The silence after Nyx’s departure is heavier than any scream.
It settles over the room like ash, thick and suffocating, clinging to the velvet drapes, the cold marble floor, the still-thrumming bond between Cassian and me. The scent of sex and magic lingers in the air—our mingled heat, the salt of sweat, the faint metallic tang of his bite on my neck. My skin still hums from his touch, my body still pulsing with the echo of his release, but the warmth is fading, replaced by a creeping chill.
Because Nyx was right about one thing.
I *did* come here to kill him.
And no matter how many times I say I love him, no matter how deep his fangs sink or how fiercely he claims me, that truth remains. A shadow beneath the light. A crack in the foundation.
Cassian turns to me, his gold eyes searching, unreadable. The raw hunger from moments ago is gone, replaced by something colder, sharper—wariness. He doesn’t reach for me. Doesn’t pull me into his arms. Just watches, like he’s waiting for me to vanish, to revert back into the woman who lunged at him with a dagger.
“You heard her,” he says again, voice low.
“I did.”
“And you still say you won’t leave?”
I step forward, bare feet silent on the stone. The sheet slips from my shoulder, but I don’t adjust it. Let him see me. Let him *know* me. “I’m not going anywhere. Not because of her. Not because of the curse. Not because of *you*.”
His jaw tightens. “Then why?”
“Because I *choose* to stay.” I reach up, cupping his face. His skin is cool, but beneath it, I feel the heat—the pulse of his blood, the thrum of the bond, the way his breath hitches when I touch him. “I didn’t come here for love. I came for vengeance. But I stayed because I found something I didn’t know I was missing.”
“And what’s that?”
“Truth.” My thumb brushes his bottom lip, where his fangs still graze the edge. “You didn’t curse my bloodline. You didn’t mark my mother. You didn’t *lie* to me. The only lies were mine.”
He closes his eyes, leans into my touch. “You don’t have to absolve me.”
“I’m not absolving you,” I say. “I’m *seeing* you. And I’m tired of fighting what I feel.”
He opens his eyes, gold burning. “Then say it again.”
“Say what?”
“That you’re mine.”
My breath catches. Not from fear. Not from resistance.
From *certainty*.
“I’m yours,” I whisper. “Not because of the bond. Not because of the curse. But because I *want* to be.”
He pulls me into his arms, hard, crushing me against his chest, his face burying in my neck. I feel the tremor in his hands, the way his breath stutters, the way his fangs graze my skin—not to bite, but to *feel*.
“Don’t leave me,” he murmurs. “Not ever.”
“I won’t.” I wrap my arms around him, holding on like he’s the only thing keeping me from falling. “We’re in this together. No more running. No more lies.”
He lifts his head, gold eyes blazing. “Then we face them together.”
“Together.”
—
The throne room is already in chaos when we arrive.
Not the quiet tension of political maneuvering. Not the hushed whispers of court intrigue. This is raw. Visceral. A storm of voices, magic crackling in the air, Fae glamour shimmering like oil on water, werewolves growling low in their throats, witches with hands raised, ready to strike.
And at the center of it all—Nyx.
She stands on the dais, half-dressed, her crimson silk torn at the shoulder, her hair wild, her eyes blazing with fury and something darker—*hurt*. She’s not just angry. She’s *broken*. And she’s not here to whisper lies in shadows.
She’s here to burn the world down.
“—and I say she is a *fraud*!” she screams, voice echoing through the vaulted chamber. “A spy sent by the Coven Triad to infiltrate the Obsidian Court! She came here to assassinate Prince Cassian, and now she *fucks* him to secure her position!”
Gasps ripple through the crowd.
“That’s a lie!” Kael’s voice cuts through the noise. He stands at the edge of the dais, arms crossed, amber eyes sharp. “She saved his life. She proved the bond. She—”
“And yet,” Thorne interrupts, stepping forward, his jeweled fingers steepled, his smile razor-thin, “no official claiming has been made. No public mark. No blood vow. The bond may be real, but the *mate* is unconfirmed.”
My stomach drops.
He’s right.
The bond is undeniable. The magic has spoken. But in the eyes of the Court, I’m still just a betrothed—a political pawn, not a queen.
