I don’t sleep.
Not after the garden. Not after the kiss. Not after Lyria’s mocking smile, the way she turned and walked away like she’d just won a war. My body still hums from the contact—from the heat of Vaelen’s mouth, the scrape of his fangs, the way his hands tangled in my hair like he’d die if he let go. The bond screams beneath my skin, raw and insistent, pulsing with every heartbeat, every breath, every time I remember the way he whispered, *“Choose me.”*
And I did.
Not because of the Council. Not because of the treaty.
Because I *wanted* to.
And that terrifies me.
I sit on the edge of the bed in Vaelen’s chambers—*our* chambers—and press my palms to my temples, trying to steady my thoughts. The fire has burned low, casting flickering shadows across the stone floor. Vaelen is on the floor again, wrapped in his cloak, back to me. He hasn’t spoken since we returned. Hasn’t touched me. But I can feel him—his presence, his heat, the way the bond *pulls* toward him, like gravity.
“You’re thinking again,” he says, voice rough.
“You’re not sleeping,” I counter.
“Neither are you.”
I exhale sharply. “I can’t. Not after what happened. Not after *her*.”
“Lyria?” he asks. “She’s nothing.”
“She wore your ring,” I say, the words sharper than I intend. “She kissed you. In front of everyone.”
He turns his head slightly, just enough for me to see the edge of his profile in the dim light. “That ring was a political gift. I never claimed her. Never bedded her. The kiss was a performance—one she orchestrated to provoke you.”
“And it worked,” I mutter.
“Because you care,” he says, sitting up slowly. “Because the bond *knows* what you feel. And so do I.”
I glare at his back. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you’re afraid,” he says, standing. “Afraid of wanting me. Afraid of losing control. Afraid that if you let yourself *feel*, you’ll forget why you came here.”
My breath hitches.
He’s right.
And that makes me hate him more.
“I came here to destroy you,” I whisper. “To expose you. To bury you with the truth.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t know what to believe.”
He turns to face me, his crimson eyes glowing in the dark. “Then find the truth. Not from visions. Not from whispers. From *memory*.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your brother,” he says. “Elias. You saw him in the ritual. You heard his voice. But you only saw fragments. What if you could see it all? What if you could *relive* his last moments?”
My pulse jumps. “Blood magic.”
He nods. “A conjuration. High-level. Dangerous. It requires a personal artifact—something of his. And a drop of your blood. But if it works, you’ll see everything. No lies. No manipulation. Just *truth*.”
I stare at him. “Why would you suggest this? What if it proves you’re guilty?”
“Then I’ll accept it,” he says, voice steady. “But I know I’m not. And I know *you* need to see it for yourself.”
I look away. “I don’t have anything of his. Solene took everything after he died.”
“Not everything,” he says, reaching into the pocket of his trousers. He pulls out a small silver locket—oval, tarnished, engraved with a thorned vine. “I kept this. From the night he died. He was wearing it when he came to me. Told me to give it to you… if I ever saw you again.”
My breath stops.
I take the locket, fingers trembling as I open it. Inside—a tiny photograph of Elias, young, smiling, his dark eyes bright with mischief. And a lock of hair, dark as mine, tied with a red thread.
Tears burn my eyes.
He was *real*. Not just a ghost. Not just a memory. My brother. My protector. My only family—before Solene.
“Why didn’t you give it to me sooner?” I whisper.
“Because you would’ve destroyed it,” he says. “Or used it to fuel your hatred. But now? Now you’re ready.”
I clutch the locket to my chest. “I need space. To prepare the ritual.”
He hesitates. “The bond—”
“I know,” I snap. “It’ll scream. It’ll hurt. But I have to do this alone.”
He studies me for a long moment. Then nods. “I’ll be in the study. Call if you need me.”
He leaves, closing the door softly behind him.
I wait until his footsteps fade. Then I move fast.
I clear a space on the floor, drawing a circle in salt and ash—protection, focus, containment. I place the locket in the center. Then I pull the silver dagger from my boot, press the tip to my palm. Blood wells, thick and dark. I let three drops fall onto the locket, whispering the words:
“Sanguis memoriæ, ostende mihi veritatem.”
Blood of memory, show me the truth.
The air shimmers. The candle flames flicker, then go out. The room grows cold. The bond *screams*, a surge of heat and pain tearing through my spine, but I hold still. I *need* this.
Then—
Darkness.
And then—
Light.
I’m standing in a room I’ve never seen—stone walls, silver veins, a fire burning low in the hearth. The scent of old parchment and iron fills the air. Vaelen’s study.
And there he is.
Elias.
My brother.
He’s older than in the locket—mid-twenties, his hair longer, his face sharper, but his eyes are the same. Bright. Kind. *Alive*. He’s pacing, one hand clutching the locket around his neck, the other gripping a vial of crimson liquid.
And Vaelen is there too—younger, but still him. Standing by the window, arms crossed, face grim.
