The first thing I feel when the moon climbs over the fortress is hunger.
Not for blood. Not for power. Not for vengeance.
Hunger for him.
It coils low in my belly, warm and insistent, a slow burn that pulses with every beat of my heart. The bond hums beneath my skin, not roaring like it used to, not screaming with need or fury or denial. It sings—soft, deep, full. Like it’s finally home. The mark on my shoulder burns—not with pain, not with possession—but with something older. Something like recognition. The sigil on my wrist glows faintly, pulsing in time with the bond, and the Moonstone Amulet rests against my chest, its silver disc catching the moonlight, the stone pulsing with a soft, internal glow.
I press a hand to the mark—still warm, still alive—and exhale. The fortress is quiet tonight. No torches flicker. No whispers echo down the corridors. No guards pace. Just shadow and stone and the faint, steady thrum of power beneath my feet. The war is over. The throne is claimed. The Council of Equals has been convened. Lysandra is gone. Malrik is ash. And yet—
Something lingers.
Not fear.
Not grief.
But peace.
And with it—
Desire.
Not desperate. Not fevered. Not forced.
But chosen.
I don’t knock. Don’t call out. Just push open the door to the private bath chamber—carved from white stone veined with silver, its high ceiling open to the sky, the moon hanging low and full above. The air is thick with the scent of lavender and old magic, of steam and something deeper—memory, knowledge, secrets. The pool at the center glows faintly, fed by a spring that bubbles up from deep beneath the mountains, its waters warm, its surface rippling with the reflection of the moon.
And in it—
Kael.
He’s not in armor. Not in ceremonial black. Just bare, unashamed, his skin pale as moonlight, his storm-gray eyes closed, his long limbs stretched out, his fangs just visible as he exhales. His coat lies pooled at the edge of the pool, his tunic folded neatly beside it. The scar across his chest—the one I healed, the one that nearly killed him—shines faintly in the water, a silver thread of survival. The bond flares brighter, hotter, alive, and my breath hitches. My body arches. The sigil on my wrist glows so bright it casts shadows on the stone.
He doesn’t open his eyes.
Just smiles—slow, knowing.
“You’re late,” he says, voice rough.
“You’re naked,” I say, stepping forward.
“And you’re not,” he replies, finally opening his eyes. They’re endless, storm-gray, mine, fixed on me with a hunger that matches my own. The scent of him—storm and iron and something ancient—wraps around me, grounding me, anchoring me. The bond hums beneath our skin, steady, unrelenting.
“That’s easily fixed,” I say, reaching for the laces of my tunic.
He watches me—his breath unsteady, his fangs fully extended—as I peel it off, letting it fall to the floor. My skin glows in the moonlight, the mark on my shoulder burning bright, the sigil on my wrist pulsing in time with my heartbeat. I step out of my boots, out of my leggings, bare, unashamed, and then—
I step into the water.
Not beside him.
Not across from him.
Behind him.
My body presses against his—long, hard, unyielding. My arms slide around his waist, pulling him back into the curve of my chest. My fangs graze his neck. The bond sings between us, fire surging, soft and deep. His breath hitches. His body arches. But he doesn’t pull away. Can’t. Not anymore.
“You don’t have to protect me,” I say, leaning into him.
“I know,” he says, pressing a kiss to my wrist. “But I will. Always.”
“And if I don’t want to be protected?” I ask, nipping his shoulder. “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 in my arms, 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.
His tongue slides against mine, slow and searching, and I moan, the sound low and raw in my throat. My hands slide up his chest, fisting in his skin, 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 arch into him, my body burning, my blood singing.
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 again.
Not slow this time.
Not gentle.
But deep. Desperate. Full of everything we’ve lost and everything we’ve found. His hands slide down my back, over my hips, pulling me against him, his cock hard and hot against my thigh. I gasp, my body arching, my fingers tightening in his hair. The water ripples around us, steam rising in thick clouds, curling around our bodies like a second skin.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs against my lips.
“So are you,” I say, pressing my forehead to his. “Not just your face. Not just your power. But your heart. Your soul. The way you’ve loved me—even when I didn’t deserve it.”
He stills.
Just for a second.
And then—
He pulls me into his lap.
Not gently. Not carefully.
With claiming.
My legs straddle his hips, my core pressed against his cock, my breasts brushing his chest. The bond sings between us, fire surging, soft and deep. His hands slide up my thighs, over my hips, his thumbs brushing the dip of my spine. My breath hitches. My body arches. But I don’t pull away. Can’t. Not anymore.
“You don’t have to do this,” he says, voice rough. “You don’t have to stay.”
“Yes,” I say, pressing my lips to his neck. “I do.”
He exhales—slow, controlled—and presses a kiss to the mark on my shoulder. It flares, bright and molten, and the bond sings between us, fire surging, soft and deep. My breath hitches. My body arches. But I don’t pull away. Can’t. Not anymore.
“Then let me love you,” he says, voice breaking. “Not as your king. Not as your father. Not as your mate. But as the man who’s loved you since you were twelve.”
My breath hitches.
And then—
I nod.
