The moment his hand closes around mine, the bond ignites like a fuse.
Fire surges up my arm, searing through my veins, pooling low in my belly. My breath hitches. My knees lock. The world narrows to the heat of his palm, the rough callus of his thumb brushing over my knuckles, the dark promise in his eyes.
“You don’t have to do this,” I whisper, forcing the words past the tightness in my throat. “We can say the bond was a mistake. A glitch in the magic.”
His lips twitch—just once. Not a smile. A predator’s amusement. “It wasn’t a glitch.” His voice is low, velvet over steel. “And you know it.”
I do.
That’s what terrifies me.
The music swells—a slow, hypnotic waltz played on strings that sound like dying breaths. The bioluminescent vines above pulse deeper, darker red, casting long shadows across the floor. Around us, other bonded pairs step forward: a vampire and a Fae entwined in a swirl of silk, a werewolf and a witch moving with primal grace, their bodies already swaying to the rhythm of their shared bond.
But no one watches them.
Every eye is on us.
The traitor’s daughter and the Prince of Blood.
Fated.
Forbidden.
I should pull away. I should turn and walk out, let them brand me a coward, a liar, a failure. But the bond won’t let me. It pulls at my blood, my breath, my bones, dragging me closer to him as if we’re bound by chains only I can feel.
His free hand settles at the small of my back, warm even through the thin fabric of my gown. A shiver races down my spine. My skin prickles. My nipples tighten. I bite the inside of my cheek, hard, focusing on the sharp pain to ground myself.
Control. Always control.
But my body doesn’t listen.
He draws me in, one step at a time, until our bodies are aligned—chest to chest, hip to hip, breath to breath. His scent floods my senses: cold stone, aged wine, the iron tang of blood. My magic stirs, not in defense, but in response. The bond is pulling. Tugging. A thread of fire connecting our blood, our breath, our bones.
And then we move.
He leads, of course. Every step precise, controlled, dominant. I follow, my body moving on instinct, my feet gliding across the obsidian floor as if we’ve danced a thousand times before. Our hands remain clasped, his grip unyielding. His other hand presses firmer against my back, guiding me, claiming me.
“You’re fighting it,” he murmurs, his lips close to my ear. His breath is warm. My pulse jumps. “The bond. You’re resisting the rhythm.”
“I’m not dancing with you,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’m surviving you.”
He chuckles—low, dark, intimate. “Same thing.”
The music deepens. The pulse of the vines synchronizes with the beat, throbbing like a heartbeat. Around us, the air thickens with magic—fragments of memory, echoes of emotion, the raw energy of fated bonds. It’s intoxicating. Oppressive. I can feel it pressing against my skin, seeping into my lungs.
And then—
A flash.
Not a vision. Not a memory.
A fracture.
For a single, shattering second, I’m not in the Grand Atrium.
I’m in a courtroom.
Stone walls. Torchlight. The stench of blood and fear.
A child—me—screaming.
A woman—my mother—chained, her face twisted in agony. Her eyes meet mine. “Run, little moon. Run!”
A knife raised.
A curse carved into skin.
And then him. Younger. Blood on his hands. Eyes wide with horror.
The vision vanishes.
I stumble.
Kael catches me, his arm tightening around my waist, pulling me flush against him. My breath comes fast. My heart hammers. My skin burns where he touches me.
“What did you see?” he asks, voice low. Not mocking. Not cold. Curious.
“Nothing.” I force the word out. “Just your court’s usual theatrics.”
He studies me. His eyes—black, depthless—search mine. “Liar.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I know your body.” His thumb strokes the inside of my wrist, right over the cursed mark. It flares in response, a hot pulse of pain and heat. “I know how it trembles when I touch you. How your breath hitches. How your scent changes—fear, then arousal, then something deeper. You felt it too, didn’t you? The memory.”
My stomach twists. “There’s no memory. Just magic. Manipulation.”
“Then why does it feel like truth?”
I don’t answer.
Because I know.
Because I’ve spent ten years chasing shadows, gathering proof, breaking spells—and for the first time, I’ve felt the past. Not as a story. Not as a lie. But as something real. Something raw.
And it was him in it.
Not as a victim.
As a witness.
As a participant.
“You were there,” I whisper. “At her trial. You signed the testimony.”
His expression doesn’t change. But his grip tightens—just slightly. “I was.”
“And you did nothing.”
“I was bound by law. By duty.”
“By cowardice.”
His eyes flash. For the first time, I see it—anger. Not at me. At himself.
“You think I don’t regret it?” he says, voice low, rough. “You think I don’t see her face every time I close my eyes? You think I don’t hear her scream?”
My breath catches.
Because I do.
Every night.
And now—so does he.
The bond isn’t just connecting our bodies.
It’s connecting our memories.
The realization hits me like a blade.
This isn’t just magic.
It’s a key.
And Maeve was right—the curse burns brightest under moonlight.
And we’re dancing beneath it.
