I don’t sleep.
Not after the eastern wing. Not after the way he used my jealousy as a weapon—his, not Solene’s, not Lyria’s, but his—to prove I’d come for him. 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—
It’s not enough.
Because Valenir is still under her control. The Council is still divided. And the only way to break her hold on him is to reach the man beneath the magic—the man who once swore to protect me, who trained me in secret, who called me *little star* when no one else was listening.
And to do that—
We need the Fae King.
A soft knock at the door.
“Who is it?” I whisper, not moving.
“Dain,” the voice says, low. “The Summer Court has responded. King Oberon will see you. But the price… it’s steep.”
I stiffen. My fingers tighten around the hilt of the silver dagger tucked beneath my pillow. The Summer Court. The most powerful of the Fae realms. A place where time bends, where promises are binding, where one night in their bed costs you a memory. And their king—Oberon—is ancient, immortal, and utterly merciless.
“What price?” I ask.
“One memory,” Dain says. “Yours. In exchange for his aid in breaking Valenir’s enchantment.”
I exhale slowly. “Then we go.”
“You don’t even know which memory,” Dain says. “It could be your first kiss. Your mother’s last words. The moment you realized you loved him.”
“Then I’ll lose it,” I say. “But I’ll still have him.”
---
We leave at dawn.
The journey to the Summer Court is through the Whispering Pass—a narrow mountain trail lined with silver pines, their needles singing in the wind like a thousand hushed voices. The air is thin, cold, thick with the scent of frost and old magic. Kaelen walks beside me, his presence a steady anchor, a reminder that I’m not alone. That I never was. Dain follows behind us, broad-shouldered, expression neutral, but his eyes flick to the bite on my shoulder, visible through the thin fabric of the robe. His jaw tightens.
“You’re not just his mate,” he says, voice low. “You’re his equal.”
“And you’re not just his lieutenant,” I say. “You’re his brother. In battle. In loyalty. In blood.”
He doesn’t answer. But I see it—the flicker in his eyes, the slight nod. Respect. Not just for him. For me.
Vaelen walks beside me, silent, his coat fastened at the throat, his fangs retracted but his eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. He hasn’t spoken since last night. Not after the way I pushed him away, not after the way he admitted he might have done it anyway. And I haven’t forgiven him. Not fully. But I haven’t let go, either.
The bond hums between us—low, insistent, a constant reminder of what we are. What we’ve become.
And then—
We see it.
The Summer Court.
A vast palace carved from living crystal, its spires rising into the clouds, its walls shimmering with captured sunlight. The gates are guarded by Fae knights in silver armor, their eyes glowing with ancient power. The air hums with glamour, with the scent of honey and fire and something wild—something free.
We are met at the gates by a messenger—tall, ethereal, with wings like spun glass. “The King awaits,” she says, voice like wind through leaves. “But the price must be paid before he will speak.”
“Then let’s pay it,” I say.
She leads us through the courtyard—paths of crushed moonstone, fountains that sing in forgotten tongues, trees whose leaves shift color with the mood of the watcher. And then—
We enter the throne room.
It’s vast. Circular. The ceiling is open to the sky, the sun blazing down in a perfect beam that illuminates the throne at the center—a seat of woven light and thorn. And on it—
King Oberon.
He’s tall. Impossibly so. His skin is the color of birch bark, his eyes like molten gold. His crown is made of living ivy, its leaves shifting, whispering. He doesn’t rise. Doesn’t speak. Just watches us.
“You seek my aid,” he says, voice echoing through the chamber like thunder. “To break the spell on Valenir. To free him from Solene’s control.”
“Yes,” I say, stepping forward. “He was once my mentor. My protector. And she’s twisted him. Used blood magic to bind him. To make him believe lies.”
“And what makes you think I care?” Oberon asks.
“Because Solene doesn’t just threaten vampires,” Vaelen says. “She’s turning the werewolves against the treaty. Poisoning the witches. And if she takes the Fae courts next, your reign ends with her blade.”
Oberon studies him. Then me. “The price is one memory. Not chosen. Not bargained. Taken. And once gone, it cannot be returned.”
“Then take it,” I say. “I don’t care which one.”
“You will,” he says. “But the choice is yours.”
He rises. Steps down from the throne. The air shimmers. The light bends. And then—
He’s in front of me.
