The Veil Market didn’t exist.
At least, not on any map. Not in any official record. Not in the minds of the noble Fae who sipped bloodwine in their ice palaces and called themselves rulers of the Concord.
But I knew better.
It was real. Hidden beneath Vienna, carved into the old catacombs where the first witches had bled for their magic. A black bazaar of stolen glamours, forbidden pacts, and whispered truths. A place where hybrids could breathe without fear, where warlocks traded spells for secrets, and where a woman like me—half-blood, half-mad, fully dangerous—could vanish into the shadows and come out sharper.
And tonight, I needed to vanish.
The bond with Kaelen had become a living thing—a pulse beneath my skin, a whisper in my blood, a constant, maddening *awareness* of him. Every step I took, every breath I drew, it flared. When I closed my eyes, I felt his hands on me. When I walked past his chambers, my skin flushed. When I dreamed, I moaned his name.
I couldn’t live like this.
I needed a dampener. Something to dull the bond, even for a few hours. Just long enough to think. To plan. To stop feeling like my body had been rewired to crave the man who’d let my mother die.
The Veil Market was the only place that sold them.
I slipped out of the Winter Court through a servant’s passage, my boots silent on the stone, my cloak wrapped tight around me. No glamour this time. No stolen identity. Just me—Opal, daughter of Mira, witch of the Ember Circle. I wore black from head to toe, my hair braided back, a silver dagger strapped to my thigh. My sigil pulsed beneath the fabric of my tunic, a slow, rhythmic throb that matched my heartbeat.
It knew I was running.
Good.
Let it burn.
The entrance to the Veil Market was hidden behind a collapsed archway in the old city sewers, marked only by a single black candle burning in a skull. I stepped over the threshold, and the air changed—thick with incense, sweat, and the electric hum of raw magic. The walls were lined with torches that flickered in colors no flame should have—purple, green, blood-red. Stalls stretched into the darkness, selling everything from bottled memories to cursed teeth. A vampire in a velvet coat haggled over a vial of truth serum. A Dusk Fae woman whispered a death-oath to a trembling warlock. A pair of hybrid children darted past me, laughing, their eyes glowing faintly with inherited power.
It was chaos.
It was freedom.
And it was the only place in the world that felt like home.
I moved through the crowd, keeping my head down, my hand near my dagger. I knew the rules. No names. No debts. No trust. The Veil Market didn’t care who you were—only what you could pay.
I found the stall I was looking for near the back, tucked between a fortune-teller who read futures in spilled blood and a warlock selling stolen Fae oaths. The vendor was a hunched old woman with milky eyes and fingers like claws. Her sign read: Relics. Remedies. Respite.
“I need a bond-dampener,” I said, keeping my voice low.
She didn’t look up. “Blood or coin?”
“Coin.” I placed a small pouch of silver on the counter—enough to buy silence, a weapon, or a life.
She reached beneath the counter and pulled out a vial filled with a shimmering, silver-gray liquid. “One dose. Lasts four hours. Side effects: nausea, memory fog, temporary loss of magic.”
I didn’t care. I’d rather be weak than enslaved.
I reached for it.
And then—
The bond flared.
Not the usual heat. Not the slow throb of need.
This was different.
Sharp. Searing. A spike of pain that shot through my collarbone and down my spine. My breath caught. My vision blurred.
And then—
I *felt* him.
Kaelen.
Not in my mind. Not in my dreams.
But *here*.
Close.
Hunting.
My pulse roared in my ears. I shoved the vial into my pocket and turned, scanning the market. Shadows shifted. Figures moved. But no silver eyes. No black coat. No frostfire.
Was I imagining it?
No. The bond didn’t lie. It didn’t hallucinate. It *knew*.
He was coming.
And if he found me here—
I couldn’t let that happen.
I turned to leave—
And three figures stepped into my path.
Dusk Fae.
Black-clad. Faceless. Silent.
Assassins.
