The first thing I feel when I see the ring is disbelief.
Not the sharp, snapping kind—the kind that makes your pulse race and your claws slide free. No, this is deeper. Heavier. A cold, creeping dread that coils around my spine like a serpent, whispering that some lies never die. They just wear new faces.
I’m in the east wing, moving through the dim corridors toward the Archives. The Council chamber still hums behind me, its runes fading, its silence thick with the aftermath of truth. Malrik is gone. Exiled. His name stripped. My mother’s honor restored. The decree is sealed. The Oracle has spoken. And yet—
It doesn’t feel like victory.
It feels like the calm before another storm.
And then I see it.
Lysandra’s door is ajar—just a crack, but enough. A sliver of candlelight spills into the corridor, golden and flickering, and there, on her vanity, resting on a velvet tray like some sacred relic, is the ring.
Not just any ring.
His ring.
The Midnight King’s signet—black onyx set in silver, etched with the D’Arenthe crest: a crescent moon pierced by a fang. I’ve seen it on Kael’s hand a hundred times. When he signed decrees. When he poured blood into goblets. When he reached for me in the dark.
And now—
It’s on her tray.
My breath stops.
I don’t think. Don’t hesitate. Just push the door open and step inside.
The chamber is opulent—too much so. Silk drapes, gilded mirrors, vials of perfume that scent the air with jasmine and something darker, sweeter. Vampire indulgence. But it’s the vanity that holds me. The ring. The way it catches the candlelight, like it’s alive.
I pick it up.
It’s cold. Heavy. Real.
And then—
The sigil on my wrist flares.
Not a slow glow. Not a pulse.
A burn.
White-hot, searing, like it knows this ring doesn’t belong to her. Like it’s screaming at me to run.
“Looking for something?”
I turn.
Lysandra stands in the doorway, her gown the color of dried blood, her lips curled in a smirk. She doesn’t look surprised. Doesn’t look angry.
She looks amused.
“You know,” she says, stepping inside, “most people knock.”
“Most people don’t steal from kings,” I say, holding up the ring.
She doesn’t flinch. Just crosses the room, her heels clicking against the stone, and takes a seat on the edge of her bed. “Steal? Oh, darling. I didn’t steal it. He gave it to me.”
“Liar,” I say, my voice low. “Kael would never give you his ring.”
“Wouldn’t he?” she asks, tilting her head. “You weren’t there the night of the lunar storm. You don’t know what happened in the dark. You don’t know how he whispers my name.”
My stomach twists.
“And the mark?” I ask, pressing a hand to the punctures on my shoulder. “Did he give you that too?”
She smiles—slow, deliberate—and pulls down the collar of her gown.
There.
On her neck.
A bite.
Not deep. Not fresh.
But real.
And my blood turns to ice.
“He likes it when I arch for him,” she says, voice a purr. “When I beg. When I—”
I move.
Fast. Furious.
My hand closes around her throat, slamming her back against the bedframe, the ring still clenched in my fist. Her eyes widen—not with fear, but with triumph.
“You’re lying,” I growl. “Kael would never touch you.”
“Wouldn’t he?” she chokes, not struggling. “Then why does his scent cling to my skin? Why does his blood warm my veins? Why does he come to my chambers when the moon is high and the bond is screaming?”
“Because he’s mine,” I snarl.
“Are you sure?” she whispers. “Or are you just the daughter he never wanted?”
The sigil flares again.
Brighter.
Hotter.
And I know—
She’s playing me.
But I don’t let go.
“If you ever speak to me again,” I say, voice raw, “if you ever look at me again, I’ll rip your throat out with my teeth. Do you understand?”
She doesn’t answer.
Just smiles.
And that’s when I hear it.
Footsteps.
Slow. Deliberate.
And then—
He’s there.
Kael.
Standing in the doorway, his storm-gray eyes fixed on me, on Lysandra, on the ring in my hand. He doesn’t look angry. Doesn’t look possessive.
