The scream had come from Seraphine.
Not in pain.
In triumph.
And I knew—before I even reached her chambers—what it meant.
The debt had been called in.
My boots echoed against the stone as I tore through the east wing, the scent of blood and roses thick in the air, the bond screaming between Crystal and me like a living thing. Every step pulled me forward, every breath dragged her closer—her fear, her jealousy, her trembling need. I wanted to go back. I wanted to fall to my knees and beg her to stay, to forgive me, to let me love her without chains, without curses, without the weight of centuries pressing down on us.
But I couldn’t.
Because if I broke fae law, the High Court would execute me. And if I died, she died with me.
And I would rather die a thousand deaths than let her go.
I reached Seraphine’s chambers. The door was open, the torchlight flickering within, casting long, shifting shadows. She stood at the center of the room, barefoot, draped in shimmering gold silk, her silver hair cascading down her back, her pale gold eyes glowing with victory. Her lips were parted, her breath coming fast—not from fear. From pleasure.
She hadn’t been attacked.
She had *called* me.
“You’re late,” she purred, turning to face me. “I was beginning to think you’d refuse.”
“I wouldn’t survive it,” I said, stepping inside. “And neither would she.”
“Oh, I know,” she said, smiling slow. “That’s why I waited. I wanted to make sure she was watching. That the bond would *feel* it.”
My jaw tightened. “You’re cruel.”
“No,” she said, stepping closer, her scent—jasmine and poison—flooding my senses. “I’m in love. And love makes people do terrible things.”
She reached up, her fingers brushing the base of my throat, tracing the pulse beneath my skin. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Because if I fought, the debt would twist. It could demand more. It could demand *everything*.
“The debt,” I said, voice low. “What do you want?”
She smiled. “I want you to *remember*.”
My breath caught.
“Not the lie,” she said. “Not the glamour. Not the night I claimed you in front of the court. I want you to remember the *truth*.”
She stepped back and raised her hands. The air shimmered, the walls of the chamber dissolving into mist, the torchlight twisting into silver threads. A memory unfolded before me—ancient, raw, buried deep in the vaults of my mind.
*Five years ago.*
*The night the Shadow Veil burned.*
I saw myself—kneeling in the temple, my coat torn, my hands bound in silver chains. Malrik stood over me, his shadow stretching like a serpent, his voice a whisper in my skull. “You will take her soul,” he hissed. “You will carry it. You will *become* it.”
And then—my body moved against my will.
I rose. I walked. I reached for her—Crystal’s mother, the High Oracle, her silver hair glowing like moonlight, her eyes wide with love and terror.
“Run,” she whispered to her daughter. “Don’t look back.”
And then—my fangs sank into her throat.
Her scream echoed in my mind, her soul—bright, golden, screaming—ripped from her body and poured into me, sealing itself inside my blood, my bones, my heart. And then—darkness. Silence. The weight of a curse I couldn’t break.
The vision faded.
I stood in Seraphine’s chambers, breathing hard, my hands clenched into fists, my fangs aching. She watched me, her smile soft, almost tender.
“You didn’t do it,” she said. “But you *felt* it. You *lived* it. And she—” her eyes glinted—“she will too.”
“What?”
“The bond,” she said. “It shares memories now. Not just visions of the future. Not just dreams of mating. It shares *truth*. And when she touches you—when she *remembers*—she’ll see it all. She’ll see you kneeling. She’ll see you biting. She’ll see you *taking* her mother’s soul.”
My blood turned to ice.
“And she’ll hate you,” Seraphine whispered. “And when she does, the bond will weaken. And when it breaks—” she stepped closer, her breath hot against my neck—“you’ll die. And she’ll be free.”
I didn’t answer.
Just turned and left.
Because I knew one thing.
She was right.
And the only thing worse than dying?
Was making Crystal watch.
I found her in the old armory, where I’d left her, her back against the wall, her arms wrapped around herself, her storm-gray eyes red-rimmed, her breath coming in short gasps. Rhys stood a few feet away, his amber eyes sharp, his body coiled like a storm. He didn’t speak as I entered. Just stepped aside.
“You came back,” she said, voice hoarse.
“I had to,” I said. “The debt is fulfilled. For now.”
“And what did she want?”
“To make me remember,” I said. “To make *you* remember.”
She went still. “What do you mean?”
“The bond,” I said. “It’s changing. It’s not just showing us visions of the future. It’s showing us the past. *Our* past.”
She stepped forward, her eyes searching mine. “Then show me.”
“Crystal—”
“Show me,” she said, sharper this time. “If I’m going to hate you, if I’m going to watch you die, then I want to *know*. I want to see what really happened.”
