The air in the Hall of Echoes didn’t just chill—it *bit*. Cold so sharp it felt like glass shards in my lungs, each breath a test of will. The walls were carved from black ice, not smooth, but jagged, as if frozen mid-shatter, their surfaces reflecting not light, but *memory*. Flickers of the past—faces, voices, moments I’d buried—flashed across the frost like ghosts caught in crystal. I saw my mother’s last stand, her silver-lavender eyes defiant as the blade fell. I saw myself as a child, shivering in the Grey Coven’s outer ring, marked as half-blood, unwanted. I saw Kael, the night of the ritual, his hand on my waist in sleep, the bond flaring between us like a live wire.
I turned away.
The pedestal stood at the center, a spire of obsidian veined with silver, rising from the frozen floor like a tombstone. And there, resting upon it, was the relic.
The dagger.
Not just any blade. This was *ancient*—forged from sacred iron and fae bone, the same materials as the one I’d used to break the Oath, but older, darker, humming with a power that made my teeth ache. The hilt was wrapped in silver thread, the blade etched with sigils of severance—symbols I recognized from my mother’s grimoire, meant to cut through magic, blood, and soul. This wasn’t just a weapon.
This was a *key*.
I stepped forward, my boots cracking against the ice, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the silence. The bond pulsed—hot, insistent—Kael’s presence a low thrum beneath my skin, just beyond the walls, just beyond reach. He was waiting. Watching. Trusting me.
And I—
I was about to break a Fae law.
“You think holding it makes you worthy?”
Isolde’s voice came from the shadows, cold as the grave, sharp as a blade. She emerged like a specter, her silver hair coiled like a crown, her gown of frost and shadow trailing behind her. Her eyes—pale, glacial—locked onto mine, unblinking, unyielding.
“I think it makes me dangerous,” I said, not turning. My fingers hovered over the hilt. “And that’s all I need to be.”
She stepped closer, her presence making the air crackle with frost. “You’ve mated with a vampire. You’ve broken the Blood Oath. You’ve returned to the Court not as exile, but as conqueror.”
“I returned as myself,” I said, finally turning to face her. “Not as the girl you cast out. Not as the half-blood you feared. But as the woman who *survived*.”
Her lips curled, not quite a smile. “And now you take our relics. You demand our aid. You stand in our sacred hall and speak as if you belong.”
“I *do* belong,” I said. “This is my bloodline. My heritage. My *birthright*. You exiled me for loving who I am. But I won’t be silenced. I won’t be shamed. And I won’t be *stopped*.”
The temperature dropped.
Not metaphorically.
The ice beneath my boots cracked, spreading in spiderweb fractures, the torches flickering out one by one until only the cold, silver glow of the relic remained. Isolde didn’t flinch. Just raised a hand, and the air before me *rippled*—a barrier of enchanted frost, jagged and impenetrable.
“You want the dagger?” she said. “Then earn it.”
“We had a deal,” I said, my voice steady. “One night. In the Hall of Echoes. No touch. No binding. No ownership.”
“And so it shall be,” she said. “But the night is not yet over. And the Hall does not give up its secrets lightly.”
She stepped back, her form dissolving into the shadows, her voice echoing from all around. “Face the echoes, Avalon. Face the truth. And if you survive… the dagger is yours.”
And then—
Silence.
Not empty. Not still.
It *pulsed*.
The walls shimmered, the frozen memories breaking free—images, voices, sensations flooding the chamber. My mother’s scream as the blade fell. Kael’s whisper the night of the ritual: *“You’d hate me for it.”* *“I already do.”* The vision of the child with silver-lavender eyes, laughing in a sunlit garden. The Oath Stone shattering. Vexis’s voice, low and mocking: *“She’ll die like her mother.”*
I staggered, my hand flying to the mark on my collarbone. It burned, not with pain, but with *truth*. The echoes weren’t just memories.
They were *tests*.
“I am not afraid of you,” I said, my voice echoing in the vast space. “I am not afraid of the past. I am not afraid of *you*.”
The ice shifted.
A figure emerged—tall, elegant, her silver-lavender eyes wide with defiance. My mother.
Not a memory. Not a ghost.
A *projection*.
“You broke the Oath,” she said, her voice echoing with sorrow. “But at what cost? You’ve mated with the enemy. You’ve let him *claim* you. You’ve become what they always said you would—weak. Tainted. *Lost*.”
My breath caught.
Not from grief.
From *anger*.
“You died for love,” I said, stepping forward. “Not rebellion. Not treason. *Love*. And I won’t let your sacrifice be in vain. I won’t live in fear. I won’t hide. And I won’t let them *erase* us.”
She didn’t flinch. Just raised a hand, and the ice shifted again—Kael emerged, his coat flaring, his eyes silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly. But his expression wasn’t cold. Not calculating.
It was *hateful*.
“You used me,” the projection snarled. “You played the victim. You let me believe you cared. But you never loved me. You never *wanted* me. You just wanted the power. The throne. The *revenge*.”
My chest tightened.
Not from doubt.
From *recognition*.
That was my fear. Not his words. Not the vision.
The fear that I was using him. That the bond was just a tool. That I didn’t deserve him.
“You’re wrong,” I said, my voice breaking. “I *do* love you. Not because of the bond. Not because of fate. But because you let me in. Because you let me *claim* you. Because you stayed.”
The projection hesitated.
And then—
It shattered.
The ice cracked, the image dissolving into mist, the voice fading into silence. The bond flared—hot, immediate—and I knew.
