The Blood Moon Festival had always been a lie.
Not the dancing. Not the wine. Not even the blood that dripped from the ceremonial chalices into the snow below the Winter Court’s grand balcony. No, the lie was in the *purpose*—the way the Fae twisted their most sacred traditions into performances of power, their rituals into displays of dominance. A festival meant to honor the balance between light and dark, life and death, had become nothing more than a stage for the elite to parade their control, their purity, their *superiority*.
And tonight, they expected me to dance on it.
I stood at the edge of the terrace, wrapped in the black silk gown Kaelen had left for me—deep V-neck, slit to the thigh, designed to show the sigil on my collarbone like a trophy. The wind bit through the thin fabric, but I didn’t shiver. I let it cut. Let it remind me that I was still alive. Still breathing. Still *angry*.
Because that was all I had left.
After the throne room. After the claiming. After the kiss that had sealed my fate in front of the entire Council—after all of it, the fire inside me had not dimmed. If anything, it had grown hotter, wilder, *sharper*. Because now, I wasn’t just fighting for vengeance. I wasn’t just avenging my mother.
I was fighting for *myself*.
And that was far more dangerous.
Behind me, the atrium buzzed with music and laughter, the air thick with the scent of frost-lilies and spilled bloodwine. Nobles in silver masks twirled across the polished floor, their movements precise, their smiles sharper than blades. Werewolves prowled the edges, collars glowing with ancient runes, their eyes tracking me like prey. Vampires leaned against the pillars, sipping from crystal goblets, their fangs just visible beneath their lips. And at the center of it all—Kaelen.
He stood near the dais, tall and imposing in his black coat, his silver eyes scanning the room like a predator. Frost clung to his shoulders, his breath a pale mist in the cold. He hadn’t looked at me since the throne room. Not once. But I could feel him—his presence like a storm behind my eyes, his heat a pulse beneath my skin. The bond flared with every beat of my heart, a slow, rhythmic throb that matched his.
He was waiting.
And I was stalling.
“You’re going to freeze out here,” a voice said from behind me.
I didn’t turn. “I’m not cold.”
Silas stepped beside me, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “You’re trembling.”
“It’s not from the cold.”
He exhaled, a low, knowing sound. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do.” I finally turned to him. “They’re watching. Waiting. They think I’m weak. That I’ll crumble under the weight of the title. That I’ll let him control me.”
“And will you?”
“No.” I met his gaze. “But I have to play the part. At least for tonight.”
He studied me for a long moment. “He’s not what you thought he was.”
“No,” I admitted. “He’s worse.”
“How?”
“Because he *cares*.” My voice cracked. “Because he stood in front of the Council and called me *queen*. Because he kissed me in front of them all—not to silence me, but to *claim* me. And the worst part?” I looked down at my hands, clenched into fists. “I *wanted* it.”
Silas didn’t laugh. Didn’t mock. He just nodded. “I’ve never seen him flinch at a blade. But you make him hesitate.”
“Then he should’ve thought of that before he bound me to him.”
“Or after,” Silas said. “He hasn’t stopped thinking about it.”
I didn’t respond. Just turned back to the terrace, my breath coming slow, controlled. The moon above was full, blood-red, casting long shadows across the snow. The bond pulsed beneath my skin, a constant, maddening awareness of him. I could feel his gaze now—sharp, focused, *hungry*.
“He’s coming,” Silas said.
I didn’t need him to tell me.
I could feel it—the shift in the air, the way the bond flared, the way my skin flushed, my pulse jumped. I didn’t turn. Didn’t move. Just waited.
And then—
Boots on stone.
Slow. Deliberate.
Stopping just behind me.
“You’re avoiding me,” Kaelen said, his voice low, rough.
“You’re imagining things,” I replied, still not turning.
“No.” He stepped closer, his presence a wall of heat and cold. “You’ve been avoiding me since the throne room. Since I named you queen.”
“You didn’t name me queen,” I said, finally turning to face him. “You *claimed* me. In front of the Council. In front of *them*.” I gestured to the atrium. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t *feel* it?”
“I hoped you would.”
My breath caught.
He didn’t look away. His silver eyes burned into mine, unflinching, *unafraid*. “You are my queen, Opal. Not because the bond says so. Not because the Council demands it. But because *I* choose it. Because *you* are the only one who’s ever looked at me and seen *me*—not the Alpha, not the Enforcer, not the half-blood abomination. Just… *me*.”
My chest tightened.
“And if I don’t want to be your queen?” I whispered.
“Then you’re a liar.”
“You don’t know what I want.”
“I do.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “I feel it every time you look at me. Every time your breath hitches when I touch you. Every time your body arches into mine, even as you tell me to go to hell.”
“That’s the bond,” I snapped. “Not me.”
“No.” His hand rose, fingers brushing the sigil on my collarbone. A jolt of sensation tore through me—fire and ice, pleasure and pain. My mouth fell open. My skin flushed. My thighs clenched. “That’s *us*.”