I hesitated.
Because I was afraid.
Afraid of what she’d see.
Afraid of what she’d feel.
Afraid that once she saw it, she’d never look at me the same way again.
But then I remembered her words in the war room.
“You don’t get to decide what the bond needs.”
She was right.
And if the bond needed truth, then I would give it to her.
“Alright,” I said, stepping into her space. “But it won’t be easy. The ritual requires skin-to-skin contact. Blood. Breath. And you have to *want* to see it. Not just with your mind. With your soul.”
She didn’t flinch. Just reached up and unbuttoned the top of her dress, baring the curve of her collarbone, the scar that pulsed with hidden sigils. “Then do it.”
I reached into the inner pocket of my coat and pulled out a silver dagger—etched with runes, its edge glowing faintly. A memory blade. One of the last relics of the Fae High Court. It could carve truth into flesh, force visions into blood.
“This will hurt,” I said.
“So will lying,” she said. “And I’m done with lies.”
I nodded.
Then I pressed the blade to my palm and dragged it across the skin. Blood welled, dark and thick, dripping onto the stone. I pressed my hand to her collarbone, just above the scar, and smeared it across her skin.
“Now you,” I said.
She took the blade without hesitation and did the same—cutting her palm, pressing it to my chest, over my heart. Our blood mingled, warm and sticky, the sigils beneath her skin pulsing in response.
And then—
I leaned in.
Our foreheads touched.
Our breaths tangled.
And I whispered the words of the ritual—ancient, guttural, a language older than blood.
“Show her. Show her the truth. Show her what I could not.”
The bond flared.
Not with pain.
Not with desire.
With memory.
And then—
We were there.
*Five years ago.*
*The temple of the Shadow Veil.*
Ice and snow. Blood and fire. The coven’s sigils glowing on the walls, their voices chanting, their magic rising like a storm. And in the center—her mother, the High Oracle, her silver hair glowing like moonlight, her eyes wide with love and terror.
And then—Malrik.
He stepped from the shadows, his cloak of living darkness, his voice a whisper in my skull. “You will take her soul,” he hissed. “You will carry it. You will *become* it.”
And then—my body moved against my will.
I rose. I walked. I reached for her.
“Run,” she whispered to her daughter. “Don’t look back.”
And then—my fangs sank into her throat.
Her scream echoed in my mind, her soul—bright, golden, screaming—ripped from her body and poured into me, sealing itself inside my blood, my bones, my heart. And then—darkness. Silence. The weight of a curse I couldn’t break.
The vision shifted.
*The present.*
Crystal, five years older, stepping into the hall with murder in her heart. Me—watching her. Knowing who she was. Knowing what she’d come to do. Letting her believe I was the monster.
Because I was afraid.
Afraid that if she pitied me, she’d stop fighting.
Afraid that if she loved me, she’d become a target.
Afraid that if she knew the truth, she’d break.
And then—her blade at my throat. The ritual. The bond. The curse.
And now—this.
Her hand on my chest. My blood on her skin. Our breaths tangled. Our souls laid bare.
The vision faded.
We gasped, pulling back, our hands still pressed together, our blood still mingling, our breaths coming fast. Her storm-gray eyes were wide, her lips parted, her body trembling. Tears burned down her cheeks.
“You didn’t do it,” she whispered.
“No,” I said. “But I let you believe I did.”
“Why?”
“Because I was afraid,” I said. “Afraid that if you knew the truth, you’d pity me. And pity is worse than hate.”
She stared at me. Then at our hands. Then at the blood on her skin.
And then—
She stepped into me.
Not away.
Into.
Her hand lifted—slow, deliberate—and pressed against my chest, over my heart.
And the bond exploded.
Not with a vision.
With truth.
Not of the past.
Not of the future.
But of now.
Me, in her arms, my body against hers, my breath tangled with hers.
Me, choosing her.
Not because of magic.
Not because of law.
But because, despite everything, I needed to.
“You didn’t kill her,” she whispered. “But you have her. And I don’t know if I can forgive that.”
“You don’t have to,” I said. “Not yet. But you have to know—I carry her not because I wanted to. But because I had no choice. And every day since, I’ve carried the weight of what was done to her. To you. To *us*.”
She looked up at me, her eyes glistening. “And now?”
“Now,” I said, my hand sliding up to cradle her face, “we fight. Not for vengeance. Not for survival. But for *her*. For the truth. For the future.”
She didn’t answer.
Just leaned into me, her forehead pressing against mine, her breath warm against my lips.
And then—
A scream.
Sharp. Piercing. Cutting through the silence like a blade.