The music swells again, the tempo shifting, the rhythm deepening. The bond surges in response, a wave of heat crashing through me. My core aches. My thighs clench. My fingers twitch with the urge to touch him, to claw, to claim.
No. No.
I force myself to focus. To fight. To resist.
But then his hand slides.
From the small of my back—lower. Down. Until his palm cups my ass, fingers pressing into the curve of my hip. I gasp. My body arches into him, betraying me. His breath hitches. His eyes darken.
“You feel it,” he murmurs. “The pull. The hunger. The way your body knows me.”
“It’s magic,” I whisper. “Not fate.”
“Then why does it feel like both?”
The crowd murmurs. Fae lean into each other, their voices like wind through glass. Werewolves growl low in their throats. Vampires watch with cold, calculating eyes.
And then—
A new presence.
Sharp. Cold. Familiar.
Lysandra steps onto the dance floor, her silver gown shimmering like liquid metal. She doesn’t approach us. Doesn’t speak. Just stands there, watching, her violet eyes locked on Kael.
And then she moves.
Not toward me.
Toward him.
She glides forward, her hips swaying, her lips curled in a slow, knowing smile. The music doesn’t stop. The dance doesn’t pause. But the tension in the air thickens, coiling like a serpent ready to strike.
She stops just behind Kael.
And then—
Her hand rises.
Not to push me away.
Not to strike.
To touch.
Her fingers brush his arm—light, possessive, intimate. A claiming. A challenge.
“You never danced with me like that,” she says, voice soft, almost tender. But her eyes—her eyes are ice. “Not even on our hundredth night.”
Kael doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look at her. His gaze remains locked on mine.
But I feel it.
The shift.
The hesitation.
For the first time since I met him, Kael hesitates.
And the bond—our bond—flares in response, a wave of heat so intense it steals my breath. My knees weaken. My core clenches. My fingers dig into his shoulder, not to push him away—but to hold on.
Lysandra sees it.
Her smile widens.
“Oh, little witch,” she murmurs, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “You think this is about love? About fate? This is about power. And you—” She leans in, her breath warm against my ear. “—are just another pawn in his game.”
I yank free.
Not from Kael.
From the bond.
I step back, breaking the connection, severing the rhythm. The music stutters. The crowd falls silent. The vines above pulse erratically, their light flickering like a dying star.
Kael’s hand drops. His expression is unreadable. But his eyes—his eyes burn.
Lysandra laughs—low, throaty, victorious.
“Run all you want, Amber Vael,” she says. “But the bond will always bring you back. And when it does—” She traces a finger down her own neck, mimicking a bite. “—he’ll claim what’s his.”
Then she turns and walks away, her silver gown shimmering like a mirage.
I stand there, trembling.
Not from fear.
From rage.
From betrayal.
From the unbearable truth that I’m not just fighting the Court.
I’m fighting him.
And myself.
Kael steps forward. “Amber—”
“Don’t.” I raise a hand, stopping him. My voice is steady. Cold. “Don’t pretend this was about unity. About peace. This was a spectacle. A power play. And I won’t be your pawn.”
“You’re not a pawn.”
“Then what am I?” I demand. “Your fated mate? Your political tool? Your next conquest?”
He doesn’t answer.
And in that silence, I see it—the truth.
He doesn’t know.
And neither do I.
The music stops. The lights dim. The crowd begins to disperse, whispers rising like smoke.
I turn and walk away.
But as I reach the archway, a voice stops me.
“The curse burns brightest under moonlight.”
Maeve.
She stands in the shadows, her face half-hidden, her eyes glowing like twin moons.
“What does that mean?” I ask, my voice low.
She steps closer. “It means the bond isn’t just a chain, child. It’s a mirror. And the truth you seek—” She touches my wrist, right over the cursed mark. “—is already inside you. You just have to stop running long enough to see it.”
Then she’s gone.
I stand there, heart pounding.
The curse. The bond. The moon.
Are they connected?
Before I can think, a hand catches my elbow.
“You’re not going back to your chambers,” Riven says, his voice firm. “Not after that.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I snap.
“No. You need a strategist.” He pulls me into a side corridor, away from the crowd. “Lysandra’s move was deliberate. She wanted to fracture you. To make you doubt the bond.”
“It’s not real,” I say. “It’s magic. Manipulation.”
“Then why did you feel her memories?”
I freeze.
Because I did.
Not just mine.
His.
And in that moment, I realize—
The bond isn’t just connecting us.
It’s changing us.
And if I’m not careful—
I’ll lose myself before I ever break the curse.
“You need to sleep,” Riven says. “Clear your head. Rebuild your focus.”
“I don’t need sleep. I need answers.”
“And you’ll find them—when you stop fighting the truth.” He steps back. “But until then? Stay away from him. Because the next time you dance, Amber—you might not want to stop.”
I don’t answer.
Because I know he’s right.
The bond is dangerous.
Not because it’s fake.
But because it might be real.
And if it is—
I’m already lost.