The fire in the war room had burned down to embers, but the cold in my bones wouldn’t thaw.
I stood at the window, staring out over the snow-laced spires of the Winter Court, my fingers clenched around the edge of the sill. Frost crept from my skin, spreading across the glass like a living thing. The bond between Opal and me pulsed beneath my skin—hot, restless, *alive*—a constant reminder of the woman who had just walked out of this room, her eyes wet with tears, her heart cracked open by a ghost.
Her mother’s voice had echoed in the blood-pact. Her final words—*“Tell him… I’m sorry.”*—had torn through me like a blade.
And Opal had *cried*.
Not the cold fury I’d come to expect. Not the sharp, controlled rage that fueled her every move. But real, raw grief. The kind that stripped you bare. The kind that made you human.
And I had done nothing.
I hadn’t held her. Hadn’t touched her. Hadn’t told her—shown her—that she wasn’t alone.
Because I was afraid.
Afraid that if I reached for her, I’d never let go. Afraid that if I pulled her into my arms, the wolf would rise, and I’d claim her in truth—bite her, mark her, make her mine in every way the bond demanded. Afraid that she’d let me.
And worse—that she’d regret it.
Behind me, Silas stood in silence, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He’d seen it all. The way I’d hesitated. The way I’d let her walk away. The way the bond had screamed between us, a tether I refused to cross.
“You should’ve gone after her,” he said, voice low.
“And done what?” I snapped, not turning. “Told her I love her? That I’ve loved her since the moment I saw her in the atrium, dagger in hand, fire in her eyes? That I’d burn the world for her, just like her mother asked?”
“Yes.”
I exhaled, sharp. “She doesn’t want that. She wants vengeance. Justice. Fire. Not… this.” I gestured to my chest, where the bond burned like a brand. “She doesn’t want me.”
“She does,” Silas said. “She just doesn’t know how to want you without losing herself.”
I didn’t answer.
Because he was right.
Opal wasn’t just fighting the Council. She wasn’t just hunting Mordrek. She was fighting *herself*. Fighting the part of her that wanted me. That needed me. That *remembered* me—from the bond, from the kiss, from the way her body arched into mine even as she spat defiance.
And I was making it worse.
By holding back. By protecting her. By pretending I didn’t want to claim her in front of the entire Court.
“She’s going to do something reckless,” I said, voice rough. “She’s going to go after the Oath-Book alone. And Mordrek will kill her.”
“Then stop her.”
“How?” I turned, my silver eyes locking onto his. “Chain her to the wall? Lock her in the Spire? She’d burn her way out before dawn.”
“Then give her a reason to stay.”
“And what reason is that?”
“You.”
The word hit me like a blade.
Me.
Not the Alpha. Not the Enforcer. Not the Council’s puppet.
Just… *me*.
The half-blood. The outcast. The man who had loved her mother. The man who now loved *her*.
And if I didn’t claim her—truly claim her—she’d walk away. Not just from me. From *us*. From the bond. From the fire that had been building between us since the moment she saved my life.
My wolf growled low in my chest, restless, *hungry*.
It had waited long enough.
I turned from the window, striding to the door. “Call the Council,” I said, pulling on my coat. “Full assembly. Now.”
Silas didn’t move. “What are you doing?”
“What I should’ve done the moment she stepped into the gala.” I opened the door, the frost-runes flaring as I passed. “I’m claiming my queen.”
The Obsidian Spire’s throne room was a cavern of black stone and frozen light, its vaulted ceiling lost in shadow, its walls lined with the sigils of the Concord’s founding houses. At the center, raised on a dais of obsidian, stood the Winter Throne—a jagged seat of ice and iron, said to be forged from the first Fae king’s heart. It was cold. It was cruel. It was *power*.
And today, it would bear witness.
The Council gathered quickly—twelve seats, three from each species. Fae nobles in silver masks. Werewolf alphas in fur-trimmed coats. Vampire elders in velvet and shadow. Human diplomats in tailored suits, their eyes sharp with calculation. Mordrek sat at the head, ancient, cold, his staff glowing with the weight of oaths unbroken.
They didn’t speak. Didn’t question why I’d called them. They knew.
Something was coming.
I strode down the center aisle, my boots echoing on stone, my coat swirling behind me like a storm. Frost clung to my shoulders. My silver eyes burned. The bond flared beneath my skin—hot, insistent, *waiting*.
At the dais, I turned.
“Where is she?” Mordrek asked, voice like ice.
“Coming,” I said.
And she was.
I felt her before I saw her. A pulse in the bond. A shift in the air. A firestorm approaching.
And then—
The doors burst open.
Opal stood in the threshold, her hair braided back, her face sharp with defiance. She wore black—tight trousers, a fitted tunic, boots laced to the knee. No gown. No submission. No mask. Just *her*. Fire and fury. My mate. My rebellion.
Her dark eyes locked onto mine.
And the bond *screamed*.
Heat tore through me—white-hot, electric, *unstoppable*. My cock hardened. My wolf growled. My hands clenched at my sides.
She didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
But I knew what she was thinking.
What are you doing?
I didn’t answer.
Not with words.
I stepped down from the dais, walked to her, and took her hand.
The gasp from the Council was audible.
No one touched the Alpha without permission. No one *claimed* him in public.
But I wasn’t claiming *me*.
I was claiming *her*.
“Kaelen—” she started, voice low.
“Be quiet,” I said, pulling her forward.
