The first night in the Ember Hollow Coven wasn’t sleep.
It was reckoning.
Not with the past.
Not with the fire.
But with the future.
We sat in the central hut—a low, circular chamber with a fire pit at its center, its walls lined with shelves of old tomes, dried herbs, and vials of glowing liquid. The air was thick with the scent of sage and old magic, the runes on the floor pulsing faintly in the dim light. Elira sat across from me, her hands resting on a worn wooden staff, her eyes sharp, assessing. Kaelen sat beside me, his coat swirling behind him like a storm, his silver eyes burning. Frost clung to his shoulders, his breath a pale mist in the cold. He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched—long, hard, searching.
“You’ve changed,” Elira said, voice low. “The fire is stronger. But so is the fear.”
“I’m not afraid,” I said.
“You are,” she replied. “Not of battle. Not of death. But of being seen. Of being loved. Of being *known*.”
My breath stilled.
Because she was right.
And worse—
I couldn’t lie to her.
“I had to be strong,” I said, voice breaking. “I had to be cold. I had to be fire.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t know how to be anything else.”
She didn’t flinch. Just leaned forward, her staff tapping the floor. “Then learn. Not from me. Not from the coven. From him.” She turned to Kaelen. “He sees you. Not just the queen. Not just the fire. The girl who hid in the shadows. The woman who burned the Oath-Book. The one who still dreams of her mother’s voice.”
I didn’t answer.
Just turned to him.
And he looked back.
Not with desire.
Not with possession.
But with truth.
“You’re not alone,” he said, voice low. “You never were.”
And then—
I broke.
Not with tears.
Not with screams.
But with silence.
A single breath. A single tremor. A single moment where the fire in my chest faltered, and the girl beneath the queen rose.
And he caught me.
Not with words.
Not with magic.
But with arms.
His arms wrapped around me, his breath warm against my neck, his frostfire cooling the heat, sealing the wound. The bond flared—hot, electric, unstoppable. My skin flushed. My breath hitched. My core ached.
And then—
I let it burn.
That night, I dreamed of her.
Not the coven. Not the children.
But my mother.
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.
Dawn came not with light—but with movement.
Not silence. Not stillness.
But with purpose.
The coven stirred before the sun rose—doors creaking open, boots crunching on frost, voices low and urgent. By the time Kaelen and I stepped from the central hut, the ring of standing stones was already filled with children—dozens of them, seated in a loose circle, their backs straight, their eyes sharp. They weren’t waiting for a lesson.
They were waiting for a council.
Elira stood at the center, her staff in hand, her cloak of ash-colored wool fluttering in the wind. She didn’t speak. Just turned to me—long, hard, searching—and nodded.
“They’ve been waiting,” she said, voice low. “To speak. To be heard. To be seen.”
My breath stilled.
Because I knew.
And so did she.
This wasn’t just about teaching them magic.
It was about giving them a voice.
And I—
I was going to listen.
I stepped into the circle, my boots silent on stone, my dagger strapped to my thigh, my tunic tight against my skin. The sigil on my collarbone pulsed faintly beneath the fabric, a slow, rhythmic throb that matched my heartbeat. The bond flared—hot, electric, alive—a constant, maddening awareness of him.
Kaelen.
He didn’t follow. Didn’t step in. Just stood at the edge of the ring, his coat swirling behind him like a storm, his silver eyes burning. Frost clung to his shoulders, his breath a pale mist in the cold. He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched—long, hard, searching.
Like he was guarding me.
Like he was trusting me.
And then—
She spoke.
The girl from the school—the defiant one, the one with the dagger. She stood, her chin high, her spine straight, her voice clear and steady. “My name is Lira,” she said. “I was taken from my family when I was six. They said I was tainted. That I didn’t belong. That I was a threat.” She pressed her palm to her collarbone—where a sigil should have been, but wasn’t. “I don’t have a bond. I don’t have a pack. I don’t have a court. But I have fire. And I have truth. And I have *this*.” She held up her dagger—its blade glowing with runes she’d carved herself. “And I’m not afraid anymore.”
The circle stilled.
Then—
One by one, they rose.
A boy with wolf ears and Fae grace. “My name is Tarn. They branded me a mongrel. Called me abomination. But I’m not broken. I’m *alive*.”
A witch with ember-colored eyes. “My name is Mira. They burned my coven. Killed my mother. But I survived. And I’ll burn them all.”