His fingers brush my temple. Cold. Electric. The bond screams—a jolt of heat spirals through me, tightening in my core. My vision blurs. My breath hitches.
And then—
I see it.
A memory.
Not mine.
But hers.
My mother.
She’s standing in the garden, her silver hair loose, her eyes bright with something I’ve never seen before—hope. She’s holding a letter. The Moonstone Treaty. And she’s smiling.
“He saved me,” she whispers. “When they came for me, when they accused me of treason… Vaelen’s father was going to execute me. But *he* intervened. He said the bond was real. That it had to be protected. And they let me live. For ten years. Ten years of peace. Ten years of love.”
And then—
She turns.
Looks at me.
“And now, my little star, it’s your turn. Protect the bond. Protect *him*. Because the real enemy isn’t the vampire king. It’s the witch who taught you to hate.”
The memory shatters.
I gasp, collapsing to my knees, tears streaming down my face. My chest heaves. My body trembles. The bond screams, a tidal wave of pain and grief and knowing.
“You saw it,” Oberon says, stepping back. “The truth. And now it’s gone.”
“No,” I whisper. “No, no, no.”
“The price is paid,” he says. “And so the aid is granted. I will send my best enchanters to break the spell on Valenir. But know this—Solene is not acting alone. There is a deeper magic at play. One that predates the bond. One that seeks to unmake it.”
“Then we’ll destroy it,” I say, rising. “Whatever it takes.”
He nods. “Then go. And may the stars watch over you.”
---
We return through the Whispering Pass, silent, weapons drawn. The sun is lower now, casting long shadows across the trail. The air is thick with the scent of pine and iron and something sweet, something his.
And then—
Music.
Low. Primal. A deep, resonant beat that echoes the pulse of the bond. It pulses through the stone, up my feet, into my chest.
She’s here.
Solene.
“She’s coming,” I say, drawing my dagger. “And she’s not alone.”
Vaelen steps beside me, fangs bared, eyes glowing crimson. “Then let her come.”
Kaelen shifts into half-form—claws extending, fangs lengthening, his growl a low rumble in his chest. “We fight together.”
“We fight as one,” I say.
And the bond—
It sings.
Not with pain.
Not with fear.
With power.
---
The entrance groans open.
And she steps in.
Solene.
Draped in black, her silver hair pulled back, her eyes sharp with ambition. But there’s something different. A hardness. A coldness. A lie beneath the surface.
She sees me.
And for the first time—
She smiles.
“Cascade,” she says, voice smooth, warm. “You’ve grown.”
“So have you,” I say, stepping forward. “In lies.”
She doesn’t flinch. Just watches me. “You don’t see it. But I do. The bond is a curse. A corruption. It’s not love. It’s magic. Compulsion. Control.”
“No,” I say. “It’s not. The bond doesn’t make me love him. It makes me see him. Really see him. The man who let me hate him to keep me alive. The man who’s loved me for centuries.”
“And what about me?” she whispers. “Did I not love you? Did I not train you? Did I not give everything to protect you?”
“You did,” I say. “And I love you. But love isn’t control. Love isn’t manipulation. Love isn’t forcing someone to see the world your way.”
She shakes her head. “You’re blinded. By him. By the bond.”
“And you’re blinded,” I say. “By grief. By fear. By the lies you’ve told yourself for ten years.”
Her hand flies to her dagger.
“Solene,” I say, voice low. “Put it down.”
“I have to break it,” she whispers. “Before it consumes you. Before it destroys everything.”
“You don’t get to decide that,” I say. “Not for me. Not for him. Not for the bond.”
“I do,” she says. “Because I’m the only one who sees the truth.”
And then—
She moves.
Fast.
Her dagger flashes—silver, cursed, dripping with venom.
But she doesn’t go for me.
She goes for him.
“Vaelen—!”
I don’t think.
I don’t hesitate.
I step in front of him.
The blade sinks into my side—just below the ribs, deep, twisting.
But I don’t fall.
I can’t.
Because he’s behind me.
And I’m all that’s between him and death.
“Cascade—!”
His voice. Raw. Desperate. Shattered.
I turn. Slowly. Painfully. Blood drips from my side, pooling at my feet. My breath comes in short, sharp gasps. My vision blurs.
