I don’t wear the gown.
Not the tight black one with the silver waves. Not the one that shows my rune, my spine, the curve of my neck where he bit me. I wear something darker. Looser. A high-collared tunic of charcoal grey, sleeves long, boots laced to the knee. I pull my hair back into a severe braid, tuck every strand behind my ears. I cover the mark like it’s a wound. Like it’s shameful.
It is shameful.
Not because he took it. Not because I let him.
But because I wanted it.
I wanted his fangs. His mouth. His hands. His voice whispering my name like a curse, like a prayer. I wanted to come apart in his arms, screaming, trembling, his. And when I woke—half-naked in his bed, his blood on my lips, his bite on my neck—I didn’t feel violated.
I felt claimed.
And that terrifies me.
Because I came here to destroy him. To sever the contract. To avenge my mother.
And instead?
I’m unraveling. One touch at a time.
A knock at the door.
“Ambassador Tide,” a servant’s voice. “The Sovereign requests your presence in the dining hall. The Council dinner begins in one hour.”
“I’ll be there,” I say, voice steady.
“He said… to wear the black gown.”
My fingers tighten on the edge of the vanity. “Tell him I’m not his puppet.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The footsteps fade.
I stare at my reflection. Dark eyes. Sharp cheekbones. Lips still swollen from his kiss. I look like a woman who’s been used. A woman who’s been wanting to be.
I press my palm to the bite.
It pulses. Warm. Alive. His.
And then—
A noise.
Not from the door.
From the bond.
A low, insistent hum beneath my skin, like the tide pulling at the shore. It grows stronger. Closer. I feel him—his presence, his power, his hunger—like a second heartbeat.
And then the door opens.
Not the servant.
Him.
Kael.
He doesn’t knock. Doesn’t announce himself. Just walks in, silent as shadow, dressed in full regalia—black coat, silver embroidery, the sigil of the Midnight Court etched into the fabric. His eyes are red. His fangs are bared. His scent—smoke and night-blooming jasmine—fills the room.
“You didn’t wear it,” he says, voice low.
“No.”
He steps closer. One hand lifts, fingers brushing the edge of my collar. “You’re hiding.”
“I’m not hiding.”
“You are.” He leans in, breath hot against my ear. “You’re afraid of what they’ll see. Of what they’ll know.”
“I don’t care what they think.”
“Liar.” He pulls back, eyes locking onto mine. “You care. You care that Lira will smirk. That Elric will watch. That Borin will growl. That the courtiers will whisper.”
“Let them whisper.”
“Then why cover it?” His hand slides down, tracing the line of my neck, just above the bite. “Why hide what’s mine?”
My breath hitches.
“Because it’s not just yours,” I whisper. “It’s mine. My body. My choice. My mark.”
He smiles. Slow. Dangerous. “And you chose it.”
“I didn’t—”
“You did.” He steps closer, caging me in against the vanity. “You could have fought. You could have screamed. You could have used your magic. But you didn’t. You leaned into me. You begged for it. You came in my arms. And when I carried you back here, you held on like you were afraid I’d let go.”
My chest tightens.
“You’re not hiding from them,” he murmurs. “You’re hiding from yourself. From what you feel. From what you want.”
“I want you dead,” I say, voice shaking.
“And yet,” he says, “you’re still here.”
I don’t answer.
Can’t.
Because he’s right.
And the worst part?
I don’t want to leave.
“Wear the gown,” he says, stepping back. “Or I’ll take it off you myself.”
My breath hitches.
“Choose, Tide,” he says, turning toward the door. “The dress. Or me.”
And then he’s gone.
I stand there, chest aching, skin burning, the bond humming beneath my skin like a live wire.
And I know—
There’s no choice.
—
The dining hall is a cathedral of power.
High vaulted ceilings carved with serpents and thorns. A long table of black stone, inlaid with silver. Twelve seats—three for each species. Torches burn with cold blue flames, casting long shadows. The air hums with magic, thick with tension. Courtiers in formal attire whisper as I enter—vampires, Fae, a few bold humans, all watching, all knowing.
