The first thing I feel when the fortress falls silent is peace.
Not the fragile kind—the one that settles after a storm, tentative and temporary. No, this is deeper. Heavier. A slow, unshakable certainty that coils around my ribs like a serpent, whispering that some truths don’t need to be spoken to be known. The air is still. No torches flicker. No whispers echo down the corridors. No guards pace. Just shadow and stone and the faint hum of magic beneath my feet. It’s as if the world is holding its breath—waiting.
Waiting for war.
I stand at the edge of the balcony, my bare feet on cold marble, the wind lifting the loose strands of my hair. Below, the valley stretches out in silence, cloaked in mist, the Veil Between Worlds shimmering just beyond the ridge like a tear in reality. The Moonstone Amulet rests against my chest, its silver disc catching the pale moonlight, the stone pulsing with a soft, internal glow. The mark on my shoulder burns—not with pain, not with possession—but with something older. Something like memory.
Twenty years.
Twenty years I’ve spent sharpening my claws on vengeance, on the belief that Kael killed my mother, that he stole her throne, that he deserved to burn.
And now?
Now I know the truth.
He tried to save her.
He took the blame so I could live.
He’s been protecting me—loving 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 burning,” a voice says behind me.
I don’t turn.
Don’t flinch.
Just breathe.
“Not with fever,” I say. “With certainty.”
Kael steps beside me, his coat flaring behind him, his storm-gray eyes fixed on the horizon. He’s not in armor. Not in ceremonial black. Just a simple tunic, dark as shadow, his fangs just visible as he exhales. The scent of him—storm and iron and something ancient—fills the air, wrapping around me like a second skin. The bond hums beneath our skin, steady, unrelenting. The sigil on my wrist glows faintly, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.
“You don’t have to do this,” he says, voice low.
“Yes,” I say. “I do.”
“Malrik’s gone,” he says. “The Tribunal’s fractured. The Fae are watching, not fighting. You could walk away. Start over. Live.”
“And leave it broken?” I ask, turning to him. “Leave the coven leaderless? Leave the Moonborn without a queen? Leave you?”
He doesn’t answer.
Just watches me, his expression unreadable.
“I came here to destroy you,” I say, stepping closer. “To expose you. To burn your empire to the ground. But now—” I press a hand to the mark. “Now I know the truth. And I can’t walk away from it. From you.”
“And if you die?” he asks, voice rough.
“Then you die with me,” I say. “The bond won’t let us live apart.”
He exhales, slow and controlled. “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 collapse.
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 tunic, 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.
—
We don’t speak as we walk back to the chambers.
Don’t need to.
The silence between us is full—thick with memory, with truth, with the weight of everything we’ve lost and everything we’ve found. The corridors blur around us—stone and shadow and flickering torchlight. The guards—vampire, werewolf, witch—step aside, their eyes down, their instincts screaming at them to run. They know what’s coming. They’ve seen it before. The Moonborn heat cycle is rare, but when it strikes, it’s chaos. Blood. Violence. Claiming.
And I?
I’m not just Moonborn.
I’m hybrid. Heir. Fated mate. And the most powerful bloodline in two centuries.
If I’m unclaimed during heat—
There will be war.
But not tonight.
Not like this.
We reach the chambers. The door is closed—finally. A small victory. I push it open, stepping inside.
The hearth burns low, embers glowing, casting long, wavering shadows across the floor. The air is thick with the scent of old paper and ink, of dust and something deeper—memory, knowledge, secrets. The Library of Whispers is just down the hall, but I don’t go there. Not tonight. Not for answers. Not for fire.
For peace.
Kael moves to the hearth, kneeling to stoke the flames. I watch him—the way his shoulders shift, the way his fangs catch the light, the way his hands tremble as he adds wood. He’s not afraid. Not of death. Not of war.
He’s afraid of losing me.
So I do the only thing I can.
I step behind him.
Not gently.
Not carefully.
With claiming.
My hands slide over his shoulders, down his arms, my fingers interlacing with his as I press my body against his back. My breath warms his neck. My fangs graze his skin—just a whisper of pressure, but his breath hitches, his body arching into me.
“You don’t have to protect me,” I say, voice low.
“I know,” he says. “But I will. Always.”
“And if I don’t want to be protected?” I ask, nipping his ear. “If I want to fight? To lead? To rule?”
“Then I’ll fight beside you,” he says. “Lead with you. Rule with you.”
“And if I die?” I whisper.
“Then I’ll die with you,” he says. “The bond won’t let us live apart.”
“And if I live?” I ask, pressing my lips to his neck. “What then?”
He turns, his hands framing my face, his thumbs brushing my cheeks. “Then we live. Together. As queen and king. As daughter and father. As the only two who’ve ever loved each other without lies.”
“And if I don’t want to be your daughter?” I ask, lifting my chin. “If I want to be your mate? Your lover? Your wife?”
He doesn’t answer.
Just cups my face, his storm-gray eyes endless, his breath steady.
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.