KAELLEN
The Council dinner was a special kind of torture. Every bite of food tasted like ash in my mouth. Every sip of wine was a sour reminder of the political maneuvering swirling around the cavernous hall. My focus was not on the posturing Fae lords or the sycophantic vampires. It was on her. On Iris. The scent of my own shirt, my own scent, clinging to her body was a constant, potent drug, a public claim that settled something primal and deeply satisfied in my Lycan soul. She had faced Isolde’s challenge and had not just met it, but had turned it into a declaration of war. A war she was winning.
My hand rested on the back of her chair, a proprietary gesture that felt less like a political statement and more like a lifeline. Through the bond, I could feel a low, steady hum of her satisfaction, a cool, silver confidence that was a stark contrast to the chaotic, volatile energy of the dinner. She was enjoying this. She was enjoying the power, the subtle shifts in allegiance as representatives from minor factions watched us with new, calculating eyes. She was a natural. A queen in a witch’s clothing.
But beneath her confidence, I could feel a different current. A low, steady thrum of focus. A secret. She was hiding something. It wasn't a malicious deception, not like Isolde’s web of lies. It was a quiet, private preoccupation, a puzzle she was trying to solve in the back of her mind while she publicly held court. I had felt it for days, a faint, undercurrent of mental energy that was separate from the main currents of our bond. Tonight, it was stronger. More focused.
The dinner finally concluded, and with a collective, rustling sigh of relief, the representatives began to disperse. I guided Iris from the hall with a hand at her back, my touch a silent command and a silent promise. The ride back to the stronghold was silent, but it was a different silence from the tense ride from the waystation. This silence was heavy, thick with unspoken questions and the ghost of that explosive, magic-fueled kiss.
As soon as the heavy door of our chambers clicked shut, the facade of the regal couple dissolved. She pulled away from me, shrugging off my touch with a sharp, restless movement. She began to pace, a caged energy in the vast room, her movements agitated. The black silk of her tunic swirled around her, and beneath it, the collar of my shirt was a stark, possessive brand against her pale skin.
"What is it?" I asked, my voice a low, rough rumble. I didn't bother with pleasantries. We were past that.
She stopped pacing, turning to face me. Her arms were crossed over her chest, a defensive posture. "What is what?"
"Don't play games with me, Iris," I said, my voice flat. I moved to the sideboard, pouring two glasses of whiskey, the amber liquid a welcome, familiar weight in my hands. I held one out to her. "You've been distant. Preoccupied. There's something you're not telling me. Something you've been working on in secret."
She stared at the glass I offered, her expression wary. She didn't take it. "I don't know what you're talking about."
The lie was clumsy, unconvincing. It was an insult to my intelligence, and it sparked a hot, immediate anger in my gut. "Don't lie to me," I snarled, my voice dropping to a lower, more dangerous register. "Not after everything. Not after the waystation. Not after… us. I can feel it, you know. The bond isn't just about anger and desire. It's about truth. And right now, yours feels… buried."
Her chin lifted, a flash of the old defiance in her eyes. "Maybe I'm entitled to a few secrets of my own. Maybe I don't want to share every single thought with my… captor."
The word, thrown like a stone in the fragile quiet of the room, was a physical blow. I set my glass down on the sideboard with a sharp, decisive click. "Is that what you still think I am? After everything? After I banished Isolde? After I apologized? After I stood in front of the entire Council and let you wear my shirt like a flag of conquest?"
"Conquest," she scoffed, a bitter, hollow sound. "That's all this is to you, isn't it? A battle to be won. A territory to be claimed. You don't see me, Kaelen. You see a powerful weapon you finally managed to get a leash on."
"A leash?" I roared, the word torn from me, a raw sound of pure, unadulterated fury. "Is that what you think this is? This bond? This… connection?" I strode toward her, my movements sharp, aggressive. "I gave you my trust in that waystation! I merged my magic with yours! I let you see the one part of me that isn't a king, that isn't a commander! And you think it's about a leash?"
"Then what is it about?" she shot back, her voice rising to meet mine. She wasn't backing down. She was meeting my fury with her own. "Because it certainly isn't about love! It's about power! Your power over me, my power over Marius! It's a strategic alliance, nothing more! You said it yourself, I'm an asset!"
"I was wrong!" I bellowed, the words a desperate, frustrated confession. "I was wrong about you. About us. I see that now. But how can I expect you to see it if you're hiding things from me? If you're still keeping secrets, planning your own little war in your head without me?"
"Because I don't trust you!" she screamed, the words a raw, tear-choked sob. "How can I trust you? You lied to me about Isolde. You kept things from me. You still see me as something to be managed, controlled!"
