The fever starts with a whisper.
Not a sound, not a voice—but a sensation, like fingers trailing down my spine, cold and slick. I’m in the solar, pretending to read a scroll on ancient fae treaties, but my eyes keep drifting to the window. Elarion floats above London like a dream no one remembers, its spires piercing the enchanted twilight, stars frozen in silver constellations that pulse like living veins. It’s beautiful. Lethal. Like him.
Riven.
He’s been distant since last night—since Lira showed up with his ring, since he showed me the locket, since he said he loved my mother. I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know what to feel. All I know is the bond—pulsing beneath my skin, hot and unsteady, a constant reminder that I’m tied to him, that I need him, even as I hate him.
And now, this.
The whisper becomes a throb.
Then a burn.
I press my palm to my chest, feeling the rapid flutter of my pulse. The Mark of Twin Thrones flares—just a flicker, deep in my palm, like a dying ember catching flame. My breath hitches. My vision blurs at the edges.
No.
Not now.
I push back from the table, standing too fast. The room tilts. My knees buckle. I catch myself on the edge of the desk, my fingers digging into the wood. The scroll slips from my grasp, unfurling on the floor, but I don’t care. I can’t focus. The air is too thick, too heavy, pressing down on me like a weight. My skin burns. My blood sings. My wolf howls beneath my skin, not in warning, but in need.
He’s too far, it whimpers. Too far. Too far.
I look at the door.
He’s in the war chamber, two floors down, meeting with his council. Fifty miles might kill me, but even this distance—this separation—is torture. The bond wasn’t meant to be broken. Not even for a moment. And now, with Lira here, with the Council watching, with everything unraveling—
—it’s punishing me.
I take a step.
Then another.
My boots echo on the marble, too loud, too slow. The corridors blur. The torches flicker. The walls shift, faces forming in the stone, watching, vanishing. Fae architecture doesn’t just obey magic. It remembers. And right now, it’s laughing at me.
I make it to the staircase.
Then I collapse.
My knees hit the stone. My hands scramble for purchase. The world spins. My breath comes in sharp, shallow gasps. The burn spreads—through my veins, my bones, my mind. I see things. Hallucinations. My mother, standing in the Unseelie Wastes, her body wrapped in black thorns. Riven, leaning over her, his hands stained with blood. Lira, laughing, her fingers wrapped around his ring.
He loved her, the voice whispers. He loved her and he let her die.
“No,” I gasp. “No, he didn’t—”
But I don’t know.
I don’t know anything anymore.
The pain intensifies—sharp, stabbing, like knives twisting in my gut. I curl into myself, arms wrapped around my stomach, teeth grinding. My wolf snarls, fighting to break free, but I can’t shift. Not here. Not like this. I’d tear myself apart.
I need him.
I need Riven.
“Help,” I whisper. “Someone—”
But no one comes.
The palace is silent. The servants know better than to interfere with the High King’s consort. The nobles are too afraid. And Riven—
—he doesn’t feel it.
Or he does, and he’s ignoring me.
The thought sends a fresh wave of pain through me—hot, jagged, wrong. I press my forehead to the cold stone, trying to ground myself, but the floor shifts beneath me, the marble rippling like water. I see my reflection—pale skin, dark eyes, lips cracked and bleeding. My hair is matted with sweat. My hands tremble.
And then—
—I hear it.
Boots.
Fast. Heavy. His.
“Zara.”
His voice cuts through the haze like a blade.
I lift my head. He’s at the top of the stairs, his storm-lit eyes wide, his face pale. He takes one look at me and moves—fast, inhumanly fast—closing the distance between us in seconds. He drops to his knees, his hands on my shoulders, his breath hot against my skin.
“Look at me,” he says, voice low, urgent. “Zara, look at me.”
I try. I really try. But my vision is blurred, my thoughts scattered. I see him, but not clearly. His face shifts—sometimes my mother’s killer, sometimes the man who held my locket, sometimes the king who claimed my scent in front of the entire court.
“You’re too far,” I whisper. “The bond—it’s killing me.”
“I know,” he says, his hands sliding to my face, his thumbs stroking my cheeks. “I felt it. I felt you—breaking.”
His voice cracks.
And for the first time—
—I believe him.
He didn’t ignore me. He didn’t abandon me. He felt this. He knew.
And he came.
“Hold on,” he says, pulling me into his arms. “Just hold on.”
He lifts me effortlessly, one arm under my knees, the other supporting my back. I press my face into his chest, breathing in his scent—storm and cedar, power and something darker, something primal. It calms me. Just a little. The pain doesn’t stop, but it dulls, like a scream reduced to a whisper.
He carries me through the palace, his boots echoing on marble. I don’t see the corridors. I don’t see the nobles who bow as we pass. I just feel him—his heartbeat beneath my ear, his breath against my hair, the way his arms tighten around me, like he’ll never let go.