Just once.
And he takes me.
Not roughly. Not hurriedly.
With ceremony.
His hands slide up my body, over my ribs, cupping my breasts, his thumbs brushing my nipples. I gasp, my back arching, my hips grinding against his. He groans, low and deep, his fangs grazing my neck. The bond sings between us, fire surging, soft and deep. His mouth closes over one nipple, sucking gently, then harder, and I moan, the sound echoing off the stone, my fingers tightening in his hair.
And then—
He lifts me.
Not with magic. Not with force.
With love.
My body rises, the water sliding down my skin, my legs still wrapped around his waist. He carries me to the edge of the pool, laying me back on the warm stone, his body pressing over mine. The moonlight spills over us, silver and soft, casting long, wavering shadows across the floor. His storm-gray eyes are endless, fixed on me, his fangs just visible as he exhales.
“Look at me,” he says, voice rough.
I do.
And then—
He enters me.
Slow. Deep. Full of something I can’t name. Not hunger. Not fever. Not the bond.
Love.
I gasp, my body arching, my fingers tightening in his arms. He stills, just for a second, his breath unsteady, his fangs fully extended. And then—
He moves.
Slow at first. Deep. Steady. Each thrust a promise, each withdrawal a plea. The bond sings between us, fire surging, soft and deep. My breath hitches. My body arches. The sigil on my wrist flares—bright, molten, alive—and the mark on my shoulder burns—not with pain, not with possession—but with something older. Something like recognition.
“Kael,” I whisper, my voice breaking.
“I’m here,” he says, pressing his forehead to mine. “I’ll always be here.”
And then—
I come.
Not with a scream. Not with a cry.
With a moan—low, deep, full of everything I’ve lost and everything I’ve found. My body arches, my fingers tightening in his arms, my core clenching around him. He groans, low and deep, his fangs grazing my neck, and then—
He follows.
Not with a roar. Not with a snarl.
With a whisper—my name, over and over, like a prayer, like a vow, like a truth I’ve always known.
And then—
We don’t move.
Don’t speak.
Just breathe.
In. Out. Slow. Like if we stop, the moment will shatter. Like if we open our eyes too fast, we’ll wake up in the forest again, twelve years old, screaming as the blade falls. Like if we shift even an inch, the dream will end, and I’ll be back in the dark, alone, sharpening my claws on a lie.
But this isn’t a dream.
The water is real—warm, rippling, alive. The air is real—thick with the scent of lavender and old magic, of steam and something deeper—memory, knowledge, secrets. The moon is real—hanging low and full above, its light spilling over us like a blessing. And him?
He’s real.
Kael D’Arenthe. Midnight King. Vampire sovereign. The man I came here to destroy.
The man I’ve loved since I was twelve.
And now—
Now he’s mine.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of the mark.
Not because of duty or politics or war.
But because tonight—
—I chose him.
Not out of rage.
Not out of duty.
Not because the bond demanded it.
But because I wanted to.
And he chose me back.
Not as a queen.
Not as an heir.
Not as a daughter.
But as a woman.
As his.
And the worst part?
I don’t hate myself for it anymore.
I don’t want to.
“You’re burning,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my shoulder.
“Not with fever,” I say, voice low. “With certainty.”
He exhales—slow, controlled—and pulls me closer, his body warm and solid against mine. 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.
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 lean 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.
Love.
And the worst part?
I don’t want it to end.
But then—
A knock.
Not loud. Not urgent.
But impossible to ignore.
We freeze.
Still tangled together, still breathless, still burning.
“Ignore it,” I whisper, pressing my lips to his neck.
“Can’t,” he says, voice rough. “It’s Torin.”
I exhale—sharp, broken—and pull back. “Enter.”
The door opens.
Torin steps in—silent, watchful, his dark eyes scanning the room. He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t look at Kael.
Just bows.
“My king,” he says. “The Fae envoy has arrived. They request an audience at dawn.”
Kael nods. “We’ll see them.”
Torin doesn’t move. “They bring news. From the Veil.”
“Then we’ll see them,” Kael repeats, voice firm.
Torin studies him—his dark eyes seeing too much. Then, slowly, he nods. “As you command.”
And he’s gone.
Not with a slam. Not with a threat.
But with a quiet certainty that settles over the room like dust.
And then—
I turn to Kael.
He’s watching me, his storm-gray eyes endless, his breath steady.
“You don’t have to go,” he says.
“Yes,” I say, stepping out of the water. “I do.”
He rises with me, his coat flaring, his storm-gray eyes fixed on me. “This isn’t over,” I say, pulling my tunic over my head.
“No,” he says, stepping behind me, his hands fastening the ties. “It’s just beginning.”
“And if they come for me?” I ask, voice low.
“Then we burn them together,” he says, pressing a kiss to my neck. “Because the bond won’t let us live apart.”
“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 then—
I lift my head.
“Let’s go,” I say.
He nods.
And we walk to the door.
Not as king and queen.
Not as father and daughter.
Not as heirs or mates or rulers.
As the only two who’ve ever loved each other without lies.
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’ve made it right.