I came here to kill the Wolf King.
And now I’m standing in the heart of the Iron Court, barefoot on cold stone, my fingers still tingling from the kiss I just gave him—a kiss that wasn’t just defiance, wasn’t just desire, but a declaration: I choose you. Only you. Always you.
Kael’s arms are around me, his heartbeat steady against my ear, his scent—pine, fire, raw male—filling my lungs. The bond hums between us, stronger than ever, a golden thread woven through our blood, our breath, our dreams. The blood oath is sealed. Thorne is gone. The storm has passed. And for the first time since I arrived at the Iron Court, I feel… safe.
Not because I’m protected.
Not because I’m claimed.
But because I’m seen.
He didn’t just give me his body. His loyalty. His kingdom.
He gave me my freedom.
And I chose him anyway.
“You’re trembling,” he murmurs, his hand gliding down my spine, his thumb brushing the mating mark on my shoulder. “Cold?”
“No,” I whisper. “Alive.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, gold meeting gold. His eyes are burning, not with dominance, not with possession, but with something softer. Something fiercer. Wonder.
“Say it again,” he says, voice rough. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I say, lifting my chin. “Only yours. Always yours. Not because of the bond. Not because of duty. But because I want to be.”
He smiles—slow, dark, utterly triumphant. Then he leans in, his breath hot against my ear. “Then let me show you what it means to be mine.”
His mouth crashes into mine, his fangs scraping my lips, his tongue claiming me like he owns me. And I—
I kiss him back.
My hands fist in his coat, pulling him closer, my body arching into his, my core aching, needing. The bond flares—golden light erupting between us, the runes on our chests glowing, the air crackling with magic.
He lifts me, his hands under my thighs, and carries me to the bed. He lays me down gently, then strips off his gloves, his coat, his shirt. His chest is a battlefield—scars from claws, burns from magic, the deep, jagged line across his shoulder blade. The runes tattooed there twist like serpents down his skin.
He climbs onto the bed, hovering over me. “This is your last chance,” he says. “Say no, and I’ll leave. Say yes—” He leans in, his breath hot against my ear. “—and I’ll make you forget your own name.”
I look up at him—gold eyes, sharp jaw, fangs just visible in the torchlight. The man who killed my mother. The monster who burned our temple. The king who took a blade, a poison, and ten years of my hatred for me.
And I realize—
I don’t want to win this war.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stares at me—like I’ve given him the world.
Then he kisses me.
Not violent.
Not desperate.
Gentle.
His lips press against mine—soft, slow, claiming. His hands glide over my skin, pushing the gold gown aside, baring me to the heat, to the light, to him. The bond flares—golden light erupting between us, the runes on our chests glowing, the air crackling with magic.
And for the first time, I don’t fight it.
Because part of me—small, broken, awake—doesn’t want to.
Because part of me—
Wants to belong.
His mouth moves down my neck, to my collarbone, to my breasts. He takes my nipple into his mouth, sucking, licking, nipping. I cry out, my back arching, my hands fisting in the sheets. The heat between my thighs is unbearable. The bond pulses—stronger, deeper, hungrier.
“Kael—” I gasp. “Please—”
“Please what?” he murmurs, lifting his head. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you inside me,” I whisper. “I want you to claim me. To make me yours.”
He smiles—slow, dark. “You’re already mine.”
But he doesn’t move.
Just watches me—gold eyes burning, possessive, knowing.
And then—
There’s a knock.
Not soft.
Not delicate.
Violent.
Kael stills, his body tensing, his fangs bared. He lifts his head, gold eyes locking onto the door.
“Go away,” he growls.
“Morgana,” a voice calls. Cold. Regal. Familiar. “You are summoned.”
My blood turns to ice.
I know that voice.
Elder Veylin.
One of the three Fae High Elders. The man who stood beside my mother as she was executed. The one who declared her a traitor. The one who helped burn our temple to ash.
And now he’s here.
At my door.
Kael looks at me, his eyes sharp. “You don’t have to answer.”
