The silence after Silas’s words wasn’t shock.
It was the stillness of a blade suspended above a heart—cold, sharp, inevitable.
I sat up fast, the furs slipping from my bare shoulders, my hand already closing around the hilt of my dagger. The sigil on my collarbone pulsed beneath my skin, a slow, rhythmic throb that matched my heartbeat. The bond flared—hot, electric, alive—but it wasn’t screaming. Not yet. It was watching. Waiting. Like it knew what was coming.
Kaelen was beside me in an instant—his body a wall between me and the door, 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 look at Silas. Didn’t speak. Just turned to me—long, hard, searching—like he was measuring how much truth I could take.
“Sister,” I said, voice low, steady. “You said she’s my sister.”
“Not by blood,” Silas said, stepping forward, his voice careful. “But by fire.”
My breath stilled.
Because I knew.
And so did he.
“The prophecy,” I said. “Tell me.”
He held out a scroll—sealed with black wax, the sigil of the Twilight Fae embossed in silver. “It was hidden beneath the Oath-Book’s final binding. A single line, etched in blood. Not ink. Blood.”
I didn’t take it.
Just stared at the wax. At the sigil. At the truth I already knew.
“Read it,” I said.
Silas unrolled the scroll, his fingers trembling slightly—just once, just a twitch. And then—
He spoke.
“When the Marked Queen burns the past, another flame will rise. Not of blood, but of fire. Not of lineage, but of will. She will be the daughter of ash, the heir of flame, the sister of fire. And she will either crown the queen—or burn her.”
The room stilled.
Not from the cold. Not from the frost on the windows. But from the weight of it—the prophecy, the fire, the truth.
And then—
I laughed.
Not loud. Not bitter.
But free.
“She’s not my sister,” I said, standing, my spine straight, my chin high. “She’s my legacy.”
Kaelen turned to me, his silver eyes burning. “And if she’s been raised to kill you?”
“Then she’ll fail,” I said, stepping into him, my hands fisting in his coat. “Because fire doesn’t fight fire. It feeds it.”
He didn’t flinch. Just 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. “And if she’s been waiting? Watching? Learning?”
“Then she’s ready,” I said, pressing my palm to his chest, over his heart. “And so am I.”
He didn’t answer.
Just leaned in, his breath cold against my ear. “Then we go. But on one condition.”
“And what’s that?”
“If I say stop—you stop. No matter what.”
My breath stilled.
Because I knew he would.
And worse—
I needed him to.
“And if I say no?”
“Then I’ll pull you out myself.”
A slow, dangerous smile curved my lips. “You always do.”
We left at dawn.
No Enforcers. No weapons. No scent of frost or fire. Just us. Just our blood. Just our word.
The mountains rose like jagged teeth against the sky, their peaks cloaked in eternal snow, their valleys hidden beneath veils of mist and old magic. The air was thin, sharp with frost, the wind howling through the passes like a chorus of forgotten souls. Kaelen traveled 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 valley at dusk.
Not a settlement. Not a coven. Just a single stone hut—half-buried in snow, its roof weighted with ice, its chimney puffing thin trails of smoke into the twilight. A ring of standing stones surrounded it, their surfaces etched with runes that pulsed faintly in the dark. No guards. No warnings. Just silence. Stillness. Waiting.
“They know we’re here,” I said, sliding from Kaelen’s back, my boots crunching on frost-rimed stone.
“Of course they do,” he replied, shifting back to full form, his coat swirling behind him like a storm. “This is a sanctuary of seers. They’ve seen you coming since the moment you burned the Tribunal.”
I didn’t flinch. Just stepped forward, my dagger strapped to my thigh, my tunic tight against my skin. The sigil pulsed beneath the fabric, a slow, rhythmic throb that matched my heartbeat. The bond flared—hot, electric, alive—but it wasn’t screaming. It was… anchored. Like a fire that had finally found its hearth.
The door opened before I reached it.
Not with a creak. Not with a groan.
With silence.
And then—
She stepped out.
Not a child.
