The gala is a funeral in disguise.
Velvet drapes. Silver chandeliers. Music that hums like a lullaby for the dead. Fae and werewolves mingle beneath floating orbs of violet flame, their laughter too sharp, their smiles too wide. They wear their politics like armor—elaborate gowns, ceremonial blades, the scent of blood and ambition clinging to every breath. And at the center of it all, me.
Cosmos of the Shadow Fae.
Fated mate to the Alpha King.
Marked. Claimed. Exposed.
I stand at the edge of the ballroom, a goblet of moonwine in hand—untouched—and watch the court perform its lies. Lysara is here, of course. Her arm is in a sling now, the silver fabric embroidered with healing sigils, but her eyes are sharp with venom. She sips from her own glass, watching me over the rim, her lips curled in a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. I don’t look away. Let her see the fire in mine. Let her know I’m not afraid.
Not of her.
Not of this court.
Not even of him.
But the bond hums beneath my wrist, the sigil pulsing in time with my heartbeat, and I feel it—just a whisper, just a breath—but there. Watching. Waiting. Knowing.
I press my fingers to the mark on my hip. It’s healed now, the pink lines faded to silver, but the memory lingers. That night. The war table. The kiss. The way I let him touch me. The way I kissed him back.
I came here to burn his world down.
Not to fall into his arms.
“You’re brooding,” a voice says beside me.
I turn.
Riven.
Kaelen’s Beta. The quiet one. The observer. He stands with his back to the wall, arms crossed, his dark eyes scanning the room like he’s calculating every threat. He doesn’t look at me. Not at first. Just watches the court, his jaw tight.
“I’m not brooding,” I say. “I’m assessing.”
“Same thing,” he says. “When you’re trying not to think about him.”
I don’t answer.
He finally looks at me. “You’re not the only one who sees it, you know.”
“Sees what?”
“The way he looks at you.”
My breath hitches.
“It’s not just possession,” he says. “It’s not just the bond. It’s something deeper. Something real.”
“He doesn’t see me,” I say. “He sees a prize. A weapon. A means to an end.”
“Then why hasn’t he broken you?” Riven asks. “Why hasn’t he forced you to his bed, claimed you in front of the court, made you scream his name until you forgot your own? He’s an Alpha. He could do it in a heartbeat.”
“Maybe he’s waiting for the right moment.”
“Or maybe,” he says, voice low, “he’s waiting for you to want it.”
I look away.
Because the truth is—
I do want it.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of magic.
But because of him.
And that terrifies me more than death.
“He’s here,” Riven says.
I don’t need to ask who.
The air shifts. The scent of pine and fire rolls through the room like a storm. I turn.
Kaelen fills the doorway, tall and broad, dressed in black leather and silver, his coat open at the throat, revealing the hard lines of his collarbones. His hair is slightly tousled, like he just ran his hands through it. His eyes—gold, burning—lock onto mine, and the bond surges, a jolt of heat shooting up my arm, pooling low in my belly.
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t nod. Just walks toward me, his boots silent on the stone, his presence a wall of heat and power.
“You’re late,” I say, voice flat.
“You’re overdressed,” he replies.
I’m wearing the same black velvet dress from the last appearance—high neck, plunging back, silver thread weaving ancient sigils into the fabric. It’s not submission. It’s defiance. A declaration.
“This isn’t for you,” I say. “It’s for them.”
“Then why does it look like a challenge?”
“Because it is.”
He steps closer. Too close. I can feel the heat rolling off him, the pulse of his presence like a drumbeat in my skull. “You think walking in here like that won’t start a war?”
“I think it’ll start the one I came for.”
“You don’t get to pick the battlefield,” he says, voice low.
“Then stop pretending you’re in control,” I snap. “You’re not. The bond isn’t. And I sure as hell am not.”
He doesn’t react. Just reaches out, two fingers pressing to the side of my neck, just over my pulse point. “You’re afraid,” he says.
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“No,” he says. “You’re afraid of what you feel. Of what you want.”
My breath hitches.
“You think I don’t know?” he asks. “You think I can’t feel it? Your pulse races. Your scent changes. Your magic flares. The bond screams your name every time I’m near.”
I don’t pull away. Can’t. His touch is fire. His fingers are warm, calloused, and the bond flares beneath my skin, a jolt of heat shooting down my arm, pooling low in my belly.
