The silence after Opal’s declaration in the Champion’s Arena wasn’t submission.
It was the stillness of a storm gathering—coiled, electric, waiting.
I could feel it in the air, thick with old magic and older hatred. The nobles in the stands didn’t cheer. Didn’t jeer. Just stared, their silver masks hiding their fear, their whispers cutting through the silence like knives. Even Mordrek had retreated into the shadows, his staff trembling, his pale eyes narrowed. But he wasn’t gone. He was biding his time. Watching. Waiting. Because he knew what I knew—
Opal had just declared war.
And I—
I was going to fight beside her.
She stood in the center of the pit, her boots silent on scorched stone, her dagger still in hand, her breath slow and controlled. The sigil on her collarbone pulsed faintly beneath the fabric of her tunic, a slow, rhythmic throb that matched my own heartbeat. The bond flared—hot, electric, alive—a constant, maddening awareness of her. Her fire. Her fury. Her truth.
And for the first time since the ritual—
I didn’t fight it.
I just let it burn.
“You’re bleeding,” I said, stepping into the pit, my coat swirling behind me like a storm. Frost clung to my shoulders, my breath a pale mist in the cold. I didn’t look at the crowd. Didn’t acknowledge the whispers. Just walked to her—my queen, my mate, my fire—and cupped her face, my thumb brushing the cut on her temple.
“It’s not deep,” she said, her voice low, steady. “It’s not real.”
“It’s real enough,” I replied, pressing my palm to the sigil. A jolt of sensation tore through me—fire and ice, pleasure and pain. My breath hitched. My body arched toward her. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
“I know,” she said, stepping into me, her hands fisting in my coat. “But I will. If I have to.”
I didn’t argue.
Just kissed her.
Slow. Deep. Claiming.
Her mouth moved against mine, hot and sure, her body arching into mine, her fire meeting my frost. The bond exploded—white-hot, electric, unstoppable. My skin flushed. My wolf growled low in my chest. My core ached. I moaned—low, broken, unfiltered—and the sound was swallowed by her kiss.
And then—
She broke the kiss.
“They’re coming,” she said, stepping back, her dark eyes sharp, assessing. “The Pureblood Faction. They won’t let this stand.”
“Let them come,” I said, taking her hand. “We’ll be ready.”
We returned to the Spire in silence. No words were needed. The bond pulsed between us—hot, electric, alive—but it wasn’t just magic anymore. It was something deeper. Something that lived in the space between our breaths, in the way her fingers laced through mine, in the way her body leaned into mine without thought.
Opal. Mine.
And I—
I was hers.
Silas met us at the war room, his coat dusted with frost, his expression unreadable. But I saw it—the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers twitched toward his dagger. He’d seen the arena. Heard the whispers. Felt the shift.
“They’re mobilizing,” he said, voice low. “The Pureblood Faction. They’ve called in their allies. The Iron Fang Pack. A faction of Summer Fae. They’re gathering in the lower district. They’ll strike before dawn.”
Opal didn’t flinch. Just stepped forward, her spine straight, her chin high. “Then we strike first.”
“No,” I said, stepping in front of her. “We hold the Spire. We defend. We wait.”
“And let them burn the city?” she snapped. “Let them hurt the hybrids? Let them—”
“We protect what’s ours,” I said, turning to her, my silver eyes burning. “Not with fire. Not with fury. With strategy. With control.”
She didn’t back down. Just stepped closer, her breath cold against my ear. “You think I don’t know control? You think I don’t know strategy? I’ve been surviving since I was ten. I’ve been fighting since I was twelve. And I’m not going to let them take what’s mine.”
My breath stilled.
Because she was right.
And worse—
I loved that about her.
“Then fight with me,” I said, cupping her face, my thumb brushing the sigil. “Not alone. Not reckless. Together.”
She didn’t answer.
Just stepped forward, pressing her body against mine, her hands fisting in my coat. “Then we fight.”
“Always,” I said.
The attack came at dawn.
Not with a warning. Not with a message.
With fire.
And steel.
And fury.
The Spire’s outer gates exploded inward, the iron runes shattering, the stone cracking. Dozens of Pureblood Fae surged through—clad in silver armor, their eyes glowing with inherited power, their swords drawn. Behind them, werewolves of the Iron Fang Pack, their collars glowing with runes, their fangs bared. And to the sides—Summer Fae, their skin shimmering with glamour, their hands crackling with pleasure-pain magic.
They came for blood.
They came for power.
They came for Opal.
And they were walking into a storm.
I stood at the edge of the war room’s balcony, my coat swirling behind me, my silver eyes burning. Frost clung to my shoulders, my breath a pale mist in the cold. Below, the courtyard was chaos—spells exploding, steel clashing, blood staining the stone. My Enforcers fought with precision, with discipline, with loyalty. But they were outnumbered. Outmatched. And if we lost the courtyard, the Spire would fall.
“They’re using the old tactics,” Silas said, stepping beside me. “Flank and encircle. They want to isolate her.”
