The first thing I feel is the chill of betrayal.
Not from the air—though the corridor we walk through is cold, the walls of black marble veined with glowing silver sigils humming faintly with old magic. Not from the silence—though it presses in like a weight, broken only by the soft echo of our footsteps. No, the chill is deeper. It coils in my chest, sharp and sudden, the moment I see her.
Lira.
She stands at the end of the hall, framed by twin torches that burn with violet flame, her silhouette sharp against the flickering light. Tall. Graceful. Deadly. Her silver hair falls in waves down her back, her gown a cascade of midnight silk that clings to every curve, cut so low it barely covers her breasts. Fae don’t age, but if they did, she’d be in her prime—ageless, untouchable, perfect.
And on her left hand, glinting in the firelight—
—a ring.
Not just any ring.
His ring.
A band of black thorns wrapped around a single blood-red stone, the royal seal of the Seelie Court carved into its surface. I’ve seen it before—on Riven’s finger, the night he told me I’d die in his bed. It’s not worn often. It’s not for show. It’s a symbol. A promise. A claim.
And it’s on her finger.
My breath catches.
My wolf snarls.
Riven doesn’t stop. Doesn’t hesitate. He just keeps walking, his grip on my hand tightening—just slightly—as we approach.
“Lira,” he says, voice flat. “This is unexpected.”
She smiles.
Slow. Sweet. Poisonous.
“Riven,” she purrs, stepping forward. “It’s been ages. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me.”
Her eyes flick to me—sharp, assessing, amused. She takes me in from head to toe, lingering on the plain black robe I wear, the lack of jewels, the absence of glamour. Then she looks back at Riven.
“And who is this?” she asks, though she already knows. “Your new pet?”
“My consort,” Riven corrects, voice cold. “Zara of the Wildbloods.”
Her smile widens.
“Wildbloods?” she repeats, laughter like shattered glass. “I thought they were extinct.”
“They were,” I say, stepping forward. “Until now.”
She tilts her head, studying me. “And you expect us to believe that? That the last of a cursed bloodline just happens to appear, and the High King takes her as his fated mate?”
“The Mark of Twin Thrones doesn’t lie,” Riven says.
“No,” she agrees, stepping closer. “But people do.” She reaches out, not to touch me, but to brush her fingers along the ring on her finger. “Just like people lie about love. About loyalty. About who they’ve shared their bed with.”
My stomach drops.
She’s wearing his ring.
She’s claiming him.
“We were bonded for thirty years,” she says, voice soft, intimate. “Did he tell you that? Did he tell you how he used to whisper my name in the dark? How he’d bite me here—” She traces a finger down her throat, over her collarbone, then lower, just above her breast. “—and mark me as his?”
I don’t look at Riven.
I can’t.
Because if I do, I’ll see it. I’ll see the truth in his eyes. The guilt. The shame. The memory of her beneath him, his hands on her skin, his mouth on her throat—
“That was a political alliance,” Riven says, voice sharp. “It ended centuries ago.”
“It ended when you left,” she corrects, stepping even closer. “Not when I did. I was still wearing your ring when you banished me.”
“You betrayed me,” he says. “You conspired with Vexis. You tried to overthrow me.”
“And yet,” she says, smiling, “you never took the ring back.”
He doesn’t answer.
And in that silence—
—I feel it.
The crack.
The first real fissure in the fragile thing growing between us. Not just the bond—though it pulses beneath my skin, hot and unsteady. Not just my mission—though it stumbles, uncertain. But me. My resolve. My certainty. My belief that I could use him, that I could stay strong, that I could hate him without ever wanting him.
And now this woman—this beautiful, venomous fae with his ring on her finger—is telling me that he loved her. That he claimed her. That he whispered her name in the dark.
“You’re lying,” I say, voice low.
She turns to me, smiling. “Am I? Then why does he still flinch when I touch it?” She lifts her hand, letting the ring catch the light. “Why does he keep my portrait in his private chamber? Why did he keep my favorite wine in his cellar, even after he exiled me?”
My breath comes in sharp bursts.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I snap.
“Don’t I?” she asks, stepping even closer. “I know how he likes his women. How he likes to taste them. How he—”
“Enough,” Riven growls.
She laughs.
“Oh, don’t be jealous, Riven. I’m not here to take her from you.” She reaches out, not to touch me, but to brush her fingers against my cheek—cold, deliberate. “I’m here to warn her.”
“Warn me of what?” I ask, pulling back.
“Of you,” she says, her eyes locking onto mine. “He doesn’t love you. He doesn’t love anyone. He uses people. He breaks them. And when he’s done, he discards them.” She leans in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I was his favorite. His queen. And he still cast me aside.”
I don’t answer.
Can’t.
Because the bond—
—is screaming.
Not in pain.
In jealousy.
It coils in my gut, hot and heavy, spreading through my limbs like fire. My wolf howls, not in rage, but in possession. Mine, it snarls. King. Mate. Ours.
And I hate myself for it.
“She’s not your concern,” Riven says, stepping between us. “You’re not welcome here.”
“I was invited,” she says, smiling. “By the Council. They want to assess the bond. To see if it’s… genuine.”
My stomach twists.
Of course they do.
They don’t trust us. They don’t believe in fate. They want proof.
And now, with Lira here—beautiful, claiming, marked—they’ll have every reason to doubt.