She didn’t resist. Didn’t fight. Her fingers tightened around mine, warm, strong, *alive*. The bond flared between us, a pulse of heat that made her breath hitch.
We reached the dais together.
I turned to the Council.
“Opal of the Ember Circle,” I said, voice cutting through the silence, “is not merely my bonded mate by Council decree.” I looked at her, my silver eyes burning. “She is my *queen*.”
The room erupted.
“This is unprecedented!” a Fae noble spat.
“She’s a half-blood witch!” a vampire elder hissed.
“She has no right!” Mordrek thundered, rising from his seat.
Opal stiffened beside me. I felt it—the way her pulse jumped, the way her body tensed, the way her magic crackled beneath her skin.
But she didn’t pull away.
“She has every right,” I said, my voice low, dangerous. “She saved my life. She fought beside me. She carries my sigil. And if you doubt her claim—” I turned, my gaze sweeping the room, “—then challenge her. Face her in combat. In magic. In truth.”
Silence.
No one moved.
Because they knew.
She’d burn them all.
I turned back to Opal.
“Kneel,” I said.
Her eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Kneel,” I repeated, voice rough. “And let them see who you are.”
For a heartbeat, I thought she’d refuse. Thought she’d slap me. Thought she’d burn the throne room to the ground.
And then—
She knelt.
Not in submission.
Not in defeat.
But in *power*.
Her back was straight. Her chin was high. Her eyes blazed with fire. The sigil on her collarbone pulsed, glowing faintly in the dim light. The bond flared between us—hot, deep, *true*.
I reached into my coat and pulled out the ceremonial dagger—the one forged from black thorn and frostfire, used to mark queens of the Winter Court. The blade shimmered, cold and sharp.
“By the laws of the Concord,” I said, “by the magic of the Ancients, by the bond that binds us—” I pressed the flat of the blade to her shoulder, just above the sigil, “—I name you *Queen Opal, First of Her Name, Heir to the Ember Circle, Mate of the Black Thorn, and Light in the Winter’s Dark*.”
The blade flared—white-hot, then icy cold. The sigil on her collarbone burned brighter, spreading across her skin in delicate tracery—thorns and frost, intertwined. She gasped, her body arching, her breath coming fast.
And then—
The bond *snapped* into place.
Not just magic.
Not just fate.
But *choice*.
I dropped the dagger, stepping back. “Rise, my queen.”
She stood.
And the room *burned*.
Not with fire.
But with *her*.
Her presence. Her power. Her *truth*.
She turned to the Council, her dark eyes sweeping the room. “You think I’m here to obey?” she said, voice low, dangerous. “You think I’ll play the dutiful mate, the obedient queen, the *mongrel witch* who knows her place?”
No one answered.
“I’m here,” she continued, “to burn your lies. To break your chains. To make you *pay* for what you did to my mother.” She turned to Mordrek, her gaze like a blade. “And if you stand in my way—”
“She is *mine*,” I growled, stepping beside her, my hand finding hers. “And I am *hers*.”
The bond flared—hot, alive, *unbroken*.
Mordrek’s face twisted. “This is treason.”
“No,” I said. “This is *justice*.”
“You would defy the Council for her?”
“I would burn it to the ground.”
The room stilled.
And then—
Opal smiled.
Slow. Dangerous. *Victorious*.
“You think I care what they say?” she said, turning to me, her voice a whisper only I could hear. “I don’t even care if you touch me.”
I didn’t answer.
Because I knew.
She was lying.
And the bond—this cursed, relentless, *beautiful* bond—was screaming the truth.
She wanted me.
And I was going to make sure she never forgot it.
I gripped her wrist, not hard, but firm. Possessive. “You will kneel,” I said, voice low.
Her eyes flashed. “Only when you beg.”
The Council gasped.
Mordrek rose, his staff glowing. “This is an outrage! I will not stand for—”
“Then don’t,” I said, not looking at him. My gaze was on Opal. On her pulse at the base of her throat. On the flush creeping up her neck. On the way her breath hitched when I stepped closer.
“You think I’m afraid of you?” she whispered.
“I think you’re afraid of *this*.” I reached up, my fingers brushing the sigil on her collarbone. A jolt of sensation tore through us both. Her breath caught. My cock hardened. “The heat. The need. The way your body betrays you every time I touch you.”
“It doesn’t betray me,” she said, voice breaking. “It *remembers*.”
And then—
I kissed her.
Not soft. Not slow.
Hard. Deep. *Claiming*.
My mouth crashed against hers, hot and demanding, my hand sliding to her waist, pulling her against me. She gasped, but I took it, my tongue sweeping into her mouth, tasting fire and fury and *her*. The bond exploded—white-hot, electric, unstoppable. Her hands fisted in my coat, pulling me closer, her body arching into mine. Her hips rocked against mine, the friction maddening, *perfect*.
And the Council—
Could burn.
We broke apart—gasping, trembling, *shattered*.
The room was silent.
Every eye was on us.
And then—
Opal smiled.
Not the cold, controlled smirk of a woman who’d won.
But the slow, dangerous curve of a queen who’d just claimed her throne.
“Still hate me, Alpha?” she whispered, her breath warm against my lips.
“Only,” I said, my voice rough, “when you’re late to bed, Queen.”
The bond pulsed between us—hot, alive, *unbroken*.
And for the first time—
I didn’t fight it.
I just let it burn.