The Veil Market burned with more than fire.
It burned with truth.
Smoke curled from the eastern stalls, thick and black, carrying the scent of scorched parchment, spilled bloodwine, and the acrid tang of Dusk magic. The cobblestones were slick with ash and frost, cracked from the force of Kaelen’s magic and the heat of my own. Around us, the surviving Shadow Pact fighters had vanished into the catacombs, vanishing like smoke—leaving behind only the hostages, unharmed, and the silence of a battle that had ended before it truly began.
And yet—
I could still feel it.
The scroll. The one the Dusk Fae woman had given me. Hidden beneath my armor, pressed against my ribs like a second heart. The truth about the Oath-Book. About my mother’s forced confession. About the oath that had bound her—bound *us*—to this cursed system.
And about what would happen if I destroyed it.
The bond—this relentless, screaming thing—pulsed beneath my skin, a constant reminder of Kaelen’s presence. He stood ten feet away, his coat dusted with snow and ash, his silver eyes scanning the ruins, his jaw tight. Frost clung to his shoulders, his breath a pale mist in the cold. He hadn’t spoken since I rejoined the fight. Hadn’t touched me. Hadn’t even looked at me—until now.
His gaze locked onto mine.
And the bond *screamed*.
Heat tore through me—white-hot, electric, *unstoppable*. My skin flushed. My nipples hardened. My core ached. I wanted to run. Wanted to burn him. Wanted to press my body against his and *remember*.
But I didn’t.
Because the scroll was still in my hand. The truth still unspoken. And the fire inside me—no longer just vengeance, no longer just rage—was beginning to *flicker* with something else.
Hope.
“You disappeared,” he said, voice low, rough.
“I had business,” I replied, tucking the scroll into the inner pocket of my armor.
“In the middle of a fight?”
“It wasn’t a fight,” I said, stepping forward. “It was a test. And we passed.”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t argue. But the frost creeping across the ground spread faster, the runes on his collar glowing faintly. “You don’t get to make that call.”
“I do,” I said. “Because if I didn’t, you’d still be walking into traps blind.”
“And if you’d died?”
“Then you’d have one less problem.”
“Liar.”
The word cut through the air like a blade.
I didn’t answer.
Because he was right.
And the bond—this cursed, relentless bond—knew it too.
He stepped closer, slow, deliberate. “You think I don’t feel it? The way your magic flares when you’re near me. The way your breath hitches when I touch you. The way you *moaned* in the Bonding Chamber—”
“Stop.”
“No.” His hand shot out, not to grab me, but to brush the sigil on my collarbone. A jolt of sensation tore through me—fire and ice, pleasure and pain. My mouth fell open. My body arched toward him. “You don’t get to run. You don’t get to hide. You don’t get to pretend this bond means nothing.”
“It means *survival*,” I snapped, stepping back. “I’m here to expose the Council. To destroy the Tribunal. And if I have to play your obedient mate to do it, I will. But don’t for one second think I *want* this. Don’t think I want *you*.”
He stared at me—long, hard, searching.
And then—
He laughed.
Not cruel. Not mocking.
But something darker. Sadder.
“You’re a terrible liar, Opal,” he said, stepping back. “The bond would’ve flared if you meant that. But it didn’t.” He turned, his coat swirling behind him like a storm. “We’re returning to the Spire. Now.”
I didn’t argue.
Didn’t fight.
Because I knew.
This wasn’t over.
It had only just begun.
The ride back was silent.
I sat across from him in the black carriage, the scroll pressed against my ribs, the bond pulsing beneath my skin like a second heartbeat. The city passed in a blur—narrow alleys, frozen canals, the spires of the Winter Court rising like jagged teeth against the blood-red moon. He didn’t look at me. Didn’t speak. Just stared out the window, his expression unreadable, his presence a wall of cold and heat.
And yet—
I could feel him.
His anger. His fear. His *wanting*.
It poured through the bond like a river, relentless, *inescapable*. My skin flushed. My breath came slow, controlled. My fingers curled into fists.
And then—
He spoke.
“You’re hiding something.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Then use your truth-sense,” I said, lifting my chin. “If you’re so sure.”
He turned, his silver eyes burning into mine. “I don’t need to. The bond tells me everything.”
“The bond lies.”
“No.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping. “It tells the truth you’re too afraid to say. That you want me. That you *need* me. That you’re not just here to burn the Council—but to *live* after.”
My breath stilled.
He saw it. The crack. The flicker. The way my eyes widened, just for a second.
And he *smiled*.
Slow. Dangerous. *Victorious*.
“You’re not as broken as you want to be,” he said.
And then the carriage stopped.
The doors opened. Guards stood at attention. The Spire loomed above us, its black stone glowing with frost-runes, its entrance guarded by werewolves in full regalia.
We stepped out.
No words. No touch. Just silence.
But the bond—this cursed, relentless thing—screamed between us, hot and alive, *unbroken*.
The Council chamber was in chaos.
Nobles in silver masks argued in hushed tones. Vampires sipped from crystal goblets, their fangs just visible beneath their lips. Werewolf alphas paced, their collars glowing with runes. And at the head of the room—Mordrek.
He sat on the Winter Throne, ancient, cold, his staff glowing with the weight of oaths unbroken. His eyes—pale, calculating—locked onto me the second I entered.
“So,” he intoned, his voice echoing through the chamber. “The *Marked Queen* returns. With no hostages harmed. No rebels captured. No answers.”
“We secured the area,” Kaelen said, stepping forward. “The Shadow Pact retreated. The hostages are safe.”
“And the attackers?” Mordrek asked, his gaze still on me. “Dead? Captured? Or simply… *allowed* to escape*?”