And Nyx knows it.
“She’s not his mate,” Nyx says, turning to the Council. “She’s a *curse*. A weapon. And when the full moon rises, she’ll destroy him. I’ve seen it. I’ve *felt* it.”
“You’ve felt nothing,” Cassian growls, stepping forward, pulling me with him. “You’ve lied. You’ve manipulated. You’ve worn my shirt like a trophy when I’ve never touched you with desire.”
“You marked me!” she screams. “You *bit* me!”
“To save your life,” he snaps. “Not to claim you. Not to love you. And you know it.”
“Then why haven’t you marked *her*?” she spits, pointing at me. “If she’s so special, so *fated*, why hasn’t he sunk his fangs into her neck and let the world know she’s his?”
The question hangs in the air.
Heavy.
Challenging.
And I feel it—the weight of every eye in the room, the unspoken doubt, the whisper of *fraud*, *spy*, *whore*.
Because she’s not wrong.
He hasn’t marked me.
Not like this.
Not in front of them.
And now, in the silence, I wonder—
—does he not trust me?
Does he not *want* to?
Or is it something else?
“The bond doesn’t require a public mark,” Cassian says, voice ice. “It doesn’t need spectacle. It’s in our blood. In our magic. In our *souls*.”
“Then prove it,” Thorne says, stepping forward. “Let the Court see the truth. Let the world know she is truly yours.”
“How?” Cassian demands.
Thorne smiles. “A public claiming. Here. Now. In front of the Council. Let him mark her. Let the bond be sealed in blood and fang. And if the magic accepts it—if the sigils flare, if the bond ignites—then she is his. Beyond doubt. Beyond question.”
My breath catches.
A public claiming.
Not in the privacy of our chambers. Not in the heat of passion. But here. Now. In front of the entire Court. A spectacle. A *performance*.
And if I refuse—
—I’m a fraud.
“You can’t force this,” Cassian snarls.
“We can,” Thorne says. “Article Twelve: when the legitimacy of a fated bond is challenged, the bonded may be required to undergo a public claiming to confirm the union. Refusal is grounds for dissolution of the betrothal. And,” he adds, glancing at me, “for the accused to be taken into Tribunal custody.”
My blood runs cold.
They’ll take me.
They’ll separate us.
And the curse—
—will kill me.
Cassian turns to me, gold eyes burning. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I don’t?”
“No.” His voice drops. “I won’t let them take you. I’ll fight. I’ll burn the Court to the ground if I have to.”
“And start a war?” I whisper. “For me?”
“In a heartbeat.”
I look at him—really look at him.
The sharp jaw. The gold eyes. The way his fangs still graze his lip when he’s angry. The way his hand won’t let go of mine.
And I know.
This isn’t about pride.
Not about power.
Not about politics.
This is about *us*.
And if I run now, if I hide, if I let fear decide—
—I lose him.
“Do it,” I say.
“Harmony—”
“*Do it*,” I say, louder. “Mark me. In front of them. Let them *see*.”
The chamber falls silent.
All eyes on us.
Cassian stares at me, jaw tight, fangs bared. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I do.” I step forward, baring my neck. “I’m not your prisoner. I’m not your betrothed. I’m not your *secret*.” I look at the Council, at Thorne, at Nyx. “I’m his *mate*. And I want the world to know it.”
Nyx laughs—sharp, broken. “You don’t know what you’re doing. Once he marks you, you’ll never be free. The bond will consume you. You’ll be his *slave*.”
“I’m already his,” I say, turning to her. “Not because of magic. Not because of fate. But because I *choose* him. And if that makes me a slave, then I’ll wear the chains with pride.”
Thorne’s smile falters.
And for the first time, I see it—
*Fear*.
Because I’m not playing their game.
I’m rewriting the rules.
Cassian steps in front of me, his back to the Council, his face inches from mine. “This isn’t just a mark,” he whispers. “It’s a *claim*. A vow. A *bonding*. Once I do this, there’s no going back. You’ll be mine in every way. Publicly. Permanently.”
“Good,” I say. “Because I don’t want to go back.”
He searches my eyes, gold blazing. “You’re sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
He exhales, slow, then turns to the Council. “You want a show? You want proof?” His voice cuts through the chamber like a blade. “Then *watch*.”
