IRIS
The aftermath of the Sepulcher was a quiet, humbling exhaustion. The adrenaline of the battle, the raw terror of the ritual, had faded, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness that settled in my muscles like a lead weight. Lysander was alive, stabilized in the stronghold’s infirmary, his body slowly healing under the watchful eyes of our best healers. Marius was gone, his threat extinguished in a blaze of poetic, self-inflicted justice. And the city… the city was celebrating.
The cheers that had rocked the Spire of Aeridor had not subsided. They had simply changed in tone, from a roar of victory to a constant, thrumming hum of adoration. Everywhere we went, eyes followed us. Not just the respectful, fearful gazes of before, but something new. Something akin to worship. We were not just their king and his bond-mate; we were their saviors. Their legends. It was a heavy, uncomfortable mantle to wear.
But the battle was not truly over. Marius may have been defeated, but his dark legacy lingered. And the final, most crucial piece of his plan, the one that could still unravel everything, was missing. The Sanguine Chalice. It had shattered under the force of the reflected plague, but we knew, with a cold certainty that Elara had confirmed, that such artifacts were rarely so simple. The core, the heart of the vessel that focused the plague, would have survived. It would be a small, dark crystal, pulsing with latent, malevolent energy. And if it fell into the wrong hands, it could be used to start the entire horrific process all over again.
Our intelligence, gathered through a mix of Ronan’s interrogation of the captured vampire commander and my own scrying magic, pointed to a single, terrifying conclusion. The core of the chalice had not been destroyed. It had been protected, shielded by a contingency spell at the moment of the ritual’s implosion, and whisked away to a secure location. And the only being in Aeridor with the power, the motive, and the resources to have orchestrated such a heist was Lord Valerius.
Valerius was the master of a neutral, but notoriously decadent, Fae house. He was a creature of immense age and even greater cunning, a spider at the center of a vast web of secrets, debts, and favors. He had publicly condemned Marius’s extremism, but privately, we knew he saw the purist’s ambition as a crude, unsophisticated tool. He wouldn’t want to unleash a plague; he would want to *own* the power to unleash one. It was the ultimate bargaining chip. The key to blackmailing every faction on the Council.
And tonight, he was hosting a gala. A celebration of the “restored peace,” a cynical, self-congratulatory affair for the very elite of Aeridor’s society. It was the perfect place to hide a stolen artifact in plain sight. The perfect place to gloat.
Which is why Kaelen and I were currently standing outside Valerius’s manor, dressed not as warriors, but as guests. I was in a gown of deep emerald silk that clung to my curves, a stark contrast to the practical leathers I had worn for days. It felt like a costume, a fragile skin over the raw, powerful reality of what we had become. My moonblade was sheathed at my hip, hidden by the drape of the fabric, but its familiar weight was a cold, comforting presence. Kaelen was beside me, dressed in stark, formal black that did nothing to soften the predatory lines of his body. The new, silver-and-gold mark on his chest was visible at the collar of his shirt, a quiet, undeniable declaration of his merged nature.
"Remember," he murmured, his voice a low, intimate rumble that was only for me, "we are not here to fight. We are here to… observe. And to be seen." His silver eyes, laced with those threads of white light, scanned the grand, illuminated facade of the manor. "Valerius is a creature of subtlety. He will expect force. We must give him something else."
"Like a couple of lovebirds, enjoying a night out after saving the world?" I suggested, a wry smile touching my lips.
A low, dangerous chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Precisely. Let him underestimate us. Let him see what he expects to see: a besotted king and his powerful witch. Let him gloat."
We entered the manor. The air that hit us was a cloying, intoxicating mix of expensive perfume, spiced wine, and the thick, honeyed scent of Fae glamour. It was a sensory assault after the cold, clean air of the stronghold. The grand ballroom was a vision of opulence. A domed ceiling painted with a moving mural of the Fae Other Realm, floors of polished black marble that reflected the light of a thousand floating orbs, and balconies draped in shimmering, silver moss. Fae nobles, with their ethereal beauty and unnerving stillness, mingled with Vampire dignitaries and a handful of wealthy human merchants. It was a den of vipers, all smiling, all watching.
