The morning after the ritual, the Court felt different.
Not in the air—though the scent of old magic and blood still clung to the stone like a ghost. Not in the light—though the floating blue flames burned lower, casting longer shadows across the sigils on the walls. It was in the way the servants moved, heads down, steps quick. The way the guards stiffened when I passed, their golden or silver eyes flicking to my collarbone, to the mark that now pulsed beneath my skin like a second heartbeat. The way the vampires—those ancient, elegant predators—watched me with something between awe and revulsion.
I was no longer just the half-breed who had walked into their ancestral temple and triggered a fated bond.
I was *claimed*.
The blood exchange had sealed it. The visions had confirmed it. And now, the entire Shadowveil Court knew—Kael Nocturne’s fated mate was not some noble-born vampire heiress. Not a warrior from the Lupine Clans. Not a seductress from the Summer Fae.
It was me.
A bastard child. A hybrid. A woman who had come here to kill him.
And yet, he had let me taste his blood.
He had let me see his soul.
And when I bit him—when I drew his blood in a kiss that was more fight than surrender—he hadn’t punished me. He hadn’t flinched. He had *wanted* it.
I could still feel the echo of his lips on mine, the way his fangs had grazed my tongue, the way his hand had fisted in my hair, holding me still as the bond screamed between us. I could still taste his blood—dark wine and winter pine, laced with something ancient, something *fierce*. And I could still hear his voice, rough and breathless: *“You’d hate me for it.”*
And my answer: *“I already do.”*
But I hadn’t pulled away.
And that was the problem.
I stood before the mirror in Kael’s chambers, the same one I’d faced after Mira’s visit. The same silver-lavender eyes stared back, the same dark waves tangled, the same lips still slightly swollen from the kiss. But something had shifted. Not in my reflection. In *me*.
The cold, calculating assassin who had infiltrated the Court with a dagger and a death wish was still there. She hadn’t vanished. But she was no longer in control.
Something else was.
Something warmer. Softer. *Weaker*.
And I hated it.
“Lady Avalon,” a voice called from the door. “Your attire for the evening gala has arrived.”
I didn’t turn. “Enter.”
A servant stepped in, carrying a gown of deep emerald silk, the bodice embroidered with silver vines that twisted like living things. The color of the forest. Of life. Of *growth*.
“The Prince insists you wear this,” she said, laying the dress across the bed. “He said it would… suit the occasion.”
I crossed the room slowly, my boots silent on the stone. The fabric was cool against my fingers, the embroidery intricate, each vine curling around a tiny, thorned crescent. A mirror of my mark. A message.
Kael wasn’t just dressing me for the gala.
He was *marking* me.
“Tell him I’ll wear it,” I said, my voice steady.
The servant bowed and left.
I stripped off my simple tunic and trousers, stepping into the gown. The fabric slid over my skin like water, the fit impossibly perfect, as if it had been made for me. The corset tightened around my waist, pushing my breasts up, the neckline plunging just enough to reveal the mark on my collarbone.
Deliberate.
He wanted the Court to see it. To know.
I braided my hair, securing it with a silver clasp shaped like a thorn. Then I picked up the dagger, sliding it into the hidden sheath beneath the folds of the gown.
Let him think I was his.
Let the Council believe the lie.
But I would never forget what I came here to do.
When I opened the door, Kael was waiting.
He stood in the hall, tall and imposing, his coat open to reveal a black silk shirt beneath, the silver runes along his collar glowing faintly. His eyes locked onto mine, then dropped to the mark at my throat, then to the curve of my breasts above the neckline.
And for the first time, I didn’t see hunger.
I saw *pride*.
“You look…” He paused, as if searching for the right word. “*Mine.*”
I lifted my chin. “Disappointed? Were you hoping I’d refuse?”
“No,” he said. “I was hoping you’d understand.”
“Understand what?”
“That tonight isn’t just a performance,” he said, reaching for my hand. “It’s a declaration.”
His fingers closed around mine.
The world *burned*.
Fire surged through my veins, the bond flaring hot and immediate, syncing my pulse with his. My breath caught. My skin tingled. My blood sang.
He didn’t pull me forward. Just stood there, holding my hand, his eyes locked on mine, the mark in his iris glowing faintly, mirroring the one on my skin.
“The entire Court will be there,” he said. “The Council. The nobles. The spies. They’ll watch us. They’ll listen. They’ll test the bond.”
“And if we fail?”
“Then the truce breaks,” he said. “And war begins.”
I didn’t pull away. “And if we succeed?”
“Then we survive another day.”
He led me through the corridors, our steps in sync, our hands still joined. The bond hummed between us, a low, insistent pulse, but neither of us spoke. The weight of what was coming—the eyes, the whispers, the *lies*—was too heavy for words.
The gala was held in the Grand Hall, a vast chamber of black marble and silver flame, the ceiling lost in shadow, the walls lined with floating candles that cast shifting, serpentine light. The air was thick with the scent of blood and perfume, the murmur of voices rising like smoke. Vampires in dark silk and silver thread. Werewolves in leather and bone. Fae in gowns that shimmered like starlight. Witches in robes stained with ritual ink.
And then—
Us.
We stepped into the hall, and the room *silenced*.
Every head turned. Every eye locked onto us. Onto *me*. The hybrid. The half-breed. The woman who had bitten her fated mate and tasted his blood.
Kael didn’t flinch. Just tightened his grip on my hand, pulling me forward, his presence like a storm rolling in. I kept my spine straight, my chin high, my expression unreadable. Let them stare. Let them whisper. Let them fear.
