KAELLEN
The silence in the shattered atrium was a living thing. It was a thick, heavy blanket woven from shock, awe, and the faint, residual hum of a power that had been beyond mortal comprehension. The air still tasted of ozone and raw magic, a sharp, electric tang that clung to the back of my throat. My body was humming, not with the familiar, earthy energy of my Lycan nature, but with something new. A merged, harmonious thrum of gold and silver, of wild instinct and cool, purposeful magic. I could feel Iris’s faint, weary presence in the back of my mind, a steady, silver thread woven into the very fabric of my soul. We were one. And the sheer, terrifying wonder of it was a constant, humming undercurrent to the cold, hard rage that was now my primary focus.
Iris was asleep in my arms, her head resting on my shoulder, her body a limp, trusting weight. The poison was gone from her, purged by my life force, but the exchange had left her drained, her magic a flickering, exhausted ember. My own energy, amplified and remade by her sacrifice, was a roaring bonfire, a restless, violent thing that demanded an outlet. It demanded justice.
My gaze fell upon Isolde. She was held between two of Ronan’s most formidable enforcers, her perfect emerald gown torn and smudged with dust from the shattered floor. The languid, predatory grace was gone, replaced by a frantic, trapped energy. Her beautiful face was a mask of venomous fury and, beneath it, a dawning, gut-wrenching fear. She had gambled everything, and she had lost. Not just lost, but been proven utterly, irrevocably powerless against the very thing she had sought to destroy.
The atrium was still a frozen tableau of chaos. Varik, the ancient Vampire Regent, stood with his arms crossed, his expression one of cold, analytical interest. He had witnessed a power that defied the laws of his own ancient magic, a display of soul-bonding that was the stuff of legends. He was re-evaluating every assumption he had ever held about power. The Fae Sovereign had withdrawn to the shadows, her expression unreadable but certainly one of deep concern. The Human Ambassador was pale, her eyes wide with a terror that was slowly being replaced by a dawning, political awe. They had all come to witness a negotiation. Instead, they had witnessed an ascension.
I gently shifted Iris, settling her more comfortably against me before rising to my feet. The movement was fluid, imbued with a new, effortless power. My Lycan strength was there, but it was augmented, refined by her magic. I felt… complete. The hollow, aching void that had been my constant companion since Lyra’s betrayal was gone, filled to overflowing with the steady, unwavering light of Iris’s soul.
I walked toward Isolde, my steps slow and deliberate, each footfall a heavy, damning sound on the shattered obsidian. The crowd parted before me, a silent, instinctual deference to the raw, merged power that radiated from me. The new mark on my chest, the intricate sigil of moonlight and fur that was a mirror to hers, tingled with a warm, fierce energy. It was a brand of ownership, but not of a captive. It was the seal of a partnership. A partnership she had tried to shatter.
I stopped before her. The air between us crackled, thick with the ghosts of our decade-long history. I saw the woman I had taken to my bed, the woman I had shared secrets and strategies with, the woman I had, in my own cold, guarded way, cared for. And I saw the venomous creature who had tried to murder the other half of my soul. The past was a ghost, and it was time to exorcise it.
"Kaelen," she began, her voice a silken, desperate purr that was now stripped of all its power, just a thin, pathetic sound. "It was a mistake. A… misunderstanding. I only meant to—"
"Silence," I said. My voice was not a shout or a growl. It was a quiet, calm sound that was more terrifying than any roar. It was the voice of a king passing a death sentence. The sound seemed to physically strike her, and she flinched, her amber eyes widening.
"You stand accused before this Council," I continued, my voice ringing in the utter silence of the atrium. I was not just speaking to her, but to everyone. To the witnesses. "You stand accused of attempted murder of a sovereign's mate. An act that is, by the oldest Accords, an act of war against the crown itself."
Varik stepped forward slightly, his ancient eyes gleaming with a cold, legalistic light. "The Lycan King is correct. The bond-mate of a reigning monarch is granted the status of the monarch. An attack on her is an attack on him. An attack on the Lycan Empire itself."