“Take your hand off me,” I whisper.
He doesn’t. Just watches me, his golden eyes unreadable. “You think this is a game,” he says. “You think you can play me, use me, destroy me when the time comes. But you’re wrong, Cosmos. The bond doesn’t care about your revenge. It doesn’t care about your lies. It only knows the truth.”
“And what truth is that?”
“That you’re mine.”
My breath catches.
He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “And that you want to be.”
I shove him back. Hard.
He stumbles, just slightly, but doesn’t fall. Just smirks. Slow. Dangerous. Like he’s already won.
“You’re impossible,” I hiss.
“And you’re beautiful when you’re angry.”
I glare at him. “Let’s get this over with.”
He steps aside, gesturing to the dais. “After you, little shadow.”
The High Priestess stands at the center of the ballroom, her silver robes glowing with protective sigils. She raises her staff, and the room stills.
“The union of Cosmos of the Shadow Fae and Kaelen Dain,” she intones, “is not merely a personal matter—it is a political necessity. Their bond has been proven. Their marriage will proceed in two days’ time. And tonight—” She raises her goblet. “—we celebrate with the ritual of shared wine.”
A murmur ripples through the crowd.
The ritual of shared wine.
One goblet. One drink. Shared between mates as a symbol of unity. But in truth, it’s a test. A trap. The wine is laced with truth serum, moonwine to amplify the bond, sometimes aphrodisiacs to test control. It’s meant to expose weakness. To humiliate.
And tonight, I know—
It’s meant to break me.
A servant steps forward, holding a silver tray with a single crystal goblet. The liquid inside shimmers, deep red like blood, swirling with threads of gold. The scent hits me—spiced wine, honey, and something else. Something sharp. Familiar.
Aphrodisiac.
Not just any kind. Shadowroot. A witch’s poison. Rare. Deadly. But in small doses, it heightens desire, strips away inhibition, makes the body burn for touch.
They’ve dosed the wine.
And they’re watching to see what I’ll do.
Kaelen takes the goblet first. He doesn’t hesitate. Just raises it to his lips and takes a slow sip, his golden eyes never leaving mine. His throat works as he swallows. And then—
He offers it to me.
“Your turn,” he says.
The room holds its breath.
I look at the goblet. At the wine. At the golden threads swirling like serpents in the liquid.
I could refuse.
I could walk away.
But then they’ll know I’m afraid. They’ll know I’m weak. They’ll use it against me.
So I take the goblet.
And I drink.
The wine is hot. Spiced. Sweet. But beneath it—bitter. Sharp. And then—
Heat.
Low. Deep. Insistent.
It starts in my stomach, a slow burn that spreads through my ribs, down to my core. My breath hitches. My skin tingles. The sigil on my wrist pulses, hot and bright, and I feel it—him—flooding my mind, my body, my soul.
Mine.
Yours.
No.
But the bond doesn’t care.
It only knows the truth.
And the truth is—
I want him.
Not because of the wine.
Not because of the magic.
But because of him.
“Cosmos,” Kaelen says, voice rough.
I look at him. His eyes are dark, pupils blown. His jaw is tight. He feels it too. The aphrodisiac. The bond. The need.
“We should go,” he says.
“No,” I whisper. “Not yet.”
“You’re not in control,” he says. “The wine—”
“I know what’s in the wine,” I snap. “I know what they’re trying to do.”
“Then let’s leave.”
“And let them win?” I challenge. “Let them think I’m weak? That I can’t handle a little poison?”
He steps closer. “You’re not weak. But you’re not safe.”
“I’m never safe,” I say. “Not with you.”
“Then stop fighting it,” he growls. “Stop fighting me.”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“I don’t,” he says. “The bond does.”
My breath hitches.
“You think I don’t feel it?” he asks, stepping closer. “You think I don’t wake up every night aching for you? That I don’t dream of your mouth on mine, your body beneath mine, your voice screaming my name?”
My core clenches.
“You don’t get to say that,” I whisper.
“I don’t have to,” he says. “You already feel it. The bond makes sure of that.”
“It’s magic,” I say. “It’s not real.”
“It’s us,” he growls. “It’s what happens when two people who were never meant to meet are torn apart by fate and thrown back together by something stronger than hate.”
“We’re not together,” I say. “We’re at war.”
