The silence after the Blood Oath was worse than any scream.
Not the quiet of peace. Not the hush of reverence. But the stillness of a storm held at bay—tense, coiled, waiting to break. The Chamber of Oaths had emptied fast, the Council delegates slipping away like shadows, their whispers sharp with fear and fury. The Witch Elder had vanished into her veil of smoke without another word. The Werewolf Alpha had growled something under his breath—*“Hybrid queens don’t last long”*—before storming out. Only the Fae Envoy had lingered, her too-perfect smile gone, replaced by cold, calculating hate.
And then there was me.
Standing in the center of it all, blood still drying on my palm, the runes on my arms pulsing beneath my skin like a second heartbeat. I could feel them—the weight of their stares, the edge of their knives, the quiet promise of betrayal. They didn’t see a queen.
They saw a threat.
And I was done pretending otherwise.
—
Kaelen walked beside me in silence, his presence a wall, a storm, a vow. He didn’t touch me. Didn’t speak. Just kept pace, his storm-gray eyes scanning the corridors, his body tense, ready. The bond hummed between us—low, steady, *alive*—but he didn’t reach for me. Didn’t try to soothe. He knew better.
I wasn’t fragile.
I wasn’t broken.
I was *awake.*
And the truth was a blade in my ribs.
I’d come here to burn the Obsidian Court to the ground.
But I hadn’t come to destroy Kaelen.
I’d come to reclaim what was mine.
And now—now that the magic had spoken, now that the blood had sung—I realized something:
I wasn’t just the heir to the Blood Crown.
I was its *true* sovereign.
And Kaelen—cold, ruthless, *guilty* Kaelen—had known.
He’d known who I was.
He’d known what I was.
And he’d let me believe I was here to destroy him.
“You should’ve told me,” I said, my voice low, steady.
He didn’t look at me. Just kept walking. “And what would you have done if I had?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I deserve the truth. Not lies wrapped in fate.”
“It wasn’t a lie,” he said, stopping, turning to face me. “The bond is real. The fire between us is real. The way I feel—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening. “I didn’t hide who you were to manipulate you. I hid it because I knew you wouldn’t believe me. Not then. Not until the magic confirmed it.”
“And if it hadn’t?” I asked, stepping into him. “If the blood had rejected me? If the runes hadn’t flared? Would you have told me then?”
He didn’t flinch. Just held my gaze. “No. Because some truths aren’t meant to be forced. They’re meant to be *found.*”
My breath caught.
Because he was right.
And that terrified me more than any lie ever could.
I would’ve called him a liar. I would’ve walked away. I would’ve burned it all down before I let myself believe I was anything more than a weapon.
But now—now that the magic had spoken, now that the blood had sung—I couldn’t deny it.
I was Onyx Vale.
Daughter of Elira.
Heir to the Blood Crown.
And the man I’d sworn to destroy was the only one who’d ever tried to *save* me.
—
The suite was quiet when we returned.
Too quiet.
No whispers. No shadows. No lingering scent of honeysuckle to warn me of Lysara’s games. Just the soft crackle of the hearth, the faint hum of the blood-crystals in the walls, the slow, steady pulse of the bond beneath my skin.
I didn’t sit. Didn’t speak.
Just paced, my boots silent on the stone, my fingers tracing the edge of the dagger at my hip. The runes on my arms still glowed faintly, reacting to the shift in my blood, in my soul. I could feel the Crown now—distant, dormant, but *alive.* It knew me. It remembered me. And it was waiting.
Kaelen stood by the balcony, his back to me, his coat open, his hands resting on the railing. The moon hung low over Vienna, casting silver light across his shoulders, his hair, the sharp line of his jaw. He looked like a king. A monster. A man who’d carried the weight of a stolen crown for too long.
And he was *mine.*
Not by bond.
Not by magic.
By choice.
“They’ll come for me,” I said, stopping. “The Council. Lysara. Dain. They won’t let a hybrid queen take the throne.”
“Then they’ll die,” he said, turning. “Every last one.”
I almost smiled. “You’d burn the world for me?”
“I already have,” he said, stepping closer. “And I’d do it again.”
The bond flared—hot, sudden—and I felt it. Not just his words. His *truth.* He wasn’t just protecting me. He wasn’t just claiming me.
He was *fighting* for me.
And gods help me, I wanted to believe him.
But the doubt was still there, coiled tight in my chest like a serpent.
What if he was wrong?
What if I wasn’t strong enough?
What if the Crown rejected me?
Before I could stop myself, I stepped into him, my hands fisting in his coat, my lips crashing into his. The kiss wasn’t gentle. Wasn’t soft. It was *war.* My tongue swept inside, tasting, conquering, my magic flaring in pulses of crimson light. The runes on my arms glowed, reacting to the shift in my heart, in my soul.
He kissed me back like he’d been starving.
Like he’d been *waiting.*
His hands tangled in my hair, holding me in place as he deepened the kiss, his fangs grazing my lip, drawing a bead of blood. The bond screamed to life, a surge of heat that made my vision blur. My core tightened, my body arching into his, my thighs pressing together in a futile attempt to ease the ache.