He pulls me into his arms, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other pressing to my lower back, holding me close. His breath is hot on my neck. His fangs graze my skin—just a whisper, just enough to make me shiver.
“Look at me,” he murmurs.
I do.
And in that moment, I see it—every lie I’ve told myself, every wall I’ve built, every reason I thought I needed to hate him—shatter in the gold of his eyes.
“This isn’t for them,” he says, voice low, for my ears only. “This is for *you*. For *us*. So the world knows what I already know.”
“What’s that?” I whisper.
“That you’re mine.”
And then—
—he bites.
Not gentle.
Not careful.
But *deep*.
His fangs sink into the junction of my neck and shoulder, piercing the vein, and pain flares—white-hot, blinding—then pleasure, richer, darker, *deeper* than anything I’ve ever felt. My back arches, a cry tearing from my throat, and the bond *explodes*.
Not a hum.
Not a pulse.
A *scream*.
White fire rips through my veins, sigils flaring so bright they light up the throne room, painting the walls in silver light. The air shimmers, magic spiraling into the vaulted ceiling, and the entire chamber gasps.
He drinks—just a taste, just enough to seal the mark—and then pulls back, licking the wound closed, sealing it with a kiss.
The bite glows—faintly at first, then brighter, a silver sigil forming on my skin, mirroring the one on his neck. The bond hums between us, stronger than ever, a live wire under my skin, a second heartbeat.
And I know—
I’m not just his.
I’m *claimed*.
“Do you see now?” Cassian growls, turning to the Council, his arm still around me, his fangs still bared. “Do you *finally* see?”
Thorne says nothing.
Nyx stares, face pale, eyes wide with something that looks like grief.
And the Court—
—falls silent.
Because there’s no denying it.
The magic has spoken.
The bond is real.
I am his.
And then—
—Nyx moves.
Not toward me.
Not toward Cassian.
But toward Thorne.
She drops to her knees in front of him, head bowed, voice breaking. “I was wrong,” she says. “I let jealousy blind me. I let pain make me cruel. But I see the truth now. The bond is real. She is his.”
My breath catches.
Is she surrendering?
Is this over?
But then she lifts her head, and I see it—
The flicker in her eyes.
The smirk on her lips.
And in her hand—
A dagger.
Not just any dagger.
My cursed dagger.
The one I left in the Reliquary.
“But that doesn’t mean she’s *safe*,” Nyx says, rising, the blade glinting in the torchlight. “The curse is still active. The full moon is rising. And when it does, one of them must die.”
She turns to me, eyes blazing. “So I ask you, *Harmony*—will you sacrifice him? Or will you let him die for you?”
The chamber erupts.
Voices rise. Magic crackles. Fae guards step forward.
But I don’t move.
Just stare at her.
At the woman who wore his shirt like a crown.
At the woman who claimed to carry his child.
At the woman who just knelt and *lied*.
And then—
—I do the one thing she doesn’t expect.
I laugh.
Sharp. Cold. *Feral*.
“You think I don’t know?” I say, stepping forward, Cassian’s arm tightening around me. “You think I haven’t seen the truth in the bond? You didn’t carry his child. You didn’t love him. You just wanted power. And now, you’re desperate.”
Her smile falters.
“But you’re right about one thing,” I say, voice low. “The curse *is* active. The full moon *is* rising. And when it does—” I turn to Cassian, gold eyes burning into mine. “—I’ll choose him. Every time. Even if it kills me.”
Nyx’s face twists. “You’re a fool.”
“No,” I say. “I’m in love.”
And then—
—the doors burst open.
Kael steps inside, his expression grim, a scroll in hand. “Cassian,” he says. “The Northern Border. Vael forces. They’ve breached the wards.”
My breath stops.
House Vael.
Thought extinct.
But not if Thorne has their venom.
“They’re coming for the curse,” I whisper.
Cassian turns to me, jaw tight. “Then we meet them.”
“Together,” I say.
He nods. “Together.”
And as we turn to leave, hand in hand, the bond humming between us, the mark on my neck still glowing, I know—
This isn’t the end.
This is war.
And I’m ready.