The first thing I feel when I step into the Veil Between Worlds is hunger.
Not for blood. Not for flesh.
For truth.
It coils in my gut like a serpent, sharp and insistent, whispering that some secrets are worth more than life. The air here is thick—ozone and crushed petals, old wine and something sweeter, darker. Like memory distilled into scent. The sky above isn’t sky at all, but a shifting tapestry of stars that pulse like living things, their light bleeding into the silver trees whose roots twist into the earth like veins. This isn’t a place. It’s a *state*—a thin, shimmering layer between realms, where lies unravel and bargains cost more than gold.
Jasmine walks beside me, silent, her boots striking the soft moss with quiet precision. She’s still pale from the heat cycle, her scent laced with exhaustion and something deeper—grief, guilt, the slow unraveling of a lifetime of lies. The mark on her shoulder glows faintly beneath her shirt, pulsing in time with the bond. She doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t speak. Just keeps walking, her jaw tight, her eyes fixed on the path ahead.
She doesn’t know what I’ve done.
Not yet.
But she will.
And when she does—
She’ll hate me.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say, breaking the silence. “We can find another way.”
She stops, turning to me. Her eyes—gold and storm-gray, swirling with magic—lock onto mine. “There *is* no other way. Malrik’s already moving. The Tribunal’s whispering. If we don’t expose him before he frames us, we lose everything. *She* loses everything.”
I don’t flinch. “And what if the price is too high?”
“Then I’ll pay it,” she says. “Like you did.”
My breath catches.
She knows.
Of course she knows.
“You weren’t supposed to,” I say, voice low. “I didn’t want you to know what I gave up.”
“But I *do*,” she says. “The Oracle told me. You lost the last time you saw her. Our mother. The way she smiled at you before she sent you away.”
My chest tightens.
It’s true.
That moment—her hand on my cheek, her voice soft, saying, *“Be brave, little wolf. For her. For me.”*—is gone. Erased. A hollow where a memory should be.
And I’d do it again.
“You don’t understand,” I say. “The Fae don’t just take memories. They twist them. They leave scars. And the ones that matter most?” I step closer. “They hurt the worst when they’re gone.”
She doesn’t back down. Just lifts her chin, her wolf close to the surface. “Then I’ll hurt. But I’ll know the truth. And that’s worth more than comfort.”
I want to argue. Want to scream that she doesn’t get to sacrifice herself, that I’ve spent twenty years protecting her, that I won’t let her lose something as sacred as a first kiss.
But I can’t.
Because she’s right.
And because I already know what she’s going to ask.
We reach the throne of woven thorns just as the stars begin to shift, their light deepening from violet to black. The Fae queen is already there, seated, her golden eyes fixed on us. She wears a gown of living vines, their thorns glistening with dew. Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Ah,” she says, voice like wind through dead leaves. “The lost heir. The brother who gave up his past to find her. And now—here you are. Ready to lose something real.”
Jasmine doesn’t hesitate. “I want to know the truth about Malrik. About the Tribunal. About what really happened the night my mother died.”
The Fae tilts her head. “One touch. One truth. But you lose a memory. A real one. Something that matters.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then you walk away,” she says. “Ignorant. Weak. Doomed to repeat the past.”
Jasmine glances at me.
I don’t nod. Don’t speak.
Just watch as she holds out her hand.
The Fae takes it, her fingers cold as ice. “Speak your question,” she says. “And I will answer.”
Jasmine’s breath comes in shallow gasps. “Tell me… what really happened the night my mother died.”
The Fae smiles.
And then—
The world *shatters*.
Images flood her mind—flickering, ghostly, rising from the forest 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*.
They press their palms together, blood mingling, and the air thrums with magic—ancient, sacred, *fated*.
“I bind you,” my mother says. “Not by force. Not by duty. But by choice. By love. By the future we see.”
“I accept,” Kael says, 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*.