From the east wing.
Again.
But this time—
It wasn’t Seraphine.
It wasn’t Elara.
It was me.
Because the bond—ancient, cruel, inevitable—had just flared with something worse than pain.
Memory.
Not of the past.
Not of the future.
But of her.
My mother.
Standing in the temple, blood on her lips, her eyes wide with love and terror. *“Run,”* she’d whispered. *“Don’t look back.”*
And then—Kaelen. On his knees. My hands covered in blood. My mouth open in a silent scream as something dark poured into me, forcing me to reach for her, to bite, to take—
I gasped, pulling back. “You saw that?”
“The bond shared it,” he said, his voice raw. “It’s not just showing us the future. It’s showing us the past. *Our* past.”
She stared at me, her eyes wide, her breath coming fast. “You remember it too?”
“Every second,” I said. “The possession. The curse. The way her soul screamed as it was torn from her body. And the worst part? The way you looked at me afterward. Like I was the one who’d done it. Like I’d taken her from you.”
Her breath caught.
“You didn’t,” she whispered.
“No,” I said. “But I let you believe it. Because I was afraid. Afraid that if you knew the truth, you’d pity me. And pity is worse than hate.”
She searched my face—really looked at me—for the first time since Seraphine had walked in. Not as a monster. Not as a liar.
But as a man.
And in that moment, something shifted.
The bond hummed, not with demand, but with hope.
She didn’t move away.
She didn’t speak.
But her hand stayed on my chest.
And her breath stayed tangled with mine.
I should’ve stepped back.
I should’ve let her go.
But I was tired of control.
Tired of masks.
Tired of being the king.
So I let go.
I lowered my head.
And I kissed her.
Not hard. Not desperate.
But slow. Deep. Real.
Her lips were soft. Warm. They parted on a gasp, and I took the invitation, my tongue sliding against hers, tasting storm and fire and something sweet, something hers. Her hands flew to my shoulders—not to push me away, but to hold on. Her body arched into mine, her breath coming faster, her pulse racing beneath my lips.
The bond flared—white-hot, electric, alive. Magic surged between us, not forced, not compelled, but chosen. Our souls brushed, our magic tangled, our bodies recognized each other on a level deeper than thought.
And then—
Her hand slid beneath my shirt, her fingers tracing the scar on my chest—the one from her blade, five years ago. The one I’d earned when she’d first infiltrated my court. When she’d thrown that dagger at me, missed, but left her mark.
I broke the kiss, breathing hard, my fangs fully descended, my body screaming to take her, to bite, to complete.
“Tell me to stop,” I said, voice rough, strained. “Now. Or I won’t be able to.”
She didn’t.
Her eyes were dark, dilated, her lips swollen from the kiss. Her breath came in short gasps. Her fingers still traced the scar.
“You remember that night?” she whispered.
“I remember everything,” I said. “The way you looked at me. The way you threw the blade. The way I wanted it to hit me. Because if it had, maybe you’d have seen me. Maybe you’d have known I wasn’t the monster you thought I was.”
Her breath caught.
And then—
Her lips found mine again.
This time, it wasn’t slow.
It was hungry.
Her hands tangled in my hair, pulling me deeper, her body grinding against mine, her heat searing through the fabric between us. My hands slid down her back, under the shift, gripping her hips, lifting her onto the edge of the desk. She wrapped her legs around my waist, pulling me closer, her breath hot against my neck.
“Kaelen,” she gasped, as I kissed down her throat, my fangs grazing her pulse. “I—”
And then—
A scream.
Sharp. Piercing. Cutting through the silence like a blade.
It came from the east wing.
One of the servants.
Under attack.
The kiss broke.
We both froze, breathing hard, hearts racing, bodies still pressed together.
And the bond—ancient, cruel, inevitable—pulled us apart.
I stepped back, my hands still on her hips, my fangs aching, my body screaming to finish what we’d started.
But duty called.
“Stay here,” I said, voice rough.
She didn’t argue. Just nodded, her storm-gray eyes wide, her lips still swollen, her skin flushed.
I turned and left.
But as I ran through the corridors, the taste of her still on my tongue, the memory of her body still burning in my hands, I knew one thing.
We were done pretending.
The bond wasn’t just a curse.
It wasn’t just fate.
It was us.
And no matter how many enemies came for us—no matter how many lies were whispered, how many debts were called in, how many battles we had to fight—
We would face them.
Together.
Because for the first time in centuries, I wasn’t just surviving.
I was alive.
And she—
She was mine.
Not because of magic.
Not because of law.
But because, despite everything, she hadn’t told me to stop.