And gods help me, I don’t want him to.
He takes me to his chambers—the same room where he first touched me, where the bond ignited, where he offered me the contract. The silver doors swing open before he touches them, revealing the vast, circular chamber with its black stone hearth, its shelves of ancient tomes, its obsidian desk. He doesn’t set me down. Not yet. He carries me to the bed—a massive four-poster draped in black silk, its canopy woven with silver thorns.
He lays me down gently, his hands lingering on my shoulders, my waist, my hips. His eyes scan my face, my neck, my hands—searching for something, I don’t know what.
“The fever,” I whisper. “It’s the bond. It’s punishing me for being away from you.”
“It’s not punishment,” he says, his voice rough. “It’s survival. The bond wasn’t meant to be broken. Not even for a moment. When we’re apart, it weakens. And when it weakens—”
“It kills us,” I finish.
He nods, his jaw tight. “I should’ve warned you. I thought… I thought you’d be stronger.”
“I am strong,” I snap, though my voice trembles. “But the bond—it’s not just magic. It’s need. And I can’t—”
“Shh,” he says, pressing a finger to my lips. “Don’t fight it. Not now. Let it in. Let me in.”
My breath hitches.
He sees it.
Of course he does.
He leans down, his lips brushing my ear. “You don’t have to be strong right now. You don’t have to hate me. You don’t have to plot my death.” His hand slides to my waist, pulling me closer. “Just let me take care of you.”
I want to refuse.
I want to shove him away, to remind him that I came here to kill him, that I’ll still slit his throat in his sleep.
But I can’t.
The pain is too much. The need is too strong. And gods help me, I want this—his touch, his voice, the way his body shields mine like he can protect me from everything.
So I do the only thing I can.
I nod.
And then—
—he strips me.
Not roughly. Not violently. But with a tenderness that shatters me. He unbuttons my dress, peels it from my shoulders, slides it down my legs. His fingers are careful, deliberate, avoiding any contact that isn’t necessary. But every touch sends a jolt through me—heat flaring in my veins, the bond pulsing on my palm.
He leaves me in my underclothes—thin silk, barely there. Then he strips himself—his black coat, his shirt, his boots—until he’s in just his trousers, his chest bare, his skin glowing faintly with fae magic. He climbs onto the bed, pulling me into his arms, my back against his chest, my head tucked beneath his chin.
His heartbeat thunders beneath my ear.
His breath warms my neck.
His arms wrap around me, holding me like I’m something fragile, something precious.
And for the first time—
—I let myself believe it.
That maybe, just maybe, I’m not just a pawn. Not just a weapon. Not just a means to an end.
That maybe I’m his.
The fever doesn’t stop. It rages—burning, twisting, clawing at my mind. I see things. My mother, standing in the flames. Kael, bleeding out on the floor. Lira, laughing, her fingers wrapped around Riven’s ring.
But every time the visions come, he whispers my name.
“Zara.”
“I’m here.”
“You’re safe.”
And every time, the world snaps back into focus.
His voice is a lifeline. His touch is an anchor. His body is a shield.
And I cling to him.
I don’t care that I shouldn’t. I don’t care that I hate him. I don’t care that he might’ve signed my mother’s death order.
Right now, he’s all that’s keeping me from breaking.
Hours pass. Or maybe minutes. Time doesn’t matter. All that matters is the rhythm of his breath, the beat of his heart, the way his fingers trace slow circles on my hip, calming me, grounding me.
At some point, I fall asleep.
Not deep. Not peaceful. But enough to dull the pain, to quiet the visions, to let the bond settle.
When I wake, it’s dark. The fire in the hearth burns low, casting long shadows across the room. Riven is still behind me, his arms still around me, his breath steady against my neck. I don’t move. I just lie there, listening to him, feeling him, memorizing the way his body fits against mine.
And then—
—I feel it.
A shift.
Not in the bond.
In me.
The hatred is still there. The mission. The need for revenge.
But it’s not all I feel.
There’s something else.
Something warmer. Deeper. Dangerous.
It coils in my chest, soft and slow, like a vine wrapping around my heart.
Trust.
I don’t want it. I don’t need it. But it’s there.
And I can’t pretend it isn’t.
I turn in his arms, slowly, carefully, until I’m facing him. His eyes are closed, his face relaxed in sleep. His hair falls across his forehead, his lips slightly parted. He looks younger like this. Softer. Human.
My hand trembles as I reach up, brushing a strand of hair from his face.
He doesn’t wake.
But his hand tightens around my waist, pulling me closer.
And I let him.
I press my face into his chest, breathing him in, letting the scent of storm and cedar fill my lungs. The bond hums beneath my skin, not in pain, but in recognition.
Not just magic.
Want.
Raw. Unstoppable. Wrong.
And for the first time—
—I don’t fight it.
I just whisper the truth into the darkness.
“Stay with me.”
And he doesn’t let go.