The first thing I feel when I step into the Oracle’s sanctum is fear.
Not the sharp, snapping kind—the kind that makes your pulse race and your claws slide free. No, this is deeper. Older. A cold, creeping dread that coils around my spine like a serpent, whispering that some truths are too heavy to carry. The air is thick with incense—myrrh and bone ash, the scent of ancient magic and forgotten oaths. Candles flicker in silver holders, their flames burning black at the edges, and the walls are lined with scrolls sealed in wax, each one pulsing faintly, like a trapped heartbeat.
The High Oracle sits at the center of it all, draped in midnight-blue robes, her milky eyes fixed on me. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just watches as I approach, my boots silent on the stone, my breath shallow. Rhys waits at the threshold, his golden wolf-eyes narrowed, his body tense. He wanted to come with me, but the Oracle forbade it. *“This truth is not for brothers,”* she said. *“It is for the heir alone.”*
And so I walk forward.
Not because I want to.
But because I *have* to.
Because I can’t keep living in the shadows of my own lies.
“You’ve come,” the Oracle says, her voice like wind through dead leaves. “The lost heir. The fated mate. The woman who came to destroy the king… and found herself destroyed instead.”
My jaw tightens. “I didn’t come for poetry.”
“No,” she says. “You came for truth.”
“Then give it to me.”
She lifts a hand, and the candles flare, their black flames stretching toward the ceiling. The scrolls on the walls tremble, their seals cracking, their magic rising like smoke. “The bond remembers what you’ve forgotten,” she says. “The sigil burns for what you deny. And the blood in your veins—Moonborn and witch, hybrid and heir—cries out for what was taken from you.”
“My mother,” I say, voice raw. “Tell me about her.”
“She was not a traitor,” the Oracle says. “She was a queen. A seer. A woman who saw the future and tried to change it.”
“Then why did she die?”
“Because she loved too much,” the Oracle says. “And love is the most dangerous magic of all.”
She raises both hands, and the air shimmers, like water rippling in moonlight. Images form—flickering, ghostly, rising from the floor like smoke.
A forest bathed in silver light.
My mother, standing tall, her dark hair loose, her eyes glowing with power. She’s holding a dagger—not to kill, but to *seal*. A blood oath. A binding.
And beside her—
Kael.
Younger. Not a king, but a prince. His storm-gray eyes wide with fear, with grief, with *love*.
“No,” I whisper, backing up. “This isn’t real. This is a lie.”
“Watch,” the Oracle says.
The vision shifts.
My mother presses the blade to her palm, blood welling, dark and rich. Kael does the same. Their hands join, blood mingling, and the air thrums with magic—ancient, sacred, *fated*.
“I bind you,” my mother says, voice steady. “Not by force. Not by duty. But by choice. By love. By the future we see.”
“I accept,” Kael says, his voice rough. “By blood. By soul. By fate.”
The magic surges—bright, blinding—and for a single, breathless second, I see it: the bond. Not between us. Between *them*.
My breath stops.
“No,” I say again, shaking my head. “That’s not— that’s impossible. She was married to my father. The Moonborn Alpha. She—”
“She loved him,” the Oracle says. “But she loved Kael, too. And when the prophecy came—when she saw that their union would bring balance, would end the war—she made a choice.”
“A choice to betray her own people?”
“A choice to save them,” the Oracle says. “She knew the Tribunal would never allow it. That they would kill them both. So she sealed the bond in secret. Hid it. Waited for the right moment.”
“And then?”
“Then Malrik found out,” the Oracle says. “And he called her a traitor. He said she had allied with the vampires to destroy the pureblood lines. He said she had to die for the peace of all realms.”
My pulse roars.
“And Kael?” I ask, voice breaking. “Did he try to stop it?”
“He did,” the Oracle says. “But he was too late. He reached her as the blade fell. He held her. He whispered the words—*‘For the peace of all realms’*—not as a killer, but as a mourner. As a man who had lost everything.”
“And me?” I whisper. “What about me?”
“You were the child of that bond,” the Oracle says. “Not of your father. Not of chance. You were born of the prophecy. The union of Moonborn and Shadow Coven. The one who would break the Veil, bring balance, end the war.”
My knees give out.
I collapse to the floor, my hands pressing into the stone, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The world tilts. The vision fades. But the truth—sharp, terrible, *inescapable*—remains.
I’m not just the lost heir.
I’m not just a hybrid.
I’m the *product* of the bond.
Of their love.
And I came here to destroy the man who loved my mother.
The man who tried to save her.
The man who saved *me*.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “That’s not possible. My father—”
“Was not your father,” the Oracle says. “He raised you. He loved you. But he was not your blood.”
“And Kael?”
“Is your father,” she says. “In blood. In bond. In fate.”
The room goes silent.
My breath stops.
My heart—gods, my *heart*—it feels like it’s tearing in two.
Kael.
Not just my fated mate.
Not just the man I came to destroy.
My *father*.
“Liar,” I whisper, but my voice wavers. “You’re lying.”
“Check the sigil,” she says. “It knows the truth.”
I roll up my sleeve.
The sigil glows—steady, unbroken. No flicker. No hesitation.
It believes her.
“The bond between you and Kael,” the Oracle says, “is not just fated. It is *inherited*. The magic recognized you the moment you touched. Not because you are mates. But because you are *family*.”
