The first thing I feel when the moon climbs to its peak is hunger.
Not for blood. Not for magic. Not even the fevered pulse of the bond.
No—this is different.
This is need.
It coils low in my belly, warm and deep, pulsing in time with the sigil on my wrist, with the mark on my shoulder, with the slow, steady beat of my heart. The fortress hums beneath my feet, its obsidian veins thrumming with ancient magic, its torches flickering in steady rhythm. The war is over. The throne is claimed. The Council of Equals has been reborn. Lysandra is exiled. Malrik is ash. And yet—
Something lingers.
Not fear.
Not grief.
But longing.
And for once, I don’t fight it.
I let it in.
Kael stands by the window—his storm-gray eyes fixed on the horizon, his coat flaring behind him like a living thing, his fangs just visible as he exhales. He’s not in armor. Not in ceremonial black. Just a simple tunic, dark as shadow, the hem brushing his thighs. 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. 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’re burning,” he murmurs, pressing a hand to my lower back.
“Not with fever,” I say, stepping forward. “With certainty.”
He doesn’t answer. Just turns, his gaze sweeping over me—slow, deliberate, possessive. Not like a king. Not like a father. Not like a mate.
Like a man who knows exactly what he wants.
And I know—
He wants me.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of duty.
Not because of power.
Because I’m his.
And he’s mine.
“Come,” he says, voice low. “The bath is ready.”
—
The bath chamber is small—intimate, not grand. A single pool of black stone, its surface veined with silver, sits in the center, its waters glowing faintly with lunar enchantments. The air smells of crushed petals and old magic, of damp earth and something deeper—memory, knowledge, secrets. No torches flicker here. No guards pace. No whispers echo. Just shadow and silence and the faint, steady thrum of power beneath my feet. The war is over. The throne is claimed. Lysandra is gone. Malrik is ash. And yet—
Something lingers.
Not fear.
Not grief.
But stillness.
Like the world has paused, just for a breath, waiting to see if we’ll break or bloom.
Kael steps behind me, his hands sliding up my arms, his breath warm against my neck. The bond hums beneath our skin, steady, unrelenting. The sigil on my wrist flares—bright, hot, alive—and the mark on my shoulder burns—not with pain, not with possession—but with something older. Something like recognition.
“Let me,” he says, fingers tracing the ties of my robe.
I don’t answer.
Just stand there, bare feet silent on the stone, my breath shallow, my body trembling. The robe slips from my shoulders, pooling at my feet like a fallen moon. I’m bare—unashamed, unafraid, alive. The mark on my shoulder glows faintly, pulsing in time with the bond, and the Moonstone Amulet rests against my chest, its silver disc catching the moonlight, the stone humming with quiet power.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my shoulder.
“You say that like it’s a surprise,” I say, turning in his arms.
“It’s not,” he says. “It’s a promise.”
And then—
He lifts me.
Not gently. Not carefully.
With claiming.
My legs wrap around his waist, my arms around his neck, my fingers tangling in his hair. His fangs graze my lip—just a whisper of pressure, but I moan, the sound low and raw in my throat. 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.
He steps into the water—slow, deliberate—and lowers me into the pool. The heat wraps around me like a second skin, the lunar enchantments shimmering beneath the surface, casting silver ripples across the stone. He doesn’t let go. Just holds me—close, tight, his—his body pressed against mine, long and hard and unyielding.
“You don’t have to protect me,” I say, leaning into him.
“I know,” he says, pressing a kiss to my neck. “But I will. Always.”
“And if I don’t want to be protected?” I ask, nipping his collarbone. “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 me, 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 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.
But then—
He strips.
Not slowly. Not carefully.
With claiming.
His tunic falls. His boots hit the floor. His coat pools at his feet. And then—
He steps into the water.
Not beside me.
Not across from me.
Behind me.
His body presses against mine—long, hard, unyielding. His arms slide around my waist, pulling me back into the curve of his chest. His fangs graze my neck. The bond sings between us, fire surging, soft and deep.
“You don’t have to protect me,” I say, leaning into him.
“I know,” he says, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. “But I will. Always.”
“And if I don’t want to be protected?” I ask, nipping his wrist. “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 me, 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.
But then—
Another knock.
Not Rhys this time.
Softer. Lighter.
“My queen?” a voice calls. “Your robes are ready.”
I exhale—sharp, broken—and pull back. “Enter.”
The door opens.
A young witch steps in—barely eighteen, her dark hair in braids, her eyes wide with awe. In her hands—white silk, embroidered with moonstone beads, the hem lined with silver fangs.
“For the Council,” she says, bowing.
“Thank you,” I say, stepping out of the water.
Kael rises with me, his coat flaring, his storm-gray eyes fixed on the witch. “You may go.”
She doesn’t hesitate. Just bows and leaves, the door closing softly behind her.
And then—
I turn to him.
“This isn’t over,” I say, pulling the robe 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. “If the elders try to take the throne? If the Tribunal rises again?”
“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.