The chains are gone, but the weight remains.
It settles in my bones, in the hollow of my throat, in the slow, insistent throb between my thighs. The dominance ritual ended hours ago—Kaelen released me before dawn, his gold eyes unreadable, his touch lingering just a second too long on my wrist—but the echo of it lingers. The heat of his thumb on my lip. The way my body arched toward him, helpless, hungry. The way the bond flared, bright and vicious, as if it knew I was lying when I said I didn’t want him.
I came here to burn their court.
Not to burn for him.
I stand at the balcony again, wrapped in the same black silk robe from last night, my arms crossed tight over my chest. The sea below churns, dark and restless, waves crashing against the cliffs like they’re trying to tear the fortress apart. I understand the feeling.
Inside, the room is quiet. Too quiet. No servants. No guards. Just silence, thick and waiting. They’re giving me space. Letting me think. Letting me break.
Good luck.
I press my fingers to the sigil on my wrist. It’s still there. Still warm. Still alive. A constant reminder that I’m not free. That I’m not alone. That I’m his.
But I’m not.
I won’t be.
A knock at the door.
I don’t turn. “If you’re here to chain me again, save your breath.”
“It’s not chains,” a voice says. Female. Calm. Familiar.
I turn.
Mira.
My witch. My informant. My only friend in this gilded hell.
She steps inside, dressed in deep indigo robes, her dark hair braided with silver threads, her eyes sharp with knowing. She carries a satchel slung over one shoulder, and the scent of dried herbs and iron follows her—protection magic, truth spells, the kind of things that keep a woman like me alive.
“You’re late,” I say.
“And you’re still breathing,” she replies, closing the door behind her. “So we’re even.”
I exhale. For the first time since yesterday, my shoulders drop. “They’re watching me. Every move. Every breath.”
“Of course they are,” she says, dropping the satchel on the bed. “You’re the Shadow Fae heir. The Alpha King’s fated mate. The woman who just challenged the Council and lived. You think they’ll let you walk around unwatched?”
“I didn’t challenge them,” I mutter. “I spoke the truth.”
“Same thing, in their eyes.” She crosses to me, studying my face. “You look like shit.”
“Feel like it too.”
“The bond?”
I nod. “It’s… louder. Stronger. Like it knows I’m trying to fight it.”
“Because you are,” she says. “And it hates that.” She reaches into her satchel, pulls out a small vial of dark liquid. “Here. Moonroot tincture. It’ll dull the connection. Just for a few hours.”
I take it. Uncork it. The smell is bitter, earthy. I down it in one gulp, wincing at the burn.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” she says. “It won’t fix the real problem.”
“And what’s that?”
“You’re starting to want him.”
I freeze.
“Don’t lie,” she says. “I can see it. The way your pulse jumps when he walks into a room. The way your magic flares when he touches you. The bond doesn’t just connect souls—it amplifies desire. And you? You’re full of desire. Just not for the right reasons.”
“I don’t want him,” I snap. “I want my mother’s justice. I want my throne. I want this court in ashes.”
“And what if you can’t have all three?”
I glare at her. “Then I’ll burn them all anyway.”
She sighs. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re late. What took you so long?”
“Had to avoid the Moonfang patrols,” she says. “And the High Priestess has eyes everywhere. But I got what you asked for.” She pulls out a folded scroll, hands it to me. “Your mother’s last known movements. The night she was arrested.”
My breath catches.
I take it. Unroll it with trembling fingers.
Names. Dates. Locations. A map of Midnight Court, marked with a single red X near the western archives. And a note, written in a hand I’d know anywhere—my mother’s.
They know. They’re coming. Forgive me, my star.
My vision blurs.
“She was framed,” I whisper. “She didn’t betray them. She was trying to warn them.”
“And now you have proof,” Mira says. “But you can’t use it yet. Not until you’re strong enough. Not until you’re free.”
“I’ll never be free,” I say. “Not with this bond.”
“Then break it.”
“I can’t. Not without dying.”
“Then use it,” she says. “Let it get close to him. Let it make him trust you. And when the time comes—”
“—I’ll burn him from within.”
She nods. “Exactly.”
I look at her. “You think I can do it?”
“I know you can,” she says. “But Cosmos? Be careful. Bonds like this… they don’t just break the body. They break the soul. And if you’re not careful, you’ll lose yourself before you ever get your revenge.”
I don’t answer.
Because I already feel it—
The pull. The heat. The need.
And I’m not sure I want to fight it.
She’s gone by the time the summons comes.
A guard—faceless, silent—knocks on the door, delivers the message: “The purification ritual begins at sundown. You are to prepare.”
“What purification?” I ask.
“To cleanse the bond,” he says. “To prepare for the wedding.”
Of course.
Another ritual. Another test. Another way for them to watch me, judge me, control me.
“And Kaelen?”
“He will be there.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I mutter.
The guard leaves.
I don’t move. Just stand there, my fingers still clutching the scroll, my mother’s words burning in my mind.
Forgive me, my star.
