed your mother. And now—” She leans closer. “—she’ll watch you die.”
“No,” I whisper.
“Yes.” She stands, stepping back. “Activate the Sigil.”
And then—
The runes flare.
White-hot light erupts from the floor, searing through the chains, through my skin, through my bones. I scream—raw, primal—as the magic tears through me, ripping at the bond, at my magic, at my soul. It’s worse than the Blood Claim. Worse than the Hollow King’s curse. It’s designed to *break* me. To *unmake* me.
“Rowan!” Kaelen roars, struggling against the shadows. “Fight it!”
I try. I press my palm to the mark. I call to the bond. I summon my magic.
But it’s not enough.
The pain is too much. The magic is too strong. The chains are too deep.
And then—
I feel it.
Not magic.
Not power.
But *love*.
Not just from Kaelen. Not just from the bond.
From Mira.
She’s looking at me—eyes wide, filled with tears, filled with pride. And in that moment, I know—
She’s not afraid.
She’s *ready*.
“I love you,” she mouths.
And then—
She *breaks*.
Not her body.
Not her magic.
Her *chains*.
With a scream, she tears free, lunging at Lyria, her hands clawing, her voice raw with fury. “You will *not* take her!”
Lyria snarls, backhanding her, sending her flying into the wall. Mira hits hard, blood spraying from her mouth, her body crumpling to the floor.
“No!” I scream, my magic erupting—vines bursting from the ground, the air, the walls, lashing out like whips, wrapping around Lyria, yanking her off her feet, thorns digging into her flesh, drawing blood.
She howls.
She fights.
But she’s not fast enough.
I press my palm to the mark.
And the bond explodes.
Heat crashes through me, a wave so intense I scream, my magic erupting in a storm of thorned vines, wrapping around Lyria, lifting her off the ground, squeezing, crushing—
And then—
A gunshot.
Sharp. Loud. Final.
I turn—
And see Mira.
She’s on her knees, a silver pistol in her hand, smoke curling from the barrel. Her chest heaves. Her eyes are closed. And in her lap—
Lyria.
Dead.
Her violet eyes wide, her lips parted, a hole in her chest, blood pooling beneath her.
“Mira,” I whisper, struggling against the chains.
She looks up. Smiles.
And then—
She collapses.
“No!” I scream, my magic surging—vines erupting from the floor, the air, the walls, shattering the chains, freeing me. I stumble forward, falling to my knees beside her, cradling her in my arms. “No, no, no—stay with me. Please, stay with me.”
Her breath is shallow. Her skin is cold. Her eyes flutter open.
“Rowan,” she whispers. “My girl.”
“Don’t go,” I sob. “Not yet. Not like this.”
She lifts a trembling hand, brushing my cheek. “I’ve lived long enough. Seen too much. But I’ve never been prouder.”
“I need you,” I cry. “I can’t do this without you.”
“Yes, you can.” Her voice is faint, fading. “You already have. You’ve become who you were meant to be. Strong. Fierce. *Free*.”
“But I’m not free,” I whisper. “Not without you.”
She smiles. “You are. And you’ll stay alive. For me. For him. For the future.”
And then—
Her hand falls.
Her breath stops.
And the world—
Shatters.
I scream—raw, primal, a sound that tears through the chamber, through the Spire, through the night. My magic erupts—vines bursting from the ground, the air, the walls, cracking the stone, shattering the windows, wrapping around everything, *destroying* everything. The Night Guard stumble back. Kaelen breaks free, rushing to me, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me against his chest.
“Rowan,” he murmurs, holding me. “I’m here. I’m here.”
But I don’t feel him.
I don’t feel the bond.
I don’t feel *anything*.
Except loss.
And rage.
And the quiet, terrible truth—
She’s gone.
And I’m alone.
But I’m not.
Because as I press my palm to the mark, as I feel the bond hum between us, as I look at Kaelen’s face—etched with grief, with love, with fear—I know—
I’m not alone.
And I never will be.
But the peace doesn’t last.
It never does.
Because as we carry her body from the ruins, the bond humming between us, I know—
This isn’t over.
It’s only just begun.
And whatever comes next—
We’ll face it together.