One of them held a dagger forged from shadow-metal, its edge dripping with something dark—Dusk venom, slow-acting, designed to paralyze before it killed. Another carried a whip of living smoke, coiled like a serpent. The third—taller, broader—had no weapon. Just hands that crackled with stolen magic.
They didn’t speak.
They didn’t need to.
I knew why they were here.
Mordrek.
He’d seen through me. Knew who I really was. And now, he wanted me dead before I could expose him.
Perfect.
Because I wasn’t in the mood to be subtle.
My hands flared with fire. Not the controlled, ritual flames of the Court. Not the flickering sparks of restraint.
Wildfire.
Raw. Unleashed. *Mine*.
“You’ve got three seconds,” I said, voice cold. “To walk away.”
The one with the dagger lunged.
I moved.
Fast. Instinctive. My dagger flashed, meeting his mid-swing. Cold iron clashed with shadow-metal, sending sparks flying. I twisted, slashing upward, cutting deep into his forearm. He hissed, but didn’t fall. Dusk Fae healed fast.
The whip snapped.
I ducked, rolling beneath it, coming up behind the second assassin. Fire roared in my palm. I slammed it into his back. He screamed as his cloak ignited, the flames spreading fast. He collapsed, writhing, but I didn’t wait to see if he’d get up.
The third one came at me with bare hands.
Bad idea.
I caught his wrist, twisted, and drove my knee into his gut. He grunted, but didn’t buckle. Instead, he slammed his forehead into mine.
Pain exploded behind my eyes.
I staggered, vision swimming.
And then—
The bond flared again.
Not pain this time.
Heat.
Need.
And *him*.
Kaelen was closer now. I could feel it—his presence like a storm on the horizon. My skin flushed. My breath hitched. My thighs clenched.
No. Not now. Not *here*.
The assassin grabbed me, slamming me against a stall. Glass shattered. Vials of liquid magic spilled across the ground, hissing as they mixed. I kicked, connecting with his knee. He growled, but held on, his hands closing around my throat.
I couldn’t breathe.
My vision darkened at the edges.
And then—
The bond *screamed*.
Not just heat.
Not just need.
But *protection*.
My fire exploded.
Not from my hands.
From my *skin*.
A wave of flame erupted from my body, searing the assassin’s hands. He screamed, releasing me, stumbling back. I dropped to my knees, gasping, my chest heaving. The market was in chaos—stalls burning, people screaming, magic flaring in every direction.
I looked down.
My skin was glowing—faintly, like embers beneath ash. The sigil on my collarbone pulsed, brighter than before. And the heat between my legs—
It wasn’t just desire.
It was *connection*.
Kaelen wasn’t just near.
He was *protecting* me.
Through the bond.
My stomach twisted.
No. I didn’t want his protection. I didn’t want his magic. I didn’t want *him*.
I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the pain in my head, the burn on my throat. I had to get out. Had to disappear. Had to—
Something hit me from the side.
Hard.
I went down, rolling, coming up with my dagger in hand. The first assassin—the one I’d cut—stood over me, his face twisted in fury, his dagger raised.
I lunged.
My blade found his throat.
He fell.
I didn’t wait to see him die.
I ran.
Through the market. Past screaming vendors. Past burning stalls. I didn’t look back. Didn’t slow. My boots pounded against the stone, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The bond pulsed behind me, a tether I couldn’t sever.
And then—
I felt it.
Not Kaelen.
Something else.
A whisper in the dark.
A presence.
Not Dusk. Not Fae.
Something older.
I skidded to a stop, turning, scanning the shadows.
Nothing.
Just smoke. Just flame. Just chaos.
And then—
A hand.
Reaching out from the darkness.
Not to grab me.
But to drop something.
A note.
It fluttered to the ground at my feet.
I picked it up, my fingers trembling.
The bond flared—hot, insistent.
But I didn’t care.
Because the note was in my mother’s handwriting.
Your mother’s trial was a lie.
My breath stopped.
No. It couldn’t be. She was dead. Executed. Burned to ash.
But the handwriting—
I’d know it anywhere.
Sharp. Angular. Fierce.