But I’m still standing.
And Solene—
She’s frozen.
Because Vaelen is there—his hand around her throat, his fangs bared, his eyes glowing crimson.
“You don’t get to touch her,” he growls. “Not again. Not ever.”
He throws her back. She hits the wall, the blade skittering away.
And then—
Silence.
Just the drip of blood. The low hum of the wards. The pounding of my heart.
And him.
His arms around me. Pulling me close. Supporting my weight. His body warm against my back, his breath hot on my neck.
“You idiot,” he whispers. “You idiot. Why would you do that?”
I try to speak. Can’t.
The venom is spreading. My knees buckle. I fall to one knee, then the other. My vision blurs. My hands clench the stone.
And then—
He’s there.
His arms around me. Lifting me. Carrying me.
Not like a prisoner.
Not like a burden.
Like something precious.
Like something hers.
---
The world comes back in fragments.
Firelight.
Stone walls.
The scent of moon-bloom and iron and something sweet, something his.
And him.
He’s beside me—kneeling on the floor, his hands pressing to the wound in my side, his magic flaring, his breath coming fast. Blood drips from his fingertip, smeared across the blade of his dagger. He whispers the words—“Sanguis pura, sanguis vera”—and the magic flows into me, slow, steady, agonizing.
The venom burns. My body rebels. My muscles spasm.
But I don’t pull away.
Because he’s here.
Because his hands are on me.
Because the bond—
It sings.
Not with pain.
Not with fear.
With need.
“You’re not supposed to do this,” I rasp. “Blood magic… it takes from you.”
“Shut up,” he says, not looking at me. “You took a poisoned blade for me. The least I can do is keep you from dying.”
“And if it kills you?” I ask.
“Then it kills me,” he says, voice flat. “But I’d rather die saving you than live knowing I let you die.”
My breath hitches.
He doesn’t see it. Doesn’t feel it. But I do.
Because those words—
They’re the truth.
And the truth is more dangerous than any blade.
Minutes pass. Hours. I don’t know. The venom retreats, slow, grudging, but it’s leaving. My strength returns. My magic stabilizes.
And then—
He stops.
His hand falls away. His breath comes fast. His face is pale. His lips are colorless.
“You’re drained,” I say, sitting up slowly. “You gave too much.”
“I gave enough,” he says, wiping his hand on his trousers. “You’re alive. That’s what matters.”
“And you?” I ask. “Are you alive?”
He glares at me. “Don’t patronize me.”
“I’m not,” I say, reaching for him. “I’m asking.”
He doesn’t pull away.
My hand frames his face. My thumb brushes his cheek. His skin is cold. His breath hitches.
“You could’ve died,” I say, voice rough. “Because of me.”
“And you did,” he says. “Because of me. So I’d say we’re even.”
“We’re not,” I say. “Because I’d do it again. A hundred times. A thousand. I’d take every blade meant for you. I’d burn in every fire. I’d bleed in every war. Just to keep you alive.”
He stares at me. “Why?”
“Because I love you,” I say. “Not because of the bond. Not because of the Council. Not because of fate. Because of you. The man who let me hate him to keep me alive. The man who’s loved me for centuries. The man who’s standing here, naked, vulnerable, and still waiting for me to choose him.”
His breath hitches.
And then—
I rise onto my knees.
And I kiss him.
Not fierce. Not angry.
Soft.
Slow.
Real.
His lips part beneath mine. His hands find my waist, pulling me closer. The bond erupts—white-hot, all-consuming, a tidal wave of magic and emotion that throws us both back onto the floor.
But this time—
I don’t fight it.
I let it in.
I let him in.
And when we break apart, breathless, trembling, his forehead resting against mine, I whisper the words I never thought I’d say:
“I believe you.”
He closes his eyes, as if the words are a physical pain.
Then he opens them.
And for the first time—
I see it.
Not just hunger.
Not just possession.
Hope.
“Then stay with me,” he says. “Not because of the Council. Not because of the bond. But because you want to.”
I look at him—really look.
At the man who kept his promise.
At the man who let me hate him to keep me alive.
At the man who’s loved me for centuries.
And I know—
This isn’t vengeance.
This isn’t duty.
This is truth.
“I want to,” I whisper.
And the bond—
It sings.
---
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.