I don’t sleep.
Not after the Veilwood. Not after the glamour. Not after the way I lunged at a lie, screamed his name into empty air, and nearly destroyed the one thing I’ve spent a lifetime pretending I didn’t want. 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.
And tonight—
So am I.
A soft knock at the door.
“Who is it?” I whisper, not moving.
“Dain,” the voice says, low. “He’s gone.”
I stiffen. “Who?”
“Vaelen.”
My breath catches. I turn my head, press my ear to his chest—nothing. No heartbeat. No breath. Just silence. The space beside me is cold. The sheets are undisturbed. He didn’t wake me. Didn’t say a word. Just… left.
“Where?” I ask, voice tight.
“The eastern wing,” Dain says. “Private chambers. He didn’t take guards. Didn’t summon attendants. Just… walked.”
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.
“Alone?” I ask.
“No,” Dain says. “There’s a scent. Female. Fae. Sweet. Lingering.”
Lyria.
My stomach drops.
“He wouldn’t,” I say, but the words taste like ash.
“I know,” Dain says. “But the scent is fresh. And the wards—”
“I don’t care about the wards,” I snap, sliding from the bed, pulling on my boots. “I care about him. About whether he’s still mine.”
“Cascade—”
“No,” I say, tucking the dagger into my boot. “If he wants to play games, I’ll play them too.”
---
The eastern wing is silent. No guards. No torches. Just the soft glow of moonlight filtering through stained glass, casting fractured patterns across the marble floor. The air is thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and something else—something sweet, something her. Fae glamour. Seduction. Lies.
I move fast, silent, my boots making no sound. My magic is coiled tight, ready. The bond hums beneath my skin, a constant thrum of awareness, of need. It’s not just him. It’s us. Connected. Aligned. But tonight—
Tonight, it feels like a leash.
And then—
I hear it.
A whisper.
Low. Intimate. A woman’s voice, soft and knowing.
Lyria.
“You’ve changed,” she says. “You used to look at me like I was the only light in your world. Now you look at her like she’s the sun.”
My breath catches.
I press myself against the wall, peer around the corner.
The door to the private chambers is ajar. Moonlight spills through, illuminating the edge of a bed, a silken robe on the floor, a hand—his hand—resting on a bare thigh.
Not mine.
Her.
Lyria.
She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but a slip of black lace, her silver hair cascading down her back, her skin glowing in the moonlight. And Vaelen—
He’s standing over her, shirtless, his coat draped over a chair, his fangs retracted, his eyes dark with something I can’t name. Regret? Longing? Desire?
“I haven’t changed,” he says, voice low. “I’ve just stopped pretending.”
“Pretending what?” she asks, rising, stepping closer. Her fingers trail down his chest. “That you don’t miss this? That you don’t miss me?”
My fingers tighten around the hilt of my dagger.
The bond screams.
Not with pain.
Not with fear.
With betrayal.
“I miss the woman I thought you were,” he says. “The one who didn’t play games. The one who didn’t manipulate. The one who didn’t help Solene tear our world apart.”
She laughs. Cold. Sharp. “And yet here you are. In my chambers. At midnight. Alone.”
“I’m not alone,” he says.
And then—
He turns.
His eyes lock onto mine through the crack in the door.
And I know.
He knew I was coming.
He wanted me to see.
“Cascade,” he says, stepping toward the door. “Come in.”
I don’t move.
My breath comes fast. My heart pounds. My magic flares.
“Or don’t,” he says. “Stay in the shadows. Keep doubting. Keep believing the worst of me. It’s what you’ve always done.”
That—
That cuts deeper than any blade.
I step into the room.
My boots echo on the marble. The air shifts. The bond screams—a tidal wave of heat and pain and knowing.
Lyria turns. Smirks. “Well, well. The little witch finally found her courage.”
“Shut up,” I say, stepping forward. “This isn’t about you.”
“Isn’t it?” she purrs. “Then why are you here? To catch him with me? To prove he’s just like his father? Cold. Cruel. Unfaithful?”
