The morning after the Blood Moon Festival dawned gray and brittle, the sky a sheet of lead above the ice-spires of the Winter Court. Snow had stopped falling, but the air was sharp with the promise of more—clean, cold, deceptive. Like a blade wrapped in silk.
I stood at the window of my chambers, wrapped in a high-collared robe, my fingers tracing the sigil on my collarbone. It still pulsed, a slow, insistent throb that had not quieted since the kiss. Not the desperate one in the atrium—though that still burned behind my ribs like a brand—but the one before it. The one in the library. Soft. Yielding. Mine.
And I had let him take it.
I clenched my jaw, turning from the window. I couldn’t afford softness. Couldn’t afford wanting. The moment I’d kissed him back—really kissed him, not for survival, not for deception, but because I wanted to—had been the moment I’d lost control.
And control was all I had left.
The bond hummed beneath my skin, a constant, maddening awareness of him. I could feel him now, not in the room, not in the hall, but somewhere deeper—his presence like a shadow behind my eyes, his breath a whisper in my blood. He was awake. Healing. Thinking.
And worse—
He was remembering.
I could feel it in the bond’s rhythm. The way it flared when I thought of his hands on my waist, his mouth on mine, the way he’d looked at me after we broke apart—silver eyes burning, voice rough, asking, “Then why did you moan?”
Because I’d wanted to.
Because I still did.
I exhaled sharply, turning to the wardrobe. I needed answers. Needed proof. Needed to remind myself why I was here—why I couldn’t let this bond, this man, this weakness, unravel me.
I pulled out the note I’d found in the Veil Market—the one in my mother’s handwriting. Your mother’s trial was a lie. I’d read it a hundred times. Carried it like a talisman. But it wasn’t enough. Not anymore. I needed more. Needed to know what she’d known. Needed to know why Mordrek had killed her.
And if Kaelen was telling the truth—that he’d voted against her execution, that the record had been falsified—then I needed to see it. Not just hear it. Not just feel it in the bond.
I needed proof.
I dressed quickly—black trousers, a fitted tunic, boots laced to the knee. I left the gown from the festival crumpled on the floor, a silent rejection of the role they wanted me to play. I braided my hair back, securing it with a silver dagger instead of a comb. Then I slipped the note into my pocket and left.
The corridors were quiet, the nobles still recovering from the night’s chaos. The air smelled of blood and frost and old magic. I moved fast, keeping to the shadows, my steps silent. The library was in the east wing, far from the main halls, tucked behind a series of forgotten archives. Few came here. Fewer still remembered what was kept in the sealed records.
I reached the door—iron-bound, etched with warning runes. Locked. But not to me.
I pressed my palm to the center, whispering the incantation I’d stolen from a warlock’s grimoire years ago. The runes flared, then dimmed. The lock clicked open.
I stepped inside.
Dust hung in the air, thick and undisturbed. Shelves stretched into darkness, lined with crumbling scrolls, ancient tomes, vials of preserved memories. The air was cold, still, heavy with the weight of forgotten truths. I lit a single candle, its flame flickering in the gloom, and moved to the back wall, where the sealed records were kept.
Each scroll was bound in black silk, sealed with wax stamped with the High Chancellor’s sigil. I ran my fingers along the spines, searching. Case #4417. Mira of the Ember Circle. Corruption of Fae Blood. Execution by Fire.
There.
I pulled it free, unrolling it on the nearest table. The ink was faded, the parchment brittle, but the words were clear.
Verdict: Unanimous.
My breath caught.
Again. The same lie. The same falsified record. The same erasure of truth.
But this wasn’t the public record.
This was the sealed one. The one only the Council could access. The one that was supposed to be real.
And yet—
It said the same thing.
Unanimous.
But Kaelen had said he’d voted no. That Silas had witnessed it. That Mordrek had altered the records.
Then why—
My fingers trembled as I flipped to the next page.
