RIVEN
The first thing I feel when I wake is the echo of her tears.
Not the soft, broken sobs from the night before—though they still hum in my bones, a sound so raw it feels like a wound. No, this is deeper. Heavier. A silence that doesn’t just fill the room, but the space between us. She’s beside me—curled into my side, her head resting on my chest, one hand pressed to my heart—but she’s not asleep. Not really. Just still. Quiet. Like she’s holding her breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
And gods help me, I don’t know how to fix it.
I press my palm to her back, feeling the slow rise and fall of her breath, the faint tremor beneath my fingers. The Mark of Twin Thrones pulses beneath my skin—not in pain, not in protest, but in quiet, insistent recognition. Like it knows. Like it’s been waiting for this. For the moment when she stopped seeing me as her mother’s killer and started seeing me as the man who mourned her. The man who waited for her. The man who took a blade for her.
And now—
—she’s just… quiet.
After everything. After the truth. After the grimoire. After she whispered, “I think I love you,” like it was a confession, like it was a surrender, like it was the only truth she could bear to say—I don’t know what to do with the silence.
Because she’s not mine.
Not yet.
Not until she believes it.
“You’re awake,” I say, voice low.
She doesn’t move. Just presses her hand harder against my chest, like she’s trying to feel my heartbeat through her palm. “So are you.”
“I’ve been awake for hours,” I admit.
She lifts her head, her storm-dark eyes searching mine. “Why?”
“Because I was waiting for you,” I say. “For you to wake up. For you to look at me. For you to—” I trail off, my throat tight. “For you to stay.”
Her breath hitches.
But she doesn’t look away.
Just studies me—her gaze tracing the line of my jaw, the curve of my lips, the silver thorns etched into my skin. “You don’t have to say that,” she says. “You don’t have to beg.”
“I’m not begging,” I say, cupping her face, my thumb stroking her cheek. “I’m telling you the truth. I’ve waited three hundred years for you. I’m not letting you go now.”
She doesn’t answer.
Just presses her forehead to mine, her breath mingling with mine. The bond pulses, deep and hungry. My magic surges. Her wolf stirs.
And then—
—she does the one thing I don’t expect.
She pulls back.
“Take me outside,” she says, voice low. “I need to breathe. I need to—” She hesitates. “I need to hear you say it.”
“Say what?”
“The truth,” she says. “About my mother. About what happened. About why you never came for me.”
My breath stops.
She sees it.
Of course she does.
“I know you loved her,” she says, voice breaking. “Vexis told me. He said you were friends. That you broke when she died. That you’ve been broken ever since.” She looks up, her storm-dark eyes blazing. “But I need to hear it from you. Not from him. Not from a grimoire. From you.”
And gods help me, I don’t know if I can.
Because the truth is a blade.
And I’ve spent centuries burying it.
But she deserves it.
So I do the only thing I can.
I take her hand.
And lead her to the garden.
The Royal Garden of Elarion is a place of thorns and moonlight, its paths lined with black roses that bloom only under the full moon, their petals edged in silver. The air hums with old magic, with silence, with the weight of centuries. We don’t speak as we walk—just move in silence, our boots echoing on stone, our bond humming beneath our skin. The city glows beyond the hedges, its spires piercing the enchanted twilight, stars frozen in silver constellations that pulse like living veins.
And then—
—we reach the heart of it.
The Moonlit Grove.
A circle of ancient trees, their bark etched with runes, their branches heavy with silver blossoms that glow faintly in the dark. In the center—a stone bench, worn smooth by time, its surface carved with the sigil of the Twin Thrones. I don’t sit. Just stand there, my hand still in hers, my breath coming too fast.
She turns to me, her storm-dark eyes sharp with something I can’t name. “Tell me,” she says. “Start from the beginning.”
I close my eyes.
And then—
—I do.
“I met her when I was two hundred,” I say, voice low. “You look like her. Not just in face. In fire. In fury. In the way you hold your spine like a blade drawn from its sheath.” I open my eyes, meeting hers. “She was fierce. Unbowed. The only one who ever looked at me and didn’t see a king. She saw me. The man beneath the crown. The monster beneath the mask.”
She doesn’t flinch. Just watches me, her breath coming too fast.
“We weren’t lovers,” I say. “Not like that. But we were… close. Closer than allies. Closer than friends. She was my confidant. My equal. My sister in war. And when the Council demanded the purge of the hybrids—when they called for the extermination of the Wildblood line—she came to me. Begged me to stop it. Told me they were innocent. That they were family.”
My voice breaks.
She sees it.
But she doesn’t look away.
“I couldn’t,” I say. “The Council was too strong. The Unseelie were too loud. And I—” I press my palm to my chest, feeling the steady thud of my heart. “I was afraid. Afraid of losing the throne. Afraid of war. Afraid of what I’d become if I defied them.”