I had passed.
The barrier of frost before the pedestal crumbled, shards falling like rain, the path clear. The dagger lay before me, its sigils glowing faintly, humming with power. I stepped forward, my breath unsteady, my hand reaching for the hilt—
And then—
A hand closed around my wrist.
Not Isolde’s.
Not a projection.
Warm. Strong. Familiar.
I turned.
Kael stood behind me, his coat flaring, his eyes silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly. His grip was firm, but not restraining. Protective. Possessive. *Mine*.
“You weren’t supposed to be here,” I whispered.
“And you weren’t supposed to face this alone,” he said, stepping closer, his breath warm against my neck. “You think I’d let you walk into a Fae trap without me?”
“It wasn’t a trap,” I said. “It was a test.”
“And you passed,” he said, his thumb brushing the pulse point on my wrist. “Because you’re stronger than they know. Stronger than *you* know.”
I didn’t answer. Just turned, my hand rising to his chest, pressing against the mark beneath his shirt. The bond flared—hot, undeniable. His breath hitched. His eyes fluttered shut.
“You let me in,” I said. “You trusted me. Even when I didn’t trust myself.”
“Because I know you,” he said, his voice rough. “I know your fire. Your fury. Your *truth*. And I know that no magic, no oath, no Fae law can break what we are.”
And then—
Isolde appeared.
Not from the shadows.
From the *ice*.
She stepped forward, her expression unreadable, her gaze flicking between us—the way our auras intertwined, the way the bond pulsed between us, the way our hands almost touched.
“You broke the rules,” she said. “You brought him here.”
“And you broke them first,” Kael said, stepping in front of me, his body a shield. “You demanded a night. She gave it. She faced the echoes. She earned the relic. And yet you still try to control her.”
Isolde didn’t flinch. Just studied him—really studied him—for the first time. “You love her.”
It wasn’t a question.
It was a revelation.
“Yes,” he said, without hesitation. “And if you harm her, you harm me. And if you harm me—” his voice dropped, guttural, inhuman—“you start a war.”
She was silent for a long moment.
And then—
She stepped aside.
“The dagger is hers,” she said. “Take it. And go.”
I didn’t move. Just stepped around Kael, my boots clicking against the ice, and reached for the relic. The moment my fingers closed around the hilt, the sigils flared—silver, then gold, then white—lightning arcing across the chamber, up the walls, across the ceiling. The air crackled, the scent of ozone thick, the magic so dense it made my skin burn.
And then—
It *spoke*.
“Blood of the Oath,” a voice whispered, not in my ears, but in my blood. “Heir of the Winter Court. You have broken the chain. Now break the master.”
I gasped, staggering back, the dagger clutched to my chest. The bond flared—hot, immediate—and I knew.
This wasn’t just a weapon.
It was a *prophecy*.
Kael turned to me, his eyes silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly. “What did it say?”
“It said we’re not done,” I whispered. “Vexis isn’t the end. He’s just the beginning.”
He didn’t flinch. Just covered my hand with his, pressing it harder against the hilt, letting me feel the truth I already knew.
He was not unfeeling.
He was not unbreakable.
He was mine.
And I was his.
“Then we’ll break him too,” he said. “Together.”
We left the Hall of Echoes as the first light of dawn crept through the spires of black ice, the sky painted in streaks of violet and gold. The Court was silent—no guards, no watchers, no challenges. But I could feel them—the Fae. Watching. Waiting. Judging.
And for the first time—
I didn’t care.
We found Silas at the gates, 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 about the dagger. Just nodded. “Vexis is regrouping. Scouts report movement near the northern ridge. He’s not waiting.”
“Then we won’t either,” I said, stepping forward, my boots cracking against the frozen ground. “We go to him.”
“It’s a trap,” Kael said.
“Then we’ll break it,” 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. His eyes fluttered shut.
“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice rough. “This isn’t just the bond. This isn’t just magic. This is you. Choosing me.”
I didn’t answer.
Just reached up, my fingers brushing the edge of his jaw, and pulled him down.
Our mouths crashed together again, tongues clashing, teeth scraping, breath mingling. His hands were everywhere—on my waist, my hips, my thighs—pulling me closer, grinding me against the hard length of him. I arched into him, moaning into his mouth, my fingers tangling in his ink-black hair.
And then—
We broke apart.
Breathless. Shaking. Alive.
“We have to go,” I said again, my voice rough.
“I know.”
He stepped back, his coat flaring behind him, the silver runes glowing faintly in the dim light. The mark on his chest—crescent pierced by a thorn—burned beneath the fabric, a reminder of what we’d done, what we’d become.
And then—
We left.
Silas waited at the entrance, his golden eyes sharp, his stance relaxed but ready. The guards fell into step behind us, silent, obedient. The air was thick with tension, with magic, with something darker, something familiar.
And then—
“Kael,” Silas said, his voice low. “The scouts just reported. Vexis is at the northern ridge. He’s not alone.”
We stopped.
I turned to Kael, my silver-lavender eyes sharp, my jaw clenched. “Then we’ll break him.”
He didn’t answer. Just covered my hand with mine, pressing it harder against his chest, letting her feel the truth I already knew.
I was not unfeeling.
I was not unbreakable.
I was hers.
And she was mine.
“Together,” I said.
She didn’t smile. Just nodded, her fingers tightening around mine.
And then we walked into the dawn.
The world held its breath.
And we—
We were ready.