“No,” I say, pressing my palms to my eyes. “This isn’t real. This is a trick. A manipulation. You’re trying to break me.”
“Then why does your body remember?” she asks. “Why does the sigil burn for him? Why does the mark on your shoulder pulse with his blood?”
“Because the magic is broken,” I say, but the words taste like ash. “Because it’s been twisted. Corrupted.”
“Or,” she says, “because it is whole. Because it has been waiting for you. For twenty years, it has slept. And now—now it has awakened.”
I look up at her, my vision blurred with unshed tears. “And what if I don’t want it to?”
“Then you will break,” she says. “The bond will not release you. The magic will not let you deny it. And if you fight it—” She leans forward, her voice low. “—you will destroy yourself.”
“I don’t care,” I say, standing. “I’d rather die than live like this.”
“Then die,” she says, not unkindly. “But know this—your mother did not die for you to run. She died for you to *rule*. To fulfill the prophecy. To bring balance. And if you turn away from it now—” She gestures at the fading vision. “—you dishonor her sacrifice.”
I want to scream. I want to shift and tear the room apart. I want to burn this place to the ground.
But I don’t.
Because the truth—sharp and terrible—is this:
I’ve spent twenty years hating the wrong man.
I’ve spent twenty years running from the truth.
And now—now I have to face it.
“What do I do?” I whisper.
“The same thing you’ve always done,” the Oracle says. “Fight. Rage. Survive. But now—now you do it with your eyes open. Now you do it knowing who you are. Knowing *what* you are.”
“And if I can’t?”
“Then you were never the heir,” she says. “Just a weapon. A ghost. A lie.”
I don’t answer.
Just turn and walk out.
Rhys is waiting, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t speak. Just falls into step beside me as I move through the corridors, my boots striking the stone like a death knell.
“You know,” he says finally.
“Yes,” I say.
“And?”
“And I don’t know what to believe,” I say. “I don’t know what to feel. I came here to destroy him. To expose him. To take back what’s mine. But now—” I press a hand to the mark on my shoulder. “Now I don’t even know who I am.”
He stops, turning to face me. “You’re Jasmine Vale. Daughter of a queen. Heir to a coven. And the only woman who can fix what’s broken.”
“And Kael?”
“Is your father,” Rhys says. “In every way that matters.”
“And the bond?”
“Is real,” he says. “Not just magic. Not just fate. But *truth*. You were meant to find him. Meant to remember. Meant to *rule*.”
“And if I don’t want to?”
“Then you’re not the woman I thought you were,” he says. “And you’re not the heir the world needs.”
I look at him—my brother, my protector, the only family I’ve had for twenty years.
And I know—
He’s right.
“I need to see him,” I say.
“Then go,” he says. “But don’t go to destroy. Go to *understand*.”
I don’t answer.
Just walk.
Fast. Hard. Like if I stop, I’ll collapse.
The corridors blur around me—stone and shadow and flickering torchlight. My skin still burns. My blood still sings. The mark on my shoulder pulses with every heartbeat, a constant, insistent reminder of what I’ve lost. Not just my choice. Not just my revenge.
My *innocence*.
I come to the chambers too fast, my breath ragged, my hands trembling. The door is ajar—again. A message. A test. I push it open, stepping inside.
Kael is there, standing by the hearth, his back to me, pouring blood from a crystal decanter into a silver goblet. Not synthetic. *Real.* Human. The scent hits me—iron and life and something darker, deeper. He doesn’t turn.
“You’re burning,” he says. “Your scent changed. Sour with fever. With grief.”
“I know what you are,” I say, voice raw.
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Just sets the decanter down. “And what am I?”
“My father,” I say.
He turns.
And for the first time, I see it—*fear*.
Not of me. Not of the bond.
Of *this*.
Of me knowing.
“Who told you?” he asks, voice low.
“The Oracle,” I say. “The visions. The truth.”
He exhales, slow and controlled. “And do you believe it?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t know what to believe. I came here to destroy you. To expose you. To burn your empire to ash. But now—” I press a hand to the mark. “Now I don’t even know if I’m the heir. Or just a mistake.”
He crosses the room in three strides, his hands framing my face, his thumbs brushing my cheeks. “You are not a mistake,” he says, voice rough. “You are the reason I survived. The reason I kept breathing. The reason I carried every lie, every curse, every drop of blood on my hands—so you could live.”
“And my mother?” I ask, my voice breaking. “Did you love her?”
“With everything I was,” he says. “And when she died, I died with her. But I didn’t let you die too. I couldn’t.”
“And the bond?”
“Is real,” he says. “Not just between us. Between *us*. You were meant to find me. Meant to remember. Meant to *rule*.”
“And if I don’t want to?”
“Then I’ll let you go,” he says. “But I’ll never stop loving you. Never stop protecting you. Never stop being your father.”
I don’t pull away.
Just press my forehead to his chest, my hands fisting in his shirt.
And for the first time in twenty years—
I let myself cry.
He holds me. Not as a mate. Not as a king.
As a father.
And the Oracle’s final words echo in the silence:
“The betrayal wasn’t his. It was yours.”
And she was right.
Because I betrayed the truth.
I betrayed *him*.
And now—
Now I have to make it right.