The silence after the Oath-Book turned to ash was not peace. It was the stillness of a blade hovering above a throat—tense, electric, waiting.
I stood beside Kaelen, my hand still outstretched, embers dancing across my palm, the heat of destruction humming beneath my skin. The library around us was in ruins—the frost-runes cracked, the shelves scorched, the ancient tomes smoldering like the bones of forgotten gods. Dust drifted through the air like snow, catching the dim light of the dying candles. And at the center of it all—on the black stone dais—nothing. No iron-bound book. No wax seal. No weight of centuries of lies, of oaths twisted into weapons, of bonds forged in blood and betrayal.
Just emptiness.
And yet—
The bond between us pulsed.
Not broken. Not severed. Not even weakened.
But changed.
It no longer screamed with magic, with fate, with the cold grip of the Council’s ritual. It no longer felt like a chain, a leash, a curse disguised as destiny. It was softer now. Deeper. Like a river that had been dammed for centuries, finally allowed to flow—wild, unbound, free.
I looked at Kaelen.
He was watching me—silver eyes burning, jaw tight, breath slow and controlled. Frost clung to his shoulders, his coat dusted with ash, his hand still laced with mine. He hadn’t flinched when I burned the Oath-Book. Hadn’t tried to stop me. Hadn’t even hesitated.
He’d just stood there. Beside me. With me.
“You knew,” I said, voice low. “You knew it wouldn’t break the bond.”
He didn’t answer right away. Just turned his head, his gaze sweeping the ruined library, the scattered remnants of the Shadow Pact’s ambush, the bodies of the Dusk Fae who’d fallen in the fight. Then back to me.
“I didn’t know,” he said. “I hoped.”
My breath caught.
Because that was the most dangerous thing he could have said.
Not a command. Not a threat. Not even a vow.
Hoped.
As if his faith in me was not absolute. As if he’d gambled everything—his power, his position, his life—on the chance that I would choose him over the fire.
And I had.
“You think I did this for you?” I asked, stepping closer, my voice sharp. “You think I burned the Oath-Book because I wanted to save us?”
“No,” he said, stepping forward too, his presence a wall of cold and heat. “I think you burned it because you’re tired of chains. Because you’re done letting the past decide your future. Because you’re ready to rule—not as a queen by magic, but as a queen by fire.”
My chest tightened.
Because he was right.
And that was worse than any lie.
“And if the bond had broken?” I asked, voice low. “If the moment the book turned to ash, I’d felt nothing? If I’d walked away and you’d let me?”
He didn’t flinch. Just cupped my face, his thumb brushing 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.
“Then I’d have followed,” he said, voice rough. “Not to claim you. Not to control you. But to fight for you. To prove that I’m not just the man who signed your mother’s death warrant. Not just the Alpha who bound you against your will. But the man who loves you.”
My breath stilled.
He’d never said it before.
Not like this.
Not with his hands on my skin, his eyes burning into mine, his voice raw with something that wasn’t just desire, but truth.
“You love me,” I whispered.
“I do.”
“And if I don’t believe you?”
“Then look at the bond.” He pressed his palm to the sigil. “It’s still there. Not because of magic. Not because of fate. Because we want it. Because we chose it.”
The bond flared—hot, electric, unstoppable. My skin flushed. My breath hitched. My core ached.
And then—
Footsteps.
Fast. Deliberate.
Stopping at the archway.
We broke apart—just slightly, just enough—but didn’t let go. Just turned, still touching, still connected, as Silas stepped into the library, his coat dusted with frost, his expression unreadable.
“They know,” he said, voice low. “The Council. The Packs. The vampire Houses. Word’s already spreading—‘The Oath-Book is gone. The bonds are broken. The Concord is falling.’”
My jaw clenched.
“And Mordrek?”
“Summoning an emergency session,” Silas said. “In one hour. He’s calling for your exile. Says you’ve destabilized the Concord. That you’re a threat to peace.”
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Just turned to Kaelen. “Then we go.”
“You don’t have to,” he said. “I can handle him.”
“And if you lose?”
“I won’t.”
“And if you do?” I stepped closer, my voice dropping. “Then they’ll say the Alpha was weakened by his witch. That he let emotion override duty. That the Black Thorn Pack is no longer a force to be feared.” I pressed my palm to his chest, over his heart. “And I’ll lose more than a title. I’ll lose you.”
He didn’t answer.
Just looked at me—long, hard, searching. And then—
“One rule,” he said, voice rough. “If I say stop—you stop. No matter what.”
“And if I say no?”
“Then I’ll pull you out myself.”
My breath stilled.
Because I knew he would.
The Council chamber was colder than I’d ever felt it.
Not from the frost-runes etched into the floor or the ice-laced windows. But from the eyes. The stares. The way the nobles parted as we walked down the center aisle, their silver masks hiding their sneers, their whispers cutting through the silence like knives.
“There she is. The witch who burned the Oath-Book.”
“No bond. No law. No queen.”
“She thinks she can rule without magic? Without blood?”
