I came here to kill the Wolf King.
And now I’m standing in the war room beneath the Iron Court, my fingers laced with Kael’s, our magic still humming between us like a storm that refuses to pass. The runes on the walls pulse faintly—warded, silent, watching. Maps of Atheria are spread across the table, each marked with sigils of alliance, threat, and betrayal. Riven stands at the far end, his arms crossed, his gaze sharp. Lyra is beside him, her green eyes narrowed, her fingers tracing a path along the northern border. Thorne’s name is circled in red ink. So is Elder Veylin’s. And mine.
Good.
Let them know I’m coming.
Kael doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just sits beside me, his presence a storm, his hand warm around mine. His gold eyes are locked on the maps, but I know he’s not seeing them. He’s seeing me. The way I stood before the Fae High Court. The way I raised my hand and set the runes ablaze. The way I kissed him afterward—hard, desperate, real—like I was staking a claim.
Like I was declaring war.
“They’ll retaliate,” Riven says, voice low. “The Fae don’t back down. Not from blood debts. Not from oaths broken.”
“Then let them come,” Kael says, voice rough. “We’re ready.”
“Are we?” Riven asks. “They have the High Court. The ancient oaths. The power of the old magic. And they’ll use Morgana’s blood against us.”
“They already tried,” I say. “And failed.”
“This time,” Riven says, “they won’t poison you. They’ll curse you. Bind you. Summon the spirits of your ancestors to turn you against him.”
My breath catches.
Because he’s right.
The Fae don’t fight with blades.
They fight with memory.
With guilt.
With the weight of blood.
Kael turns to me, his gold eyes burning. “You don’t have to do this,” he says. “You could leave. Start over. Be free.”
“I am free,” I say, squeezing his hand. “Because I’m not running anymore. I’m not hiding. I’m not pretending I don’t love you.”
He stills.
His breath catches.
And then—
He pulls me into his chest, his arms locking around me, his heartbeat steady against my ear. “Say it again,” he murmurs.
“I love you,” I say, my voice breaking. “And I’m not afraid anymore.”
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.
The door bursts open.
Not with a slam.
Not with a roar.
With a whisper.
And then—
She steps inside.
Seraphine.
The Blood Queen.
She wears black silk that clings to her like shadow, her pale skin glowing in the torchlight, her dark eyes sharp with something I’ve never seen before.
Victory.
She doesn’t bow. Doesn’t kneel. Doesn’t even look at Riven or Lyra. Just walks straight to me, her boots silent on the stone, her scent—cold roses and iron—thick in the air.
“Morgana,” she says, voice smooth, dark. “Daughter of the traitor. You’ve been busy.”
“You’re not welcome here,” Kael growls, standing.
She smiles—slow, cold. “And yet, I’m here. Because you can’t stop me. Not anymore.”
“Try me,” he says, fangs bared.
“No,” I say, stepping forward. “Let her speak.”
Kael tenses. “Morgana—”
“I said let her speak,” I say, not turning. “Because if she’s brave enough to walk into your war room, she’s either a fool… or she has something we need.”
She studies me. Then nods. “You’re smarter than I thought.”
“And you’re still wearing his shirt,” I say, glancing at her collar. “How many lies do you need to feel powerful?”
Her smile doesn’t waver. “I don’t need lies. I have proof.”
“Of what?” Riven asks.
“That the treaty is already broken,” she says. “That the Blood Moon has already risen. And that your precious queen—” She steps closer, her voice dropping. “—is not the only one who bears a mark.”
My breath stops.
Because I know what she means.
The mating mark.
She can’t have one.
Not with Kael.
Not after all this time.
But then—
She unbuttons her collar.
And there it is.
A scar.
Not a bite.
Not a rune.
A wound.
Deep. Jagged. Old.
And beneath it—
Faint. Flickering.
A glow.
“You see it, don’t you?” she whispers. “The mark. The bond. The truth.”
“It’s fake,” I say. “Forged with vampire magic. Just like the treaty scroll.”
“Is it?” she asks. “Then why does it pulse when he’s near? Why does it burn when you touch it? Why does it hurt?”
She’s right.
It does.
And that’s what terrifies me.
