They left in silence.
The Council—those seven figures of power and judgment—didn’t bow. Didn’t offer words of peace or alliance. They simply turned, their robes whispering against the stone, their presence fading like smoke in moonlight. One by one, they stepped through the Veil, returning to their courts, their dens, their hidden enclaves beneath the cities of man. But I felt them still—the weight of their gaze, the echo of their doubt, the reluctant respect that had settled like dust in the aftermath of fire.
They hadn’t accepted us.
But they hadn’t rejected us either.
And that was enough.
The moment the last of them vanished, the torches flared back to life, their flames burning higher, steadier, as if the chamber itself exhaled in relief. The sigils on the floor pulsed once—silver, then gold—before settling into a quiet hum. The bond between Kael and me didn’t scream anymore. It didn’t burn. It simply was. A steady, living thing, woven into the air, the stone, the blood in our veins.
He turned to me, his coat flaring behind him, the silver runes glowing faintly in the dim light. His eyes were silver, the mark in his iris flickering like a dying star. There was no mask now. No cold control. Just exhaustion—and something softer. Something new.
“You were magnificent,” he said, his voice rough.
I almost laughed. Almost.
Instead, I stepped forward, my bare feet silent on the cold stone, and pressed my palm flat against the scar on his chest—the jagged line of silver where Vexis’s spell had torn through him. The mark of the thorned crescent still glowed faintly beneath his skin, a permanent reminder of what we’d survived. My fingers traced the edges, and the bond flared—hot, immediate—but not with pain. With recognition.
“So were you,” I said. “Threatening to burn their Spire to the ground? That was… excessive.”
“I meant it,” he said, covering my hand with his. His skin was cool, but his grip was warm. Alive. “If they’d tried to take you, I would have razed it. Stone by stone. Soul by soul.”
My breath caught.
Not from fear.
From truth.
He wasn’t just saying it. He would have done it. And I—
I wouldn’t have stopped him.
“You don’t have to protect me like that,” I said, my voice softer than I meant it to be. “I can fight my own battles.”
“I know,” he said, stepping closer, his free hand rising to my face, his thumb brushing the edge of my jaw. “But I want to. Not because you need me. But because I need you.”
The bond flared again—hot, undeniable—and I didn’t pull away. Just leaned into his touch, my breath hitching. His scent—dark wine and winter pine—filled my lungs, grounding me, centering me. Around us, the chamber was still. The servants had vanished. The guards had retreated. Even Silas was gone, likely securing the perimeter, watching for Vexis’s return.
We were alone.
Truly alone.
And for the first time since I’d walked into Shadowveil Court with a dagger and a death wish, I didn’t feel like a prisoner.
I felt like I belonged.
“They’ll come back,” I said, my fingers still pressed against his scar. “The Council. They’ll want answers. They’ll want control.”
“Let them,” he said. “The Oath is broken. The Concord still stands. And I am still Prince of House Nocturne. They don’t get to dictate who stands beside me.”
“And if they try?”
He didn’t flinch. Just stepped closer, his body caging mine in, his eyes locking onto mine. “Then we remind them what happens when they threaten what’s ours.”
I almost smiled. Almost.
Instead, I reached up, my fingers brushing the edge of his jaw, and pulled him down.
Our lips met—soft, not angry, not desperate. A promise. A vow. A claim. His hand slid into my hair, holding me still, his breath mingling with mine. The bond hummed between us, not with fire, but with something deeper. Something quiet.
And then—
“My lord.”
Silas’s voice came from the doorway, calm but urgent. “We have a problem.”
We broke apart, but I didn’t let go. Just kept my hand on his chest, my fingers curled against the scar. Kael didn’t move. Just turned his head, his eyes silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly. “Speak.”
“Scouts report movement near the Obsidian Spire,” Silas said. “The Council isn’t returning to their courts. They’ve convened an emergency session. And they’ve summoned you.”
“Us,” I corrected.
Silas hesitated. “They didn’t say—”
“They’ll see us,” I said, stepping around Kael, my boots clicking against the stone. “Together.”
Kael didn’t argue. Just nodded, his coat flaring behind him as he turned to me. “Then we’ll give them a show.”
We dressed in silence—me in fresh dark leather and steel, the relic dagger strapped to my thigh, its sigils humming beneath the leather. Kael in his black coat edged with silver runes, the mark on his chest glowing faintly beneath the fabric. His fangs were retracted, but his presence was a storm held at bay. I could feel the bond—steady, warm, alive—but beneath it, something darker. Something waiting.
“You’re thinking,” he said, fastening the last silver clasp on his coat.
“I’m remembering,” I said, adjusting the strap of my dagger. “Elara. Vexis. The truth.”
He didn’t move. Just stepped closer, his boots silent on the stone, and brushed the mark on my collarbone. The bond flared—hot, immediate—and I gasped, my fingers tightening on the hilt of the dagger.
“You don’t have to carry this alone,” he said. “You don’t have to be her. You don’t have to be *me*.”
“And if I don’t?” I whispered. “If I walk away? What happens to the others? To the witches still bound? To the fae caught in the crossfire? To the Lupine Clans who’ll be blamed when the war starts?”
He didn’t answer. Just covered my hand with his, pressing it harder against the relic, letting me feel the truth I already knew.
He was not unfeeling.
He was not unbreakable.
He was hers.
And she was mine.
“Then we’ll break it together,” he said. “Not for the Council. Not for the truce. Not even for the war.”