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t slow. Just kept walking, my spine straight, my chin high, my hand resting in Kaelen’s. The bond pulsed beneath my skin, a slow, rhythmic throb that matched my heartbeat. I could feel him—near, close, watching. But I didn’t look for him. Didn’t need to.
Because I already knew.
He was mine.
The dais loomed ahead, the Winter Throne a jagged silhouette against the pale light. Mordrek sat at the head, ancient, cold, his staff glowing with the weight of oaths. To his left—Kaelen. To his right—empty. A seat reserved.
For me.
We stopped at the base of the dais, our boots silent on stone. The chamber stilled. Every eye was on us. Even Mordrek leaned forward, his pale eyes narrowing.
“You have destroyed the Oath-Book,” he intoned, his voice echoing through the chamber. “The foundation of our peace. The seal of our alliances. The bond between mates, the oaths of war, the contracts of power—all undone by your fire.”
“Not undone,” I said, voice clear, steady. “Freed.”
The chamber erupted.
“She twists the words!” a Fae noble spat.
“She has no right!” a vampire elder hissed.
“She is a threat,” Mordrek said, raising his staff. “And as High Chancellor, I declare her exile. Stripped of title. Stripped of claim. Stripped of the bond.”
My jaw clenched.
But Kaelen stepped forward.
Not from the shadows. Not from the back.
But from the dais itself, where he’d been watching, silent, waiting.
His coat swirled behind him like a storm, his silver eyes burning, his presence a blade drawn across the air. Frost clung to his shoulders, his breath a pale mist in the cold.
He stopped beside me.
Not in front of me. Not behind me.
But beside me.
“You will not exile her,” he said, voice cutting through the silence.
“And if I do?” Mordrek asked, lifting his chin.
“Then I withdraw the Black Thorn Pack from the Concord.”
The chamber stilled.
Even Mordrek hesitated.
Because he knew.
The Black Thorn Pack was the strongest of the Great Packs. Their loyalty held the werewolf factions together. Without them, the Concord would fracture. The Packs would war. The balance would shatter.
“You would break the peace?” Mordrek asked, voice cold.
“I would protect it,” Kaelen said. “From you.” He turned to the Council, his gaze like ice. “You call her a threat? She burned the Oath-Book not to destroy, but to free. To end the lies. To end the corruption. To end the system that executed her mother for daring to love a Fae noble.”
Gasps. Whispers. A few noble hands rising to their mouths.
“And you,” he continued, turning back to Mordrek, “you who ordered her death. You who sealed the chamber so I couldn’t reach her. You who twisted the truth so Opal would hate me—so she would never see me as anything but the monster.”
Mordrek’s staff trembled.
“You have no proof.”
“I have her,” Kaelen said, taking my hand. “And I have the bond. And if you exile her—” His voice dropped. “—I’ll burn the Spire to the ground and crown her in the ashes.”
The chamber erupted.
“He’s mad!” a Fae noble shouted.
“He’ll start a war!” a vampire elder cried.
But Mordrek didn’t speak.
Just sat there, his staff trembling, his pale eyes narrowing.
And then—
He smiled.
Slow. Cold. Victorious.
“So be it,” he said, lowering his staff. “Let the vote be cast. To exile Opal of the Ember Circle—aye or nay.”
The chamber stilled.
One by one, the Council members raised their hands.
Ayes. Nays. The tension thick enough to choke on.
And then—
The final vote.
Mordrek’s hand rose.
Not to cast.
But to seal.
“The motion passes,” he said. “Opal of the Ember Circle is hereby—”
“No.”
The word cut through the chamber like a blade.
Not from Kaelen.
Not from Silas.
But from me.
I stepped forward, my spine straight, my chin high, my hand still in Kaelen’s. The bond flared—hot, electric, alive—a pulse of heat that matched my heartbeat.
“You don’t get to decide my fate,” I said, voice clear, steady. “You don’t get to exile me. You don’t get to strip me of my title. You don’t get to erase me.” I turned to the Council, my dark eyes burning. “I am not a witch. I am not a mongrel. I am not a threat.” I pressed my palm to the sigil on my collarbone. “I am the Marked Queen. And I am here.”
The chamber stilled.
Even Mordrek stepped back.
And then—
Kaelen reached for me.
Not to pull me close. Not to shield me.
But to claim me.
His hand rose, fingers brushing the sigil on my collarbone. A jolt of sensation tore through me—fire and ice, pleasure and pain. My breath hitched. My skin flushed. My core ached.
And then—
He leaned in.
Not to kiss me.
But to breathe against my neck.
His breath was cold. His scent—pine and iron and him—wrapped around me like a shroud. The bond screamed. My body arched. My mouth fell open in a silent moan.
“You see?” he said, voice low, for the Court, for me, for us. “She doesn’t need a vote. She has this.” He pressed his palm to the sigil. “And it’s more real than any law.”
The hall erupted.
Not in outrage. Not in protest.
But in silence.
And in that silence—
I felt it.
The shift.
The power.
The truth.
I wasn’t just the Marked Queen.
I was queen.
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.
And in my room, on the pillow beside me—
Lay a single frost-lily.
Pure white.
Unbroken.
And mine.