Like her.
Like me.
I looked up, scanning the shadows.
“Who’s there?” I demanded, voice raw. “Show yourself!”
No answer.
Just the crackle of flame. The distant scream of a wounded Fae.
And then—
Footsteps.
Heavy. Deliberate.
Coming closer.
Kaelen.
I didn’t wait.
I turned and ran.
Through the tunnels. Up the crumbling stairs. Out into the cold, silent streets of Vienna. Snow fell in slow, heavy flakes, blanketing the city in white. I didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. My heart pounded. My skin still glowed faintly. The sigil burned.
And the note—
I clutched it in my fist, the paper crumpling.
Your mother’s trial was a lie.
What did it mean?
That she hadn’t been guilty?
That the charges were false?
That Mordrek had framed her?
And if so—
Why?
I reached the Winter Court, slipping through the servant’s passage, my body aching, my mind racing. I didn’t go to my chambers. I went to the library—the one place Kaelen wouldn’t expect me. The one place where records were kept.
Old records.
Forgotten records.
Records of trials.
I found the archive section—dusty, dimly lit, filled with crumbling scrolls and ancient tomes. I tore through them, searching, desperate. My fingers trembled as I unrolled one after another.
And then—
There it was.
Case #4417: Mira of the Ember Circle. Charge: Corruption of Fae Blood. Sentence: Execution by Fire. Verdict: Unanimous.
Unanimous.
But Kaelen had said he’d voted against it.
Unless—
Unless the vote had been falsified.
Unless the record was a lie.
My breath came faster. My hands shook.
And then—
A sound.
From the doorway.
I turned.
Kaelen stood there, his coat dusted with snow, his silver eyes burning. Frost clung to his shoulders. His breath came slow, controlled.
He’d been chasing me.
He’d let me run.
But now—
He’d found me.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice low.
“Neither should you,” I shot back, clutching the scroll. “Or were you just waiting to see how far I’d go before you stopped me?”
He stepped forward. “I felt you. In the market. The bond—”
“Don’t talk to me about the bond,” I snapped. “You don’t get to use it as an excuse. You don’t get to *feel* me when I’m fighting for my life.”
“I was protecting you.”
“I don’t need your protection.”
“You do.” He took another step. “Or you’d be dead.”
My jaw clenched. “I handled it.”
“You *survived*,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”
I turned back to the scroll, unrolling it fully. “You said you voted against her execution. But the record says the verdict was unanimous.”
He didn’t answer.
“Did you lie?” I demanded, turning to face him. “Was that just another trick? Another way to make me trust you?”
“No.” His voice was rough. “The vote was falsified. Mordrek altered the records. He made it look unanimous. But I voted no. Silas witnessed it.”
My breath stilled.
“Why?” I whispered. “Why would he do that?”
“Because your mother knew something,” Kaelen said. “Something that could destroy him.”
“What?”
He hesitated. Then—
“She knew about the Oath-Book.”
My blood turned to ice.
The Oath-Book. The legendary grimoire said to contain every binding oath ever sworn in the Concord. A weapon. A prison. A source of ultimate power.
And Mordrek had it.
My mother had known.
And she’d been executed for it.
“She tried to expose it,” Kaelen said. “Wrote a letter. Sent it to the Twilight Fae. But Mordrek intercepted it. Had her arrested before it could be read.”
My hands trembled. “And the letter?”
“Lost. Or destroyed.”
“Or hidden,” I said.
He looked at me. “You think it’s still out there?”
I didn’t answer.
Because I already knew.
The note.
The handwriting.
It hadn’t been a lie.
It had been a *message*.
And my mother—
She wasn’t just dead.
She was still fighting.
And now—
So was I.
Kaelen stepped closer. “You’re not alone in this, Opal.”
I looked at him. “Aren’t I?”
“No.” His voice dropped. “Because I’m with you.”
The bond flared.
Not with heat.
Not with need.
But with something deeper.
Something I couldn’t name.
And for the first time since the ritual—
I didn’t fight it.
I just let it burn.