“I do,” I say, sitting up. “They’ll come for me. They’ll come for you. And if I don’t go—” I press my palm to the mating mark on my shoulder. “—they’ll use it against us.”
He doesn’t argue. Just helps me dress—his hands gentle, his touch deliberate. He fastens the clasps at my back, his fingers brushing my skin, his breath warm against my neck. Then he turns me, his gold eyes burning.
“You’re not going alone,” he says.
“You can’t come,” I say. “It’s a Fae summons. If you enter, it’s a declaration of war.”
He growls, low and rough. “Then I’ll be right outside. And if they touch you—”
“I know,” I say, pressing my palm to his chest. “But I have to do this. Not for them. For me.”
He studies me. Then, slowly, he nods.
I open the door.
Elder Veylin stands there, tall and pale, his silver robes edged with black runes, his staff raised. Behind him, two Fae guards flank the corridor, their eyes cold, their hands on their blades.
“Daughter of the High Priestess,” he says, voice echoing in the stone hall. “You are summoned before the Fae High Court. Come.”
“I’m not your daughter,” I say, stepping forward. “Not anymore.”
He doesn’t flinch. Just turns and walks.
I follow.
The corridors are silent. The torches flicker with unnatural blue at the edges. The scent of iron and pine fades, replaced by something older—moonflowers, frost, the cold magic of the Fae. We ascend through the fortress, through hidden passages, through veils of glamour that shimmer like mist. And then—
We step into the Fae Enclave.
Ice-carved walls. Silver vines. Floating orbs of soft light. The air is thick with ancient power, with the weight of oaths, with the memory of betrayal. The High Court chamber is circular, the floor etched with runes that pulse faintly with magic. Three thrones rise at the center—onyx, carved with fae script, glowing with cold fire.
The other two Elders are already seated.
Elder Solen—her hair like spun moonlight, her eyes sharp as glass. And Elder Nyx—his face half-hidden in shadow, his voice like smoke.
They don’t rise.
Don’t greet me.
Just watch.
“Morgana,” Elder Veylin says, taking his seat. “Daughter of the traitor. Heir to nothing. You stand before the Fae High Court.”
“I don’t,” I say. “I stand before the men who murdered my mother. Who framed her. Who burned our temple to hide their lies.”
“Silence,” Elder Solen snaps. “You speak to your betters.”
“I speak to my enemies,” I say. “And I don’t kneel to murderers.”
Elder Nyx leans forward, his voice low, dangerous. “You have no right to challenge us. You are half-blood. Half-witch. An abomination.”
“And yet,” I say, lifting my chin, “I’m the only one who survived. The only one who remembers. The only one who knows the truth.”
“The truth?” Elder Veylin laughs. “That you’ve been claimed by a wolf? That you’ve let him mark you? That you’ve forsaken your blood, your magic, your duty?”
“I haven’t forsaken anything,” I say. “I’ve embraced it. I’m not just Fae. I’m not just witch. I’m both. And I’m stronger for it.”
“You are weak,” Elder Solen says. “Tainted by the wolf’s bond. Corrupted by his touch. And now, you threaten the balance.”
“The balance?” I say. “You mean your control. Your power. Your lies.”
“Enough,” Elder Nyx says, standing. “You have one choice. One path. Return to us. Renounce the wolf. Break the bond. And we will spare you.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you are declared traitor,” he says. “And you will be branded. Hunted. Killed.”
“And Kael?”
“He will die,” Elder Veylin says. “And the Iron Court will burn.”
I don’t flinch.
Just press my palm to the mating mark on my shoulder. It pulses—warm, alive, claimed.
“You don’t get to choose for me,” I say. “Not anymore. I’m not your weapon. I’m not your pawn. I’m not your daughter. I’m a queen. And I rule beside the man I love.”
“You love a monster,” Elder Solen hisses.
“And you serve cowards,” I say. “Who let my mother die to protect their secrets. Who let Kael take the blame so they wouldn’t have to.”
“Silence!” Elder Nyx roars. “You will obey. Or you will die.”