And then—
They see it.
The gown.
I wear it. The black one. Tight at the waist, low at the back, silver threads weaving like crashing waves. My hair is down, spilling over my shoulders, framing the curve of my neck—where the bite mark pulses, fresh, red, real. My rune glows faintly just above my spine, reacting to the magic in the air, to the bond stretching between me and Kael.
The room stills.
Whispers rise.
There she is.
The human who stood so close to the Sovereign.
Did you see the mark?
She’s been claimed.
She’s his pet now.
I keep my head high. My spine straight. But inside, I’m unraveling. The bond hums, louder now, responding to the proximity, to the anticipation. Every step toward Kael makes it flare. Every glance from the courtiers makes me feel exposed, claimed.
He’s at the head of the table, already seated, back straight, eyes like frozen fire. He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t acknowledge me. Just sits there, silent, still, lethal.
I walk to my seat—beside him, as protocol demands. My fingers tighten on the back of the chair. I don’t sit.
“You’re late,” he says, voice low.
“I had to change.”
He finally looks at me. His gaze travels down—slow, deliberate—over the curve of my waist, the swell of my hips, the low back of the gown, the glowing rune, the fresh bite. His eyes darken. His fangs descend.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Now sit.”
I do.
Our thighs brush beneath the table. Just a whisper of contact. But the bond erupts—a jolt of heat tearing through me, my rune blazing, my breath hitching. I press my thighs together, trying to hide the tremor, the need.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull away. Just lets his hand rest on my lower back—palm flat, warm, possessive. The heat pools low in my stomach. My skin burns. My blood sings.
“Comfortable?” he asks, voice rough.
“I’m fine,” I say, voice tight.
“Liar.” His thumb brushes my spine, just above the rune. “You’re trembling.”
“It’s cold.”
“It’s not.” He leans in, breath hot against my ear. “You’re drenched. You’re aching. You want me to touch you. To take you. Right here. Right now.”
My breath hitches.
“Say it,” he murmurs. “Say you want me.”
“I hate you,” I whisper.
He smiles. Slow. Dangerous. “You want me.”
And then—
The others arrive.
Lira first—sweeping in like a storm, dressed in emerald green, her neck bare, her smile venomous. She takes her seat across from me, eyes locked onto the bite, onto Kael’s hand on my back, onto us.
“How intimate,” she says, voice sharp. “Did he finally take you? Or are you still pretending to resist?”
“I don’t answer to you,” I say, voice cold.
“No,” she agrees. “You answer to him.” She turns to Kael. “Congratulations, Sovereign. You’ve finally broken her.”
“She wasn’t broken,” he says, not looking at her. “She was claimed.”
Elric enters next—grey robes, ink-stained hands, eyes sharp. He doesn’t speak. Just watches, calculating. Borin follows—werewolf Alpha, golden eyes narrowed, arms crossed. He grunts at me.
“Human. Don’t cause trouble.”
“I’m not here to cause trouble,” I say. “I’m here to prevent it.”
“By letting him bite you?”
“By surviving,” I say. “Something you wouldn’t understand.”
He growls. “Watch your tongue.”
“Or what?” I ask. “You’ll throw me out? I’d rather be exiled than spend another night in this court.”
“Enough,” Kael says, voice cutting through the room. “The dinner begins. Eat. Speak. Or leave.”
Silence.
Servants bring the first course—black wine, thick and swirling with crimson light. I don’t touch it. Kael does. He drinks slowly, eyes never leaving mine. His hand stays on my back, warm, heavy, alive. The bond hums, a low, insistent pulse. Every time he moves, I feel it—a flicker of heat, a jolt of awareness.
Lira leans forward. “So, little envoy. How was it? When he finally took you? Did he make you scream? Did you beg?”
My rune flares.
“You’re desperate,” I say, voice cold. “You wear his shirt like a trophy, but you’ve never been near him. You spread lies like poison. And the Council lets you.”
