The first light of dawn bleeds through the balcony doors, pale and hesitant, like it’s afraid of what it might find.
I’m still standing at the railing, arms wrapped around myself, my skin numb from the cold. I didn’t sleep. Couldn’t. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him—Kaelen—his golden eyes burning into mine, his thigh pressed between my legs, his mouth crashing down like he had the right. And worse—my body’s betrayal. The way my hips arched. The way my breath caught. The way heat pooled low, deep, insistent, as if my body already knows what my mind refuses to admit.
The bond.
It’s not just magic. It’s alive. A living thing coiled around my wrist, my heart, my soul. It hums beneath my skin, a low, steady pulse that syncs with something deeper—something his. I press my fingers over the sigil. It’s still there. Still glowing faintly, like embers refusing to die. And when I touch it, I feel him—just a whisper, just a breath—but there. Watching. Waiting.
I drop my hand like I’ve been burned.
I came here to burn their court.
Not to feel this.
The door creaks open behind me. I don’t turn. Don’t react. Let them think I’m broken. Let them think I’ve accepted my fate.
“My lady,” a soft voice says. “Your bath is prepared.”
I finally turn. A young Fae woman stands in the doorway, head bowed, hands clasped. She’s dressed in the gray servant’s tunic I wore yesterday—before everything changed. Before I was claimed. Before I became a bride.
“I’m not your lady,” I say, voice flat. “I’m not anyone’s.”
She doesn’t look up. “The High Priestess commands your presence in the Hall of Oaths in one hour. The ritual must be performed before the wedding.”
“Ritual?”
“To bind the truth of the bond. To ensure it is pure. To prove you are his mate in body, mind, and soul.”
My stomach twists.
Of course. They don’t trust the bond. They don’t trust me. And why would they? I’m a ghost. A lie. A shadow pretending to be flesh.
But they’re wrong.
I’m more than that.
And I’ll use this ritual—like I’ll use everything else—to get what I want.
“Fine,” I say. “Prepare the bath.”
She nods and steps aside as two other servants enter, carrying steaming buckets of water. They fill the marble tub in the corner of the room, adding oils that scent the air with jasmine and myrrh—Fae luxury, meant to soothe, to relax. To make me pliant.
Good luck.
I strip slowly, peeling off the servant’s tunic I’ve worn since yesterday. My skin is pale, marked with old scars—whip marks from the Hollow, knife cuts from survival, the brand on my left shoulder from a vampire who thought he could own me. I don’t hide them. Let them see what I’ve survived. Let them know I’m not some delicate flower to be plucked and discarded.
I step into the bath.
The water is scalding. Perfect. I sink down, letting the heat sear my skin, trying to burn away the memory of Kaelen’s touch. But it doesn’t work. If anything, the heat only makes it worse. My muscles relax. My breath slows. And the bond—damn it—responds. The sigil on my wrist pulses, warm and alive, and a low throb begins between my thighs, soft and insistent.
I clench my jaw.
One of the servants reaches for a brush. “Shall I wash your hair, my lady?”
“Don’t call me that,” I snap. “And no. I’ll do it myself.”
She hesitates. “But the High Priestess said—”
“The High Priestess isn’t here,” I say, voice low. “And if you touch me without my permission again, I’ll burn your hands off.”
She pales. Steps back.
Good.
I take the brush and work the lather into my hair myself, my movements sharp, almost violent. The soap stings a cut on my forearm—old, barely healed. I don’t care. Let it sting. Let it hurt. Pain is honest. It doesn’t lie. Unlike the bond. Unlike him.
When I’m done, I step out, dry myself with a black silk robe left on the bed, and sit at the dressing table. My reflection stares back—dark eyes, high cheekbones, lips still slightly swollen from his kiss. I trace the curve of my mouth. Remember the taste of him—spice and smoke and something wild. Remember the way he growled when I bit his lip.
I should hate him.
And I do.
Don’t I?
The door opens again. This time, it’s not a servant.