Not a girl.
But a storm.
She was small—barely more than five feet—but her presence filled the valley like a firestorm. Her hair was white as snow, her eyes black as ash, her skin pale with inherited magic. She wore a tunic of black leather, its hem stitched with runes that shimmered in the dim light. Her hands were calloused, her fingers marked with old burns. And her gaze—her gaze was sharp, assessing, knowing.
“You’re late,” she said, voice low, cutting through the wind. “I’ve been waiting.”
My breath stilled.
Because I knew.
And so did she.
“You’re her,” I said, stepping forward. “The daughter of ash.”
“And you’re mine,” she replied, not flinching. “The queen of fire.”
“I’m Opal.”
“And I’m Nyra,” she said, stepping closer. “Daughter of the Ember Circle. Heir of flame. Sister of fire.”
My hands clenched.
Not in rage.
Not in grief.
But in recognition.
Because it wasn’t just about the prophecy.
It was about me.
“You were hidden,” I said. “After the Purge. Like I was.”
“I was,” she said, not unkindly. “But not by choice. They took me. From my mother. From my home. From my fire.” She turned, gesturing to the hut. “They thought they could extinguish me. But fire doesn’t die. It waits.”
My chest tightened.
Because she was right.
And worse—
I saw myself in her.
“And now?” I asked, voice low.
“Now I rise,” she said, stepping into me, her dark eyes locking onto mine. “Not to burn you. Not to crown you. But to join you.”
My breath stilled.
Because I knew.
And so did he.
Kaelen stepped forward then, his presence a storm in the stillness. He didn’t speak. Didn’t growl. Just walked to her—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.
“You’ve seen us,” he said, voice low. “In your visions. In your dreams.”
“I have,” Nyra said, not flinching. “The Alpha of Frost. The Queen of Fire. The bond that defied fate. The war that broke the world.” She turned to me. “And the sister who was never lost.”
My breath caught.
Because she was right.
And worse—
I believed her.
“You’re not here to kill me,” I said.
“No,” she said. “I’m here to fight beside you.”
“And if I say no?”
“Then I’ll burn your hut to the ground and crown myself in the ashes.”
A slow, dangerous smile curved my lips.
Because she was mine.
And I was hers.
We didn’t go inside.
Not yet.
Instead, we stood in the ring of standing stones—me, Kaelen, Nyra—our boots silent on frost-rimed stone, our breaths slow, controlled. The bond flared 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 my body leaned into Kaelen’s without thought.
“You’ve been watching,” I said, turning to her. “All this time.”
“I have,” she said. “Through the fire. Through the dreams. Through the blood.” 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 a dagger—its blade glowing with runes she’d carved herself. “And I’m not afraid anymore.”
My breath stilled.
Because she was right.
And worse—
I loved her for it.
“You’re not just a sister,” I said, stepping into her, my hands fisting in her tunic. “You’re a weapon. A storm. A revolution.”
“And you’re not just a queen,” she said, stepping into me, her dark eyes locking onto mine. “You’re a mother. A leader. A fire.”
And then—
We kissed.
Not on the mouth.
Not with desire.
But on the forehead.
Slow. Deep. Claiming.
Her lips pressed to my skin, hot and sure, her breath cold against my brow. The bond flared—white-hot, electric, unstoppable. My skin flushed. My breath hitched. My core ached. I moaned—low, broken, unfiltered—and the sound was swallowed by the wind.
And then—
We broke apart.
“You’re not alone,” she said, stepping back, her breath coming fast.
“Neither are you,” I replied.
Kaelen didn’t flinch. Just stepped forward, his coat swirling behind him, his silver eyes burning. “Then we fight together.”
“Always,” Nyra said.
“Always,” I echoed.
The hut was warm—its fire pit roaring, 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. Nyra 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.
“You’ve changed,” she 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 hut. Not the mountains.
But my mother.
Not in fire.
Not in ash.
But in light.
And this time—
They dreamed with me.
Kaelen. Nyra. Me.
Together.
“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.