Then—
Malrik appears, flanked by Tribunal guards. His eyes are cold, his voice sharp. “You’ve betrayed your kind,” he says. “You’ve allied with the vampires to destroy the pureblood lines. You must die for the peace of all realms.”
My mother doesn’t flinch. “I did it for the future. For balance. For *her*.”
“Then she dies with you,” Malrik says.
Kael steps forward. “No. Take me instead. Let her live. Let the child live.”
Malrik hesitates. Then: “So be it. But the world will believe *you* are the traitor. That *you* killed her. That *you* stole her throne.”
“I accept,” Kael says. “But let them live. Let *her* live.”
And then—
The blade falls.
My mother collapses. Kael catches her. He whispers the words—*“For the peace of all realms”*—not as a killer, but as a mourner. As a man who has lost everything.
And me—twelve years old, screaming, running—
“If I die, you die too!”
I cut him. With a child’s dagger. A blood pact.
And he *promised*.
The vision fades.
Jasmine stumbles back, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her hands pressed to her forehead. The truth—sharp, terrible, *inescapable*—remains.
He didn’t kill her.
He *saved* me.
And I’ve spent twenty years hating him for it.
“What did I lose?” she whispers.
The Fae smiles. “The first time you kissed him.”
My breath stops.
“It was before the war,” she says. “You were sixteen. He was twenty. You met in secret, in the forest. You thought no one knew. But the Fae see all. And now… you don’t.”
Tears burn in her eyes.
Her first kiss.
Gone.
“Was it worth it?” the Fae asks.
Jasmine doesn’t answer.
Just turns and walks back toward the silver door, her shoulders stiff, her head high.
I follow.
We step back through the door, returning to the obsidian chamber beneath the fortress. The mirrors flicker, showing glimpses of other worlds, other versions of her—some still vengeful, some broken, some kneeling before Kael in rage. But one… one shows her standing beside him, hand in hand, a crown on her head, fire in her eyes.
That one, I believe.
We return to the fortress in silence. The corridors blur around me, but my mind is clear. The fever from the bond has receded, soothed by proximity, by truth. The sigil glows faintly, steady, unbroken. And the mark on her shoulder—Kael’s mark—pulses with every heartbeat, not as a claim, but as a *connection*.
She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t look at me.
Just walks.
Fast. Hard. Like if she stops, I’ll see the tears she’s holding back.
When we reach the chambers, she stops, turning to me. Her eyes are red, her voice raw. “You knew. About the kiss.”
I don’t lie. “Yes.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“I couldn’t,” I say. “You weren’t ready. And I… I didn’t want you to lose it twice.”
“But I did,” she says. “And now I don’t even know what it felt like.”
My chest tightens. “I remember.”
She freezes. “What?”
“I was there,” I say. “Hidden in the trees. I saw you. Both of you. You were laughing. He touched your face. And then—” I press a hand to my temple “—you kissed him. Just once. Soft. Sweet. And then he whispered, *‘I’ll always keep you safe.’*”
Her breath hitches.
“And you kept that?” she whispers. “All this time?”
“I gave up my own memory,” I say. “But I held onto yours. Because it mattered. Because *you* mattered.”
Tears spill down her cheeks.
“You shouldn’t have,” she says. “You shouldn’t have given up your last moment with her for *me*.”
“I’d do it again,” I say. “A thousand times. A million. You’re my sister. My blood. And if losing that memory meant you could live—” I step closer “—then it was worth every second of pain.”
She doesn’t pull away.
Just presses her forehead to my chest, her hands fisting in my shirt.
And for the first time in twenty years—
She lets herself cry.
I hold her. Not as a protector. Not as a brother.
As family.
And the Fae’s final words echo in the silence:
“You’ll remember him again. When it hurts most.”
And she will.
Because the truth—sharp and terrible—is this:
She didn’t come here to burn his empire to the ground.
She came here to find the man who saved her life.
And now—
Now she has to face him.
Not as his enemy.
Not as his mate.
But as his daughter.
And the worst part?
She’s not afraid anymore.
She’s ready.