“And you?” she snaps. “You wear his mark like a badge. You let him claim you. You’re not his ally. You’re his pet.”
“At least I’m not his pawn,” I say. “You’re Malrik’s little puppet. He feeds you lies and glamour to stir dissent. You’re nothing but a tool.”
Her eyes blaze. “You’re nothing but a half-breed witch with a stolen identity. He’ll tire of you. He’ll discard you. And when he does, you’ll be nothing.”
“And you?” I ask. “What are you? His ex? His toy? His whore?”
She slams her hand on the table. “I’m the only one who’s ever made him feel!”
“Then why hasn’t he bitten you?” I ask. “Why hasn’t he claimed you? Why hasn’t he f*cked you? If you’re so special, why are you still sitting there, begging for attention?”
She freezes.
The room stills.
And then—
Kael speaks.
“Because she’s not mine,” he says, voice low, rough. “You are.”
All eyes turn to me.
My breath hitches.
He looks at me—red eyes, fangs bared, hand still on my back. “You came here to destroy me. To break the contract. To end me.”
My heart stutters.
“And yet,” he says, “you’re still here.”
The bond screams.
Heat floods my veins. My rune blazes. My skin burns. My blood sings.
And then—
Lira laughs.
Sharp. Bitter. Broken.
“Oh, how touching,” she says. “The Sovereign has found his queen. How romantic.”
She stands.
Walks around the table.
Stops behind Kael.
And then—
Her hand slides down the back of his coat, slow, deliberate, possessive.
“But we both know,” she whispers, “he’s used me like that too. You’re just the latest.”
The bond explodes.
White-hot. Unstoppable. It tears through me—pain, rage, jealousy—clawing its way up my throat. My rune blazes. My vision swims. My chest tightens, like something is trying to rip out.
I don’t think.
I just move.
I stand. Fast. Hard. My chair scrapes back. I step around the table. My hand flies.
And I slap her.
Hard.
Right across the face.
Her head snaps to the side. A red mark blooms on her cheek. The room stills. The torches flicker. The bond hums, louder, fiercer, hungry.
She turns back.
Smiling.
“Good,” she says, voice low. “Now you’re just like the rest.”
And then—
Kael moves.
Fast.
One arm around my waist, yanking me back against him. His other hand grips Lira’s wrist, twisting it behind her back. He leans in, fangs at her throat.
“You’re done,” he growls. “Leave. Or I’ll throw you out.”
She doesn’t fight. Doesn’t scream. Just smiles—sad, broken, knowing—and walks out, the door slamming behind her.
Silence.
The fire crackles. The bond hums. My chest still aches. My skin still burns.
Kael doesn’t let go.
Just holds me—tight, possessive, alive—his breath hot against my neck, his fangs grazing my skin.
“You’re mine,” he murmurs. “And you’re never leaving.”
I don’t fight.
Don’t run.
I lean into him.
And the bond?
It burns.
—
Later, in his chambers, I finally speak.
“She said you used her like that too.”
He’s pouring blood wine—thick, dark, laced with power. He doesn’t look at me. “She lies.”
“But you bit her.”
“To silence her. Not to claim. Not to feed. And certainly not to f*ck.”
“Then why did she say it? Why does she believe it?”
He turns. “Because she’s desperate. Because she wants attention. Because she’s nothing to me.”
“And me?” I ask. “What am I?”
He steps closer. One hand lifts, fingers brushing my jaw. “You’re the only one who’s ever made me feel.”
My breath hitches.
“You’re not a pawn,” he says. “Not a tool. Not a pet. You’re mine. And I’m yours.”
“I came here to destroy you,” I whisper.
“And yet,” he murmurs, “you’re still here.”
And then—
He kisses me.
Soft. Slow. Claiming.
And I don’t pull away.
I lean in.
Because the truth is—
I don’t know if I came here to destroy him.
But I know I’m not leaving.
Not now.
Not ever.