The moment her magic lashed out—crimson energy snapping through the air like a whip—I felt it.
A jolt behind my ribs. A burn along my spine. Not pain. Not exactly. It was… recognition. As if my blood had known hers long before our bodies met. The bond flared again, deeper this time, threading through my veins like liquid fire. I grunted, my fangs lengthening on instinct, but I didn’t release her. Couldn’t. Her pulse thundered beneath my fingers, wild and bright, and the scent of her—jasmine and iron, with something darker, something *wild*—flooded my senses.
She tried to pull away, her violet eyes blazing with defiance even as her body trembled. Good. I didn’t want her broken. I wanted her *alive*. Fighting. Real.
“Don’t fight it,” I said, my voice rough, dragged from a place I didn’t recognize. “The bond is Eternal. Deny it, and it will burn you alive. Resist it, and it will drive you mad. The only way to survive is to *submit*.”
“I’ll die first,” she spat, her voice trembling with fury.
I leaned in, my lips brushing her ear. “Then you’ll die screaming. Because I won’t let you go.”
And gods help me, I meant it.
She shivered—*shivered*—and I felt it in my bones. Not fear. Not just fear. Arousal. Sweet, sharp, undeniable. Her body responded to me even as her mind raged. Her scent deepened, thickened, and my cock throbbed, heavy and insistent against the fabric of my trousers. I had not felt desire like this in centuries. Not since before the throne. Not since before power became my only companion.
But this—*her*—was different.
She was not just a woman. She was a storm. A weapon. A truth I had spent a lifetime burying.
When I stood and offered her my hand, she refused it. Of course she did. Her pride was a blade, sharp and unyielding. I admired it. Respected it. And I would break it, if I had to, to keep her alive.
“You’re not weak,” I told her. “Don’t pretend to be.”
She rose on her own, her spine straight, her gaze locked on mine. “I don’t need your help,” she said. “And I don’t belong to you.”
I smiled. Not with warmth. With hunger. “You already do. You just don’t know it yet.”
Then I turned, striding back to my throne, my mind already racing. The bond was active. The Eternal Vow had chosen her—*chosen us*—and now the rules had changed. The Council would demand answers. Protocol required investigation, verification, a public declaration. But I would not let them touch her. Not yet. Not until I knew what she was. Who she was.
“Take her to the east suite,” I ordered. “Double the guards. And Silas—”
“Yes, Sire?”
“If she tries to run, bring her back. By force, if necessary.”
As the guards led her away, I watched her go—her stride steady despite the tremor in her hands, her head high, her illusion still clinging to her like a second skin. But I could see through it. The silver in her hair. The violet in her eyes. The fae grace in her movements, no matter how she tried to hide it.
She was not just a witch.
She was something more.
And I needed to know what.
—
The east suite was one of the most secure in the Obsidian Court—walled in enchanted onyx, warded against magic, monitored by shadow-walkers and blood-scribes. No one entered or left without my knowledge. I had used it for prisoners. For enemies. For lovers I no longer trusted.
Now, it was hers.
I stood outside the door, my hand resting on the cold stone. I could feel her through the bond—her anger, her fear, her *heat*. It pulsed in time with my own heartbeat, a rhythm I could not ignore. I had spent centuries mastering control. Emotion was weakness. Desire was distraction. Power required detachment.
And yet, here I was—my fangs still extended, my body still thrumming with the echo of her touch, my mind consumed by the memory of her scent.
“Sire,” Silas said, stepping beside me. My lieutenant. My brother in arms. The only one who had seen me bleed and still stood. “She’s secured. No signs of magic since the throne room. But…”
“But?”
He hesitated. “She’s not who she claims to be. The illusion is strong, but it’s layered. I caught a flicker—silver hair, violet eyes. Fae blood.”
I nodded. I already knew.
“And the bond?” he asked. “It’s real, then. The Eternal Vow.”
“It’s real.”
He exhaled, low and slow. “The Council will demand a mating ceremony. A public claim. If you resist—”
“Let them demand,” I said, my voice flat. “Let them try to take her from me. I’ll rip out their throats before I let that happen.”
Silas didn’t flinch. He knew me. Knew what I was capable of. “And if she’s a threat? If she’s here to kill you?”
I turned to him, my eyes black with the bond’s pull. “Then I’ll die with her hands on my throat. But not before I make her mine.”
He didn’t argue. He simply nodded. “I’ll watch her. Report any movement.”
“Good.”
But I didn’t leave.
I stayed. For hours. Standing outside her door, feeling her through the bond—her restless pacing, the spike of magic when she tested the wards, the sharp flare of fear when she realized they held.
She was trapped.
And so was I.
—
It was past midnight when the alarm sounded.
A pulse of magic—wild, uncontrolled—ripped through the east wing. I felt it before the siren, a surge of power that made my teeth ache. Her magic. Angry. Desperate.
I moved before the guards could react, shadow-walking through the corridors, materializing outside her door just as two of my men tried to breach it.
“Step back,” I growled.
They obeyed instantly.
I pushed the door open, and the room was chaos.
Books were torn from shelves. Furniture splintered. The mirror had shattered, glass scattered across the floor like frozen rain. And in the center of it all—Onyx.