I was Avalon.
And I was not afraid.
We moved through the crowd, the whispers rising like a tide.
“*Did they consummate the bond?*”
“*I heard she drew his blood. That she fed from him like a thrall.*”
“*He’ll tire of her. They always do. Hybrids don’t last.*”
Kael’s hand tightened on mine.
“Ignore them,” he murmured. “They’re nothing.”
“Easy for you to say,” I whispered back. “You’re not the one they’re calling an abomination.”
He stopped, turning to me, his eyes silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly. “You are not an abomination. You are *mine*. And if anyone speaks against you, they speak against me.”
His voice was low, but it carried. The whispers died.
I didn’t thank him. Just nodded, my throat tight.
We reached the center of the hall, where Lady Isolde stood with the Council, their faces half-hidden in shadow. She smiled, slow and sharp. “Prince Kael. Lady Avalon. You grace us with your presence.”
“We do,” Kael said, his voice cold. “As promised.”
“And the bond?” she asked. “Is it holding?”
“As you can see,” he said, lifting our joined hands.
The sigils on the floor flared—silver light spiraling up from the stone, wrapping around our wrists like chains. The bond surged, white-hot, and I gasped, my fingers tightening around his.
“It is real,” Lady Isolde said. “And it is strong.”
“It is,” Kael agreed. “And it will remain so.”
She studied me, her gaze sharp. “And you, Lady Avalon? Do you accept your place?”
I met her eyes, my voice steady. “I accept nothing. I endure.”
A ripple of shock went through the crowd.
Kael didn’t react. Just squeezed my hand, a silent warning.
Lady Isolde smiled. “A bold answer. I look forward to seeing how long that endurance lasts.”
Music began—a slow, haunting melody played on silver strings. The dance floor opened, couples moving into position. Kael turned to me, his hand still in mine.
“We dance,” he said.
“I don’t dance,” I said.
“You do now.”
He pulled me forward, his arm sliding around my waist, his other hand clasping mine. The bond flared—hot, insistent—as he led me into the dance, his steps sure, his body close. I followed, stiff at first, my movements awkward, but he guided me, his hand firm, his presence steady.
“Relax,” he murmured. “Let the bond move you.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Too late.”
And he was right.
The music, the magic, the *him*—it was all too much. My body remembered his touch, his heat, the way his breath had hitched when I bit him. My skin tingled where he held me. My breath came in short, sharp gasps.
And then—
A vine.
One of the silver vines that twisted along the walls—*alive*, I realized, *enchanted*—lashed out like a whip, wrapping around my ankle, yanking me off balance.
I cried out, stumbling, but Kael caught me, his arm tightening around my waist, pulling me against him. The bond *screamed*—a surge of magic that made the sigils beneath our feet blaze with silver light.
And then—
The vine *ripped*.
Not just my dress. The entire side of the gown tore from hip to thigh, exposing my leg, the fabric fluttering like a wounded wing. The crowd gasped. The music stopped.
I froze.
But not from embarrassment.
From *fear*.
Because on my hip—just above the tear—was the mark.
Not the one on my collarbone.
A *new* one.
A glowing sigil, shaped like a crescent pierced by a thorn—the same as mine, but *different*. Darker. *Deeper*.
And it was *his*.
Kael saw it too.
His breath caught. His eyes widened. For the first time since I’d met him, I saw *shock*.
And then—
He moved.
In one fluid motion, he tore off his coat and wrapped it around me, covering the mark, shielding it from the crowd. His body was heat against mine, his breath warm on my neck.
“Stay close,” he growled, his voice low, guttural.
The crowd was silent. Watching. Waiting.
Lady Isolde stepped forward, her eyes sharp. “An accident, Prince Kael?”
“No,” he said, his voice cold. “An attack.”
“And yet,” she said, “your mate bears your mark. A *claiming* mark. One that only appears when the bond is… consummated.”
My breath caught.
Kael didn’t flinch. “Then someone forged it.”
“Or,” she said, smiling, “the bond has already claimed her in ways we cannot see.”
The whispers rose again—louder, hungrier.
“*They’ve already lain together.*”
“*She’s his in every way.*”
“*The hybrid is truly his now.*”
Kael turned, his eyes silver, the mark in his iris blazing. “If anyone speaks against her, they speak against me. And I do not forgive.”
The silence was absolute.
He led me from the hall, his coat still wrapped around me, his arm tight around my waist. The guards followed. The doors sealed behind us with a sound like a tomb closing.
When we were alone in the corridor, I wrenched myself from his grip.
“You knew,” I hissed. “You knew about the mark.”
“I didn’t,” he said. “Not until tonight.”
“Then what is it?”
“A claiming sigil,” he said. “It only appears when the bond is complete. When the fated mates have… consummated their union.”
“We haven’t.”
“I know.”
“Then why is it there?”
He didn’t answer. Just reached for me, his hand brushing the edge of the tear in my dress, his fingers tracing the fabric just above the mark. The bond flared—hot, undeniable. My breath hitched. My skin burned.
“Someone forged it,” he said. “Or the bond is stronger than we thought.”
“And which do you believe?”
He looked at me, his eyes silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly. “I believe the bond doesn’t lie.”
My breath caught.
And then—
I felt it.
A note. In my pocket.
I pulled it out—folded vellum, scented with jasmine.
And written in looping script:
“You’re not the only one who’s tasted his blood.”
—Mira
The bond *screamed*.