It’s Kaelen.
He fills the doorway, tall and broad, dressed in black leather and silver, his coat open at the throat, revealing the hard lines of his collarbones. His hair is slightly tousled, like he just woke up. His eyes—gold, burning—lock onto mine in the mirror.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I say, not turning. “I’m not dressed for company.”
“You’re dressed enough,” he says, voice rough. “We’re late.”
“For what?”
“The ritual. The Hall of Oaths. You were summoned.”
“And you’re my escort?”
“I’m your mate,” he says, stepping inside. “And until the bond is proven, we don’t leave each other’s side.”
I stand, turning to face him. “Then you’ll be disappointed. I’m not proving anything to them.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“I always have a choice.”
He steps closer. Too close. I can feel the heat rolling off him, the pulse of his presence like a drumbeat in my skull. “You think you can lie to the Oath Ritual? That you can hide from the truth?”
“I’ve been hiding my whole life,” I say. “I’m good at it.”
“Not from me,” he says, voice low. “Not anymore. The bond sees everything. Feels everything. And right now, it’s screaming that you’re afraid.”
My breath hitches.
He can feel that?
“I’m not afraid of you,” I say, lifting my chin. “I’m afraid of nothing.”
“Liar,” he murmurs. “Your scent changes when you lie. Sweet. Sharp. Like burnt sugar. And your pulse—” He reaches out, two fingers pressing to the side of my neck, just over my pulse point. “—it’s racing.”
I don’t pull away. Can’t. His touch is fire. His fingers are warm, calloused, and the bond flares beneath my skin, a jolt of heat shooting down my arm, pooling low in my belly.
“Take your hand off me,” I whisper.
He doesn’t. Just watches me, his golden eyes unreadable. “You think this is a game,” he says. “You think you can play me, use me, destroy me when the time comes. But you’re wrong, Cosmos. The bond doesn’t care about your revenge. It doesn’t care about your lies. It only knows the truth.”
“And what truth is that?”
“That you’re mine.”
My breath catches.
He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “And that you want to be.”
I shove him back. Hard.
He stumbles, just slightly, but doesn’t fall. Just smirks. Slow. Dangerous. Like he’s already won.
“You’re impossible,” I hiss.
“And you’re beautiful when you’re angry.”
I glare at him. “Let’s get this over with.”
He steps aside, gesturing to the door. “After you, little shadow.”
The Hall of Oaths is deeper in the fortress, beneath the main chambers, carved into the living rock. The air is colder here, thick with ancient magic. Torches line the walls, their flames blue and still, as if frozen in time. The floor is black stone, etched with runes that pulse faintly beneath our boots. At the center of the hall, a stone dais rises, surrounded by seven obsidian pillars—each representing one of the great supernatural houses.
The High Priestess stands at the dais, flanked by Silas, the vampire lord, and the witch representative. Lysara is there too, draped in silver, her eyes sharp with venom. And Kaelen—always Kaelen—stands beside me, his presence a wall of heat and power.
“Approach,” the High Priestess intones.
We step forward, stopping at the edge of the dais. The air hums with tension. The bond thrums in my blood, louder here, stronger, as if the magic in the hall amplifies it.
“The ritual begins,” the High Priestess says. “To prove the purity of the fated bond, the couple shall be bound hand to hand, and the truth shall be revealed.”
She gestures to a silver chain coiled on the dais. It’s thin, almost delicate, but I can feel the power in it—warding magic, truth-binding, soul-exposing.
“You will link your hands,” she says. “The chain will bind you. And the bond will speak.”
I glance at Kaelen. He doesn’t look at me. Just holds out his hand, palm up.
I hesitate.
One touch. That’s all it took last time. One touch, and the bond ignited, branding me, claiming me, changing me.
What will it do now?
But I don’t have a choice.
I place my hand in his.
The moment our skin meets, fire erupts.
