I came here to kill the Wolf King.
And now I’m standing at the heart of the Crimson Spire—the towering Gothic fortress of black stone and blood-red glass that rises like a fang from the heart of Prague, where vampires drink power in wine and oaths are sealed in veins. The air is thick with the scent of aged wine, iron, and something deeper—something final. Not magic. Not memory. But reckoning.
The Blood Moon hangs low in the sky, its crimson glow bleeding through the stained-glass windows, painting the marble floors in hues of fire and sin. It’s not just a moon tonight.
It’s a witness.
Kael stands beside me, silent, still, his presence a storm. He hasn’t spoken since we left the Northern Rift. Hasn’t touched me beyond the brush of his thumb against my wrist—a grounding pulse, a silent promise. His gold eyes burn, his fangs just visible, his claws retracted but ready. He knows what waits inside. Knows that this—
This is the last throne.
And he knows—
I don’t know if I can break it.
Not because I’m afraid.
But because I’m awake.
The Blood Moon Key pulses in my hand, warm, alive, hungry. It’s not just a relic. Not just a weapon. It’s a heartbeat—mine, Kael’s, the world’s. It knows what’s coming. Knows that the final lie is about to fall. Knows that the balance must be remade—not with blood, not with war, but with truth.
And it knows—
Some thrones aren’t meant to be ruled.
They’re meant to be burned.
The memories walk behind us—silent, small, free. The ones we freed from the Last Flame. The ones who were meant to be silenced. They don’t speak. Don’t cry. Just follow, their bare feet silent on the stone, their eyes wide, their hands clutching mine, Kael’s, each other’s. They don’t need to be told why we’re here.
They already know.
Because they lived it.
“They’ll try to stop you,” Kael says, his voice low, rough. “Not with blades. Not with magic. But with doubt. With guilt. With the past.”
“Let them,” I say, pressing two fingers to the mating mark on my shoulder. It pulses—warm, alive, claimed. The bond hums beneath my skin, a live wire stretched taut, feeding me his strength, his rage, his love. But it’s not just his.
It’s mine.
And it’s awake.
“They’ll say I betrayed my mother,” I say. “That I’ve chosen the monster who killed her. That I’ve abandoned my blood, my people, my duty.”
“And you’ll say?”
“I’ll say they’re right,” I whisper. “I *have* betrayed her. Not by loving you. But by hating you for so long. By letting my grief blind me. By not seeing the truth until it was almost too late.”
He turns to me—gold eyes burning, fangs just visible in the torchlight. “You didn’t betray her,” he says. “You honored her. By surviving. By fighting. By choosing love over vengeance.”
“And if they don’t believe me?”
“Then they die,” he says, stepping forward. “And the world burns with them.”
I press my palm to the Key. It flares—golden light erupting across the courtyard, the air crackling with magic. The torches blaze. The memories step back, but don’t flinch. They’ve seen worse.
“No,” I say. “They don’t die. Not today. Not like this.”
“Then what?”
“They face the truth,” I say. “And if they can’t bear it—” I lift my chin, gold eyes burning. “—then they fall.”
The gates of the Crimson Spire groan—silent, slow, inviting.
Like a tomb.
Like a trap.
Like a reckoning.
We step through.
The world shifts—colors bleeding, sound stretching, time bending. The air is thick with the scent of old wine, blood, and something deeper—something forbidden. The ground is polished black marble, veins of crimson pulsing faintly beneath. The ceiling arches high above, lost in shadow, its surface etched with the names of the eternal—hundreds, thousands—each one a whisper, a plea, a curse. At the center—
The Blood Throne.
Not a seat.
Not a crown.
A prison.
Forged from the first betrayal. Fueled by blood. Sustained by silence.
And it’s been fed for centuries.
Not by loyalty.
Not by duty.
By fear.
By lies.
By the blood of those who dared to speak the truth.
And my mother—
She was the last Guardian.
The only one who refused to feed it.
And when she stood before it and said no—
They made Kael kill her.
Not because he wanted to.
But because they threatened to destroy the Iron Court, the Ashen Circle, the entire supernatural world if he refused.
He lit the pyre to save thousands.
And he let the world believe he was the monster—
So I could survive.
So I could become the woman who could set it right.
Tears spill down my face.
Because I finally understand.
It was never about revenge.
It was about truth.
And now—
I have it.
I turn to Kael, my hand still on the Key, my gold eyes burning. “They lied,” I say. “About everything. About her. About you. About the Throne.”
He steps forward, his presence a storm, his heat searing through the cold. “Then we expose them.”
“No,” I say. “We destroy them.”
