I came here to kill the Wolf King.
And now I’m standing in the ruins of a burned-out temple, my bare feet on scorched stone, my fingers tracing the blackened remains of a fae sigil carved into the floor. The air is thick with the scent of ash, old magic, and something deeper—memory. The wind howls through the broken arches, carrying with it the whispers of the dead. This place… it’s not just a ruin.
It’s a grave.
My mother’s grave.
Kael stands behind me, silent, still, his presence a storm. He hasn’t spoken since we arrived. Hasn’t touched me. Just watches, his gold eyes burning, his body coiled like a predator. He knows what this is. Knows what it means. Knows that I didn’t bring us here by accident.
I brought us here to remember.
To face it.
To burn it.
The temple was once beautiful—white stone, silver vines, floating orbs of soft light. Now it’s a skeleton of its former self, the walls collapsed, the roof gone, the runes on the floor cracked and faded. The High Court didn’t just destroy it.
They erased it.
And yet—
It’s still here.
Not in stone.
Not in magic.
In me.
I press two fingers to the mating mark on my shoulder. It pulses—warm, alive, claimed. The bond hums between us, golden threads woven through blood and breath, but it’s quieter here. Not broken. Not denied. Just… reverent.
Like this place knows what we are.
What we’ve become.
“You didn’t have to come,” I say, not turning. “You could’ve stayed. Waited. Let me do this alone.”
“And let you face this without me?” His voice is rough, low, dangerous. “No. You don’t get to carry this alone. Not anymore.”
I close my eyes.
Because he’s right.
I don’t.
Not now.
Not ever again.
“I used to come here,” I say, my voice soft. “When I was a child. My mother would sit in the center, her hands in the dirt, her voice singing to the earth. She said the land remembered. That the stones held oaths. That the wind carried truth.”
I open my eyes, step forward, my fingers brushing the blackened sigil.
It flares—faint, weak, but there.
“She was right,” I whisper.
Kael moves behind me, his boots silent on the ash. He doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t try to pull me back. Just stands close, his heat searing through the cold, his breath warm against my neck.
“I didn’t know,” he says. “Not then. Not when I lit the pyre. I thought I was protecting the peace. Protecting you. But I was just another blade in their hands.”
I turn to him.
Gold meets gold.
His eyes burn with something I’ve never seen before.
Guilt.
Not for what he did.
For what he let happen.
“You weren’t a blade,” I say. “You were a shield. And you took the blow meant for me.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just presses his forehead to mine, his breath hot against my lips. “I’d do it again,” he murmurs. “In a heartbeat.”
“I know,” I say. “And that’s why I can’t hate you.”
He stills.
Lifts his head.
Looks at me—like I’ve given him the world.
And maybe I have.
Because for the first time, I’m not speaking to the Wolf King.
I’m speaking to the man.
And he’s listening.
“They thought they could bury the truth,” I say, stepping back, my voice rising. “They thought they could burn the temple, kill my mother, frame you, and make me forget. But they were wrong.”
I raise my hands.
My magic hums beneath my skin—golden, fierce, alive. Fae blood. Witch blood. Power.
“I remember,” I say. “I remember her voice. Her hands. Her laugh. I remember the way she looked at me—like I was the only light in the dark.”
I slam my palms to the ground.
The runes ignite—golden light erupting across the stone, the air crackling with magic. The wind howls. The ash rises. The broken arches tremble.
“And I remember what they did to her!” I scream.
The temple answers.
Not with sound.
Not with fire.
With memory.
The air shimmers. The light bends. And then—
I see it.
Her.
My mother.
She’s standing in the center of the temple, her silver robes glowing, her circlet bright, her hands raised. She’s not afraid. Not broken. Just… resolute.
And around her—
The High Court.
Elder Veylin. Elder Solen. Elder Nyx. Their faces cold, their staves raised, their voices chanting in unison.
“You have betrayed the Fae,” Veylin says. “You have refused your duty. You have chosen the wolf over your own blood.”
“I chose peace,” she says, her voice steady. “I chose life. I chose my daughter.”
“And for that,” Solen hisses, “you will die.”
They raise their staves.
The magic flares—black, sharp, betrayal.
And then—
Kael steps forward.
Not the Kael I know.
Not the king.
The younger one. The one with blood on his hands, his face blank, his eyes burning.
He doesn’t speak.
Just lights the pyre.
And as the flames rise—
She looks at him.
Not with hatred.
Not with fear.
With gratitude.
Because she knows.
She knows he’s saving me.
She knows he’s taking the blame.
She knows—
That I’ll live.
The vision shatters.
I collapse to my knees, my breath ragged, my hands trembling. Tears spill down my face, hot and silent. The runes on the floor dim, the magic fading, the wind stilling.
But the truth—
It remains.
Kael drops beside me, his arms locking around me, his heat searing through the cold. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t try to comfort me. Just holds me—tight, desperate, real—like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.
“She knew,” I whisper. “She knew what he was doing. She knew he was saving me.”
“And she let him,” Kael says, his voice rough. “Because she loved you more than her name. More than her life. More than her honor.”
I press my forehead to his chest, my fingers clutching his coat. “I spent ten years hating you,” I say. “I came here to kill you. I wanted to make you suffer.”
He doesn’t flinch.
Just strokes my hair. “And now?”
I lift my head.
Gold meets gold.
“Now,” I say, my voice breaking, “I want to burn them.”