“Then why?”
“Because we’re *alive*,” he said. “And because we *choose* each other. Every damn day.”
I didn’t answer. Just leaned in, my forehead resting against his, my breath mingling with his. The bond hummed between us, not with fire, but with something deeper. Something quiet.
And then—
We left.
Silas waited at the entrance, his golden wolf 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 Obsidian Spire. 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 his, pressing it harder against his chest, letting me 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 storm.
The world held its breath.
And we—
We were ready.
The Obsidian Spire rose from the heart of Lyon like a shard of night given form—black stone veined with silver, its peak lost in the clouds, its base surrounded by a moat of still, dark water. No bridges. No gates. Just a single path of floating stones, each inscribed with runes of power, leading to the iron doors at the entrance. The air here was different—thicker, heavier, charged with the weight of centuries of decisions, of treaties, of blood spilled in the name of peace.
We crossed in silence.
Kael at my side, his coat flaring behind him, the silver runes glowing faintly in the dim light. Silas a step behind, his golden eyes scanning the shadows. The guards followed, their weapons drawn, their shadows flickering. The bond pulsed between Kael and me—hot, insistent, alive—but neither of us spoke. The weight of what was coming—the truth, the war, the *choice*—was too heavy for words.
And now, standing at the entrance to the Spire, I felt it.
The Council.
Not just their presence. Not just their power.
Their fear.
“They’re afraid,” I said, my voice low.
“Of us?” Kael asked.
“Of what we represent,” I said. “A world they can’t control. A bond they can’t break. A future they didn’t write.”
He didn’t flinch. Just stepped forward, his hand brushing mine. “Then let them be afraid.”
The iron doors parted without sound, splitting like glass, the chains falling away. No welcome. No challenge. Just silence.
And then—
We were inside.
The chamber was vast—a cavern of black marble and silver flame, the walls carved with sigils of power, the floor a mosaic of blood-red stone. At the center stood the Council’s dais—a circle of seven thrones, each carved from a different material: bone, iron, obsidian, moonstone, ash, silver, and gold. The seven members were already seated, their eyes glowing with power, their presence pressing against the air like a storm.
And in the center—
Vexis.
He stood in moonlit ash, his coat of shadow flaring behind him, his eyes molten silver, the mark of House Ashen burning in his iris like a brand. He wasn’t bound. Wasn’t restrained. Just stood there, his hands clasped behind his back, his smile slow, sharp, knowing.
“You’re late,” he said, his voice smooth, laced with mockery. “I was beginning to think you’d run.”
“And miss your surrender?” I said, stepping forward, my boots cracking against the stone. “Never.”
He didn’t flinch. Just turned to the Council, his gaze sweeping over them. “You see? The hybrid speaks for him. She dictates his every move. And you call this balance? This is *weakness*.”
“She speaks *with* me,” Kael said, stepping beside me, his coat flaring behind him. “As my equal. As my mate. As my truth.”
“And if I say she’s a threat?” Vexis asked. “If I say she broke the Concord? If I say she unleashed forbidden magic?”
“Then you’re a liar,” I said. “The Oath was a curse. You twisted it. You used my mother’s death to control us. And now you’re trying to use the Council to do it again.”
He didn’t deny it. Just smiled. “And if I say I have proof?”
The room stilled.
Not with silence.
With danger.
And then—
He raised his hand.
And the floor split.
Not with sound. Not with fire.
With memory.
A vision flooded the chamber—me, standing over the Oath Stone, my dagger in hand, the ledger burning, the names turning to ash. But this time, the image was twisted. Altered. In the vision, I wasn’t breaking the curse.
I was claiming it.
My eyes glowed silver-lavender, my hands were raised, my lips moved in a spell of domination. The Oath Stone pulsed with dark power. The chains on the ceiling snapped, not in freedom—but in service. To me.
“Lies,” Kael said, his voice guttural, inhuman.
“Is it?” Vexis asked. “Or is it the truth they’re too afraid to see?”
The Council didn’t speak. Didn’t move. But I could feel it—their doubt. Their fear. Their uncertainty.
And then—
I stepped forward.
Not to deny it.
But to claim it.
“You want proof?” I said, my voice steady. “Then let me show you the truth.”
I raised my hand.
And the bond screamed.
Fire ripped through my veins, magic surging from Kael like a storm, the sigils on the floor flaring silver, the air crackling with power. The vision shattered—glass breaking, light exploding—and in its place, the real memory flooded the chamber.
Me, kneeling before the Oath Stone.
Kael, his hand over mine on the ledger.
The cursed blood, the truth, the pain.
The shattered stone. The burning names. The chains snapping in freedom.
And then—
Us.
Back-to-back, fighting. Bloodied. Broken. Alive.
The Council watched. Silent. Still.
And when the vision faded, I turned to them, my silver-lavender eyes blazing.
“That,” I said, “is the truth.”
And then—
Vexis laughed.
Not mocking.
Not triumphant.
But angry.
“You think this changes anything?” he said, stepping forward, his eyes molten silver, his voice guttural. “You think facing the past makes you strong? You think touching cursed blood makes you free?”
“It makes us real,” I said, stepping into him, my boots cracking against the stone. “And that’s more than you’ll ever be.”
He didn’t flinch. Just raised his hand—and the runes flared again, the dark magic surging, the ground cracking beneath our feet.
“Then let’s see how real you are,” he said. “When you’re dead.”
And then—
Chaos.