The raven landed on the windowsill like a shadow given form—black feathers slick with rain, eyes like polished obsidian. It didn’t croak. Didn’t ruffle its wings. Just tilted its head, watching me with an intelligence that made my skin crawl. I’d been standing at the edge of the antechamber, lacing up my boots, the leather stiff from last night’s battle sweat, my fingers still humming with the memory of Kael’s touch. The bond pulsed between us—warm, steady, alive—but it wasn’t just magic I felt now. It was something deeper. Something changed.
And then the bird dropped the scroll.
It fell with a whisper, the parchment wrapped in silver thread, sealed with a wax emblem I knew too well—three interwoven moons, the sigil of the Grey Coven. My breath caught. My hand flew to the dagger at my thigh. Not out of fear. Out of recognition.
Elara.
My mentor. My guide. The woman who had sent me on this mission. The one who had taught me to fight, to survive, to hate.
And now, after everything—the Oath broken, the bond claimed, the truth unearthed—she was reaching for me again.
I didn’t move. Just stared at the scroll, the bond humming in my veins, the mark on my hip glowing faintly beneath my tunic. Kael was still behind me, pulling on his coat, the silver runes along the edges catching the dim torchlight. He hadn’t spoken since we woke. Didn’t need to. Last night had said everything. The way he’d held me. The way he’d let me claim him. The way he’d whispered, “You’re mine,” like it wasn’t a threat, but a vow.
But now—
Now Elara was back.
And I didn’t know if she was a warning… or a trap.
“Don’t open it,” Kael said, his voice low, rough. He stepped forward, his boots silent on the stone, his presence like a storm held at bay. “It could be cursed. Or worse—manipulation.”
“It’s already manipulation,” I said, finally bending to pick up the scroll. The wax was cool beneath my fingers, the silver thread unbroken. “She knew I’d open it. That’s the point.”
“Then let it burn.”
I almost smiled. Almost.
Instead, I broke the seal.
The parchment unrolled with a whisper, the ink dark and precise, the handwriting unmistakable—Elara’s, sharp and elegant, each letter a blade. I read it once. Then again. My breath came faster. My pulse jumped. My palm—the one I’d cut in the ritual—throbbed, the scar burning beneath the balm.
“What is it?” Kael asked, his hand brushing mine.
I didn’t answer. Just handed him the scroll.
He read it in silence, his jaw tightening, his eyes silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly. When he finished, he didn’t speak. Just handed it back, his expression unreadable.
“She wants me to retrieve a relic,” I said. “From the Winter Court.”
“And you believe her?”
“I don’t have a choice,” I said. “Not if I want to finish this.”
He didn’t flinch. Just stepped closer, his coat flaring behind him, the scent of dark wine and winter pine filling the air. “The Winter Court is dangerous. They exile their own for less than what you are. They’ll see you as a traitor. A half-blood. A witch who consorted with a vampire.”
“And you think I care?” I said, stepping into him, my hand rising to his chest, pressing against the mark beneath his shirt. The bond flared—hot, undeniable. His breath hitched. “I broke the Oath. I claimed you. I faced Vexis. Do you really think a bunch of ice-hearted fae are going to scare me?”
He didn’t smile. Just covered my hand with his, pressing it harder against his chest, letting me feel the truth I already knew.
He was not unfeeling.
He was not unbreakable.
He was mine.
“Then I’m coming with you,” he said.
“You don’t have to.”
“Yes,” he said, his voice low, rough. “I do.”
I didn’t argue. Just stepped back, rolling the scroll and tucking it into my belt. The dagger was secure. The vial of balm—charged with healing sigils—was fastened at my hip. My boots were laced. My body was ready.
But my heart—
My heart was still learning how to beat for someone else.
We found Silas at the entrance, his golden wolf eyes sharp, his stance relaxed but ready. The guards had already formed up, their weapons drawn, their shadows flickering in the torchlight. The air was thick with tension, with magic, with something darker, something familiar.
“We’re moving,” I said.
Silas didn’t ask why. Just nodded. “The eastern gate is clear. Vexis pulled back. For now.”
“He’s regrouping,” Kael said. “And he’ll come harder next time.”
“Then we’ll be ready,” I said. “But first—Winter Court.”
Silas stilled. “You’re going to the Fae?”
“I have to,” I said. “There’s something there. Something Elara says can help us.”
“And you trust her?”
“No,” I said. “But I trust what I’ve seen. What I’ve felt. What I’ve become.”
Silas didn’t argue. Just stepped aside, letting us pass. “Then I’ll send scouts ahead. Clear the path.”
“No,” Kael said. “We go alone. No distractions. No weaknesses.”
Silas met his gaze. “And if it’s a trap?”
“Then we’ll break it,” I said, stepping forward, my boots clicking against the stone. “Together.”
We left the Iron Crypts as the sun crested the horizon, the sky painted in streaks of gold and crimson, the air sharp with the scent of frost and iron. The journey to the Winter Court would take two days—through the Veil, across the frozen moors, past the ruins of the old coven strongholds. We traveled in silence, Kael at my side, his coat flaring behind him, the silver runes glowing faintly in the morning light. The bond hummed between us—tense, aching, alive—but neither of us spoke. The weight of what had happened—the ritual, the intimacy, the letter—was too heavy for words.
By midday, the land began to change.
The earth hardened beneath our boots, the grass turning brittle, the trees thinning into skeletal shapes, their branches clawing at the sky. The air grew colder, the scent of pine giving way to something sharper—frost, iron, and the faint, metallic tang of fae magic. The Veil thickened around us, the world blurring at the edges, reality bending like glass under pressure.