A human-born Awakened with Fae blood in her veins. “My name is Elain. They cast me out for seeing too much. But I see *you*. And I see *us*.”
And then—
They turned to me.
Not to bow.
Not to kneel.
But to *ask*.
“What do we do now?” Lira asked, voice low. “Do we hide? Do we fight? Do we wait?”
My breath stilled.
Because I knew.
And so did they.
“We do all three,” I said, stepping forward, my voice clear, steady. “We hide when we must. We fight when we can. And we wait—until the moment is right. But we do not wait *forever*.” I pressed my palm to the sigil. “We are not lost. We are not forgotten. We are not broken. We are fire. And fire does not beg for permission to burn.”
The circle erupted.
Not in cheers.
Not in applause.
But in *roars*.
Hybrids. Witches. Werewolves. Awakened. All of them—rising, shouting, *claiming* their place. The sound was deafening. Not just noise. Not just anger. But *hope*.
And then—
They named me.
“Queen Opal!” Lira shouted.
“The Marked Queen!” Mira cried.
And then—
They said it together.
“The First Council of the Lost!”
The bond flared—hot, electric, alive—a pulse of heat that matched my heartbeat. My skin flushed. My breath hitched. My core ached. I didn’t fight it. Just let it burn.
Kaelen stepped forward then, his presence a storm in the stillness. He didn’t speak. Didn’t growl. Just walked to me—my queen, my mate, my fire—and cupped my face, his thumb brushing the sigil. A jolt of sensation tore through me—fire and ice, pleasure and pain. My breath hitched. My body arched toward him.
“You see?” he said, voice low. “They don’t need a throne. They don’t need a crown. They don’t need *me*.” He leaned in, his breath cold against my ear. “They need you.”
My breath stilled.
Because he was right.
And worse—
I loved him for it.
We didn’t stay.
Not because we didn’t want to.
But because we had to return.
The Spire needed us. The New Concord needed us. The world was still shifting, still breaking, still rebuilding. And if we stayed too long—
They’d think we’d abandoned them.
So we left at dawn.
Kaelen in half-shift, his form massive, his coat torn back to reveal the frostfire pulsing beneath his skin, his claws gripping the ice with deadly precision. I rode behind him, my arms wrapped around his waist, my face pressed to his back, my breath fogging against the cold. The bond flared—hot, electric, alive—a constant, maddening awareness of him. His heat. His strength. His truth. I could feel it in the way his muscles moved beneath my hands, in the way his breath deepened when I pressed closer, in the way his wolf growled low in his chest when I whispered, *“Faster.”*
And he obeyed.
We reached the Spire by midday.
The city was alive—crowds gathering in the plazas, bonfires lit in the alleys, music rising from human-Fae clubs. The frost that had clung to the Spire for centuries—the eternal winter that had defined the Winter Court—was gone. Melted. *Dying*. And in its place—
Light.
Warmth.
Life.
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 city. Felt the shift.
“They’re calling it,” he said, voice low. “The First Council of the Lost. The children. The hybrids. The ones you found. They’re not just students. They’re a movement.”
“Good,” I said, stepping forward, my spine straight, my chin high. “Let them be.”
“And the Unifiers?” he asked. “They want to speak. About the future. About the next generation.”
“Then we speak,” Kaelen said, stepping beside me. “But on our terms.”
Silas didn’t flinch. Just nodded. “They’re waiting.”
The Unifiers met in the Veil Garden—a hidden enclave beneath Vienna, where moonlight filtered through silver leaves and the air hummed with ancient magic. No guards. No weapons. No lies. Just truth. Just silence. Just power.
We arrived together.
No coats. No daggers. No scent of frost or fire. Just us. Just our blood. Just our word.
They were already there—three of them. Cloaked in gray, their faces hidden, their eyes glowing faintly with inherited power. They sat in a circle of white stone, their hands resting on a pool of still water. No words. No greetings. Just stillness.
And then—
One of them spoke.
“You are Opal of the Ember Circle. Heir of Lord Valen. Daughter of Seraphina. Marked Queen.”
“I am.”
“And you are Kaelen Vire. Alpha of the Black Thorn Pack. Enforcer of the Winter Court. Fae-Werewolf hybrid.”
“I am.”
“And together—”
“We are the New Concord,” I said, stepping forward. “And we are not here to ask for permission.”
They didn’t react. Just sat there, their eyes glowing, their hands still on the water.
And then—
The pool rippled.
Images formed—me burning the Tribunal. Kaelen standing beside me. The hybrids kneeling. The fire rising. The old world falling.