“Then you’ll get your assessment,” Riven says. “But you’ll do it from a distance. You don’t speak to her. You don’t touch her. You don’t even look at her.”
She laughs. “Or what? You’ll banish me again?”
“I’ll do worse,” he says, voice low, dangerous. “Now leave. Before I make you.”
She studies him for a long moment—then smiles.
“As you wish, Your Majesty.” She turns to me. “Enjoy your time with him, little wolf. While it lasts.”
Then she’s gone, gliding down the corridor like smoke on the wind.
I don’t move.
Can’t.
Because the image is already burned into my mind—her hand on his ring, her voice in his ear, the way he didn’t deny it, didn’t say he never loved her, didn’t say he never touched her—
“She’s lying,” Riven says, turning to me.
“Is she?” I ask, voice flat.
“Yes,” he says. “The bond was political. It meant nothing.”
“Then why does she still have your ring?”
He hesitates.
And in that silence—
—I know.
He doesn’t know.
Or he won’t say.
“Because she stole it,” he says finally. “When I banished her, she took it. I never got it back.”
“And you never went after it?”
“I had other things to worry about,” he snaps. “Like keeping the realm from tearing itself apart.”
I stare at him.
And for the first time—
—I wonder.
Was I wrong about him?
Was he forced to sign my mother’s death order?
Was he trapped, just like me?
Or is he just another liar, another monster wearing a crown?
“I need air,” I say, turning away.
“Zara—”
“Don’t,” I say, walking fast. “Just… don’t.”
I don’t look back.
I don’t stop.
I just walk, my boots echoing on the marble, the bond pulsing beneath my skin like a second heartbeat. The corridors blur. The torches flicker. The air grows colder.
And then I’m outside.
The royal gardens stretch before me—black roses, silver vines, thorned hedges that shift when you’re not looking. I walk fast, my breath coming in sharp bursts, my hands clenched into fists. The ring. The ring. The ring.
It’s not just a symbol.
It’s a claim.
And she’s wearing it.
“Zara.”
I freeze.
Kael steps out from behind a hedge—tall, scarred, his wolf eyes sharp with concern. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine,” I say, too fast.
He studies me. “You’re not. What happened? Who was that woman?”
“Lira,” I say. “Riven’s ex-lover. His ex-queen.”
His jaw tightens. “And?”
“She’s wearing his ring,” I whisper. “The royal ring. The one that means—”
“Claimed,” he finishes. “Bonded. Mated.”
I nod, my throat tight.
“Then he’s lying,” Kael says. “Or she is. But if he’s truly bound to you by the Mark of Twin Thrones, he can’t be bonded to anyone else. The magic wouldn’t allow it.”
“Unless the bond with her was broken,” I say.
“Then why does she still have the ring?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But she said they were together for thirty years. That he used to whisper her name in the dark. That he—”
“You’re letting her get inside your head,” Kael says, stepping closer. “She’s trying to break you. To make you doubt him. To make you weak.”
“And if she’s telling the truth?”
“Then he’s still yours,” Kael says. “Because the bond doesn’t lie. If he’s fated to you, then nothing else matters. Not her. Not the ring. Not the past.”
I look at him.
And for a moment—
—I believe him.
But then I remember the way Riven hesitated. The way he didn’t deny it. The way his eyes darkened when she touched the ring.
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” I whisper.
“Then trust the bond,” he says. “Trust what you feel when he touches you. When he looks at you. When he inhales you.”
I close my eyes.
And I do.
I remember the way his breath felt on my neck. The way his fingers burned my skin. The way my body ached for him, even as I hated him.
And I know—
It’s real.
The bond is real.
But so is the ring.
And so is she.
“I need to see it,” I say, opening my eyes. “The truth. About her. About him. About what really happened.”
“Then get it,” Kael says. “But don’t let her win. Don’t let her make you doubt what you know in here.” He taps my chest. “You came here to destroy him. But if you let her break you first, you’ll lose everything.”
I nod.
And then I turn and walk back toward the palace.
But this time—
I’m not just hunting proof of my mother’s murder.
I’m hunting proof of his heart.
And if it belongs to her—
Then I’ll burn it to ash.
I find him in the study, standing by the window, his back to me. The city of Elarion glows below, a tapestry of light and shadow. He doesn’t turn. Doesn’t speak.
“You let her wear your ring,” I say, voice low.
He doesn’t answer.
“You let her claim you. Even after you banished her. Even after you said it was over.”
Still nothing.
“Why?” I ask. “Why won’t you tell me the truth?”
He turns.
And for the first time—
—I see it.
Not anger.
Not pride.
Pain.
“Because the truth,” he says, voice raw, “would destroy you.”
My breath catches.
“Then let it,” I whisper. “Because I can’t do this if I don’t know. I can’t be your consort. I can’t be your fated mate. I can’t even look at you if I don’t know what you are.”
He stares at me.
And then—
—he reaches into his coat.
Takes out a small, silver locket.
Opens it.
Inside—a portrait.
Not of Lira.
But of a woman with storm-dark eyes.
And a child with silver hair.
My breath stops.
It’s me.
And my mother.
“I didn’t love her,” he says, voice breaking. “I loved her. And I failed her. Just like I swore I wouldn’t fail you.”
My knees weaken.
And for the first time—
—I wonder if I’ve been wrong about everything.