“Then kill me,” I say, stepping forward. “But know this—” I raise my hand, the mating mark glowing. “—if you harm me, the bond will destroy you. If you harm him, I will burn your court to ash. And if you try to take what’s mine—” I lift my chin, gold eyes burning. “—I will make you regret the day you ever touched my mother’s blood.”
The runes on the floor ignite—golden light erupting across the chamber, the air crackling with magic. The torches blaze. The Elders stumble back.
“The bond is confirmed!” Elder Solen shouts. “The mate-mark is sealed!”
“And so is my choice,” I say. “I am not yours. I am his. And I will never bow to you again.”
“Then you are condemned,” Elder Nyx says, voice cold. “Leave this place. And know—” He steps forward, his eyes locking onto mine. “—we will not forget. We will not forgive. And we will not stop.”
“Neither will I,” I say. “And next time, I won’t warn you.”
I turn and walk away.
The corridors blur. My breath comes in short, ragged gasps. My hands tremble. My vision blurs. I don’t stop. Don’t slow. Just keep moving, my bare feet silent on the stone, my heart pounding, my pulse racing.
And then—
I see him.
Kael.
He’s waiting at the edge of the enclave, his presence a storm, his gold eyes burning. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just watches me—like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.
“They threatened you,” I say, my voice breaking.
“I know,” he says, stepping forward. “I felt it. The bond—”
“They want me to renounce you,” I say. “To break the bond. To return to them.”
“And you said no.”
“Of course I said no,” I snap. “Do you think I’d—”
He grabs me, pulls me into his chest, his arms locking around me, his heartbeat steady against my ear. “I know,” he murmurs. “I know you wouldn’t. But I had to hear you say it.”
“I chose you,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “Not because I have to. Not because of the bond. But because I want to. Because I love you. Because I don’t want to be anyone else.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just holds me.
And for the first time, I believe—
Maybe I don’t have to win this war.
Maybe I don’t have to destroy them.
Maybe—
Maybe I can just belong.
“They’ll come for us,” I say, lifting my head.
“Let them,” he says, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Because if they do—” He leans in, his breath hot against my lips. “—we’ll burn them together.”
I don’t answer.
Just kiss him.
Not gentle.
Not sweet.
Violent.My mouth crashes into his, my fangs scraping his lips, my tongue claiming him like I own him. And he—
He kisses me back.
His hands fist in my hair, pulling me closer, his body arching into mine, his core aching, needing. The bond flares—golden light erupting between us, the runes on our chests glowing, the air crackling with magic.
And I know—
This isn’t just love.
This is war.
And I’m ready to fight.
I came here to kill the Wolf King.
And now—
I think I love him.
And worse—
I don’t want to be anyone else.
Because I don’t want to be free.
Because I don’t want to be anything but his.
Marked by the Wolf King
The first time Morgana sees him, he’s standing over a corpse—her mother’s body at his feet, her silver circlet in his hand. Ten years old, hidden in the shadows, she watches as the Wolf King declares the Fae Coven traitors and burns their temple to ash. She survives. She learns. She becomes a weapon.
Now, at twenty-seven, she returns to the Iron Court disguised as a neutral envoy from the Northern Witches, her magic veiled, her scent masked. Her mission: sabotage the Blood Moon Treaty that will cement werewolf supremacy over all supernaturals. She plans to kill the King during the ceremonial bond-rune exchange—until their fingers brush, and a golden mark flares across both their chests. The crowd roars. The Council declares them Fated. The bond is irreversible. And he—Kael, the Wolf King—smirks like he’s known her soul all along.
But his touch is fire. His voice, a growl that sinks into her bones. When he pins her against the obsidian door after the ceremony, his fangs grazing her pulse, whispering, “You’ve been mine since the night I killed your mother,” she doesn’t know whether to bite him… or kiss him back.
Because the bond doesn’t just crave union—it demands it. And if she resists too long, the fever will break her mind. Meanwhile, whispers rise: a rival queen claims she once bore his heir; a vampire lord wants Morgana’s blood for immortality; and the Fae High Court watches, waiting to see if she’ll burn the world for vengeance… or let it burn for love.