“Then why does your body burn for me?” he asks, reaching out, two fingers pressing to the side of my neck, just over my pulse point. “Why does your magic flare when I touch you? Why does the sigil on your wrist glow every time I’m near?”
I don’t pull away. Can’t. His touch is fire. His fingers are warm, calloused, and the bond flares beneath my skin, a jolt of heat shooting down my arm, pooling low in my belly.
“Take your hand off me,” I whisper.
He doesn’t. Just watches me, his golden eyes unreadable. “You think this is a game,” he says. “You think you can play me, use me, destroy me when the time comes. But you’re wrong, Cosmos. The bond doesn’t care about your revenge. It doesn’t care about your lies. It only knows the truth.”
“And what truth is that?”
“That you’re mine.”
My breath catches.
He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “And that you want to be.”
I shove him back. Hard.
He stumbles, just slightly, but doesn’t fall. Just smirks. Slow. Dangerous. Like he’s already won.
“You’re impossible,” I hisis.
“And you’re beautiful when you’re angry.”
I glare at him. “I hate you.”
“No,” he says. “You don’t.”
“I do.”
“Then why does your body betray you?” he asks. “Why does your scent change when I’m near? Why does your pulse race when I touch you?”
“Because of the bond.”
“No,” he says. “Because of me.”
My breath hitches.
“You think I’d let her touch me after you?” he growls, echoing his words from earlier, but louder now, fiercer. “You think I’d let anyone else have what’s mine?”
“Prove it,” I whisper.
He doesn’t ask what I mean.
He knows.
His hand slides up my spine, fingers tangling in my hair, pulling my head back just enough to expose my throat. His breath fans my pulse point. Hot. Heavy. Wanting.
And then—
His teeth graze my neck.
Not a bite. Not a claim.
Just a promise.
A threat.
A truth.
I gasp. My hips arch. My magic flares—wild, uncontrolled—and the sigil on my wrist pulses, hot and bright, as if the bond itself is screaming yes, yes, yes.
He pulls back, eyes blazing. “There will be no more lies. No more tests. No more games. You want proof? You have it. I am yours. Only yours. Now and always.”
My heart hammers.
“And I?” I ask, voice barely above a whisper. “Am I yours?”
“You already are,” he says. “You just haven’t admitted it yet.”
“I don’t want to belong to someone,” I say. “I don’t want to be owned.”
“Then don’t be,” he says. “Be mine. Be with me. Be equal. But don’t lie and say you don’t want it.”
I stare at him. At the truth in his eyes. At the raw vulnerability he’s never shown before.
And for the first time—
I believe him.
“Then stop calling me your bride,” I say. “Stop treating me like a prize to be claimed.”
“Only if you stop acting like a prisoner,” he counters.
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll keep you anyway,” he says, a slow, dangerous smile curling his lips. “But I’d rather have you willing.”
My breath hitches.
“Then prove that too,” I whisper.
He doesn’t speak.
Just pulls me into his arms again—tight, fierce, possessive—and holds me as the music swells, as the bond hums, as the world outside this room falls away.
And for the first time since I stepped into this court—
I don’t think about revenge.
I don’t think about fire.
I don’t think about ashes.
I think about him.
And that terrifies me more than anything.
But the aphrodisiac burns hotter.
My body arches into him. My hands slide up his chest, fingers twisting in his hair. My lips find his—soft at first, then desperate, hungry, needing. He groans, deep in his chest, and his hands slide down my back, gripping my ass, lifting me, pressing me harder against him. The goblet falls from my hand, shattering on the floor, the wine pooling like blood.
“Cosmos,” he growls against my mouth. “We can’t—”
“I don’t care,” I whisper, biting his lip. “I don’t care about them. I don’t care about the court. I don’t care about the bond.”
“You will,” he says. “When you’re sober.”
“Then make me forget,” I say, grinding against him. “Make me forget everything but you.”
He hesitates.
Just for a second.
And in that second—
The doors burst open.
Smoke. Fire. Shouting.
“Enemy attack!” a guard screams. “The east wall—breached!”
Kaelen doesn’t move. Doesn’t break the kiss. Just raises a hand, silencing them.
But this time—
He pulls back.
“Not like this,” I gasp, clutching his coat. “Not with them watching.”
He cups my face, his golden eyes burning. “But soon,” he growls.
And I know—
This changes everything.
I came here to destroy him.
But my body—and my heart—have other plans.