The silence after Mordrek’s death wasn’t victory.
It was the stillness of a storm breaking—deep, heavy, final.
I stood in the center of the Council chamber, my boots silent on scorched stone, my breath ragged, my hands still glowing with embers. The air was thick with the scent of molten iron and old magic, the frost-runes on the floor cracked, the Winter Throne reduced to ash. Around me, the Council members sat in stunned silence, their silver masks hiding their fear, their whispers cutting through the silence like knives.
“She killed him.”
“No bond. No law. No queen.”
“She’ll burn us all.”
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak. Just turned to Kaelen—his coat torn, his chest stained with blood, his silver eyes burning. He didn’t look at the Council. Didn’t acknowledge their gasps. Just stepped forward, his arms wrapping around me, his breath warm against my neck. The bond flared—hot, electric, alive—a constant, maddening awareness of him. Of the war we were still fighting.
“You’re bleeding,” I said, my voice low.
“So are you,” he replied, pressing his palm to the sigil on my collarbone. A jolt of sensation tore through me—fire and ice, pleasure and pain. My breath hitched. My body arched toward him. “It’s not deep.”
“Neither is mine.”
He didn’t answer.
Just kissed me.
Slow. Deep. Claiming.
His mouth moved against mine, hot and sure, his body arching into mine, his 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 his kiss.
And then—
We broke apart.
“It’s not over,” I said, stepping back, my dark eyes sharp, assessing. “Mordrek’s gone. But his power isn’t.”
“The Oath-Book,” Kaelen said, his voice low. “It’s still here.”
My breath stilled.
Because he was right.
And worse—
I’d forgotten.
The Oath-Book—bound in iron, sealed with wax, glowing faintly with the weight of broken oaths—sat on a dais of black stone at the far end of the chamber. It had been Mordrek’s weapon, his prison, his legacy. A living archive of every bond, every vow, every contract in the Concord. And if it remained—
The system would rise again.
“We need to destroy it,” I said, stepping forward.
“And if it unravels the bond?” Kaelen asked, stepping beside me.
“Then we rebuild it,” I said, turning to him, my dark eyes locking onto his. “Not with magic. Not with fate. But with choice.”
He didn’t flinch. Just cupped my face, his thumb brushing the sigil. “Then we burn it together.”
We didn’t walk to the dais.
We marched.
Side by side. Back to back. Like we’d been born for war.
The Council didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched, their eyes wide, their breaths shallow. Even the Unifiers, seated in their gray cloaks, didn’t intervene. They just observed. Waited. Because they knew—
This wasn’t just about power.
It was about truth.
We stopped at the base of the dais, our boots silent on stone. The Oath-Book pulsed—slow, rhythmic, alive—like a heart that had been beating too long in the dark. The wax seal shimmered with inherited magic, the iron bindings etched with runes that whispered of broken promises and buried lies.
“You don’t have to do this,” Kaelen said, stepping beside me. “You’ve already won.”
“And if I don’t?” I asked, turning to him. “If I leave it here? Then they’ll use it. They’ll twist it. They’ll chain the next generation like they chained us.” I pressed my palm to the sigil. “I’m not just fighting for us. I’m fighting for them.”
He didn’t argue.
Just stepped forward, his coat swirling behind him like a storm, his silver eyes burning. “Then let it burn.”
I didn’t hesitate.
Just raised my hands.
Fire roared from my palms—bright, fierce, unstoppable—melting the iron, cracking the wax, shattering the runes. The Oath-Book screamed—low, broken, unfiltered—as its magic began to unravel, its pages curling into ash, its power dissolving into smoke. The air thickened, charged with magic. Light tore through the chamber, blinding, searing. The runes on the walls flared, sending pulses of energy through the stone. The stands trembled. The air filled with the scent of molten iron and ash.
And then—
It happened.
Not with words.
Not with magic.
But with memory.
The bond flared—hot, electric, unstoppable—and I was no longer in the Council chamber.
I was in the Tribunal.