“I’m here,” I say, turning to Vaelen, “to hear him say it. To hear him tell me to my face that he’s chosen you over me. That the bond means nothing. That I mean nothing.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just watches me. His eyes burn into mine. Crimson. Ancient. Broken.
And then—
He steps forward.
His hand finds mine. His fingers interlace with mine. The bond flares—a jolt of heat spirals through me, tightening in my core.
“I didn’t come here for her,” he says, voice low. “I came here to prove a point. To show you that I could walk into her chambers, stand beside her, let her touch me—and still choose you.”
My breath hitches.
“You think I don’t know what it feels like to doubt?” he says. “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. “And tonight, you saw what I wanted you to see. A test. A reminder. That no matter who touches me, no matter who whispers in my ear, no matter who tries to pull me back into the past—I am yours.”
Tears stream down my face.
“Then why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, voice breaking. “Why didn’t you wake me? Why didn’t you say, ‘Cascade, I’m going to walk into Lyria’s chambers to prove I won’t betray you’?”
“Because you wouldn’t have believed me,” he says. “You’d have thought it was a lie. A trick. Another manipulation.”
“And now?” I ask.
“Now,” he says, stepping closer, “you’ve seen it. With your own eyes. Felt it in the bond. And still—you came. Still—you fought. Still—you chose me.”
Lyria laughs. Cold. Sharp. “And what about me? Am I just a pawn in your little game?”
Vaelen turns to her. “You were never anything more. You knew that. You used me. I used you. It’s over.”
“And if I tell the Council?” she asks. “If I say you were here? That you touched me?”
“Then say it,” he says. “And I’ll say this: that I came to confront you. To warn you. To tell you that if you so much as whisper her name again, I’ll strip you of your title, your magic, your immortality. And I’ll do it slowly.”
She flinches.
And for the first time—
I see it.
Not just the woman who wore his ring. Not just the seductress who claimed he moaned her name in his sleep. But the woman who’s been outplayed. Outmaneuvered. Defeated.
“Get out,” I say, stepping forward. “Leave. Now. And if I ever see you near him again, I’ll make sure you regret it.”
She doesn’t answer.
Just rises. Pulls on her robe. Walks past us, head high, but her steps are unsteady.
And then—
She’s gone.
The door clicks shut.
And we’re alone.
---
He turns to me.
His eyes burn into mine. “You came.”
“Of course I came,” I say. “You’re mine. And I’m not letting anyone take you from me.”
“Even when you doubt me?”
“Especially when I doubt you,” I say. “Because the bond doesn’t make me love you. It makes me see you. Really see you. The man who let me hate him to keep me alive. The man who’s loved me for centuries.”
He doesn’t answer.
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.
But then—
I push him away.
Hard.
“Don’t,” I say, stepping back. “Don’t just hold me like it fixes everything. You humiliated me. You made me watch. You let her touch you—”
“I let her think she did,” he says. “But I didn’t feel it. I didn’t want it. I was thinking of you. Of your hands. Your mouth. Your body.”
“And that’s supposed to make it better?” I snap. “You still walked into her room. You still stood there while she touched you—”
“Because I had to prove it,” he says. “That no matter what, I am yours. That I would rather die than betray you.”
“And if I’d believed you?” I ask. “If I’d trusted you? Would you still have done it?”
He hesitates.
And that—
That’s the real betrayal.
“I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe. Probably. I needed to know you’d come. That you’d fight. That you’d still choose me.”
My breath hitches.
“And what if I hadn’t?” I ask. “What if I’d stayed in bed? What if I’d let you walk away?”
“Then I’d have come back,” he says. “And I’d have torn the castle apart until I found you. Until I made you see. Until you believed.”
Tears stream down my face.
“You’re impossible,” I say.
“And you’re the only woman who’s ever made me feel alive,” he says, stepping closer. “Now come here. Before I decide to prove it again.”
“Don’t you dare,” I say, but I’m already stepping forward.
He pulls me into his arms.
And this time—
I don’t fight it.
I let it in.
I let him in.
And when he kisses me—fierce, hungry, desperate—I kiss him back with everything I have.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of magic.
Because I choose to.
And the bond—
It sings.