The first thing I feel when I see him again is shame.
Not the sharp, snapping kind—the one that makes your pulse race and your claws slide free. No, this is deeper. Heavier. A slow, creeping dread that coils around my spine like a serpent, whispering that some truths are too heavy to carry alone. The corridors blur around me—stone and shadow and flickering torchlight—but I don’t stop. Can’t. My boots strike the floor like a death knell, each step a promise, a reckoning. The mark on my shoulder burns—not with pain, not with possession, but with something older. Something like memory.
I don’t go to the Council chamber. Don’t go to the Archives. 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.
But when I step into the ring, I freeze.
Not because of the dummies. Not because of the weapons. Not because of the shadows.
Because of him.
Rhys.
My brother.
Thought dead for twenty years. Reunited only days ago. And now—here, in the training yard, shirtless, scars crisscrossing his torso, his golden wolf-eyes fixed on me, his breath steady, his presence a wall between me and the rest of the world.
“You’re late,” he says, voice low.
“I was busy,” I mutter, stepping into the ring.
He doesn’t flinch. Just watches me, his eyes seeing too much. “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.”
Rhys doesn’t answer.
Just watches me, his expression unreadable.
Then—
He steps forward.
Fast. Hard. Like if he stops, he’ll collapse.
His arms close around me, strong and sure, pulling me into his chest. I don’t resist. Can’t. My body trembles, my breath hitches, and for the first time in twenty years—
I let myself cry.
Not in silence. Not in shame.
But loud. Raw. Unfiltered.
And he holds me. Not as a warrior. Not as a Beta. But as a brother. As family. As the only other person who remembers what we lost, who survived the fire, who carried the weight of silence.
“I thought you were dead,” I choke, my fingers fisting in his shirt. “I thought I was alone.”
“You were never alone,” he says, voice rough. “I’ve been watching. Waiting. Protecting. From the shadows. From the Fae. From Malrik.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“Because you weren’t ready,” he says. “You needed to see the truth for yourself. To feel it. To know it.”
“And now?” I ask, pulling back.
“Now you fix it,” he says. “By facing him. By forgiving him. By forgiving yourself.”
I press a hand to the mark. “And if I can’t?”
“Then you’re not the woman I remember,” he says. “You’re not the sister I fought to protect. You’re not the heir.”
My breath hitches.
“You’re stronger than this,” he says. “You always were. You just forgot.”
I don’t answer.
Just step back, wiping my eyes, my body still trembling. The sigil on my wrist glows faintly, pulsing in time with the bond. And I know—
This isn’t just about Kael.
It’s about me.
About who I’ve become.
About who I want to be.
“I need to see him,” I say.
Rhys nods. “Then go. But don’t go to destroy. Go to understand.”
I don’t answer.
Just turn and walk out.
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.
And now—
Now I’ve lost him.
Or maybe I never had him at all.
But I don’t care.
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 now—
Now I have to save him.
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 blood,” I say. “Your blood. It showed me. The real memory. 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 I love her?” he says. “With everything I was. And when she died, I died with her. But I couldn’t let you die too. I wouldn’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.
—
Later, in the chambers, he doesn’t speak.
Just sits by the hearth, his knees drawn to his chest, his eyes fixed on the flames. The bond hums beneath his skin, steady, unrelenting. The sigil on his wrist glows faintly, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. And the mark on his shoulder—my mark, dark and perfect—still burns.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, voice quiet.
“Yes,” I say. “I did.”
“You could’ve just denied it. Called her a liar. Protected your reputation—”
“And lost you?” I ask, stepping closer. “Never.”
He doesn’t look at me. “You didn’t have to claim me in front of them. You didn’t have to—”
“But I wanted to,” I say, kneeling beside him. “I wanted the world to know. I wanted them to see. I wanted you to know.”
He finally looks at me.
And for the first time, I see it—hope.
Not just in his eyes.
In his scent. In his breath. In the way his body leans toward mine.
“Why?” I ask, voice breaking. “Why do you keep doing this? Why do you keep choosing me?”
“Because you’re not just my heir,” he says, brushing a hand through my hair. “You’re not just my mate. You’re not just my daughter.”
I don’t answer.
Just waits.
“You’re my heart,” I say. “And I’d rather burn with you than live without you.”
He doesn’t pull away.
Just presses his forehead to my chest, his hands fisting in my shirt.
And for the first time in twenty years—
He lets himself cry.
I hold him.
Not as a king.
Not as a father.
As the man who’s loved her since she was a child.
And the Oracle’s final words echo in the silence:
“The betrayal wasn’t his. It was yours.”
And she knows.
Because she betrayed the truth.
She betrayed him.
And now—
Now she’s made it right.