And then—
We saw it.
The Court of Thorns.
A fortress of black ice and silver flame, its spires piercing the sky like frozen daggers, its walls carved with sigils of power, its gates sealed with chains of enchanted frost. No banners flew. No guards stood watch. But I could feel them—the Fae. Watching. Waiting. Judging.
“They know we’re here,” I said.
“Of course they do,” Kael said, his hand brushing mine. “The Winter Court sees all. Knows all. And forgives nothing.”
I almost laughed. Almost.
Instead, I stepped forward, my boots cracking against the frozen ground. “Then let them see me.”
We reached the gates as the sun dipped below the horizon, the sky turning violet, the air so cold it burned my lungs. The chains parted without sound, the ice splitting like glass, the gates swinging open on silent hinges. No welcome. No challenge. Just silence.
And then—
A voice.
“Avalon of the Bloodline,” it said, cold as the grave. “You return. Not as exile. Not as heir. But as mated.”
I didn’t flinch. Just stepped inside, Kael at my side, my hand on the hilt of my dagger. “I return as myself. Not as what you made me. Not as what you cast out. But as what I’ve become.”
The figure emerged from the shadows—tall, elegant, her silver hair coiled like a crown, her eyes sharp with calculation. Lady Isolde, High Fae of the Winter Court. My aunt. My judge. My executioner.
“You carry his mark,” she said, her gaze flicking to the bond on my collarbone, now glowing faintly in the cold. “You’ve let a vampire claim you.”
“I claimed him,” I said. “And he let me.”
She didn’t blink. Just stepped closer, her presence humming with power, the air around her crackling with frost. “You broke the Blood Oath.”
“I did.”
“And now you come here. To my court. To my realm. To ask for a relic you have no right to touch.”
“I’m not asking,” I said. “I’m taking it.”
She smiled. Slow. Sharp. “And if I say no?”
“Then I’ll take that too,” I said, my voice steady. “And I’ll take your throne with it.”
The air froze.
Not metaphorically.
The temperature dropped so fast my breath turned to ice, the ground beneath my boots cracking with frost, the torches flickering out one by one. Kael stepped forward, his coat flaring, his eyes silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly. “She is under my protection,” he said. “And if you harm her, you harm me. And if you harm me—” his voice dropped, guttural, inhuman—“you start a war.”
Isolde didn’t flinch. Just studied us—the way our auras intertwined, the way the bond pulsed between us, the way our hands almost touched. “You think this is love?” she said. “This bond? This fire? It’s magic. It’s manipulation. It’s weakness.”
“Then call it weakness,” I said. “But don’t call it a lie.”
She was silent for a long moment.
And then—
“Very well,” she said. “The relic is yours. But it comes with a price.”
“What price?” Kael asked.
“One night,” she said. “In my chambers. As is our law. A night shared equals one hundred years of service.”
My breath caught.
Not from shock.
From recognition.
The Fae rules were absolute. A night shared was a debt owed. And if I refused—
She could deny me the relic.
Could exile me again.
Could condemn me to silence.
I looked at Kael.
His jaw was clenched. His fangs were descended. His hand was on the hilt of his blade. But he didn’t speak. Just met my gaze, his eyes burning silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly.
He was asking me.
Letting me choose.
And for the first time, I realized—
He trusted me.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of fate.
But because I was me.
I turned back to Isolde.
“One night,” I said. “But not in your chambers. Not under your rules. In the Hall of Echoes. At midnight. And you will not touch me. You will not bind me. You will not own me.”
She didn’t smile. Just nodded. “Then it is agreed.”
We were given separate rooms—Kael in the east wing, me in the west, the halls lined with mirrors that didn’t reflect our faces, but our souls. I sat on the edge of the bed, the dagger across my lap, the scroll from Elara in my hands. The bond pulsed—hot, insistent, alive—and I knew he was watching. Knew he was waiting. Knew he was mine.
And then—
A knock.
“Avalon,” his voice said, muffled through the door. “It’s time.”
I stood, tucking the scroll into my belt, fastening the vial of balm at my hip. My boots clicked against the stone as I opened the door.
He was there—tall, dangerous, his coat flaring behind him, the silver runes glowing faintly in the dim light. His eyes were silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly. His hand brushed mine.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said.
“Yes,” I said. “I do.”
He didn’t argue. Just stepped aside, letting me pass. “Then I’ll be waiting.”
I didn’t look back.
The Hall of Echoes was a cavern of black ice, its walls lined with frozen tears, its ceiling a dome of shattered glass. At the center stood a pedestal—on it, the relic.
A dagger.
Forged from sacred iron and fae bone, its blade etched with sigils of severance, its hilt wrapped in silver thread. The same as the one I’d used to break the Oath. But older. Darker. Stronger.
And beside it—
Isolde.
“You came,” she said.
“I always do,” I said, stepping forward. “Even when you don’t want me to.”
She didn’t move. Just watched as I reached for the dagger, my fingers brushing the hilt. The bond flared—hot, immediate—and I knew. This wasn’t just a weapon.
It was a key.
“You think this will save you?” she asked.
“I think it will end him,” I said. “And if I have to spend a night in your frozen halls to get it—” I turned, my silver-lavender eyes locking onto hers—“then so be it.”
She almost smiled. Almost.
And then—
The doors closed.
And I was alone.
With the relic.
With the debt.
With the choice.
And the bond—
Pulsing, like a second heartbeat.
Waiting.
Alive.