A murmur rose from the assembled observers, a low, horrified sound. Isolde’s face went from pale to a ghastly, bloodless white. She was trapped. Not just by my enforcers, but by the very laws she had thought herself above.
"But your crime is greater than that," I said, my voice dropping even lower, a dangerous, intimate sound that was just for her. "Your crime was not just against me, or against Iris. It was against love itself. You sought to destroy the one pure, uncorrupted thing in my life out of jealousy and spite. You saw a light, and your only instinct was to try and extinguish it."
I leaned in closer, my face inches from hers, letting her see the cold, dead thing where my affection for her had once been. "And for that, there is no punishment in this realm or any other that is sufficient."
I straightened up, turning to face the Council. "I invoke the Rite of Banishment. Not just from my court, not just from these lands. But from the mortal realm itself."
A collective, shocked gasp echoed through the atrium. Banishment was a severe punishment. But exile from the mortal realm, a sealing of the passages between worlds, was a fate worse than death for an immortal Fae. It was a sentence of eternal solitude, of being trapped in the slow, fading magic of the Other Realm.
"Kaelen, no!" Isolde shrieked, the silken purr finally shattering into a raw, desperate scream. She struggled against my enforcers, a frantic, panicked thing. "You can't! I am your consort! I have stood by your side for a decade!"
"You were a political convenience," I corrected, my voice cold and hard as forged iron. "A warm body in a cold bed. You were never my consort. You were never my mate. And you never, ever would have been." I looked at her, a final, dismissive glance. "My mate is right there," I said, my voice softening for the first time, a low, possessive rumble as I gestured to Iris, still sleeping, oblivious. "And she is a thousand times the queen, the witch, the woman you could ever hope to be."
I turned to the Fae Sovereign, who had finally emerged from the shadows, her expression grim. "Do you, as head of the Fae delegation, consent to the Rite? Will you uphold the sealing of the passage for one of your own nobility?"
The Fae Sovereign, a woman of immense, ancient power, looked from Isolde’s frantic, pleading face to me, to the new, glowing mark on my chest, to the sleeping Moon Witch who had single-handedly remade a king. She gave a slow, deliberate nod. "The crime is an affront to all Accords. The Fae Court consents. The passage will be sealed."
The finality of it, the absolute, irrevocable nature of her fate, seemed to break something in Isolde. She went limp in the enforcers' grasp, a silent, sobbing wreck. The proud, manipulative consort was gone, replaced by a terrified, broken creature facing an eternity of loneliness.
"Take her away," I commanded Ronan, my voice devoid of all emotion. "To the Veil Gate. Perform the rite at sunset. I want her gone from this world by nightfall."
As Ronan and his enforcers dragged the sobbing, wailing Isolde from the atrium, a sense of profound, bone-deep relief washed over me. It was done. The ghost was exorcised. The final, poisonous tie to my past was severed.
I walked back to Iris, kneeling beside her and gently gathering her into my arms. Her eyes fluttered open, the green a soft, drowsy color in the dim light. "Kaelen?" she murmured, her voice a soft, sleepy sound. "Is it… over?"
"It's over," I confirmed, my voice a low, intimate rumble. I pressed a soft, reverent kiss to her forehead. "She's gone. You're safe."
A small, tired smile touched her lips. "Good," she whispered, her eyes already drifting closed again. "Now… can we go home? I'm tired of saving the world."
A low, rusty chuckle escaped my chest, a sound of pure, unadulterated love. "Yes, my queen," I murmured, lifting her effortlessly into my arms. "We can go home."
As I carried her from the shattered atrium, past the stunned, silent Council, I knew this was more than just the end of a rival's threat. It was a declaration. A public, unequivocal statement of where my power, my loyalty, and my heart now resided. I had chosen my mate. I had chosen our bond. And in doing so, I had chosen a new future for us all. A future where a king was not just a ruler, but a partner. A future where love was not a weakness, but the greatest power of all.