And at the center of it all was Lord Valerius. He was a tall, slender Fae, with hair the color of spun silver and eyes the color of amethysts. He was laughing, a delicate, musical sound, his hand resting proprietarily on the arm of a stunning Fae woman. He saw us enter, and his smile widened, a slow, deliberate thing. He raised his glass in a small, mocking toast.
"The guests of honor!" he called out, his voice a smooth, melodic sound that carried easily over the low murmur of the crowd. "Come, come! Let us properly celebrate our saviors!"
We were drawn into his orbit, a path parting for us through the crowd. The eyes on us were heavy, weighing, calculating. They saw the power, the new, merged energy that hummed around us, and they were both fascinated and terrified by it.
"Lord Valerius," Kaelen said, his voice a cool, even rumble. He offered a slight, formal nod, a gesture of a king to an equal, not a subordinate. "A… lavish affair."
"One must celebrate the return of order, Your Majesty," Valerius purred, his amethyst eyes gleaming with a cunning light. He let his gaze drift from Kaelen to me, a slow, appreciative appraisal that was both admiring and possessive. "And your queen. It seems the rumors of your… unique bond were not exaggerated. You radiate a most intriguing power."
"We are full of surprises," I said, my voice a cool, even match for his. I met his gaze without flinching, letting him see the moonlight in my own eyes. The subtle, psychic game had begun.
"So it would seem," Valerius mused. He gestured to the dance floor, where couples were moving in a slow, intricate, Fae-style waltz. The dance was more than just movement; it was a language of its own, a series of close passes, lingering touches, and suggestive turns designed to test boundaries and create intimacy. "But a celebration requires dancing. And I find it is the best way to truly… know one's allies."
It was a challenge. A public test. To refuse would be an insult. To accept would be to play his game, to enter his web of subtle manipulations under the watchful eyes of the entire court.
Kaelen’s hand found mine, his fingers lacing through mine in a firm, possessive grip. "We would be honored," he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. He wasn't just accepting the dance. He was accepting the challenge.
He led me onto the floor. The music shifted, a low, hypnotic melody weaving through the air. His arm went around my waist, pulling me flush against him, a hard, possessive weight that was at odds with the formal, flowing steps of the dance. My other hand came to rest on his shoulder. We were close. Too close. His scent, pine and midnight rain, filled my senses, a potent, distracting drug.
We began to move. The Fae waltz was a dance of intimate proximity, of slow turns and bodies brushing. It was designed to create tension, to force a connection. And with Kaelen, it was working far too well. Each turn, each slide of our bodies against one another, was a spark against the dry tinder of our recent fight and our raw, still-new passion. The bond between us was a low, simmering hum, a shared awareness of every point of contact, every shift of muscle, every change in breath.
"His eyes are on you," Kaelen murmured, his lips brushing against my ear as he spun me, a move that was both part of the dance and a deliberate, intimate act. "He thinks he has us where he wants us. Performing for him."
"Let him," I breathed back, my head tilting, giving him better access as my hand slid from his shoulder to the nape of his neck, my fingers gently stroking the short, soft hair there. A possessive gesture of my own. "While we are performing, you scan the room. The chalice. It has to be here. He's too arrogant not to keep his prize close."
We moved through the steps, a silent, fluid conversation happening in the language of our bodies. Each turn was a new vantage point for Kaelen. Each dip was an opportunity for my gaze to sweep the balconies, the shadowed alcoves. We were a hunting pair, disguised as lovers. The pretense was a thin veneer over the sharp, tactical reality of our purpose.
"There," Kaelen murmured, his voice a low, urgent growl against my cheek as he turned me, his body shielding me from the rest of the room. For a moment, we were in our own world, a small, intimate circle of light and shadow. "Top balcony. Left side. Behind the velvet curtain. There's a ward. Fae work. Old and strong."
"I can feel it," I confirmed. Through the bond, and through my own magic, I could sense a faint, thrumming hum of containment magic, a delicate, intricate web of spells. It was protecting something. Something small, but powerful. The chalice. "I can't break it from here without him knowing. It would be like setting off a fire alarm in a library."
