I don’t sleep.
Not after the Blood Markets. Not after the way I stood between Solene’s blade and Vaelen—again—like my body had already chosen him long before my mind could catch up. The fire has burned low again, casting flickering shadows across the stone floor, the same shadows that have watched me rage, weep, kiss him, and finally—choose him. His arm is still around me, heavy and warm, his chest a solid wall against my back. I can feel his heartbeat—steady, strong, alive—and the rhythm of his breath, slow and even. He’s asleep. Finally.
But I’m not.
The bond hums beneath my skin, no longer a curse, no longer a weapon—but a living thing, pulsing with something I can’t name. Something warm. Something real. But it’s also heavy. Thick. Like a fever has taken root in my blood, spreading through my veins, tightening in my core. The mark on my spine flares with every heartbeat, a dull throb, 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.
I press my fingers to the bite on my shoulder. It still burns. Still throbs. Still thinks. The crescent-shaped mark pulses faintly beneath my skin, a silent echo of the claiming, of the way he thrust inside me until I came apart, of the way the bond sang not with magic, not with politics, but with something deeper. Something real.
The satchel is gone.
Stolen.
By Solene.
But we have something stronger now.
Truth.
And allies.
Elias is here. Alive. Not dead. Not gone. And he’s standing with us. Not just for me. Not just for the bond. But for the future. For the world Solene wants to twist into her own image of purity and control.
Kaelen is here. With his pack. With his loyalty. With the weight of the northern forests behind him.
And now—
We have the original Moonstone Treaty.
Sealed. Intact. Unbroken.
Proof that Solene forged the documents. That she lied. That she’s been manipulating the truth for ten years.
And still—
She’s not done.
She’s still out there. Watching. Waiting. Planning.
A soft knock at the door.
“Who is it?” I whisper, not moving.
“Dain,” the voice says, low. “There’s been a sighting. In the Twilight Court. A fae emissary claims to have seen Lyria entering the Veilwood with a vampire. Not just any vampire—someone matching Vaelen’s description.”
I freeze.
My breath catches.
Lyria. Again. The woman who once wore his ring, who claimed he moaned her name in his sleep, who emerged from his chambers in his shirt with a fresh bite mark on her neck. The woman who whispered in the halls that he’d never look at me the way he looked at her.
And now she’s with him?
In the Veilwood?
“It’s a trap,” I say, voice tight.
“Probably,” Dain replies. “But the emissary is loyal. And the vision was clear. They were… intimate.”
My fingers tighten around the hilt of the silver dagger tucked beneath my pillow. The bond flares—a jolt of heat spirals through me, tightening in my core. Not arousal. Not fear.
Jealousy.
“You don’t believe it,” Dain says.
“No,” I say. “But I need to see it.”
“Then I’ll prepare the escort,” he says. “The Veilwood isn’t safe. Not for a witch. Not even for the prince’s mate.”
“I’m not going with an escort,” I say. “I’m going alone.”
“Cascade—”
“No,” I say, rising. “This is between me and him. If he’s with her—if he’s betrayed me—then I need to see it with my own eyes. Not through blood-memory. Not through testimony. But real.”
He hesitates. “And if it’s a glamour? A trap?”
“Then I’ll break it,” I say. “With truth-seeing. With blood magic. With whatever it takes.”
---
The Veilwood is ancient. Sacred. A forest where time bends, where shadows speak, where fae magic hums in the air like a living thing. The trees are silver-barked, their leaves glowing faintly with bioluminescent veins. The ground is soft with moss, the air thick with the scent of moon-bloom and something sweet—something his.
I move fast, silent, weapons drawn. My boots make no sound. My breath is steady. My magic is coiled tight, ready.
And then—
I see them.
Under a canopy of glowing vines, in a clearing lit by fae lanterns, they’re together.
Lyria.
And Vaelen.
He’s shirtless, his chest bare, his fangs bared in a slow, dangerous smile. His hands are on her waist, pulling her close. Her lips are on his neck, her fingers tangled in his hair. She’s wearing nothing but his coat, the buttons undone, her skin pale in the moonlight.
And he’s letting her.
My breath stops.
The bond screams.
Not with pain.
Not with fear.
With betrayal.
“No,” I whisper.
And I move.
Not thinking. Not hesitating.
