I don’t sleep.
Not after the Council. Not after the blade. Not after the way I stepped in front of him—without thinking, without hesitation—like my body knew before my mind did that I’d rather die than let her touch him. The wound in my side is sealed, the venom purged, but the ache remains. A dull throb beneath my ribs, a constant reminder of what I’ve done. Not just taken a blade for a man I once swore to destroy. Not just confessed I love him in front of the entire Council. But chosen him. Fully. Irrevocably.
And now—
Now we’re back to the beginning.
The seven nights of cohabitation. The enforced proximity. The shared bed.
Except this time, there’s no denial. No pretense. No mission to cling to like a shield. The truth is out. Solene is exposed. The bond is real. And I—
I am his.
The satchel of stolen files is still hidden beneath the floorboard, untouched, unburned—left for me. Vaelen didn’t take it. Didn’t destroy it. He let me keep it. Let me fight. Let me choose.
And I did.
Not for vengeance.
Not for duty.
For truth.
But truth doesn’t stop the bond.
It doesn’t silence the hunger.
It doesn’t calm the fire that burns between us, hotter now than ever, because we both know—
There’s no going back.
I sit on the edge of the bed, my bare feet cold against the stone, the robe slipping off one shoulder. The bite on the other still burns, still thinks, a constant reminder of what I’ve done—what I’ve let him do. I told myself it was the ritual. The Blood Moon. The magic. But the truth is, I didn’t just submit. I participated. I moaned. I clawed his back. I screamed his name. I let him mark me.
And I’d do it again.
The thought doesn’t terrify me anymore.
It thrills me.
A knock at the door.
“Who is it?”
“Dain,” the voice says. “The prince requests your presence in the chambers. The Council has reinstated the cohabitation decree. For… stability.”
My stomach tightens.
“Stability?”
“Yes,” Dain says. “Until the bond is fully reconciled. Until the public sees you united.”
I rise, pulling the robe tighter. My magic hums beneath my skin, restless. The silver dagger goes back into my boot. My lockpick into my hair. I don’t ask for permission. I don’t wait for an escort. I open the door.
Dain stands there, broad-shouldered, expression neutral, but his eyes flick to my shoulder, to the faint outline of the bite beneath the fabric. His jaw tightens.
“He marked you,” he says, voice low.
“It was the ritual,” I say, too quickly. “The bond. It forced us.”
He doesn’t answer. Just steps aside. “This way.”
I follow him through the halls, my steps steady, my skin still humming. The castle is alive with tension—whispers ripple through the air, servants move quickly, guards stand at every corner. The failed assassination on the Council floor still hangs over us. The blood on the silver veins. The way I stepped in front of the blade. The way he carried me out, his arms tight, his voice broken. The way the bond screamed when I was hurt.
We turn a corner.
And then—
Music.
Low. Primal. A deep, resonant beat that echoes the pulse of the bond. It pulses through the stone, up my feet, into my chest. The chambers.
Dain stops at the door. “He’s inside. Alone.”
I nod. Push the door open.
The room is vast—black stone, silver veins, torches burning with blue flame. The air is thick with the scent of iron and sweat and something wild—him. In the center, Vaelen stands by the hearth, his back to me, his shirt unbuttoned, the scars across his chest and abdomen on full display. He’s not training. Not fighting. Just… waiting.
And the bond—
It screams.
Heat floods my body. My skin burns. My core clenches, slick with sudden, unwanted arousal. The mark on my spine flares, a white-hot brand. I stumble back, hit the wall, press my palms to the cold stone.
He doesn’t turn. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Dain said you wanted to see me,” I say, voice tight.
“I changed my mind.”
“Too late,” I say, stepping forward. “I’m already here.”
He turns.
His eyes glow crimson in the dim light. His fangs are bared. His chest heaves. Sweat glistens on his skin, running down the lines of his scars, catching in the hollow of his throat.
And the bond—
It screams again.
“You’re injured,” he says, stepping closer. “The wound—”
“It’s healed,” I say, backing up. “Thanks to you.”
“Not fully,” he says, closing the distance. “I can smell it. The way your breath hitches. The way your pulse jumps when I’m near. The way your body betrays you.”
My breath hitches.
“You don’t get to feel me,” I snap. “You don’t get to know what I’m thinking.”
“I don’t need to,” he says, stepping closer. “I know you. You’re not here to destroy me anymore. You’re here to find the truth. And I’m not stopping you.”
“Then why follow me?” I ask. “Why invade my privacy?”
“Because if you’d collapsed in here,” he says, “if the fever took you, if the bond drove you mad—I’d never forgive myself.”
“I’m not helpless,” I say, rising to my full height. “I don’t need your protection.”
He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t flinch. Just watches me—really watches. His eyes burn into mine. “No. You don’t. But I need to know you’re safe. That you’re alive.”
And then—
He turns.
Walks to the far side of the chamber.
Stands with his back to me.
“The bed,” he says, voice low. “It’s been turned down. The decree stands. Seven nights. One week. We sleep together. No magic. No barriers. Just… proximity.”
My breath hitches.
“And if I refuse?”
“Then the Council declares the bond unstable,” he says. “War resumes. Thousands die.”
I stare at his back. At the whip marks. At the burns. At the way his muscles tense beneath the scars. “You’re using the Council as leverage.”
“I’m using the truth,” he says. “The truth is, we’re bound. Not just by magic. Not just by politics. By choice. You chose me. In front of the Council. In front of the world. You stepped in front of a blade for me. You said you love me.”
“I did,” I whisper.
“Then stop fighting it,” he says, turning. “Stop pretending you don’t want this. Want me.”
“I do,” I say, stepping forward. “But not like this. Not because the Council says so. Not because the bond demands it.”
“Then why?” he asks, stepping closer. “Why did you choose me?”
“Because you’re the only one who’s ever made me feel alive,” I say, voice breaking. “Because you let me hate you to keep me alive. Because you’ve loved me for centuries. Because you’re the man who took a poisoned blade for me. Who carried me when I fell. Who held me when I broke.”
He doesn’t move. Just watches me. “Then stay with me. Not because of the Council. Not because of the bond. But because you want to.”
I look at him—really look.
At the man who kept his promise.
At the man who let me hate him to keep me alive.
At the man who’s loved me for centuries.
And I know—
This isn’t vengeance.
This isn’t duty.
This is truth.
“I want to,” I whisper.
And the bond—
It sings.
---
Later, we return to his chambers, the guards silent, watchful, as we pass. The fire is lit, the bed turned down, the satchel still hidden beneath the floorboard. He doesn’t sleep on the floor.
He lies beside me.
Close.
Our thighs brush.
The bond screams.
But this time—
Neither of us pulls away.
“You should rest,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing the mark on my spine. “Tomorrow, we confront Valenir. We make him remember. We make him see the truth.”
“And if he doesn’t?” I ask.
“Then we fight,” he says. “But not to destroy him. To save him.”
I turn my head, looking up at him. “You’re impossible.”
He smirks. Slow. Dangerous. “And you’re the only woman who’s ever made me feel alive.”
I close my eyes. Breathe.
And for the first time in ten years—
I let myself rest.
Not because I’m weak.
Not because I’m trapped.
But because I choose to.
Because I want to.
Because—
Despite everything—
Despite the lies, the betrayal, the blood—
I believe him.
And the bond—
It sings.