He looks… tired.
“Jasmine,” he says, voice low. “Let her go.”
I don’t move.
“She’s lying,” I say. “This ring—”
“Is not mine,” he says.
I freeze.
“What?”
He steps inside, his coat flaring behind him, his presence a wall between me and the rest of the room. “That ring is a decoy. A political tool. I gave it to her months ago—before you arrived—as part of a false alliance. It means nothing.”
My breath hitches.
“And the mark?” I ask, my voice breaking. “Did you lie about that too?”
He doesn’t flinch. Just steps closer, his hand reaching for mine, gently prying the ring from my fingers. “I’ve never bitten her. Never touched her. Never wanted her. The only woman I’ve marked—” He presses a hand to the punctures on my shoulder “—is you.”
The sigil glows—steady, unbroken. No flicker. No hesitation.
It believes him.
Again.
“You could’ve told me,” I say, my voice raw. “You could’ve warned me she’d use it against me.”
“And would you have believed me?” he asks. “Back then? When you still thought I was the monster?”
I don’t answer.
Can’t.
Because he’s right.
And that’s what terrifies me most.
Lysandra laughs—a low, bitter sound. “Oh, this is rich. The great Kael D’Arenthe, defending his little hybrid pet. Tell me, Jasmine—do you even know what he did to your mother? Do you know he let them call her a traitor? That he let you believe he killed her?”
“I know,” I say, stepping toward her. “And I know who really gave the order.”
Her smile falters.
“Malrik,” I say. “And if you’re working with him—” I lean in, my voice a whisper “—then you’re already dead.”
She doesn’t answer.
Just watches as Kael turns to her, his expression unreadable.
“The alliance is over,” he says. “The ring is mine. And if I catch you spreading lies about me—or her—” He gestures at me. “—I’ll have your tongue cut out.”
She doesn’t flinch. Just stands, smoothing her gown, her eyes locked on me. “Enjoy it while it lasts, half-blood. He’ll grow tired of you. They always do.”
And then she’s gone.
The door clicks shut behind her.
Silence.
And then—
“You should’ve told me,” I say, my voice breaking. “About the ring. About the lies. About her.”
Kael turns to me, his hand cupping my face, his thumb brushing my cheek. “I should’ve told you a lot of things. That I loved your mother. That I tried to save her. That I’ve carried the guilt of her death for twenty years. But you weren’t ready. And I couldn’t risk losing you.”
“And now?” I ask. “Now that I know? Now that I’ve spent twenty years hating the wrong man? Now that I’ve come here to destroy the only family I have left?”
“Now you fix it,” he says. “By trusting me. By believing the truth. By stopping the war inside you.”
I press a hand to the mark on my shoulder. “And this? Is it still real? Or is it just another lie?”
“It’s real,” he says. “Not just magic. Not just fate. But truth. You were meant to find me. Meant to remember. Meant to rule.”
“And if I don’t want to?” I whisper.
“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.
—
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 don’t go to the Archives. Don’t go to the Council chamber. Don’t go anywhere I might run into Lysandra or Malrik or anyone who’ll see the mark and know what it means.
I go to the training yard.
Hidden beneath the fortress, the Moonborn sparring ring is a cavern of black stone and silver runes, lit by floating orbs of blue flame. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and iron, the echoes of shifting forms and clashing steel. I need to fight. Need to move. Need to feel my claws slice through the air, my fangs tear into flesh, my body remember what it means to be alive.
I strip off my shirt, rolling up my sleeves, and step into the ring.
No opponent. No rules. Just me and the shadows.
I shift—fast, desperate. My body ripples, bones cracking, fur sprouting, claws slicing through the air. In wolf-form, I charge, tearing into the training dummies, shredding them to splinters, my snarls echoing off the stone. I leap, twist, bite, claw, destroy—until my muscles burn and my breath comes in ragged gasps.
And still, it’s not enough.