I run.
My dagger flashes. The air shimmers. I scream his name—“Vaelen!”—and he turns, his eyes wide, his hands flying up.
But it’s too late.
I’m already there.
My blade at her throat. My body between them. My breath coming fast, my heart pounding, my magic flaring.
“You,” I snarl, pressing the dagger harder. “You liar. You traitor. You think you can just walk back into his life like nothing happened?”
Lyria smirks. Slow. Dangerous. “I never left, darling. He’s always been mine. You’re just the convenient replacement.”
“Liar,” I say. “He loves me.”
“Does he?” she purrs. “Then why is he here? Why is his mouth on my skin? Why is his hand on my waist?”
I turn to him. My eyes burn into his. “Is it true?”
He doesn’t answer. Just watches me. His fangs are retracted. His eyes are dark. His hands are empty.
“Answer me,” I say, voice breaking. “Did you betray me?”
“Cascade,” he says, voice low. “It’s not—”
“Don’t,” I say. “Don’t lie to me. Not again. Not after everything.”
And then—
I feel it.
A flicker. A shift. Like the air itself is bending.
Fae glamour.
My breath hitches.
I press my fingers to my temple, focusing. Truth-seeing. I can detect lies by scent. By aura. By the way the magic bends.
And then—
I see it.
The truth.
The clearing flickers. The trees blur. The lanterns dim.
And then—
They’re gone.
No Lyria.
No Vaelen.
No embrace.
Just me. Alone. In the middle of the clearing. My dagger raised. My breath coming fast. My eyes wide.
It was a glamour.
A trap.
And I walked right into it.
“No,” I whisper. “No, no, no.”
But the bond—
It screams.
Not with betrayal.
Not with jealousy.
With grief.
Because I believed it.
I believed he could betray me.
I believed he could touch her.
I believed he could lie to me.
And that—
That hurts more than any blade.
---
I don’t know how long I stand there. Minutes? Hours? The world is silent. The forest is still. The bond hums beneath my skin, a constant, aching reminder of what I’ve done—what I’ve let myself become.
And then—
He’s there.
Not in a vision. Not in a dream.
Real.
Vaelen.
He steps into the clearing, his coat fastened at the throat, his fangs retracted, his eyes glowing faintly in the dark. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just watches me.
“You saw it,” I say, voice raw. “You saw what I did.”
He nods. Slow. Deliberate.
“And you’re not angry?” I ask.
“I’m not,” he says. “I’m hurting.”
My breath hitches.
“You think I don’t know what it feels like to doubt?” he says, stepping closer. “To wonder if the person you love is lying? To wonder if the bond is just magic? Compulsion? Control?”
“But you didn’t run,” I say. “You didn’t attack. You didn’t—”
“Because I know you,” he says. “I know your scent. I know your magic. I know your soul. And I know—when you look at me—it’s not compulsion. It’s not magic. It’s love. The kind that doesn’t bend. The kind that doesn’t break. The kind that stands between a blade and the one it loves.”
My eyes burn.
“But I didn’t know that,” I say. “I saw her. I saw you. I saw—”
“You saw what Solene wanted you to see,” he says. “She used fae glamour. Twisted your truth-seeing. Made you believe the one thing that could destroy us.”
“And it almost did,” I whisper.
He steps closer. His hand finds mine. His fingers interlace with mine. The bond flares—a jolt of heat spirals through me, tightening in my core.
“But it didn’t,” he says. “Because you’re still here. Because you’re still fighting. Because you’re still choosing me.”
“I don’t deserve you,” I say, voice breaking. “I doubted you. I accused you. I—”
“And I’ve done worse,” he says. “I let you hate me. I let you believe I killed your brother. I let you think I was the monster.”
“But you weren’t,” I say.
“And you’re not weak,” he says. “You’re not broken. You’re not a pawn. You’re mine. And I’m yours. No glamour. No lie. No manipulation can change that.”
Tears stream down my face.
“Then hold me,” I say. “Not as your mate. Not as your equal. But as the woman who loves you. Who trusts you. Who believes in you.”
He doesn’t answer.
He just pulls me into his arms.
Not like a prisoner.
Not like a burden.
Like something precious.
Like something hers.
And the bond—
It sings.
Not with pain.
Not with fear.
With truth.
---
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.