The silence after Opal’s revelation in the Veil Market wasn’t grief.
It was the stillness of a storm settling—deep, heavy, final.
She stood in my arms, her body trembling, her breath ragged against my neck, her fingers fisted in my coat like she was afraid I’d vanish. The bond pulsed between us—hot, electric, alive—but it wasn’t screaming. It wasn’t demanding. It was… anchored. Like a fire that had finally found its hearth.
I didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just held her—my queen, my mate, my fire—as the memory of her father faded into dust, as the vial cracked between her fingers, as the last echo of his voice dissolved into silence.
“Forgive me, daughter. I love you.”
Those words.
They weren’t just his.
They were mine.
Because I’d failed them both.
I’d failed Seraphina.
And now—
I was failing Opal.
Not because I didn’t love her.
Not because I didn’t fight for her.
But because I still held back.
Because I still let the past chain me.
Because I still believed that control was strength.
And she—
She had just shown me that it wasn’t.
She had faced the truth. She had burned the Tribunal. She had fought beside me. She had claimed her bloodline. And she had forgiven me.
And I—
I had done nothing but protect my secrets.
“You knew,” she said, lifting her head, her dark eyes sharp, assessing. “You’ve always known.”
“I suspected,” I said, my voice rough. “The magic. The defiance. The way you fight. It’s not just her fire. It’s his frost.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“Would you have believed me?”
She didn’t flinch. Just stepped back, her hands falling from my coat, her spine straight, her chin high. “No,” she said. “But I would have wanted to.”
My breath stilled.
Because she was right.
And worse—
I deserved it.
“You think I needed your protection?” she asked, voice low. “You think I couldn’t handle the truth? That I’d break if I knew who I really was?”
“No,” I said, stepping forward. “I knew you’d rise. I knew you’d burn them all. I just… I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid that if you knew the truth, you’d see me not as the man who tried to save your mother—but as the man who let your father die.”
She didn’t answer.
Just looked at me—long, hard, searching. And then—
She stepped forward.
Not to strike.
Not to push me away.
But to claim me.
Her hands rose, fingers tangling in my hair, her body pressing against mine, her mouth crashing against mine in a kiss that was fire and frost and everything in between. 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.
Just enough to breathe. Just enough to look at me.
“You didn’t let him die,” she said, voice breaking. “The Council did. Mordrek did. The system did.” She pressed her palm to the sigil on her collarbone. “And now I’m going to burn it all down.”
My breath caught.
Because she was right.
And worse—
I loved her for it.
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.
“The Unifiers are calling for a Council session,” he said, voice low. “They want to declare you co-rulers. Officially. Publicly. No more shadows. No more secrets.”
Opal didn’t flinch. Just stepped forward, her spine straight, her chin high. “Then we go.”
“You don’t have to,” I said, stepping in front of her. “I can handle it.”
“And if you lose?”
“I won’t.”
“And if you do?” She stepped closer, her breath cold against my ear. “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.” She pressed her palm to my chest, over my heart. “And I’ll lose more than a title. I’ll lose you.”
My breath stilled.
Because she was right.
And worse—
I liked that about her.
“Then we go together,” I said, taking her hand. “But on one condition.”
“And what’s that?”
“If I say stop—you stop. No matter what.”
She didn’t flinch. Just stepped closer, her dark eyes locking onto mine. “And if I say no?”
“Then I’ll pull you out myself.”
My breath stilled.
Because I knew she 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 Tribunal.”
“No bond. No law. No queen.”
“She thinks she can rule without magic? Without blood?”
Opal didn’t flinch. Didn’t slow. Just kept walking, her spine straight, her chin high, her hand resting in mine. The bond pulsed beneath my skin, a slow, rhythmic throb that matched my heartbeat. I could feel her—near, close, watching. But I didn’t look for her. Didn’t need to.
Because I already knew.
She 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—empty. A seat reserved.
For me.
To his right—empty.
For her.
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 Tribunal,” he intoned, his voice echoing through the chamber. “The foundation of our justice. The seal of our laws. The place where oaths were judged, where bloodlines were upheld, where the purity of Fae blood was protected.”
“Not destroyed,” Opal said, voice clear, steady. “Exposed.”
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 unfit to rule. Stripped of title. Stripped of claim. Stripped of the bond.”
My jaw clenched.
But I didn’t move.
Because this time—
She was ready.
Opal stepped forward—alone, unflinching, her dark eyes burning. “You call me a threat?” she asked, voice low. “You call me unfit? I am the daughter of Seraphina of the Ember Circle. I am the heir of Lord Valen of the Winter Court. I am the Marked Queen. And I am here.”
The chamber stilled.
