TIDE
The Council chamber still smells like smoke and lies.
Cold blue flames flicker in the hearth, casting long, shifting shadows across the obsidian floor. The runes etched into the stone pulse faintly, reacting to the tension in the air, to the magic coiling beneath my skin. I stand near the back of the room, arms crossed, spine straight, pretending I don’t feel the weight of every gaze—Borin’s narrowed golden eyes, Elric’s calculating stare, Lira’s venomous smirk. Even Mara watches me, silent, observant, like she’s waiting for me to break.
I don’t.
Not here. Not now.
Kael is gone—vanished into the shadows the moment the meeting ended, leaving me standing alone in the aftermath. He didn’t look back. Didn’t speak. Just disappeared, like he always does when things get too real, too close, too *true*.
And the truth?
It’s burning a hole through my chest.
I came here to destroy him.
To sever the contract. To avenge my mother. To free my bloodline.
And instead?
I’m standing in his court, marked by his bite, bound by his blood, trembling every time he speaks my name.
I press my palm to my mouth.
Still tastes like him. Like smoke and storm and something deeper, something ancient. The kiss in his chambers—soft, slow, *choosing*—it didn’t feel like surrender.
It felt like *truth*.
And that terrifies me more than any blade, any betrayal, any lie.
I turn, walk toward the archway, boots silent on the stone. I don’t go to my room. Don’t go to the garden. Don’t go to the library, where that cursed book still lies open on the table, the words *“rewrite it… with love”* burning behind my eyes.
I go to the vault.
The Midnight Vault—beneath the throne, sealed by blood magic, guarded by shadows. The original Blood Contract is down there, inscribed on living skin, pulsing with dark power. I’ve been trying to reach it since I arrived. Trying to destroy it. Trying to end this.
And now?
Now I’m not sure I *want* to.
The corridors grow colder the deeper I go, the torches dimmer, the air thicker with magic. The scent of iron and old blood clings to the stone, mingling with something else—something sharp, something *wrong*. My rune flares beneath my collar, reacting to the darkness, to the bond stretching between me and Kael, to the *fear* crawling up my spine.
I shouldn’t be here.
I know that.
But I need to see it. Need to touch it. Need to remind myself why I came.
I reach the vault door—a massive slab of black stone, etched with serpents and thorns, sealed with a blood sigil. I press my palm to it, whisper the unlocking charm, and the runes flare crimson. The door groans open, revealing the chamber beyond—cold, silent, filled with ancient relics, cursed tomes, and at the center, on a pedestal of bone and obsidian?
The Contract.
It’s not paper. Not parchment.
It’s *skin*.
Stretched taut, pulsing like a living thing, veins of dark magic threading through it like roots. The ink is red—*blood*—and it shifts as I approach, words rearranging themselves, whispering in a language I don’t understand but *feel*, deep in my bones.
I step closer.
My breath hitches.
I can see it—the names. My mother’s. My grandmother’s. And now, mine.
Tide of the Sea. Bound by Blood. Bound by Fate.
And beneath it?
Kael’s name. Kael Virell. Sovereign of the Midnight Court. Anchor of the Pact.
Our names are linked, connected by a thread of crimson light, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
The bond.
It’s not just magic.
It’s *alive*.
I reach out—fingers trembling—just an inch from the surface.
And then—
“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.”
I freeze.
The voice is smooth. Cold. *Familiar*.
I turn.
And there he is.
Lord Malrik.
Tall. Pale. Dressed in black silk and silver embroidery, his fangs barely visible behind a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes. He leans against the archway, arms crossed, watching me like I’m a mouse caught in a trap.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I say, voice steady.
“Neither are you,” he replies, stepping into the chamber. “But here we are.”
He walks toward me, slow, deliberate, his boots silent on the stone. The air thickens with magic, with danger, with *hunger*. My rune flares brighter, pulsing in time with my breath. The bond hums beneath my skin, a low, insistent thrum, but it’s not responding to *him*.
It’s reacting to *fear*.
“You’re brave,” he says, stopping just in front of me. “Coming down here. Alone. With no one to protect you.”
“I don’t need protection.”
“No?” He tilts his head. “Then why is your pulse jumping? Why is your skin flushed? Why are your hands clenched?”
My breath hitches.
He sees it. Smiles. Slow. Dangerous.
“You think you’re the first one to come here?” he asks. “The first one to try to destroy it?”
“I’m not the first,” I say. “But I’ll be the last.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt your *intentions*.” He steps closer. “But you’re not just here to destroy it, are you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he says, voice low, “you’re not just the heir. You’re not just a witch. You’re not even just human.”
My chest tightens.
“You’re Seablood,” he whispers. “The last of your line. The only one who can *rewrite* the contract. Not destroy it. Not sever it. But *change* it.”
My breath stops.
“You didn’t think I knew?” he asks. “You didn’t think I’d *see* it? The way your rune reacts to water. The way your magic bends to the tide. The way you healed Kael—twice—with blood that doesn’t just close wounds, but *rewrites* fate.”
“You’re lying,” I say, stepping back.
“Am I?” He follows. “Then why does the bond flare when you’re near water? Why does your skin glow when you’re near blood magic? Why does Kael look at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters?”
“He doesn’t—”
“He does.” Malrik reaches out, fingers brushing my wrist. Just a touch. Just a spark. “And he’ll use you. Like he uses everyone. Like he used Lira. Like he used the others before her. You’re not special. You’re not *chosen*. You’re just a tool. A weapon. And when he’s done with you, he’ll toss you aside like the rest.”
My hand flies.
But he catches it—fast, reflexive, his grip like iron. My rune flares, white-hot, but the bond doesn’t respond. It’s not *him*. Not *us*. It’s *fear*.