“You don’t have to do this,” Vaelen says, voice low. “We can find another way.”
“There *is* no other way,” Elias says, voice tight. “Solene’s already moving. The Council’s fractured. If the bond breaks now, war starts at dawn.”
“And if you die, it breaks anyway,” Vaelen snaps.
“Not if you take the blame,” Elias says. “Not if you let them believe *you* killed me. The Duskbane heir, consumed by bloodlust. A monster. That’ll buy time. And Cascade—”
My breath hitches.
“—she’ll come for you. She’ll be angry. She’ll hate you. But she’ll be *alive*. And when the time comes, when she’s strong enough, the bond will wake. And she’ll see the truth.”
“And if she doesn’t?” Vaelen asks, voice raw. “If she kills you trying to kill me?”
“Then I die knowing I protected her,” Elias says. “You’re my brother, Vaelen. Not by blood. By oath. By bond. And I’m asking you—no, I’m *begging* you—to protect her. No matter what.”
Vaelen stares at him. Then, slowly, he nods. “I swear it.”
Elias exhales, then uncorks the vial. “The poison’s fast. I’ll be gone before they find me. Just… make sure she gets the locket. And tell her—”
He stops. Looks directly at me—*through* me—as if he can see me watching.
“Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I love her. And tell her—”
“Don’t trust Solene.”
Then he drinks.
His body convulses. He falls to his knees. Vaelen catches him, lowers him gently to the floor. Elias’s hand finds his, squeezes.
“Protect her,” he whispers.
“I will,” Vaelen says, voice breaking. “I swear it.”
Elias smiles. Then his eyes close.
And he’s gone.
The vision shatters.
I gasp, collapsing to my knees, the locket clutched in my fist, tears streaming down my face. My chest heaves. My body trembles. The bond *screams*, a tidal wave of pain and grief and *knowing*.
Elias didn’t die by Solene’s hand.
He died by his own.
For *me*.
To protect me.
To give me time.
And Vaelen—
He didn’t kill him.
He *promised* to protect me.
And he’s been keeping that promise—every day, every moment, even when I hated him, even when I tried to destroy him.
And I—
I almost ruined everything.
“Cascade!”
Vaelen’s voice. The door bursts open. He’s there, kneeling beside me, hands on my shoulders, his eyes wide with fear. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
I can’t speak. Can’t breathe. I just collapse into him, sobbing, the locket pressed between us, my fingers digging into his shirt.
He holds me. Tight. Unyielding. His arms like iron, his chest a solid wall against my tears. He doesn’t ask again. Doesn’t demand answers. Just lets me break.
And the bond—
It *sings*.
Not with hunger. Not with need.
With *grief*.
With *truth*.
With *love*.
Minutes pass. Hours. I don’t know. Finally, my breathing steadies. My tears slow. I pull back slightly, wiping my face with the back of my hand. His thumb brushes my cheek, wiping away a stray tear.
“You saw it,” he says, voice soft.
I nod. “He sacrificed himself. To protect me. To give me time.”
“And he asked me to protect you,” Vaelen says. “I’ve spent ten years trying to keep that promise. Even when you hated me. Even when you tried to kill me.”
I look at him—really look. At the shadows under his eyes. At the scars on his chest. At the way his fingers tremble slightly as they brush my skin.
“Why?” I whisper. “Why would you do that? Why would you let me hate you?”
“Because it was the only way to keep you alive,” he says. “Solene would’ve killed you the moment you arrived if she thought you suspected the truth. But if you came for *me*? If you believed *I* was the monster? Then you were safe. And the bond—”
He pauses, his thumb tracing my jaw. “The bond needed time to wake. To protect you. To *claim* you.”
“And now?” I ask. “Now that I know the truth?”
“Now,” he says, voice rough, “we fight back. Together.”
I stare at him. “You could’ve told me. Anytime. You could’ve shown me this.”
“And if I had,” he says, “would you have believed me? Or would you have thought it was another lie? Another trick?”
I don’t answer.
Because he’s right.
I wouldn’t have believed him.
Not then.
Not until now.
“Solene used me,” I say, voice hollow. “She raised me. Trained me. Told me Vaelen killed Elias. Told me the bond was a lie. Sent me here to destroy you. To ignite the war.”
“And you almost did,” Vaelen says. “But you didn’t. Because the bond is stronger than her lies. Stronger than her magic. Stronger than *fate*.”
I look down at the locket. “He loved me.”
“He died for you,” Vaelen says. “And I—”
He stops.
I look up.
His eyes—crimson, ancient, *aching*—lock onto mine.
“I’ve loved you since we were children,” he says, voice raw. “Before the bond. Before the treaty. Before the war. I’ve loved you in every lifetime. And I’ll love you in every one after.”
My breath stops.
My heart hammers.
The bond *screams*—not with pain. Not with hunger.
With *recognition*.
With *home*.
I don’t think.
I don’t hesitate.
I rise onto my knees, cup his face in my hands, and 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.