He doesn’t smile.
Doesn’t smirk.
Just nods.
“Then we will,” he says. “Together.”
I don’t answer.
Just press my palm to the mating mark on his chest. It pulses—warm, alive, claimed.
And I know—
Maybe I don’t have to win this war.
Maybe I don’t have to destroy them.
Maybe—
Maybe I can just belong.
But not yet.
Because first—
We have to burn the past.
I stand.
Kael stands with me.
“This place,” I say, looking around at the ruins. “It’s not just her grave. It’s a weapon. A memory. A promise.”
“Then let it be a beacon,” he says. “Let them see what they destroyed. Let them see what they made.”
“They’ll come,” I say. “When they feel the magic. When they know we’re here.”
“Let them,” he says. “They’ll find us ready.”
I don’t answer.
Just raise my hands.
My magic surges—golden light erupting from my palms, my fae blood singing in my veins. I don’t carve a rune. Don’t cast a spell. Just push—with everything I am, with everything she was, with everything we’ve become.
The temple answers.
The runes on the floor ignite—golden, fierce, unstoppable. The wind howls. The ash rises. The broken arches tremble, then lift, stone floating into the air like leaves on a storm. The magic crackles, the air hums, the ground trembles.
And then—
It rebuilds.
Not to how it was.
Not to what they destroyed.
To what it should have been.
White stone rises from the ash. Silver vines curl through the cracks. Floating orbs of soft light ignite in the air. The sigils on the floor pulse with power, not just fae magic, but witchcraft, werewolf strength, vampire blood—all of it.
A new temple.
A new beginning.
A new war.
Kael watches, his gold eyes burning, his fangs just visible in the torchlight. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just watches me—like I’ve given him the world.
And maybe I have.
Because this isn’t just magic.
It’s a declaration.
A vow.
A kingdom.
“They’ll feel this,” he says. “The High Court. The Council. Seraphine. Thorne. They’ll know we’re not running. Not hiding. Not begging.”
“Good,” I say. “Let them know. Let them see.”
He steps forward, his hand warm around mine. “And when they come?”
I turn to him.
Gold meets gold.
“We’ll be waiting,” I say. “And we’ll burn them together.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just pulls me into his chest, his arms locking around me, his heartbeat steady against my ear. “You’re not just my mate,” he murmurs. “You’re my queen.”
“And you’re mine,” I say. “And if they think they can take what’s ours—” I lift my chin, gold eyes burning. “—they’ll learn what happens when you provoke a storm.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just kisses me.
Not gentle.
Not sweet.
Violent.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. The wind howls. The stone trembles. The temple hums with power.
And then—
Footsteps.
Heavy. Fast. armed.
I break the kiss slowly, my breath ragged, my fangs bared. I don’t turn. Don’t release him. Just hold him tighter, my body a wall between him and the threat.
“Morgana,” a voice calls. Cold. Regal. Familiar.
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.
Again.
Kael growls, low and rough, his body coiling. “You don’t have to answer,” he says.
“I do,” I say, stepping forward. “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 steps beside me, his presence a storm, his gold eyes burning.
I open my eyes.
Elder Veylin stands at the edge of the temple, 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.
Kael at my side.
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.
Kael at my side.
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 it.
Not in front of me.
Not in the stone.
In the air.
A whisper.
From the wind.
From the magic.
From the bond.
“She’s coming.”
I stop.
Kael tenses. “Who?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “But they’re not afraid. And they’re not alone.”
He doesn’t speak.
Just steps in front of me, his body a wall of heat, his fangs bared, his claws extended.
And then—
From the mist, a figure emerges.
Tall. Pale. Dressed in black silk, her hair like spun silver, her eyes burning with ancient fire.
Elder Solen.
One of the three Fae High Elders.
The woman who declared my mother a traitor.
The one who helped burn our temple to ash.
And now she’s here.
At my door.
Again.
“Morgana,” she says, voice echoing in the stone. “Daughter of the High Priestess. You stand before the Fae High Court.”
“I don’t,” I say, stepping forward, my dagger in hand, my back straight. “I stand before the woman who murdered my mother. Who framed her. Who burned our temple to hide their lies.”
“Silence,” she snaps. “You speak to your betters.”
“I speak to my enemies,” I say. “And I don’t kneel to murderers.”
She doesn’t flinch.
Just raises her hand.
And behind her—
Dozens of fae emerge from the mist.
Armed. Armored. ready.
“You have one choice,” she says. “Return to us. Renounce the wolf. Break the bond. And we will spare you.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you are declared traitor,” she says. “And you will be branded. Hunted. Killed.”
“And Kael?”
“He will die,” she 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,” she 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!” she 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 ground ignite—golden light erupting across the ravine, the air crackling with magic. The torches blaze. The fae stumble back.
“The bond is confirmed!” one of them 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.”
She doesn’t answer.
Just turns and vanishes—cloak dissolving into mist, footsteps fading into silence.
And then—
Silence.
Just the wind. The stone. The bond.
Kael turns to me, his gold eyes burning. “They’ll come back,” he says.
“Let them,” I say. “Because if they do—” I press my palm to the mating mark on his chest. “—we’ll burn them together.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just pulls me into his chest, his arms locking around me, his heartbeat steady against my ear.
And I know—
Maybe I don’t have to win this war.
Maybe I don’t have to destroy them.
Maybe—
Maybe I can just belong.
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.