Kael steps forward, his presence a wall of heat and power. “I never marked you,” he says. “I never claimed you. You were a political alliance. Nothing more.”
“And yet,” she says, “the bond remains. The magic remembers. And the blood—” She lifts her wrist, bares her pulse. “—still sings for you.”
I press two fingers to the mating mark on my shoulder. It pulses—warm, alive, claimed. But beneath it—
Something else.
A ripple.
A tremor.
Like the bond is reacting.
“She’s lying,” Lyra says. “She’s trying to break you. To turn you against each other.”
“Am I?” Seraphine asks. “Or am I the only one brave enough to tell the truth?” She turns to me. “You think you’re the first? The only? The chosen one? You’re not. You’re just the latest. The loudest. The most convenient.”
“Get out,” Kael growls.
“No,” she says. “Because I didn’t come to fight. I came to warn you.”
“Warn us of what?” Riven asks.
“That Thorne has the final piece,” she says. “The Blood Oath. The one that binds you—” She points at Kael. “—to me. And if he uses it—” She turns to me. “—your bond will shatter. You’ll die. He’ll die. And the Iron Court will fall.”
“You expect us to believe you?” I say. “After everything you’ve done? After you framed me? After you tried to destroy us?”
“I don’t expect you to believe me,” she says. “I expect you to survive.” She steps closer. “I know what Thorne wants. I know what he’ll do. And if you don’t stop him—” Her voice drops. “—you’ll lose everything. Including each other.”
“Why would you help us?” Lyra asks.
“Because I don’t want him to win,” she says. “Not like this. Not with my blood.”
Silence.
The runes on the walls pulse faintly, reacting to the tension in the air. The bond hums between us—stronger, deeper, hungrier. I press two fingers to the mating mark on my shoulder. It pulses—warm, alive, claimed.
“You’re lying,” I say. “You want the throne. You want power. You want him.”
“And what if I do?” she asks. “Does that make me a monster? Or just honest?”
“It makes you dangerous,” Kael says. “And I don’t trust you.”
“Then don’t,” she says. “But listen. Because if you don’t—” She turns to the door. “—you’ll be dead by dawn.”
She vanishes—cloak dissolving into mist, footsteps fading into silence.
And then—
Silence.
Just the drip of water from the ceiling, the flicker of torchlight, the faint hum of the runes.
“She’s lying,” Riven says. “It’s a trap.”
“Maybe,” Lyra says. “Or maybe she’s the only one who sees the bigger picture.”
“She’s a predator,” I say. “And predators don’t warn their prey.”
“Unless they’re hunting something bigger,” Kael says, turning to me. “What if she’s telling the truth?”
“Then we’re already too late,” I say. “Because if Thorne has the Blood Oath—” My voice breaks. “—he can break the bond. He can kill us.”
“Then we take it from him,” Kael says.
“And walk into a trap?” Riven asks.
“Better than waiting to die,” I say. “And if Seraphine’s telling the truth—” I press my palm to the mating mark on my shoulder. “—then we don’t have a choice.”
Kael studies me. Then nods. “Then we move now.”
“We?” Lyra asks.
“Me and her,” he says. “No one else.”
“You can’t be serious,” Riven says. “You’re walking into a vampire’s den with only—”
“I’m walking in with my queen,” Kael says, pressing his forehead to mine. “And if we die—” His voice drops. “—we die 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 survive.
We leave through the eastern passage—silent, fast, shadows against the stone. The fortress is stirring—Alphas patrolling the walls, Betas reinforcing the gates, envoys whispering in shadowed corners. The final signing of the Blood Moon Treaty has been delayed, but not canceled. And every instinct in my body screams that the calm before the storm is over.
Kael leads, his body in half-shift—claws retracted, fangs just visible, gold eyes glowing in the dark. I follow, my magic humming beneath my skin, my fae blood singing in my veins. I don’t need a weapon. I don’t need armor. I have something better.
Instinct.
The wind whispers to me. The stone speaks. The magic in the air—old, cold, hungry—tells me where to step, where to hide, where to strike.
We reach the borderlands by midnight.
Neutral ground. No law. No pack. No Council.
Just us.
And the storm.