The chains. The frost-runes etched into the floor. My mother—bound, defiant, her eyes blazing with fury. And me—ten years old, hidden in the shadows, my hands pressed to my mouth, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
“You let her die,” a voice said—my own, but twisted, broken. “You were there. You saw. And you did nothing.”
“I was a child,” I whispered.
“And now?” the voice hissed. “Now you have power. Now you have magic. Now you have him. And still—you hesitate.”
“I’m not hesitating,” I said, voice breaking. “I’m fighting.”
“No.” The vision shifted. Now I was in the Bonding Chamber, straddling Kaelen, my hands fisted in his shirt, my hips rocking against his, my mouth open in a silent moan. “You’re wanting. You’re needing. You’re forgetting why you came here.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“Then why are you trembling?” The vision shifted again. Now I was in his arms, my head on his chest, his hands in my hair, his voice in my ear, whispering, “You’re mine.” “Why do you let him touch you? Why do you let him in?”
“Because—” My voice cracked. “Because I want to.”
And then—
The vision shattered.
I was back in the Council chamber, on my knees, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my skin slick with sweat. The Oath-Book was gone—reduced to ash, its power unraveled, its legacy erased. Around me, the Council sat in stunned silence. Even Kaelen knelt beside me, his arms around me, his breath warm against my neck.
“You did it,” he said, voice rough.
“We did it,” I whispered, my head on his chest. “Together.”
He didn’t answer.
Just kissed me.
Slow. Deep. Claiming.
And for the first time since the ritual—
I didn’t fight it.
I just let it burn.
The days that followed were not peace.
They were rebuilding.
The Spire stood—its towers cracked but unbroken, its frost-runes flickering like dying stars. The Hybrid Tribunal was gone—its stones reduced to ash, its chains melted, its records turned to dust. The Oath-Book was no more—its magic unraveled, its power dissolved. And in its place—
A new Council.
Not of purebloods. Not of enforcers. Not of ancient oaths.
But of us.
Hybrids. Witches. Werewolves. Fae. Vampires. Humans. All seated together, their voices equal, their power shared. The Unifiers presided—not as rulers, but as witnesses. And at the center—Kaelen and me.
Co-rulers. Not by magic. Not by fate.
By choice.
“You’re quiet,” Kaelen said one evening, as we stood on the balcony of the war room, the city of Vienna spread out below us, its lights flickering like stars. Frost clung to the railing, his breath a pale mist in the cold. He stood behind me, his arms around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder.
“I’m thinking,” I said, leaning into him.
“About what?”
“About the future,” I said, pressing my palm to the sigil. “About what comes next.”
He didn’t answer. Just held me tighter, his breath warm against my neck. “It’s not over,” he said after a moment. “The Pureblood Faction. The Shadow Pact. They’ll rise again.”
“Let them,” I said, turning in his arms, my dark eyes locking onto his. “We’ve burned the past. Now we build the future.”
He didn’t flinch. Just cupped my face, his thumb brushing the sigil. “Then we build it together.”
And we did.
We opened schools for hybrid children. We reformed the Packs. We dissolved the Tribunals. We granted Ascension Rights to all. And we—
We ruled.
Not as queen and king.
Not as mate and Alpha.
But as partners.
And then—
One night, as we lay in our chambers, the fire in the hearth reduced to embers, the frost on the windows thick, I dreamed of him.
Not in fire.
Not in ash.
But in light.
And this time—
He dreamed with me.
“Still hate me?” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
“Only,” I whispered, pressing my palm to the sigil, “when you’re late to bed, King.”
He laughed—low, throaty, dangerous—and rolled us over, so I was on top, straddling him, his cock still inside me. I didn’t move. Just looked down at him—silver eyes burning, jaw tight, lips parted. And then—
I kissed him.
Slow. Deep. Claiming.
Because he was right.
I did want him.
Not just his power. Not just his protection.
But him.
And I wasn’t going to let him go.
Not now.
Not ever.
The bond flared—hot, alive, unbroken.
And for the first time since the ritual—
I didn’t fight it.
I just let it burn.
And in my room, on the pillow beside me—
Lay a single frost-lily.
Pure white.
Unbroken.
And mine.