"Then we get closer," he said. His grip on my waist tightened, and he guided me, not back into the main flow of the dance, but toward the edge of the floor, toward a shadowed archway that led to a quiet, isolated corridor. "Valerius will expect us to seek some privacy after that… performance. It would be rude not to."
The insinuation in his voice was a masterful stroke of deception. He was playing the part of the besotted king, unable to keep his hands off his mate, perfectly. We slipped from the ballroom into the cool, quiet dimness of the corridor. The music was a faint, hypnotic pulse behind us. The air here was still, scented with the faint, clean smell of night-blooming flowers from a hidden garden.
Kaelen didn't hesitate. He pushed me back against the cool, stone wall of the alcove, his body pinning mine. The pretense fell away, replaced by the raw, urgent need of the mission. But the proximity, the feel of his hard body against mine, the intensity in his silver eyes—it was no longer just an act. The desire was real, a hot, sharp current that arced between us.
"The ward is tied to his life force," I said, my voice a low, urgent whisper, my hands resting on the hard planes of his chest. "If I try to unravel it, he'll feel it. But if I create a distraction… a surge of magic elsewhere…"
"It might mask it," he finished, his gaze dropping to my lips. He knew what I was thinking. Our combined energy, the raw, passionate force of our bond, was a power unlike any other. It was a perfect, chaotic distraction.
"A risky plan," I breathed, my heart starting to pound, a frantic, excited rhythm against my ribs.
"All our best plans are," he growled, and then he was kissing me.
It wasn't like the angry, desperate kiss of our fight, or the tender, sealing kiss of our reconciliation. It was a kiss of pure, unadulterated strategy and raw, undeniable desire. His lips crushed mine, a hard, possessive claiming that was both a signal to any watching Fae and a genuine, aching need. His tongue swept into my mouth, a dominant, demanding invasion that made my knees go weak. I met him, my hands fisting in his hair, pulling him closer, kissing him back with a desperate, hungry fervor.
As our mouths dueled, as our bodies pressed together in a desperate, urgent tangle, I let my magic free. Not in a controlled, precise spell, but in a wild, unfocused surge. A wave of pure, silver moonlight, laced with the golden, wild energy of his Lycan soul. I didn't aim it at the ward. I just let it explode from us in a brilliant, chaotic burst of raw power. It was a psychic scream of pleasure and possession, a blast of energy that would feel like the passionate culmination of two lovers stealing away for a secret tryst.
Through the haze of desire, I felt it. The thrumming hum of the ward on the balcony flickered, confused by the overwhelming surge of life and passion that had just erupted from our alcove. For a split second, its intricate web of spells faltered.
It was all I needed.
I broke the kiss, my breathing ragged, my body humming with a heady mix of arousal and power. "Now," I gasped.
Kaelen didn't hesitate. He was a blur of motion, moving from the alcove to the velvet curtain on the balcony with a speed that was inhuman. He ripped the heavy fabric aside, his claws, already partially extended, slashing not at the curtain, but at the air beside it. At the invisible, shimmering lines of the ward. My distraction had worked. The spells, momentarily blinded by our passionate outburst, were vulnerable. And his claws, infused with our merged, destructive power, tore through them like they were made of paper.
He reached behind the curtain, his hand closing around a small, cold object. He pulled it free. It was a small, dark crystal, no bigger than his thumb, and it seemed to drink the light around it, pulsing with a faint, nauseating, malevolent energy. The heart of the Sanguine Chalice.
He turned back to me, his face a hard, triumphant mask in the shadows of the alcove. He had it. The final piece.
The sound of slow, deliberate applause came from the entrance of the corridor. We both froze, our heads whipping toward the sound.
Lord Valerius stood there, a slow, mocking smile on his beautiful, cruel face. He wasn't angry. He was impressed. "Bravo," he purred, his amethyst eyes gleaming with a cold, calculating light. "Truly, a masterful performance. The passion, the deception… exquisite. You have given me a most entertaining evening, Your Majesties."
He held out a hand, a gesture of polite request that was an absolute, undeniable command. "But the show is over. If you would be so kind as to return my property."