“Let them try,” I said, my voice low. “She’s not alone.”
And then—
She was there.
Opal.
She stepped into the courtyard like a queen—no crown, no throne, no army. Just her. Just fire. Just war. Her hair was braided back, secured with a silver dagger. Her tunic was tight against her skin, her boots laced to the knee. The sigil on her collarbone pulsed faintly beneath the fabric.
And then—
She burned.
Fire roared from her palms—bright, fierce, unstoppable—melting steel, shattering spells, sending Pureblood Fae screaming to the ground. She didn’t fight like a queen. She fought like a survivor—like the girl who had hidden in the shadows while her mother burned, like the woman who had burned the Oath-Book to ash.
And she was magnificent.
I didn’t hesitate.
Just leapt from the balcony.
My body shifted mid-air—frost and fury, my wolf surging forward, my form half-shifted, my claws out, my fangs bared. I landed in a crouch, the stone cracking beneath my boots, frost spreading across the ground like a living thing. I didn’t speak. Didn’t growl. Just moved—fast, deadly, relentless.
A Pureblood Fae lunged at Opal from behind—sword raised, eyes blazing. I didn’t think. Just acted. My hand shot out, frostfire erupting from my palm, freezing the blade mid-swing. He screamed, his skin cracking, his body shattering like glass.
Opal didn’t flinch. Just turned, her dark eyes locking onto mine. “Took you long enough.”
“You were handling it,” I said, stepping beside her, my coat swirling behind me like a storm.
“I always do.”
And then—
We fought.
Back to back.
Side by side.
Like we’d been born for war.
She burned. I froze. She struck. I defended. She advanced. I flanked. We didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. The bond pulsed between us—hot, electric, alive—guiding our movements, syncing our breaths, matching our hearts.
A Summer Fae lunged at her—pleasure-pain magic crackling in her hands. I didn’t hesitate. Just moved—frostfire erupting from my palm, freezing her mid-step. Opal didn’t slow. Just spun, her dagger slicing across the woman’s throat. Blood sprayed. The body fell.
“You’re getting slow,” she said, stepping over the body.
“You’re getting reckless,” I replied, my voice low.
“And you’re getting soft.”
“Only for you.”
She didn’t answer.
Just smirked.
And then—
They came.
Not from the front.
Not from the sides.
From above.
Dusk Fae descended from the rooftops—hooded, cloaked in shadows, their eyes glowing with inherited power. They moved like ghosts, silent, deadly, their daggers flashing in the dim light. They weren’t with the Pureblood Faction. Weren’t with the Iron Fang. They were with no one.
And they wanted Opal.
“They’re after her,” Silas shouted, appearing at my side, his dagger in hand. “They think she’s the key to the Oath-Book.”
“She is,” I said, my voice low. “But not the way they think.”
And then—
They struck.
One of them lunged at Opal from above—dagger aimed at her heart. I didn’t think. Just moved. My body shifted—full wolf, my form massive, my fangs bared. I leapt, knocking the assassin aside, my claws tearing through his chest. He screamed. The body fell.
Opal didn’t flinch. Just turned, her dark eyes locking onto mine. “You’re overdressed.”
I didn’t answer.
Just shifted back, my coat swirling behind me, my silver eyes burning. “You’re underdressed.”
“And you’re distracted.”
“Only by you.”
She didn’t answer.
Just kissed me.
Fast. Hard. Claiming.
Her mouth crashed against mine, hot and sure, her hands fisting in my coat, her body arching into mine. The bond exploded—white-hot, electric, unstoppable. My skin flushed. My wolf growled low in my chest. My core ached. I moaned—low, broken, unfiltered—and the sound was swallowed by her kiss.
And then—
We broke apart.
“We’re not done,” she said, stepping back, her breath coming fast.
“We’re just getting started,” I replied.
And then—
We fought.
Not as queen and king.
Not as mate and Alpha.
But as partners.
She burned. I froze. She struck. I defended. She advanced. I flanked. We didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. The bond pulsed between us—hot, electric, alive—guiding our movements, syncing our breaths, matching our hearts.
And then—
It was over.
The courtyard was silent. The bodies were gone. The attackers had fled—or been killed. The Spire stood. The bond held. And we—
We stood together.
Back to back.
Side by side.
Like we’d always been meant to.
Opal turned to me, her dark eyes sharp, assessing. “You’re bleeding.”
“So are you,” I said, reaching for her, my fingers brushing the cut on her arm.
“It’s not deep.”
“Neither is mine.”
She didn’t answer.
Just stepped forward, pressing her body against mine, her hands fisting in my coat. “We make a good team.”
“We make a kingdom,” I said, cupping her face, my thumb brushing the sigil. “And we’re just getting started.”
The bond flared—hot, alive, unbroken.
And for the first time since the ritual—
I didn’t fight it.
I just let it burn.
That night, I dreamed of her.
Not in fire.
Not in ash.
But in light.
And this time—
She dreamed with me.