“You don’t get to do this,” I said, stepping back. “You don’t get to touch me and pretend it means something. You don’t get to call me queen and expect me to kneel.”
“I don’t expect you to kneel,” he said, stepping forward. “I expect you to *fight*.”
“Then why force me to dance with you?”
“Because the Court expects it.”
“And since when do you care what they expect?”
“Since you became mine.”
My breath stilled.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. “The dance is a ritual. A display of unity. If we refuse, they’ll see it as weakness. As division. And Mordrek will use it against you.”
“Then let him.”
“No.” He closed the distance between us, his hands finding my waist, pulling me close. Our bodies aligned—chest to chest, hip to hip. The sigil burned. My breath hitched. My core ached. “You’re not just fighting him, Opal. You’re fighting *them*. And if you want to burn this court to the ground, you have to play the game first.”
“And what if I don’t want to play?”
“Then you lose.”
I stared at him—long, hard, searching. And then, slowly, I nodded.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll dance with you. But not because you command it. Not because the Court expects it. But because *I* want to.”
His lips twitched. Not a smile. A warning. “You’re dangerous when you want things.”
“Good,” I said. “Because I’m about to make them all burn.”
He didn’t argue. Didn’t threaten. He just turned, offering his hand.
And I took it.
The atrium fell silent as we entered—Kaelen, the Black Thorn Alpha, and me, the Marked Queen, hand in hand, the bond flaring between us like a beacon. Nobles turned. Werewolves growled. Vampires hissed. And at the edge of the floor, Lady Nyx watched, her lips curled in a venomous smile, her fingers tracing the fake bite mark on her shoulder.
I didn’t look at her.
I didn’t need to.
Because I already knew.
She was nothing.
The music shifted—slow, haunting, a waltz of frost and fire. Kaelen pulled me into the center of the floor, his hand settling on my waist, his other hand holding mine. Our bodies aligned, close, too close, every breath syncing, every pulse matching. The sigil on my collarbone burned, a brand of fire and ice. My skin flushed. My nipples hardened. My thighs clenched.
“You’re trembling,” he murmured, his breath cold against my ear.
“It’s cold,” I lied.
“No.” He spun me slowly, his hand sliding lower on my back. “It’s *this*.”
He pressed me closer, until there was no space between us. My breasts pressed against his chest. My hips brushed his. The bond roared between us—heat, power, *unity*.
“Stop it,” I whispered.
“Stop what?”
“This. The touch. The heat. The way you’re looking at me like you already own me.”
“I do own you,” he said, voice dark. “And you own me.”
My breath caught.
He was right. The bond wasn’t just magic. It wasn’t just fate. It was *mutual*. A chain that bound us both. And the more I fought it, the tighter it pulled.
“You think I want this?” I snapped, trying to pull away.
He didn’t let me. His grip tightened. “No. I think you’re afraid of it. Afraid of what it means. Afraid that after twelve years of hating me, you might *want* me.”
“I don’t—”
And then—
His hand moved.
Not to my face. Not to my neck.
But to my hip. His fingers splayed against the curve of my waist, pulling me forward, until our bodies were flush. Just a breath apart. His heat radiated through the fabric of his coat. My breath came faster. My skin flushed. My core ached.
“You’re trembling,” he murmured, his voice rough. “Is it fear… or need?”
I didn’t answer.
Because I didn’t know.
Because for the first time since the ritual, since the bond, since the fire that had burned in my veins for twelve years—
I wasn’t sure which was which.
The dance continued—slow, deliberate, a battle of wills disguised as elegance. He spun me, pulled me close, his hands never leaving my body. I let him. Let the heat build. Let the bond scream. Let the Court watch.
And then—
I heard it.
From the edge of the floor.
Whispers.
“Did you see her? She’s *shaking*.”
“Look at her face—flushed, breathless. She’s *aroused*.”
“The mongrel witch can’t resist him. She’s already his.”
My jaw clenched.
They thought I was weak. Thought I was broken. Thought I was *his*.
Good.
Let them.
Because when the time came—
They’d never see me coming.
The music ended. The final note hung in the air, sharp and cold. Kaelen didn’t let go. His hand remained on my waist, his eyes locked onto mine.
“You survived,” he said, voice low.
“I didn’t need to survive,” I replied. “I was never in danger.”
“No?” He leaned in, his breath cold against my ear. “Then why are you trembling?”
“Because I’m angry.”
“At me?”
“At *them*.” I glanced at the nobles, at Nyx, at Mordrek, watching from the dais. “They think I’m weak. That I’ll crumble. That I’ll let you control me.”
“And will you?”
“No.” I stepped back, breaking his hold. “But I’ll let them believe it. Because when I burn this court to the ground—” I met his eyes, fire in my voice, “—they’ll realize too late that the Marked Queen wasn’t just bound.
She was *coming*.”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. But his eyes—those cold, merciless silver eyes—burned with something I couldn’t name.
Pride.
Desire.
And something deeper.
Something that felt like *love*.
And for the first time since the ritual—
I didn’t look away.