The Crimson Spire looms ahead—gothic skyscraper piercing the sky, its windows glowing with unnatural light. Blood red banners flutter in the wind, etched with vampire sigils that pulse with power. The air is thick with the scent of iron and wine, of death and desire.
“He’s waiting,” I say.
“Of course he is,” Kael says. “He wants us to come. Wants us to beg. Wants us to break.”
“Then we won’t,” I say. “We’ll take it. We’ll burn it. We’ll leave him with nothing.”
He turns to me, his gold eyes burning. “You’re not just my mate,” he says. “You’re my equal.”
“And you’re mine,” I say. “Now let’s go remind him who we are.”
We move fast.
Not through the gates.
Not along the path.
Through the shadows.
Kael scales the wall like it’s nothing, his claws finding purchase in the smallest cracks. I follow, my magic humming beneath my skin, my fae blood singing in my veins. I don’t need claws. I don’t need strength. I have something better.
Truth.
We reach the top by dawn.
The balcony is empty—black stone, silver vines, floating orbs of soft light. And in the center—
The Blood Oath.
A vial of dark liquid, swirling with crimson light, sealed with black wax. It rests on a pedestal of bone, etched with ancient runes that pulse with power.
“It’s a trap,” I say.
“Of course it is,” Kael says. “But we don’t have a choice.”
I step forward, my fingers trembling. The runes flare—golden, then black, then gone. The air crackles. The stone trembles.
And then—
Thorne steps from the shadows.
His black coat billowing like wings, his pale skin glowing in the torchlight. His black eyes lock onto mine, cold, calculating. But there’s something else there. Something I’ve never seen before.
Triumph.
“You came,” he says, voice smooth, dark.
“You left us no choice,” I say.
“I gave you one,” he says. “Submit. Join me. Rule beside me. And I’ll let you live.”
“And if we don’t?” Kael asks.
“Then you die,” Thorne says. “And the bond with you.”
I press two fingers to the mating mark on my shoulder. It pulses—warm, alive, claimed.
“You don’t get to choose for us,” I say. “Not anymore. I’m not your pawn. I’m not your weapon. I’m a queen. And I rule beside the man I love.”
He smiles—slow, dark. “Then die with him.”
He raises his hand.
The vial ignites—crimson light erupting across the balcony, the air crackling with magic.
And then—
I scream.
Not from pain.
Not from fear.
From the bond.
It shatters.
Not broken.
Not denied.
Shattered.
And in that moment—
I know.
He’s not just trying to kill us.
He’s trying to unmake us.
Kael roars—low, rough, desperate—and lunges.
But Thorne is faster.
He vanishes—cloak dissolving into mist, footsteps fading into silence.
And the vial—
It’s gone.
“No,” I whisper.
“Yes,” a voice says from the shadows.
I turn.
Seraphine.
She holds the vial, her dark eyes burning. “You didn’t think I’d let him win, did you?”
“You’re working with him,” I say.
“No,” she says. “I’m working with you.”
“Why?” Kael asks.
“Because I don’t want him to have it,” she says. “Not like this. Not with my blood.”
“And what do you want?” I ask.
She steps closer. “I want the throne. I want power. I want him.”
“And we’re supposed to believe you?”
“No,” she says. “But you’re out of time. He’ll be back. And next time—” She presses the vial into my hand. “—he won’t miss.”
I clutch it, my fingers trembling. The runes on the vial pulse—crimson, then gold, then gone.
And then—
I know.
This isn’t just a weapon.
It’s a key.
To the past.
To the truth.
To the war.
“We have to destroy it,” I say.
“No,” Seraphine says. “You have to use it.”
“To do what?” Kael asks.
“To claim what’s yours,” she says. “To burn what’s not. To become what you were always meant to be.”
She turns to go.
“Wait,” I say.
She stops.
“Why are you doing this?”
She doesn’t look back. “Because I don’t want to be anyone else.”
Then she’s gone, vanishing into the shadows.
I clutch the vial, my fingers trembling. The bond is shattered. The magic is broken. The war has just begun.
And I know—
Maybe I don’t have to win this war.
Maybe I don’t have to destroy him.
Maybe—
Maybe I can just belong.
But not yet.
Because first—
We have to survive.
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.