The first thing I felt when I woke was the silence.
Not the soft hush of the mountain wind, not the distant echo of the Midnight Court’s pulse, not even the quiet hum of the cursed mark on my wrist—gold now, steady, calm, whole.
It was deeper.
It was the silence of choice.
I sat up slowly, the thin fabric of my gown clinging to my skin, damp with dew and the ghost of sweat from dreams I couldn’t remember. The blood-red moon still hung low over Prague, its light spilling across the jagged peak like spilled wine. Below, the city flickered—human lights, distant, fragile, unaware of the war that raged beneath their feet.
Kael was gone.
Not from the cliff.
Not from the mountain.
From me.
I could feel it in the way the bond no longer surged with every breath, every heartbeat, every flicker of emotion. It was still there—pulsing, alive—but muted, distant, like a fire banked to embers. And the worst part?
I knew why.
Because I’d kissed him.
Not in desperation.
Not in fever.
But in truth.
I’d said, “I love you.”
And he’d said nothing.
Just stood there, his storm-gray eyes searching mine, his body rigid, his breath caught in his chest. He hadn’t pulled away. Hadn’t denied it. Hadn’t even flinched.
But he hadn’t said it back.
And that silence—
It was louder than any scream.
The cursed mark on my wrist pulsed—gold, steady, calm—but the bond, our bond, felt… fractured.
Like a mirror cracked down the center.
Like a vow broken before it was spoken.
And then—
I remembered.
The ritual.
The curse.
The truth.
Kael had drunk the vial.
He’d severed the bond.
Not to trap me.
Not to control me.
But to free me.
And I—
I had kissed him.
And told him I loved him.
And now—
Now I had to leave.
Not because I didn’t believe in us.
Not because I didn’t trust him.
But because I did.
Because if the ritual failed—if the curse couldn’t be broken—if the High Fae Judge proved too powerful—then one of us had to survive.
And it couldn’t be him.
Not after everything.
Not after he’d shattered the vial. Not after he’d let me go. Not after he’d stood before the Blood Mirror and demanded justice, even when the Council turned on him.
He’d already given too much.
And I—
I couldn’t let him give his life.
The wind bit at my skin, tugged at my cloak, whispered secrets in a language I no longer feared. I rose—slowly, carefully—and turned my back on the Court, on the bond, on the man who had marked me, who had defied his Council for me, who had said he’d rather die by my hand than live without me.
And I walked.
Not toward vengeance.
Not toward justice.
But toward the only truth I had left.
That I loved him.
And that I had to let him go.
—
The descent was slow.
Not because the path was treacherous—though it was, jagged stone slick with frost, the wind sharp enough to cut skin—but because every step felt like a betrayal.
Of him.
Of us.
Of the bond that had flared to life the moment our hands touched, that had burned through every lie, every fear, every wall I’d ever built.
But I didn’t stop.
Just kept moving, my boots crunching on ice, my breath coming in white puffs, my magic coiled tight beneath my skin like a serpent ready to strike. The cursed mark pulsed gold—steady, calm, whole—but the ache in my chest was worse than any fever.
Because I knew—
He’d feel it.
He’d know.
And he’d come for me.
And when he did—
I wouldn’t be there.
And the worst part?
I didn’t want to leave.
Not anymore.
But I had to.
Because if I stayed, I’d become his prisoner.
And if I ran, I’d become his ghost.
And neither was freedom.
But one was survival.
And I—
I had to survive.
For the truth.
For my mother.
For us.
—
The Mirror Garden loomed ahead—a circular chamber of black stone, its walls lined with ancient mirrors that reflected not the present, but the past. Maeve stood at the center, draped in a cloak of midnight blue, her silver hair unbound, her violet eyes sharp with urgency.
She didn’t speak.
Just looked at me—really looked—and I saw it.
The crack.
The flicker of vulnerability.
The way her fingers trembled at her sides.
“You’re leaving,” she said, voice low.
“I have to,” I said.
“And if he dies?”
“Then I’ll die with him,” I said. “But not before. Not while there’s still a chance.”
She studied me.
Then reached into the folds of her cloak and pulled out a vial of dark liquid, sealed with silver wax. “This will mask your scent. Disrupt the bond for twelve hours. Long enough to reach the surface.”
I took it. “And after?”
“Then you fight,” she said. “From the outside. With allies. With time. With truth.”
“And Kael?”
“He’ll survive,” she said. “Because he has to. Because the bond won’t let him die. Not while you live.”
I didn’t answer.
Just tucked the vial into my cloak and turned to the mirror behind her.
Not a reflection.
But a door.
One she’d opened a hundred times before.
One that led to the surface.
To freedom.
To exile.
“Riven,” I said. “Tell him—”
“I know,” she said. “He’ll understand.”
And then—
I stepped through.
The air changed.
Colder. Sharper. Cleaner.
No scent of bloodwine. No hum of witchfire. No pulse of bioluminescent vines.
Just wind.
And stone.
And silence.
I was in the mountains now—high above Prague, beneath a blood-red moon, the city’s lights flickering in the distance like dying stars. The wind bit at my skin, tugged at my cloak, whispered secrets in a language I no longer understood.
And then—
The bond flared.
Not in heat.
Not in hunger.
In agony.