She stood with her back to the wall, her chest heaving, her illusion gone. Her hair was silver, long and wild, framing a face of sharp, fae beauty. Her eyes—violet, glowing with magic—locked onto me the moment I entered.
She held a dagger in her hand. Not one of mine. Hers. A witch’s blade, etched with runes that pulsed crimson.
“Stay back,” she warned, her voice raw.
I didn’t. I stepped forward, slow, deliberate. “You’re not escaping, Onyx.”
“Don’t use that name,” she hissed. “You don’t get to say it.”
“It’s your name,” I said, still advancing. “The one I remember from the records. The one your mother screamed when they burned your estate.”
Her breath caught. Her grip on the dagger tightened. “You—”
“I know who you are,” I said, stopping just out of reach. “Half-fae. Half-witch. Heir to the Blood Crown. The girl who was framed. The traitor who vanished.”
“And you’re the king who let it happen,” she spat. “The thief who wears my family’s crown.”
I didn’t deny it.
Instead, I let the silence stretch, let her see the truth in my eyes. I had not killed her family. But I had let the lie stand. I had taken the Crown. I had used her betrayal as a stepping stone to power.
And I had never forgotten her name.
She lunged.
Fast. Fierce. The dagger aimed for my heart.
I caught her wrist mid-strike, twisting it until the blade clattered to the floor. She snarled, kicking at me, but I grabbed her other arm, pinning her against the wall. Her body pressed to mine, warm and trembling, her breath coming in sharp gasps.
And then—
The bond flared.
A wave of heat crashed through me, so intense I nearly groaned. Her magic surged in response, lighting the air between us with crimson sparks. I could feel her pulse in her throat, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her hips instinctively arched toward me.
She hated me.
And she wanted me.
The contradiction was intoxicating.
“Let me go,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
“No.”
“You don’t understand what you’ve done,” she said, her eyes blazing. “You don’t know what you’ve awakened.”
“I know,” I said, my voice low. “I feel it. Every second. Your anger. Your fear. The way your body betrays you when I touch you.”
She turned her face away, but not before I saw the flush on her cheeks, the way her lips parted on a silent breath.
“I came here to destroy you,” she said. “And now I’m *bound* to you.”
“And I,” I said, leaning in, my lips brushing her ear, “was alone for three hundred years. Until you walked into my throne room and set my blood on fire.”
She shuddered.
I released her arms, but didn’t step back. “You’re not leaving this suite. Not until the Council decides your fate. Not until we know if this bond can be broken.”
“It won’t be broken,” she said. “It’s Eternal. You know that.”
“Then we’ll have to survive it.”
She looked at me then, really looked at me, and for the first time, I saw something other than hatred in her eyes.
Fear.
Not of me.
Of *this*. Of us. Of the thing between us that neither of us could control.
And gods help me, it made me want her more.
—
I left her then, ordering the guards to repair the damage, to replace the mirror, to bring her food she wouldn’t eat and wine she wouldn’t touch.
But I didn’t go far.
I waited in the surveillance chamber, watching her through the hidden lenses embedded in the walls. She paced. She cursed. She tried the wards again and again, her magic flaring each time she failed.
And then, finally, she collapsed onto the bed, her body trembling, her face buried in her hands.
I felt it—the wave of exhaustion, the ache in her muscles, the dull throb of her magic, spent and sore.
And I felt something else.
Loneliness.
Sharp. Deep. Unmistakable.
It echoed in my own chest, a hollow space I had ignored for centuries. I had ruled alone. Survived alone. Believed I needed no one.
And then she had touched me.
And now, even across the stone and steel that separated us, I could feel her. Her pain. Her fear. Her *need*.
It called to me.
—
I went to her at dawn.
The guards stepped aside without a word. The door opened silently. She was still on the bed, curled on her side, her silver hair spilling across the black silk. She looked younger in sleep. Vulnerable. Human.
I stood over her, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest, the faint flush on her skin. The bond hummed between us, a quiet, constant pulse.
Then she stirred.
Her eyes opened—violet, sharp, instantly alert. She started to sit up, but I moved first, kneeling beside the bed, my hand brushing a strand of hair from her neck.
Her breath hitched.
My fangs throbbed.
Her scent—jasmine and iron, with that wild undercurrent—filled the air. I could taste her on my tongue. Could feel the heat of her skin beneath my fingers.
“You shouldn’t touch me,” she whispered.
“I know,” I said. “But I will anyway.”
Her pulse jumped.
And then, before I could stop myself, I leaned down and pressed my lips to the base of her throat.
She gasped.
Her body arched toward me, just slightly, just enough.
And the bond—*gods*, the bond—screamed to life, a surge of heat and magic that made my vision blur.
I pulled back, breathing hard.
She stared at me, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling too fast.
“You’re playing with fire,” she said.
“I’ve always played with fire,” I said. “And now, so will you.”
I stood, stepping back. “Rest. The Council meets today. They’ll decide what to do with you.”
“And if they order me executed?”
I met her gaze, my voice low, final. “Then I’ll kill them all before they lay a hand on you.”
And I meant it.
Because she was mine.
And I would burn the world down before I let her go.