Not pain. Not pleasure. But something deeper. Something primal. A jolt runs up my arm, through my chest, down to my core, so intense I gasp. The silver chain wraps around our wrists, locking us together, but I don’t feel it. All I feel is him—his presence flooding my mind, his emotions crashing into mine. Heat. Hunger. Possession. And beneath it all—something else. Something that feels almost like… need.
And then—
The visions begin.
Firelight. Stone walls. A bed draped in black. And him—Kaelen—stripping off his shirt, muscles rippling under golden skin, his back to me, the scars on his shoulders telling stories of battles I don’t know. He turns. His eyes lock onto mine. And he smiles.
“Cosmos,” he says, my name a growl on his tongue.
I cry out. The vision shatters. I’m back in the hall, trembling, my free hand clutching my chest, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
“What was that?” I hiss.
“The bond,” the High Priestess says. “It shows truth. Memory. Desire.”
“That wasn’t desire,” I say. “That was—”
“Yours?” Kaelen cuts in, voice rough. He’s watching me, his golden eyes dark, pupils blown. “Because I felt it too.”
My stomach drops.
He felt that?
“The ritual continues,” the High Priestess says. “Speak your truth, Cosmos of the Shadow Fae. Are you truly the mate of Kaelen Dain?”
I look at her. Then at the chain binding us. Then at Kaelen.
And I lie.
“No,” I say. “I am not.”
The moment the words leave my lips, agony tears through me.
It’s like every nerve in my body is on fire. My back arches. My scream echoes off the stone. The sigil on my wrist burns, white-hot, and the bond—damn it—punishes me. Images flood my mind—Kaelen’s hands on me, his mouth on my neck, his body pressing me into the cot, his voice growling in my ear—mine, yours, forever—and I feel it all, every sensation, every touch, every need.
“Stop!” I gasp. “I’ll say it again!”
“Then speak the truth,” the High Priestess says, unmoved.
I turn to Kaelen. He’s watching me, his jaw tight, his fingers twitching around mine. He felt it too. The pain. The bond shares it.
And for the first time, I see it—
Not triumph.
Not possession.
But something else.
Something that looks almost like… pain.
My breath hitches.
“Fine,” I whisper. “I am… his mate.”
The pain stops instantly.
I sag, breathing hard, my body trembling. The bond hums, satisfied. And then—
Kaelen speaks.
“And I,” he says, voice rough, “claim her as mine.”
The chain glows. The runes on the dais flare. And the bond—our bond—surges, a wave of heat and light that crashes through us both.
I cry out again. Not from pain this time. From pleasure.
It’s like every cell in my body ignites. My skin burns. My core clenches. My magic—witch-blood and Shadow Fae glamour—flares, wild and uncontrolled, and the air crackles with energy. The sigil on my wrist pulses, hot and bright, and I feel it—him—flooding my mind, my body, my soul.
Mine.
Yours.
No.
But the bond doesn’t care.
It only knows the truth.
And the truth is—
I want him.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of the magic.
But because of him.
And that—that terrifies me more than anything.
The chain unlocks. Falls away.
We’re free.
But I don’t let go of his hand.
And neither does he.
The High Priestess nods. “The bond is proven. Pure. True. The marriage will proceed.”
No one speaks.
No one moves.
Just us. Standing in the center of the hall. Hands still linked. Breathing the same air. Feeling the same pulse.
And then—
Kaelen turns to me. His eyes burn into mine. His thumb brushes over my knuckles, slow, possessive.
“You see?” he murmurs. “No lies. No games. Just truth.”
I don’t answer.
I just stare at him. My heart pounding. My body aching. My mind screaming.
And then—
“Not if I burn them both.”
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t flinch. Just holds my gaze, his touch lingering, his voice a whisper only I can hear.
“Then burn, little shadow. But know this—I’ll be right beside you. And when the ashes fall, I’ll still be yours.”
The sigil pulses.
And I know—
This isn’t over.
It’s only just begun.
I came here to destroy him.
But the bond?
The bond wants me to keep him.
And for the first time—
I’m not sure I want to fight it.