And then—
A sound.
A whisper.
We broke apart.
At the door stood Maeve.
My childhood friend. My sister in all but blood. Her eyes were wide, her face pale, a single scroll clutched to her chest. She’d seen everything. The kiss. The magic. The way my body had arched into his like I was starving.
“Onyx,” she whispered.
I pulled back, my breath coming fast, my lips still tingling from his touch. “Maeve. What is it?”
She didn’t answer. Just stepped inside, closing the door behind her, and held out the scroll.
Sealed with crimson wax.
Shaped like a serpent coiled around a rose.
Dain’s mark.
My blood ran cold.
“It appeared on my bed,” Maeve said, her voice low. “No note. No warning. Just… this.”
I took it, my fingers trembling. The wax was still warm, the scent of old blood and iron clinging to the paper. I didn’t need to open it to know what it said.
But I did anyway.
Inside, a single line, written in a hand I recognized instantly:
Stop digging. Or I’ll bury you with your parents.
No signature.
No threat.
Just a promise.
And I believed him.
Because Dain wasn’t just my uncle.
He was the man who’d betrayed our family.
Who’d framed me.
Who’d taken the Blood Crown and left me to burn.
And now that the magic had spoken, now that the blood had sung—he was afraid.
Because he knew.
He knew I was close.
—
Kaelen took the scroll from my hand, his storm-gray eyes narrowing as he read the message. His fangs lengthened, shadows coiling at his feet. “He’s watching,” he said, his voice low, dangerous. “He knows about the Blood Oath. He knows who you are.”
“And he’s afraid,” I said, my voice steady. “Which means we’re close.”
“Or it’s a trap,” Maeve said, stepping forward. “He’s always been good at manipulation. He could be trying to lure you out. To isolate you.”
“He’s not wrong,” Kaelen said. “Dain’s not reckless. If he’s sending a warning, it’s because he’s desperate.”
“Then we use it,” I said, stepping to the balcony. “We let him think he’s in control. We let him think he’s winning. And then—” I turned, my violet eyes locking onto his. “We take everything from him.”
Kaelen didn’t smile. Just stepped into me, his hand cupping my jaw, his thumb brushing my lower lip. “You’re not just a queen,” he said, his voice rough. “You’re a storm. And I’m not letting you face him alone.”
My breath caught.
Because he was right.
I wasn’t just Onyx Vale.
I wasn’t just the heir.
I was fire.
I was war.
And I was ready.
—
That night, I didn’t sleep.
I sat by the balcony window, wrapped in a thin robe, watching the moon hang low over Vienna. The bond hummed beneath my skin, a quiet, constant pulse. I could feel him—distant, guarded, *waiting*—but I didn’t reach for him.
I couldn’t.
Because what if Dain was right?
What if I wasn’t strong enough?
What if the Crown rejected me?
I closed my eyes, pressing my forehead to the cold glass.
And then I felt it—a whisper in the dark, not from the bond, but from *me.*
You want him. I can taste it.
I didn’t know if it was the truth.
Or just another kind of lie.
But for the first time, I didn’t fight it.
For the first time, I let myself *want.*
Not just his touch.
Not just his body.
But *him.*
The man who’d watched my mother die.
The king who’d taken the Crown to save millions.
The vampire who’d kissed me in front of the entire Court and called me his.
I wanted him.
And I was tired of pretending I didn’t.
So when the door opened, and he stepped inside, his coat open, his hair slightly disheveled, I didn’t turn away.
I just whispered the words I’d never say to his face:
“I do.”
Not hate him.
Not anymore.
And as he crossed the room, his storm-gray eyes burning with something like hope, I realized something:
The fire wasn’t coming to burn me down.
It was here to *save* me.
And I was ready to let it.
—
He stopped in front of me, his presence like a storm rolling in. I didn’t look up. Just kept my forehead pressed to the glass, my breath shallow, my heart pounding.
“You called for me,” he said, his voice low.
“I didn’t.”
“The bond did.”
I shook my head. “It’s not the bond.”
“Then what is it?”
I turned to him, my violet eyes searching his. “I want to find the Crown.”
He stilled. “Now?”
“Before Dain moves,” I said. “Before he tries to kill me. Before he tries to sever the bond.”
“And if it’s a trap?”
“Then we’ll walk into it together,” I said, stepping into him. “And we’ll burn it down from the inside.”
He didn’t hesitate.
Just pulled me into his arms, his lips crashing into mine, his fangs grazing my lip, drawing blood. The bond flared—hot, sudden—and I felt it. Not just his arousal. His *relief.* He’d been afraid I’d run. Afraid I’d retreat. Afraid I’d let fear win.
Good.
Let him be afraid.
Because I wasn’t.
Not anymore.
“You’re mine,” he whispered against my skin.
“I am,” I said, my voice steady. “And you’re mine too.”
He smiled—a slow, dangerous thing. “Always.”
And as I leaned into him, the scent of jasmine and iron wrapping around us like a vow, I realized something:
The fire hadn’t come to destroy me.
It had come to *remake* me.
And I was ready.