“Let go,” I hiss.
“Or what?” He leans in, close enough that I can feel his breath on my neck. “You’ll scream? You’ll run? You’ll call for your precious Sovereign to save you?”
“He’s not mine,” I snap.
“But you *want* him to be.” He tightens his grip. “You *want* to be his. You *want* to be claimed. You *want* to be *yours*.”
“I came here to destroy him,” I whisper.
“And yet,” he murmurs, “you’re still here.”
The words hit like a blade.
Because he’s using Kael’s own voice against me. His own *truth*.
And it *hurts*.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” Malrik says, voice softening. “You don’t have to fight him. You don’t have to destroy the contract. You can *join* me. We can take it together. Rewrite it. Rule together.”
“You want the throne,” I say. “Not a partner.”
“I want *power*,” he agrees. “But I also want *freedom*. And you? You want to free your bloodline. To avenge your mother. To *live*. Kael can’t give you that. He’s bound by the contract. By his duty. By his *fear*.”
“And you’re not?”
“I’m not afraid of change.” He releases my wrist, steps back. “I’m not afraid of *you*. I see what you are, Tide. I see your strength. Your fire. Your *power*. And I know you don’t have to be his weapon. You can be *yours*.”
My breath hitches.
“Join me,” he says. “And together, we’ll tear this court apart. We’ll burn the contract. We’ll make it *ours*.”
“And if I say no?”
“Then I’ll take you.” He smiles. Slow. Dangerous. “I’ll drag you to the Iron Hollow. I’ll force the contract under my name. I’ll make you *bleed* for it. And when Kael comes for you?”
He leans in, fangs grazing my throat.
“I’ll make him watch.”
The bond *screams*.
Heat tears through me—white-hot, unstoppable. My rune blazes. My vision swims. My chest tightens, like something is clawing its way out. Pain lances through my ribs, sharp, sudden, *real*.
Malrik’s grip on my wrist flares with magic, a jolt of dark energy tearing through me, *punishing* me for resisting, for *feeling*, for *caring*.
“You’re bound to him,” he hisses. “And the bond *hurts* when you defy it. When you betray it. When you *love* someone else.”
“I don’t love him,” I gasp.
“Liar.” He releases me, steps back. “You’re drenched in him. I can smell it. Your skin hums. Your pulse jumps. You’re *marked*.”
I clutch my ribs, breathing fast, the pain fading but the truth remaining.
He’s right.
The bond *does* hurt. Not just when I’m near him. But when I’m near anyone else. When I *think* about anyone else.
It’s not just magic.
It’s *possession*.
“Think about it,” Malrik says, turning toward the door. “You have until dawn. Join me. Or become my slave.”
And then he’s gone.
Vanished into the shadows, leaving me standing in the vault, trembling, breath ragged, the Contract pulsing before me like a heartbeat.
I don’t move.
Don’t speak.
Just stand there, chest aching, skin burning, the bond humming beneath my skin like a live wire.
Did I almost—
My fingers brush my lip. Still swollen. Still tender. Still tasting like *him*.
And then—
Pain.
Sharp. Sudden. In my neck.
I reach up—fingers tracing the skin just below my ear.
And I feel it.
The bite.
Fresh. Tender. *Marked*.
My breath stops.
No.
No, no, *no*.
I didn’t—
He didn’t—
But the proof is there. On my skin. In my blood. In the *bond*.
I press my palm to it—warm, pulsing, *alive*.
And then—
I run.
Not to the garden. Not to the library. Not to my room.
To *him*.
His chambers.
The door is locked, but I don’t care. I press my palm to it, whisper the unlocking charm, and it clicks open. I burst inside—heart pounding, breath ragged, hands trembling.
The room is dark. Silent. The black flames in the hearth have died. The runes on the walls pulse faintly. The bed is untouched. Cold.
Empty.
He’s not here.
But I am.
I stumble forward, collapse onto the mattress, clutching the sheets, my body shaking, my mind racing.
What did I do?
What did *he* do?
That kiss—was it real? Was it magic? Was it *me*?
And the bite—
Did he claim me?
Did I let him?
Did I *want* him to?
I press my fingers to the mark again. It pulses. Responds. *Alive*.
And then—
Sleep takes me.
Not gentle. Not kind.
A black wave, pulling me under.
—
I wake to warmth.
Soft. Heavy. *Alive*.
I’m not alone.
I’m in his bed—still in my boots, my tunic half-off, my skin bare in places. And draped over me?
A black velvet coverlet.
And beside me?
He’s watching me.
Kael.
Lying on his side, head propped on one hand, eyes like frozen fire, hair a mess, shirt gone, chest bare. His gaze is dark. Intense. *Possessive*.
“You’re awake,” he says, voice low.
I don’t answer.
Can’t.
My throat is dry. My body is heavy. My mind is fog.
And the mark—
It *pulses*.
Like a second heartbeat.
“You don’t remember,” he says.
I shake my head. “Remember what?”
“The kiss.” His fingers brush my lip—still swollen, still tender. “The bite.” His hand slides down, tracing the mark on my neck. “The way you screamed my name.”
My breath hitches.
“You don’t remember,” he murmurs, “how you tore at my clothes. How you begged me to *take* you. How you *came* in my arms.”
“I didn’t—”
“You did.” He leans in, lips brushing my ear. “And I let you.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?” He pulls back, eyes locking onto mine. “Then why are you half-naked? Why is my shirt on the floor? Why is my blood on your lips?”
I don’t answer.
Can’t.
Because he’s right.
And the worst part?
I *want* it to be true.
“You’re mine,” he says, voice rough. “And you always will be.”
“I hate you,” I whisper.
He smiles. Slow. Dangerous.
“You want me.”
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.