He stills. “You don’t have to do this. We can rule. We can rebuild. We can—”
“And let them keep poisoning the world?” I ask, lifting my hand from the Key. “No. They’ve had their chance. They’ve had centuries. And they’ve used it to crush the weak, to silence the truth, to burn the light.”
He studies me—gold eyes burning, fangs just visible in the torchlight. “You’re not just my mate,” he says. “You’re my equal.”
“And you’re mine,” I say. “Now let’s go remind them who we are.”
I raise my hand—palm open, blood dripping—and I press it to the Blood Throne.
“By blood,” I say, “by fire, by truth—I break you.”
The Throne screams.
Not a voice.
A thousand.
Howling, wailing, dying.
The stone splits—black veins boiling, silver chains bursting, the heartbeat stopping, shattering. The runes on the walls ignite—golden light consuming the frost, the corruption burning, the lie breaking.
And then—
Silence.
Just the drip of water from the ceiling, the flicker of torchlight, the faint hum of the bond.
And then—
The Throne collapses.
Not with a roar.
Not with a crash.
With a whisper.
Like a confession.
Like a secret finally set free.
Kael steps forward, his hand finding mine. “You didn’t just destroy it,” he says. “You freed them.”
“Freed who?”
He nods toward the shadows.
And then—
They emerge.
Not fae warriors.
Not guards.
But echoes.
Dozens of them—pale, translucent, trembling. Some no older than ten. Some with chains still on their wrists. Some with scars across their throats.
“They kept them here,” Kael says, voice rough. “The ones who spoke out. The ones who questioned. The ones who remembered.”
My breath stops.
Because I see it now.
The Throne wasn’t just a symbol.
It was a prison.
A place to silence the truth.
To bury the future.
And these echoes—
They were the next generation of Guardians.
And the Fae Elders—
They were afraid.
I step forward, my hand still bleeding, my voice soft. “You’re safe now,” I say. “You’re free.”
One of the echoes—a girl with silver hair and gold eyes—steps forward. She looks at me. Then at the shattered Throne. Then back at me.
“Are you her?” she asks, voice trembling. “Are you the one who was supposed to come?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “But I’m here now.”
She reaches out—small, cold hand—and touches my palm.
And then—
The bond flares.
Not with pain.
Not with fire.
With light.
Golden light erupts between us, the runes on the floor igniting, the air crackling with magic. The wind howls. The ash rises. The broken arches tremble, then lift, stone floating into the air like leaves on a storm.
And then—
I see it.
The future.
Not as a vision.
Not as a prophecy.
As a promise.
A world where truth is not silenced.
Where power is not hoarded.
Where love is not a weapon.
And where the throne—
Is not a crown.
But a choice.
The girl steps back, her eyes wide. “You’re not just a queen,” she says. “You’re a mother.”
My breath catches.
Because I understand now.
I don’t have to rule.
I don’t have to conquer.
I don’t have to destroy.
I just have to lead.
And sometimes—
Leadership isn’t about taking a throne.
It’s about breaking it.
I turn to Kael, my hand still on the girl’s, my gold eyes burning. “We don’t need a throne,” I say. “We need a home.”
He studies me—gold eyes burning, fangs just visible in the torchlight. “Then let’s build one,” he says. “Together.”
“Not here,” I say. “Not in their ruins. Not in their lies. But in the light. In the truth. In the fire.”
He nods. “Then let’s go.”
I press my palm to the mating mark on my shoulder. It pulses—warm, alive, claimed.
“We leave at dawn,” I say. “We go to the Iron Court. We go to the Ashen Circle. We go to the Crimson Spire. And we build a world where no child is silenced. Where no truth is buried. Where no one has to fight alone.”
The echoes gather around me—small, trembling, alive. Some hold hands. Some clutch my robes. Some just stand there, staring at the shattered Throne like they’ve never seen freedom before.
And then—
The girl with silver hair looks up at me.
“Will you take us?” she asks. “Will you be our queen?”
I press my palm to the mating mark on my chest. It pulses—warm, alive, claimed.
“I’m not your queen,” I say. “I’m your sister. Your protector. Your fire.”
She doesn’t smile.
Just nods.
And I know—
I’ve passed their test.
Not because I proved my power.
But because I proved my heart.
We leave the Crimson Spire at dawn.
The echoes walk beside us—silent, small, free. The air is crisp, the sky pale, the wind whispering through the city. The black stone spires of the Spire stand broken behind us, the silver vines dead, the Throne in ruins.
But I don’t look back.
Kael at my side.
The Key in my hand.
The echoes at my back.
And the wind—
It whispers.
“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.