“They were Dusk Fae,” I said, stepping beside Kaelen. “Exiles. Assassins. Not rebels.”
“And yet,” Mordrek said, rising slowly, “they targeted *you*. They spared the hostages. They left no trace. How convenient.”
“You think I orchestrated it?” I asked, voice low.
“I think you’re a witch,” he said. “And witches lie. They steal. They *corrupt*.”
My blood ran cold.
“You don’t know me.”
“I know your kind.” He stepped down from the dais, his staff tapping the stone. “Half-bloods. Abominations. You don’t belong here. You don’t belong *anywhere*.”
The bond flared—hot, sudden, a surge of rage that wasn’t mine. Kaelen’s. His wolf growled low in his chest, his hands clenching at his sides. Frost crept across the floor, spreading toward Mordrek like a living thing.
But I didn’t let him speak.
Because this wasn’t his fight.
It was mine.
“You’re right,” I said, stepping forward. “I don’t belong here. Not in your precious Court. Not in your lies. Not in your *purity*.” I reached into my armor and pulled out the scroll. “But I belong to the truth.”
Mordrek’s eyes narrowed. “What is that?”
“A record,” I said, unrolling it slowly. “Of my mother’s trial. Of the *real* verdict.”
Gasps rippled through the chamber.
“Impossible,” a Fae noble spat. “The records are sealed.”
“Not all of them,” I said, my voice rising. “Because someone knew the truth. Someone *protected* it. And now—” I held the scroll high, “—I’m giving it to the Court.”
“You have no right,” Mordrek thundered.
“I have *every* right,” I said. “Because I am Opal of the Ember Circle. Daughter of Mira. Witch. Hybrid. And I will not be silenced.”
And then—
I read it.
Not the falsified verdict. Not the lie of a unanimous decision.
But the truth.
The margin note.
Vire, K. — Dissent. Motion for mercy. Overruled.
The chamber erupted.
“Lies!” a vampire elder hissed.
“Forgery!” a werewolf alpha growled.
“She’s a witch,” Mordrek said, his voice cold. “And witches *twist* the truth.”
“Then test it,” I said, stepping forward. “Use the truth-ordeal. Let the magic decide.”
Silence.
Even Mordrek hesitated.
Because he knew.
The truth-ordeal was ancient. Unforgiving. It didn’t just reveal lies—it *burned* them.
And if I was lying—
I’d burn with it.
He raised his staff. “So be it.”
The runes on the floor flared—bright, cold, *alive*. A circle of light formed around me, sealing me in. The air thickened, charged with magic. The bond flared beneath my skin, a pulse of heat that matched my heartbeat.
“State your name,” Mordrek intoned.
“Opal of the Ember Circle.”
“State your claim.”
“That the verdict of Mira of the Ember Circle’s trial was falsified. That Kaelen Vire voted against her execution. That the Council was *lied* to.”
The magic pulsed—white-hot, then icy cold.
No reaction.
No lie.
“And the scroll?” Mordrek asked. “Is it genuine?”
“Yes.”
Another pulse.
No lie.
“And your mother?” he asked, voice low. “Did she know of the Oath-Book?”
My breath stilled.
But I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
The magic flared—bright, searing.
Truth.
The chamber stilled.
Even Mordrek stepped back.
And then—
It happened.
The fire.
It started in my chest—a slow, insistent burn. Not pain. Not rage.
But *power*.
My fire magic, rare in witches, awakened not by hate, but by *truth*. By justice. By the knowledge that I was no longer alone.
It surged through my veins, hot and wild, until it erupted—white-hot, blinding—through my palms.
And then—
I turned.
Not to Mordrek.
Not to the Council.
But to the wall behind the dais.
Where the Fae purity sigil hung—carved from black stone, etched with runes that declared, No Tainted Blood Shall Enter.
I raised my hand.
And I *burned* it.
Fire roared from my palm, bright and fierce, consuming the sigil in an instant. Stone cracked. Runes shattered. The air filled with the scent of molten rock and ash.
And when the flames died—
Only dust remained.
The chamber was silent.
No gasps. No shouts. No accusations.
Just silence.
And then—
Kaelen stepped forward.
Not to stop me.
Not to punish me.
But to *pull* me close.
His hands settled on my waist, warm, strong, *possessive*. The bond flared between us—hot, electric, *unstoppable*. My breath hitched. My skin flushed. My core ached.
“You’re not just a witch,” he murmured, his breath cold against my ear. “You’re *hers*.”
My chest tightened.
Because he was right.
I wasn’t just Opal of the Ember Circle.
I wasn’t just the Marked Queen.
I was my mother’s daughter.
And I was *unstoppable*.
Mordrek raised his staff. “She’s a threat. A danger to the Concord. She must be—”
“No.” Kaelen turned, his silver eyes burning. “She’s my queen. And if you touch her—” He stepped in front of me, his voice dropping. “—I’ll burn this court to the ground.”
The chamber stilled.
Even the runes dimmed.
And then—
Opal smiled.
Slow. Dangerous. *Victorious*.
“You think I care what they say?” I whispered, stepping beside him, my hand finding his. “I don’t even care if you touch me.”
He didn’t answer.
Because he knew.
It was a lie.
And the bond—this cursed, relentless, *beautiful* bond—was screaming the truth.
She wanted him.
And he was going to make sure she never forgot it.
That night, I dreamed of him.
Not the cold, controlled Alpha. Not the executioner.
But *Kaelen*.
His hands on my skin. His mouth on my neck. His voice in my ear, whispering, “You’re mine.”
And this time—I didn’t fight.
This time, I *answered*.
“Only,” I whispered in the dream, “if you’re mine too.”
The bond flared.
And for the first time since the ritual—
I didn’t wake up screaming.
I woke up *smiling*.