I gasped, clutching my chest as the cursed mark on my wrist turned black, searing, screaming. My knees hit the stone. My breath came in ragged gasps. My magic lashed out in wild bursts of violet flame that scorched the air, blackened the rock.
And then—
I uncorked the vial.
Drank.
The liquid was thick, bitter, laced with iron and something darker—ancient magic, old pain, the scent of tears. It burned my throat, spread through my chest, eased the ache in my limbs. The bond dimmed. The fever receded. The mark turned gold again.
But the cost—
It was written in the way my heart cracked open.
Because I knew—
He’d feel it.
He’d know.
And he’d come for me.
And when he did—
I wouldn’t be there.
And the worst part?
I didn’t want to leave.
Not anymore.
But I had to.
Because if I stayed, I’d become his prisoner.
And if I ran, I’d become his ghost.
And neither was freedom.
But one was survival.
And I—
I had to survive.
For the truth.
For my mother.
For us.
I rose.
Not slowly. Not carefully.
Fast.I turned my back on the Court, on the bond, on the man who had marked me, who had defied his Council for me, who had said he’d rather die by my hand than live without me.
And I walked.
Not toward vengeance.
Not toward justice.
But toward the only truth I had left.
That I loved him.
And that I had to let him go.
And then—
The mark flared.
Not red.
Not black.
Gold.
And I knew—
The real battle hadn’t begun.
It was just about to.
But this time—
This time, I wasn’t fighting for revenge.
I was fighting for survival.
And for the man I’d left behind.
And the curse—
It wasn’t what I thought.
It was worse.
And better.
And I wasn’t ready for it.
But I couldn’t run.
Not this time.
Because the lock was breaking.
And the key—
Was us.
—
The hours passed like shadows.
I didn’t sleep. Didn’t rest. Just walked—through frozen streams, across jagged cliffs, beneath a blood-red moon that cast long, shifting shadows across the snow. My magic stirred beneath my skin, coiled tight, ready. The cursed mark pulsed gold, steady, calm, a quiet hum beneath my flesh.
And then—
The edge.
A cliff overlooking the city, the Midnight Court hidden beneath layers of illusion and stone. I stopped, my breath coming fast, my heart pounding. The wind tugged at my hair, whispered in my ears.
And then—
It hit.
Like a blade to the spine.
White-hot. Relentless. Consuming.
I gasped, clutching my chest as the world tilted. My vision blurred. The cursed mark on my wrist flared—black now, not gold, not red. A void. A hunger. A need.
Not for blood.
For him.
“Kael,” I whispered, my voice breaking.
And the bond—our bond—surged, not in heat, not in hunger—but in something deeper.
Something like grief.
And then—
Another vision.
This time, it was real.
Kael, standing in the Chamber of Echoes, his body convulsing, his fangs tearing into his own skin, his claws raking his chest. His eyes—black, depthless—searched the room, searching for me. Screaming my name.
“Amber… no… don’t go…”
I screamed.
Not in pain.
Not in fear.
In agony.
Because I knew.
The bond sickness had returned.
And this time—
This time, I wasn’t there to save him.
And then—
Footsteps.
Fast. Heavy. Deliberate.
Boots on stone.
And then—
Riven.
He stepped from the shadows, his golden eyes wide, his scent sharp with fear. He didn’t speak. Didn’t bow. Just crossed the distance in three strides and gripped my shoulders.
“You left,” he said, voice low.
“I had to,” I said.
“And him?”
“He’s dying,” I said, tears spilling down my cheeks. “Because of me.”
He didn’t flinch.
Just pulled me into his arms, his body warm, his breath steady. “Then go back.”
“I can’t,” I whispered. “Not while the curse is still active. Not while the Judge is still out there. If I go back, I’ll become his prisoner. And if I stay—”
“Then he dies,” Riven said. “And you know it.”
My breath caught.
Because he was right.
And the worst part?
I didn’t want to live without him.
Not anymore.
“Then help me,” I said, pulling back. “Help me find a way. Not to run. Not to hide. But to fight. To win. To save him.”
He studied me.
Then nodded.
And then—
We moved.
Through the mountain pass, past frozen streams and jagged cliffs, beneath a blood-red moon that cast long, shifting shadows across the snow. The wind bit at my skin, tugged at my hair, whispered secrets in a language I no longer feared.
And then—
The Mirror Garden.
It loomed ahead—a circular chamber of black stone, its walls lined with ancient mirrors that reflected not the present, but the past. Maeve stood at the center, draped in a cloak of midnight blue, her silver hair unbound, her violet eyes sharp with urgency.
“You’re back,” she said, voice low.
“I have to be,” I said. “Because if I’m not, he’ll die. And I won’t let that happen. Not while I’m still breathing.”
She studied me.
Then nodded.
And then—
I stepped through.
The air changed.
Warmer. Heavier. Thick with the scent of bloodwine and witchfire.
I was back.
In the Midnight Court.
And the bond—our bond—surged, not in heat, not in hunger, but in something deeper.
Something like relief.
And then—
The mark flared.
Not red.
Not black.
Gold.
And I knew—
The real battle hadn’t begun.
It was just about to.
But this time—
This time, I wasn’t fighting for revenge.
I was fighting for love.
And for the man I’d chosen.
And the curse—
It wasn’t what I thought.
It was worse.
And better.
And I wasn’t ready for it.
But I couldn’t run.
Not this time.
Because the lock was breaking.
And the key—
Was us.