"And you're doing the exact same thing to me!" I yelled back, my voice cracking with a frustration so intense it was a physical pain. "You think I can't feel you pouring over old texts in the middle of the night? You think I don't know you're looking for something? Looking for answers about your past, about the original treaty? About your magic? You're hoarding knowledge, Iris! You're building your own arsenal, and you're shutting me out!"
She flinched, a physical recoil at the accuracy of my accusation. The anger in her eyes was replaced by a flicker of fear, of being caught. "You've been spying on me?"
"I don't have to spy!" I snarled, running a hand through my hair, my movements agitated. "You're in my head! You're in my soul! I can't shut it out! Do you have any idea what that's like? To feel you slipping away, hiding pieces of yourself from me? It's like a constant, dull ache in my chest. A betrayal I can't name!"
Her shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of her. She looked suddenly, heartbreakingly vulnerable. "I was just trying to understand," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire. "I found a book. In the library. A history of the Witch Accords. There was a… a clause. A loophole. About the Restorative Bond."
A cold dread, sharp and immediate, washed over me, extinguishing my anger like a bucket of ice water. "What kind of loophole?" I asked, my voice a low, dangerous rasp.
"It said… it said the bond can be… dissolved," she said, the words tasting like poison in the air between us. "If one party can prove they were coerced under false pretenses. If they can prove the original treaty that led to the bond was based on a lie."
The silence that followed was a physical weight, crushing and absolute. She wasn't just looking for answers. She was looking for a way out. A way to break the bond. To break me.
The betrayal was a fresh, gaping wound. After the waystation, after the kiss, after the fragile, terrifying truce we had built, she was still looking for an escape. She still saw me as her cage.
"And so you were going to what?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet, a low, deadly calm that was far more terrifying than my rage. "Find this proof? Present it to the Council? Have me… stripped of my title? My bond? Have you… freed?"
"I don't know!" she cried, her voice breaking on a sob of pure frustration. "I was just looking! I was just trying to understand what was done to me, to my family! You know nothing about my past, about what I've lost! I'm just trying to find a way to have some control over my own life for once!"
"And you thought the best way to get control was to cut me out of it completely?" I shot back, my voice laced with a cold, bitter disappointment. "To make decisions that affect both of us, that affect the fate of our entire world, without me? That's not control, Iris. That's the same cowardice you accused me of. It's hiding."
"I'm not hiding!" she screamed, her hands fisting at her sides. "I'm trying to survive!"
"No," I said, my voice flat, all the anger and fight drained out of me, leaving only a cold, hard void of disappointment. "You're trying to run. You're so terrified of what this is, of what you feel for me, that you're looking for a legal loophole to make it all go away. You're not fighting for control. You're fighting for a way to go back to your little apothecary shop and pretend none of this ever happened."
The words hit her like a physical slap. She staggered back a step, her face pale, her eyes wide with a wounded, horrified shock. "That's not true," she whispered, but the denial was weak, unconvincing even to her own ears.
"Isn't it?" I asked, my voice a low, weary rasp. I felt… tired. Bone-deep, soul-crushingly tired. "You want the power of a Moon Witch. You want the strength you're discovering in yourself. But you don't want the man who is tied to it. You don't want the messy, complicated, ugly truth of what's between us. You want the weapon, not the wielder."
I turned my back on her, staring into the unlit hearth, the blackened logs a stark reflection of the cold, dead feeling spreading through my chest. "I thought we were past this. I thought we were starting to build something. A partnership. But all this time, you've just been looking for the exit."
"Kaelen," she whispered, her voice a broken, pleading sound. "That's not fair."
"Life isn't fair, Iris," I said, my voice flat and dead. "And neither is this bond. You wanted trust? You wanted honesty? Here it is. I am tired of fighting you for every inch of ground. I am tired of trying to prove myself to you. I gave you my trust in that waystation. I gave you a piece of my soul. And you were using the time to look for a way to throw it back in my face."
I didn't look at her. I couldn't. If I saw the look on her face, the pity or the guilt or the fear, I knew the last, frayed thread of my control would snap. And I was not sure what would be left when it did.
"Get some sleep," I said, my voice a cold, dismissive command. It was the only armor I had left. "We have a long day tomorrow. Planning for the Sepulcher. Try to focus on the mission, instead of your escape routes."
The words were cruel, a deliberate, calculated blow designed to hurt. And from the sharp, indrawn breath behind me, I knew they had found their mark. I listened to the sound of her footsteps, slow and hesitant at first, then quickening, as she fled the room. The heavy door clicked shut, leaving me alone in the vast, silent chambers, with only the ghost of her scent and the bitter, acrid taste of her betrayal for company.