And froze.
Beneath the verdict, in a different hand—small, precise, almost hidden—was a single line, written in Fae script:
Vire, K. — Dissent. Motion for mercy. Overruled.
My heart stopped.
It was there. Not in the verdict. Not in the official record.
But in the margin.
A whisper. A secret. A truth buried beneath layers of lies.
Kaelen had voted against it.
He hadn’t lied.
He’d tried to save her.
The bond flared—hot, sudden, a surge of emotion that wasn’t mine. Guilt. Grief. Regret. I could feel it pouring through the connection, raw and unfiltered. He was close. Not here. But near. Watching. Feeling.
I didn’t look up.
Couldn’t.
Because if I did, I’d see him. And if I saw him, I’d break.
“You found it,” his voice said from the doorway.
I didn’t turn. “You could’ve told me.”
“And you would’ve believed me?”
“Maybe.” I traced the words with my fingertip. “Maybe not. But I deserved to know.”
He stepped inside, his boots silent on the stone. Frost clung to his shoulders, his breath a pale mist in the cold. He stopped beside me, his presence a storm in the stillness.
“I didn’t tell you because I was afraid,” he said, voice low. “Afraid that if you knew I’d loved her, you’d destroy me.”
My breath caught.
“You loved her.”
“Yes.”
“Not just respected. Not just pitied. Loved.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped to the scroll, to the tiny line of dissent. “Because she was the only one who saw me. Not the Alpha. Not the Enforcer. Not the half-blood abomination. Just… me. And she didn’t care that I was neither Fae nor wolf, but both. She called me thorn and frost. Said I was beautiful in my contradiction.”
A lump formed in my throat.
My mother. The woman who’d taught me to burn. Who’d told me to hate. Who’d died screaming in a tribunal.
And she’d loved him.
And he’d loved her.
“And when they sentenced her,” he continued, voice rough, “I argued. I begged. I swore on my life that she was innocent. That she hadn’t corrupted Fae blood—she’d honored it. That her magic wasn’t a crime, but a gift. But Mordrek silenced me. The Council sealed the verdict. And I—” He exhaled, sharp. “I watched her burn.”
Tears burned in my eyes.
Not for him. Not for me.
For her.
For the woman who’d fought to the end. Who’d tried to expose the Oath-Book. Who’d written a letter that had been intercepted. Who’d died knowing she’d failed.
But had she?
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the note. “She left something behind,” I said, handing it to him.
He took it, unfolding it slowly. His eyes scanned the handwriting. Then widened.
“This is hers,” he whispered.
“I know.”
“But she’s—”
“Dead? Yes. But she’s still fighting.” I stepped closer. “She knew about the Oath-Book. She tried to expose it. And now—” I met his eyes. “Now I will.”
He looked at me—long, hard, searching. “You’re not just here for vengeance.”
“No,” I admitted. “I’m here to burn the system. But not just because of her. Because of every hybrid who’s been called a monster. Every witch who’s been burned. Every Fae who’s been silenced. I’m here to make them pay.”
“And if I stand in your way?”
“Then I’ll burn you too.”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. “And if I stand with you?”
The bond flared—hot, insistent, a pulse of heat between my thighs. My breath hitched. My skin flushed.
“Then you’d be a fool,” I whispered.
“Maybe.” He stepped closer, his hand rising to brush the sigil on my collarbone. A jolt of sensation tore through me—fire and ice, pleasure and pain. “But I’ve never been good at staying away from fire.”
My eyes closed. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do.” His voice dropped. “I’ve spent my life enforcing laws I knew were unjust. Protecting a Council that executes innocents. Pretending loyalty to a man who murdered the woman I loved. And now—” He cupped my face, his thumb tracing my lower lip. “Now I’ve found her daughter. Fierce. Brilliant. Mine. And I won’t make the same mistake twice.”
My breath came faster. “You think I want your protection?”