“She is fire,” one of them said. “He is frost. Together, they are storm.”
“And the children?” another asked. “What of them?”
“They are not ours to command,” I said. “They are not pawns. Not weapons. Not sacrifices. They are *free*.” I pressed my palm to the sigil. “And if you try to chain them—” My voice dropped. “—I’ll burn your garden to the ground and crown myself in the ashes.”
The pool stilled.
And then—
They rose.
All three, in unison, their cloaks falling back, revealing faces sharp with age and wisdom. Their eyes—pale, knowing, relentless—locked onto mine.
“We will not fight,” one said.
“We will not rule,” another added.
“But we will speak,” the third finished. “And when we speak, the Concord will listen.”
My breath stilled.
Because that was more than enough.
“Then say it,” I said. “Say her name. Say his. Say what they’ve done. Say what they are.”
They didn’t answer.
Just turned, their cloaks swirling, their steps silent on stone. And then—
One of them stopped.
“There is another,” she said, her voice low. “A child. Hidden. Protected. She is like you.”
My stomach dropped.
Because I knew.
And so did he.
“And where is she?” Kaelen asked, stepping forward.
“In the mountains,” the Unifier said. “Where the snow never melts. Where the wind carries the scent of old magic. She has been waiting.”
My breath stilled.
Because I understood.
They weren’t just allying with us.
They were building a future.
And I—
I was ready to fight for it.
That night, I dreamed of her.
Not the child.
Not the one in the mountains.
But me.
Ten years old. Hidden in the shadows of the Tribunal. My hands pressed to my mouth. My breath coming in ragged gasps. My mother—bound, defiant, her eyes blazing with fury—screaming as the fire rose.
“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.”
And then—
I woke.
Not screaming.
Not trembling.
But rising.
Kaelen was beside me, his arm draped over my waist, his breath warm against my neck. Frost clung to the windows, the fire in the hearth reduced to embers, the room bathed in the pale light of dawn. His coat was on the floor, his tunic crumpled beside the bed, his scars visible in the dim light—old wounds, old battles, old pain. And yet, for the first time since I’d met him, he looked… soft.
Not weak. Never weak.
But open.
I didn’t move. Just watched him—his jaw relaxed, his silver eyes hidden behind closed lids, his fingers twitching slightly, like he 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 my collarbone, feeling the warmth beneath my skin, the way it hummed in time with my 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 him.
Not because I had to.
Not because the Council had forced me.
But because I wanted to.
Because I loved him.
The thought didn’t shock me. Didn’t scare me. It just… was. Like the fire in my blood, like the scars on my soul, like the truth I’d buried for years.
I loved him.
And I wasn’t going to hide it anymore.
I shifted slightly, trying to slip out from under his arm, but he stirred—just a breath, just a twitch—and then his grip tightened, pulling me back against him.
“Don’t,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep. “Not yet.”
I didn’t argue. Just settled back, my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. His fingers traced the curve of my hip, slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing me.
“You’re thinking,” he said after a moment.
“I’m always thinking.”
“About what?”
“About the child,” I said, voice low. “The one in the mountains.”
He turned his head, his lips brushing my temple. “Then we go.”
“And if it’s a trap?”
“Then we burn it.”
I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze as his silver eyes opened, sharp, assessing, hungry. “Regrets?”
“None,” he said. “Not one.”
A slow, dangerous smile curved my lips. “Good.”
And then—
The door burst open.
Not with a knock. Not with a warning.
With force.
Silas stood in the doorway, his coat dusted with frost, his expression unreadable. But his eyes—his eyes were wide. Alarmed.
“They’ve found something,” he said, voice low. “In the old Tribunal archives. A prophecy. About the Marked Queen. About the child.”
I sat up fast, the furs slipping from my bare shoulders, my hand instinctively going to the dagger on the nightstand. Kaelen was beside me in an instant, his body a wall between me and the door, his presence a storm in the stillness.
“What kind of prophecy?” I asked, voice sharp.
“One that says,” Silas said, stepping forward, “she’s not just like you.”
“Then what is she?” Kaelen asked, his voice low.
Silas didn’t answer.
But I did.
“She’s my sister.”
My breath stilled.
Because I knew.
And so did he.
And worse—
I wasn’t ready.
But I would be.
Because this wasn’t just about me.
It was about us.
The lost. The forgotten. The free.
And I—
I was going to find her.
No matter what it took.