Even Mordrek hesitated.
Because she had just named her bloodline.
And in the Concord, a name was power.
“And you,” she continued, turning to Mordrek, “you who ordered her death. You who sealed the chamber so I couldn’t reach her. You who twisted the truth so Kaelen would believe he’d failed her—so he would never see me as anything but the monster.”
Mordrek’s staff trembled.
“You have no proof.”
“I have her,” Opal said, pressing her palm to the sigil. “And I have the bond. And if you exile me—” Her voice dropped. “—I’ll burn the Spire to the ground and crown myself in the ashes.”
The chamber erupted.
“She’s mad!” a Fae noble shouted.
“She’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 Opal.
Not from Silas.
But from me.
I stepped forward, my coat swirling behind me like a storm, my silver eyes burning. Frost clung to my shoulders, my breath a pale mist in the cold. I didn’t look at the Council. Didn’t acknowledge their gasps. Just walked to the dais, stopped beside Opal, and turned to Mordrek.
“You don’t get to decide her fate,” I said, voice low, cutting. “You don’t get to exile her. You don’t get to strip her of her title. You don’t get to erase her.” I turned to the Council, my gaze like ice. “I have loved her. I have fought for her. I have bled for her. And I will not let you take her from me.”
The chamber stilled.
Even Mordrek stepped back.
And then—
I reached for her.
Not to pull her close.
Not to shield her.
But to claim her.
My hand rose, fingers brushing the sigil on her 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—
I leaned in.
Not to kiss her.
But to breathe against her neck.
Her breath caught. Her body arched. Her mouth fell open in a silent moan.
“You see?” I said, voice low, for the Court, for her, for us. “She doesn’t need a vote. She has this.” I pressed my 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.
She wasn’t just the Marked Queen.
She was queen.
That night, I dreamed of her.
Not in fire.
Not in ash.
But in light.
And this time—
She dreamed with me.
I woke before dawn, the bond pulsing beneath my skin, a slow, rhythmic throb that matched my heartbeat. The room was cold, the fire in the hearth reduced to embers, the frost on the windows thick. But she was warm—curled against my chest, her hair splayed across the pillow, her breath soft against my neck.
I didn’t move. Just watched her—her jaw relaxed, her dark lashes fanned across her cheeks, her fingers twitching slightly, like she was dreaming. Of what? Of me? Of fire? Of the war we were still fighting?
Maybe all of it.
The bond pulsed—hot, electric, alive—but it wasn’t the desperate, clawing need of before. It was quieter now. Deeper. Like a river that had finally found its course. I pressed my palm to the sigil on her collarbone, feeling the warmth beneath my skin, the way it hummed in time with her heartbeat. Last night hadn’t been about magic. It hadn’t been about the ritual, the heat, the bond’s demands.
It had been about choice.
And I’d chosen her.
Not because I had to.
Not because the Council had forced me.
But because I wanted to.
Because I loved her.
The thought didn’t shock me. Didn’t scare me. It just… was. Like the frost in my blood, like the scars on my soul, like the truth I’d buried for years.
I loved her.
And I wasn’t going to hide it anymore.
I shifted slightly, trying to slip out from under her arm, but she stirred—just a breath, just a twitch—and then her grip tightened, pulling me back against her.
“Don’t,” she murmured, voice rough with sleep. “Not yet.”
I didn’t argue. Just settled back, my head on her chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart. Her fingers traced the curve of my hip, slow, deliberate, like she was memorizing me.
“You’re thinking,” she said after a moment.
“I’m always thinking.”
“About what?”
“About last night.”
She lifted her chin, meeting my gaze as her dark eyes opened, sharp, assessing, hungry. “Regrets?”
“None.” I pressed my lips to her temple. “Not one.”
A slow, dangerous smile curved her lips. “Good.”
And then—
I reached for her.
Not to take.
Not to claim.
But to offer.
My hand rose, fingers brushing the sigil on her collarbone. A jolt of sensation tore through her—fire and ice, pleasure and pain. Her breath hitched. Her body arched toward me. “What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Breaking the final chain,” I said, voice low. “No more magic. No more fate. No more lies.” I cupped her face, my thumb brushing her lower lip. “Just us.”
Her breath stilled.
“You’re offering a bond of choice,” she said, voice breaking. “Not because of the ritual. Not because of the Council. But because you want to.”
“Yes,” I said. “And if you say no—”
“I won’t,” she said, pressing her palm to my chest, over my heart. “Because I choose you too.”
And then—
I kissed her.
Slow. Deep. Claiming.
But not because I had to.
Because I wanted to.
Because I loved her.
And for the first time since the ritual—
I didn’t fight it.
I just let it burn.