“No.” His lips brushed mine—just a whisper, a promise. “I think you want me.”
I opened my eyes. “And if I do?”
“Then fight me,” he said. “Use me. Manipulate me. But don’t pretend you don’t feel this.”
He kissed me.
Not hard. Not desperate.
Slow. Deep. Claiming.
His mouth moved against mine, hot and sure, his hands sliding to my waist, pulling me against him. The bond exploded—white-hot, electric, unstoppable. My body arched into his, my hands fisting in his coat, my hips pressing against his. I moaned—low, broken, unfiltered—and the sound was swallowed by his kiss.
And then—
A sound.
From the hallway.
Footsteps.
Fast. Deliberate.
We broke apart, breathing hard, our foreheads pressed together. The bond pulsed between us—hot, alive, unbroken.
“Silas,” Kaelen said, voice rough.
The door opened.
Silas stood there, his expression unreadable. “We have a problem,” he said. “Nyx is in your chambers. Says she has something you need to see.”
My stomach dropped.
Kaelen stepped back, his jaw tight. “Stay here,” he said to me.
“No.” I grabbed his arm. “If she’s in your chambers, she’s already won. I’m coming.”
He hesitated. Then nodded.
We followed Silas through the corridors, the bond humming between us, tense, wary. When we reached Kaelen’s chambers, the door was ajar. Inside, Nyx sat on the edge of the bed, draped in silver silk, her lips curved in a venomous smile.
She held a vial in one hand—small, glass, filled with a single drop of blood.
My blood ran cold.
“Hello, lovers,” she purred. “I thought you might want this back.”
Kaelen stepped forward. “Where did you get that?”
“A little bird told me where to look,” she said, twirling the vial. “In the ruins of the old tribunal. Buried beneath the ashes. Along with a letter.” She tilted her head. “Care to read it, Opal? Or should I?”
My breath stilled.
The letter.
My mother’s letter.
And she had it.
Nyx stood, gliding toward me, her heels clicking on stone. “You want the truth?” she said, voice low. “Then let me give it to you.”
She uncorked the vial.
And poured the blood onto the floor.
It sizzled.
Then flared—bright, red, alive.
A voice rose from the blood—familiar, fierce, hers.
“If you’re hearing this, I’m already dead. But the truth lives. Mordrek has the Oath-Book. He uses it to control the Council, to silence dissent, to erase history. And he will come for you, Opal. He will try to break you. But don’t let him. Burn it all. Burn them all. And if Kaelen Vire is still alive—tell him… I’m sorry. For not seeing him sooner. For not fighting harder. For not loving him louder.”
The blood flared one last time—then vanished.
Silence.
I stood there, shaking, tears burning in my eyes.
She’d known.
She’d loved him.
And she’d died regretting it.
Nyx smiled. “Touching, isn’t it? The great Mira of the Ember Circle, weeping for a half-blood wolf. How pathetic.”
I didn’t speak.
Didn’t move.
Because in that moment, I wasn’t Opal of the Ember Circle.
I wasn’t the Marked Queen.
I wasn’t the vengeful daughter.
I was just a girl.
Grieving.
And for the first time in twelve years—
I let myself cry.
Kaelen stepped forward, his hand finding mine. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he said, voice rough.
I looked at him—silver eyes burning, jaw tight, heart open.
And I knew.
This wasn’t just about vengeance.
It was about her.
And it was about us.
“You tried to save her,” I whispered.
“I did.”
“Why?”
He didn’t answer.
Because he didn’t have to.
The bond flared—hot, deep, true.
And I finally understood.
He hadn’t just loved her.
He loved me.
And I—
I loved him too.
Nyx laughed. “How adorable. The mongrel witch and the broken Alpha, united by grief. But let me ask you this—” She stepped closer, her voice dropping. “If you burn the Oath-Book… what happens to your bond?”
My breath caught.
Because I didn’t know.
And for the first time—
I was afraid.