“So you signed it,” she says, voice low.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I didn’t. I refused. I tore the order in half. I told them they’d have to kill me first. And they believed me.” I look up, meeting her storm-dark eyes. “But Vexis didn’t. He knew I was weak. He knew I’d hesitate. So he forged my signature. He killed the scribe who was supposed to record it. He made it look like I’d signed it. And when your mother died—when I found out—” My breath hitches. “—I broke. I spent years hunting the truth. Years punishing myself. Years waiting for the day when the real heir would come back to destroy me.”
She doesn’t move.
Just stands there, her hand still in mine, her storm-dark eyes searching mine.
“And then you came,” I say, voice breaking. “And I thought—finally. Finally, the reckoning. Finally, the end. But you didn’t kill me. You fought me. You hated me. You looked at me like I was the monster you came to destroy.” I step closer, my thumb stroking her cheek. “And I let you. Because I deserved it. Because I thought I’d failed her. Because I thought I’d failed you.”
“You didn’t,” she says, voice breaking. “You waited. You protected me. You took a blade for me.”
“Because you’re hers,” I say. “And you’re mine. And I’ve spent three hundred years waiting to be worthy of either.”
She doesn’t answer.
Just steps into me, pressing her body to mine, her face to my chest, her hands fisted in my coat. I wrap my arms around her, holding her like I’ll never let go, my breath hot against her hair, my heart pounding against hers.
And then—
—she speaks.
“She whispered my name,” she says, voice muffled against my chest. “In the grimoire. When the blood opened the truth. She said my name. Like she knew I was coming. Like she was waiting for me.”
My breath stops.
But I don’t pull away.
Just hold her tighter.
“And you were,” I say, pressing my forehead to hers. “You were always coming. And I was always waiting.”
She lifts her head, her storm-dark eyes blazing. “Then why didn’t you come for me? Why didn’t you find me? Why did I have to come here to—”
“Because I couldn’t,” I say, voice breaking. “The moment she died, Vexis erased her. Her name. Her legacy. Her bloodline. He made it so no one would remember. No one would speak of her. No one would seek her child. And I—” I press my palm to my chest, feeling the echo of my own heartbeat. “I was too broken to fight. Too guilty to hope. Too afraid to believe that you were still alive.”
She doesn’t flinch.
Just watches me, her breath coming too fast.
“But I waited,” I say. “Every night. Every year. I stood at the window and looked at the stars and whispered her name. And I swore—if you ever came back—I wouldn’t fail you again.”
Her breath hitches.
And then—
—she does the one thing I don’t expect.
She kisses me.
Not soft. Not gentle. But hard, desperate, real. Her lips crash into mine, teeth and tongue, claiming me like she’s starving, like she’s been holding back for centuries and can’t take it anymore. My breath catches. My hands fly to her face, pulling her closer. The bond explodes—fire and ice tearing through my veins, the Mark of Twin Thrones flaring on my palm, burning like a brand.
And still, she kisses me.
Like she’s trying to devour me. Like she’s trying to prove something. Like she’s trying to break me.
And gods help me, I let her.
Because for the first time—
—I don’t have to be the monster.
I can just be hers.
She pulls back, her breath ragged, her lips swollen, her eyes blazing. “You’re not allowed to die,” she says, voice breaking. “Not after everything. Not after the truth. Not after… me.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, pressing my forehead to hers, my breath mingling with hers. “Not unless you send me away.”
“Then don’t leave,” she says, stepping back, her storm-dark eyes locking onto mine. “Fight with me. Stand beside me. Let me be your equal.”
My jaw tightens.
She sees it.
Of course she does.
“I’m not your weapon,” she says, voice low. “I’m not your pawn. I’m not your project. I’m your mate. And if you can’t see that—”
“I see it,” I say, cupping her face, my thumb stroking her cheek. “I’ve always seen it. But I’ve spent three hundred years waiting for you. I’m not losing you now.”
“Then don’t,” she says. “Fight with me. Stand beside me. Let me be your equal.”
And gods help me, I want to.
So I do.
I take her hand.
And walk with her into the storm.
The summons comes at dusk—a fae servant, silent as smoke, bowing low. “Your Majesty. The Council has called an emergency session. Lord Vexis has escaped.”
She doesn’t flinch.
Just looks at me, her storm-dark eyes sharp with something I can’t name.
“Let him come,” I say, pressing my palm to my chest, feeling the echo of her heartbeat, the slow, steady thud that matches mine. The Mark of Twin Thrones pulses beneath my skin—not in pain, not in protest, but in quiet, insistent recognition. Like it knows. Like it’s been waiting for this. For the moment when I stopped seeing her as a threat and started seeing her as my future.
And gods help me, I’m ready.
Let him come.
Let him try.
Let him learn what happens when a king and his queen stand as one.
Because if he thinks he can break us—
—he’s forgotten one thing.
We were never meant to survive.
We were meant to rule.