I shift back, collapsing to my knees, my human skin slick with sweat, my breath coming in shallow gasps. The sigil on my wrist glows faintly, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. I press a hand to it—just a brush of my fingertips—and a jolt of heat surges through me, sharp and bright.
Not pain.
Not pleasure.
Recognition.
It’s not just a mark.
It’s a memory.
And I don’t know if I can carry it.
“You’re pushing too hard.”
I don’t need to look up to know who it is.
Rhys.
My brother.
Thought dead for twenty years. Reunited only days ago. And now—here, in the training yard, watching me with golden wolf-eyes that see too much.
“You always did have a way with words,” I mutter, not looking at him.
He sits beside me, his shoulder brushing mine. “You’ve been crying.”
“I haven’t.”
“Your scent says otherwise.”
I exhale, sharp and broken. “I don’t know what to do, Rhys.”
“About Kael?”
“About everything,” I say. “I came here to destroy him. To expose him. To take back what’s mine. But now—” I press a hand to the mark. “Now I don’t know if I even want it back.”
He’s silent for a long moment. Then: “You love him.”
“No,” I snap. “I hate him.”
“Liar,” he says, echoing Kael. “Your scent says otherwise. You’re aroused. Grieving. Confused. But not hate. Never hate.”
“Then what is it?” I whisper. “What am I feeling?”
“The truth,” he says. “The truth you’ve been running from since you were a child. That the man you thought was your enemy… is the only one who ever tried to save you.”
“He let them call her a traitor,” I say, my voice breaking. “He let me believe he killed her.”
“And if he hadn’t,” Rhys says, “they would have killed you. The Tribunal was coming. They knew about the bond. They knew you were the heir. Kael took the blame so you could live.”
“You knew?” I ask, turning to him. “All this time—you knew?”
“I suspected,” he says. “But I couldn’t prove it. Not until now.”
“And you’re just telling me now?”
“Because you weren’t ready,” he says. “You needed to see it for yourself. To feel it. To know it.”
I press a hand to my forehead. “I don’t know what to believe.”
“Then believe this,” he says. “The sigil doesn’t lie. The bond doesn’t lie. And your body?” He gestures at the mark. “It knows the truth. Even if your mind won’t accept it.”
I don’t answer.
Just sit there, my brother’s words echoing in the silence.
And then—
A memory.
Not from the storm.
Not from last night.
From before.
A forest bathed in moonlight. A boy with storm-gray eyes, reaching for me. “You’re safe,” he whispers. “I’ll always keep you safe.”
A hand in mine, small and warm. Laughter. A promise.
Then—blood. So much blood. My mother, falling. Kael’s face twisted in grief, not triumph. His voice, raw: “I tried to stop it. I tried—”
The blade. The whisper. “For the peace of all realms.”
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.
“Oh gods,” I whisper, my breath coming in ragged gasps. “He wasn’t the monster. I was.”
Rhys doesn’t flinch. “You were a child.”
“No,” I say. “I accused him. I hated him. I came here to destroy him. And all this time—” My voice breaks. “All this time, he was the one who saved me.”
“And now?” Rhys asks.
I look down at the mark on my shoulder. At the sigil on my wrist, glowing faintly, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
And I know—
There’s no going back.
Not from this.
Not from him.
“Now,” I say, standing, “I have to face him.”
“And say what?” Rhys asks.
“The truth,” I say. “That I was wrong. That I’ve been wrong for twenty years. That I came here to destroy him—” I press a hand to the mark “—and instead, he destroyed me.”
Rhys stands, his golden eyes watching me. “And what if he doesn’t forgive you?”
“Then I’ll spend every day proving I’m worthy of him,” I say. “Because the truth—sharp and terrible—is this:
I didn’t come here to burn his empire to the ground.
I came here to find the man who saved my life.
And I think… I think I’ve been in love with him since I was a child.
I turn and walk back toward the chambers, my brother’s words echoing behind me.
And the worst part?
I liked it.