I won’t forgive them.
Not until they’re all dead.
The bath chamber is deep in the fortress, beneath the western wing, carved into the living rock. The air is thick with steam, scented with eucalyptus and salt, the walls lined with smooth black stone, the floor inlaid with silver runes that pulse faintly beneath my bare feet. At the center of the room, a circular pool of water glows with soft blue light, fed by a natural spring that bubbles up from the earth. The heat is intense, almost unbearable, but I don’t flinch. Let it burn. Let it sear.
Let it remind me I’m still alive.
Two Fae attendants wait beside the pool, heads bowed, hands clasped. They don’t speak. Don’t look at me. Just gesture to the water.
“The ritual requires complete purification,” one says. “All garments must be removed.”
“Of course,” I say, voice flat. “Wouldn’t want any lies left in the water.”
I unfasten the robe. Let it fall.
The attendants don’t react. But I feel their eyes. Tracing the scars on my back. The brand on my shoulder. The whip marks on my thighs. Let them look. Let them see what I’ve survived.
I step into the water.
It’s 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 attendants reaches for a brush. “Shall we wash you, 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 skin 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.
The door opens.
I don’t turn. Don’t react. Let them think I’m broken. Let them think I’ve accepted my fate.
“You’re late,” I say, not looking up.
“You’re already in the water,” Kaelen says, voice rough.
I turn.
He stands at the edge of the pool, tall and broad, dressed in black trousers, his chest bare, his skin golden in the steam. His hair is damp, as if he’s already been washed. His gold eyes lock onto mine, burning with something I can’t name.
“Then you should’ve come sooner,” I say, turning back to the brush. “Would’ve saved you the show.”
He steps into the water.
Slow. Deliberate.
The heat rises as he moves closer, his body cutting through the steam like a predator. I don’t look at him. Don’t react. Just keep scrubbing, even though the soap is gone, even though my skin is raw.
He stops beside me.
“You don’t have to fight everything,” he says.
“I don’t know how to do anything else.”
“You could try trusting me.”
I laugh. Sharp. Bitter. “After everything you’ve done? After chaining me, threatening me, claiming me? You think I’d trust you?”
“I didn’t chain you to break you,” he says. “I did it to protect you.”
“From what?”
“From them,” he says, gesturing to the attendants. “From the Council. From Lysara. They would’ve had you executed for defying them. I gave you a punishment instead of a death sentence.”
My breath hitches.
Is that true?
Or is it just another lie?
“And the ritual?” I ask. “The one where you touched me like you had the right?”
“The bond demands it,” he says. “It needs balance. Purity. Or it will consume us both.”
“And this?” I gesture to the water. “This is supposed to purify us?”
“It’s tradition,” he says. “Two bodies. One water. No lies. No magic. Just truth.”
“And what truth is that?”
He doesn’t answer.
Just reaches for the brush.
I yank it back. “I’ll do it myself.”
“You’re scrubbing too hard,” he says. “You’ll bleed.”
“Let me bleed.”
He doesn’t move. Just watches me, his golden eyes unreadable. And then—
His hand brushes my shoulder.
Just a whisper of touch.
And I burn.
Heat floods my body. My breath hitches. My core clenches. The sigil on my wrist pulses, hot and alive, 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 ritual.
Not because of the magic.
But because of him.
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 water. “After you, little shadow.”
The ritual begins.
The attendants chant in low, melodic tones, their voices weaving through the steam, the runes on the floor flaring with soft light. The water hums with magic, ancient and deep, and the bond—damn it—responds. It surges, a wave of heat and light that crashes through us both.
I cry out. My back arches. My core clenches. My magic flares—wild, uncontrolled—and the sigil on my wrist pulses, hot and bright.
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 gasp. The vision shatters. I’m back in the water, trembling, my hands clutching the edge of the pool, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
“What was that?” I hiss.
“The bond,” he says, voice rough. “It shows truth. Memory. Desire.”
“That wasn’t desire,” I say. “That was—”
“Yours?” he cuts in. “Because I felt it too.”
My stomach drops.
He felt that?
“The ritual reveals all,” one of the attendants says. “No secrets. No lies. Only what is.”
I turn to Kaelen. He’s watching me, his jaw tight, his fingers twitching at his sides. He felt it too. The vision. The heat. The need.
And for the first time, I see it—
Not triumph.
Not possession.
But something else.
Something that looks almost like… longing.
My breath hitches.
He reaches for me.
I don’t pull away.
His hand brushes my hip.
Just a whisper of touch.
And the sigil flares—bright, hot, alive. The water ripples between my thighs, and I feel it—deep, aching, insistent—as if my body already knows what my mind refuses to admit.
“You’re not just Shadow Fae,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “You’re something else. Something mine.”
I don’t answer.
I just stare at him. My heart pounding. My body aching. My mind screaming.
And then—
“You’ll never have me.”
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t flinch. Just holds my gaze, his touch lingering, his voice a whisper only I can hear.
“You already do,” he says. “And I’ll never let you go.”
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.