The first thing I feel when I wake is warmth.
Not the feverish burn of the bond, not the molten pulse of the mark on my shoulder, not the restless ache of a body still learning how to want without rage. No—this is different. Deeper. Softer. A slow, steady heat that seeps into my bones like sunlight through winter clouds. I’m not alone.
Kael is beside me.
Not in the bed. Not touching me. But close—close enough that I can feel the low hum of the bond beneath his skin, close enough to smell the storm and iron and ancient magic that clings to him like a second shadow. He’s sitting in the armchair by the hearth, his coat draped over his shoulders, his storm-gray eyes fixed on the flames. The firelight dances across his face, carving shadows beneath his cheekbones, tracing the sharp line of his jaw. His fangs are just visible as he exhales, and the scent of him—deep, dark, alive—fills the air.
I don’t move.
Just watch him.
For the first time in twenty years, I’m not afraid.
Not of him.
Not of the truth.
Not of what I feel.
The memories are still there—sharp, jagged, impossible to ignore. The Fae returning my first kiss. The amulet showing me my mother’s final moments. The Council acknowledging me as heir. Lysandra’s smirk, her lies, her venom. And Kael—always Kael—standing between me and the fire, taking every blow so I wouldn’t have to.
And now—
Now I know.
He didn’t kill her.
He tried to save her.
He took the blame so I could live.
He’s been loving me—protecting me—since I was a child.
And I—
I’ve been in love with him since I was twelve.
The worst part?
I don’t hate myself for it anymore.
“You’re awake,” he says, voice low, rough.
“You’re watching me,” I reply, sitting up.
“I was making sure you were breathing,” he says, not looking at me. “The amulet’s power is strong. It can overwhelm.”
“It didn’t,” I say, pressing a hand to the moonstone resting against my chest. It’s warm. Alive. Mine. “It felt like coming home.”
He finally turns, his eyes meeting mine. And for the first time, I see it—relief. Not just in his gaze. In his scent. In the way his body leans toward me, just slightly, like he can’t help it.
“You wore it,” he says.
“I claimed it,” I correct. “It was always mine.”
“And the truth?” he asks, voice quiet. “Does it hurt less now?”
“It doesn’t hurt at all,” I say. “Because it’s not just truth. It’s mine. My mother. My blood. My future.” I press a hand to the mark on my shoulder—his mark, dark and perfect, still glowing faintly. “And you.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just watches me, his storm-gray eyes endless, his breath steady.
And then—
“You don’t have to say it,” I say, standing. “I know what you are to me. I know what I am to you. We don’t need words.”
“But I want to,” he says, rising. “I’ve waited twenty years to say it. To say you.”
My breath hitches.
He steps closer, his presence a wall between me and the rest of the world. The bond hums beneath our skin, steady, unrelenting. The sigil on my wrist flares—bright, hot, alive—reacting to him, to the truth, to the way my heart stutters in my chest.
“You were never just my heir,” he says, his voice rough. “You were never just my mate. You were never just my daughter.”
My hands fist at my sides.
“You were my heart,” he says. “And I’d rather burn with you than live without you.”
And I believe him.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of the magic.
Because of the way his voice breaks on the last word. Because of the way his hand trembles as it lifts to my face. Because of the way his eyes—endless, storm-gray, mine—hold mine, unflinching, unafraid.
And then—
I do something I’ve never done before.
I choose.
Not out of rage.
Not out of duty.
Not because the bond demands it.
But because I want to.
I step forward.
Slow. Deliberate. Like if I stop, I’ll lose my nerve.
And I kiss him.
Not like before.
Not in the storm, desperate and furious, our bodies grinding together like we were trying to destroy each other.
Not in the library, where I pressed my forehead to his chest and let myself cry.
Not in the Council chamber, where we claimed each other in front of the world.
No—this is different.
Slow. Deep. Full of something I can’t name. Not hunger. Not fever. Not the bond.
Truth.
His breath hitches. His body arches. The sigil on my wrist flares—bright, molten, alive—and the bond roars to life, fire surging between us, bright and blinding. But I don’t pull away. Can’t. My hands slide up his chest, fisting in his coat, pulling him closer. His arms close around me, strong and sure, pressing me against him, his fangs grazing my lip—just a whisper of pressure, but I moan, the sound low and raw in my throat.
And then—
He pulls back.
Just an inch. Just enough to look at me.
“Jasmine,” he says, voice rough. “You don’t have to—”
“I know,” I say, pressing my forehead to his. “But I want to. I’ve wanted to since I was a child. Since you kissed me in the forest. Since you promised to wait for me.”
“And if I don’t believe you?” he asks, voice breaking.
“Then feel it,” I say, lifting my hand to his chest, pressing it over his heart. “Feel the bond. Feel the mark. Feel the way your body knows me before your mind does.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just closes his eyes, his breath unsteady, his body trembling.
And then—
He kisses me.
Slow. Deep. Full of something I can’t name. Not hunger. Not fever. Not the bond.
Love.
And the worst part?
I don’t want it to end.
—
Hours pass.
The fire burns low. The candles flicker. The bond hums beneath our skin, steady, unrelenting. We don’t speak. Don’t move. Just sit there, tangled together on the floor, my head on his chest, his arms around me, his breath warm against my hair. The amulet glows faintly against my skin, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. The mark on my shoulder burns—not with pain, not with possession, but with something older. Something like recognition.
“I don’t want to go back,” I say, voice muffled against his shirt.
“Back where?” he asks, brushing a hand through my hair.
“To the Council. To the throne. To the war.”
“It’s not a war,” he says. “It’s a reckoning. And you’re ready for it.”
“Am I?” I ask, lifting my head. “I spent twenty years hating the wrong man. Twenty years sharpening my claws on a lie. And now—” I press a hand to the mark. “Now I don’t know how to be anything but broken.”
“You’re not broken,” he says, cupping my face. “You’re not a weapon. You’re not a ghost. You’re not a lie.”
“Then what am I?” I whisper.
“You’re Jasmine Vale,” he says. “Daughter of a queen. Heir to a coven. And the only woman who can fix what’s broken.”
“And you?” I ask. “What are you?”
“Your father,” he 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 me. Meant to remember. Meant to rule.”
“And if I don’t want to?”
“Then you were never the heir,” he says. “Just a weapon. A ghost. A lie.”
“And if I do?”
“Then you’re a queen,” he says. “And I’ll be waiting.”
I press a hand to the amulet—still warm, still pulsing, still alive. “And if I’m not ready?”
“You are,” he says. “You’ve always been. You just forgot.”
“And if I fail?” I whisper.
“Then we fail together,” he says. “But you won’t. Because you’re stronger than this. You always were. You just forgot.”
I don’t answer.
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 next morning, the fortress is silent.
Too silent.
No guards. No whispers. No torches. Just shadow and stone and the faint hum of magic beneath my feet. I move fast, silent, my boots striking 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 her 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.