The war began with silence.
Not the hush of peace. Not the quiet before a storm. But the unnatural stillness of a world holding its breath—like the earth itself knew what was coming and dared not speak. The sky over Vienna had turned the color of old blood, thick clouds rolling in from the north, pulsing with veins of gold where Dain’s magic clawed at the veil between realms. The Obsidian Court stood ready, its black spires bristling with enforcers, blood-crystals flaring crimson along the walls, the scent of iron and fire thick in the air.
I stood at the edge of the northern balcony, barefoot, my gown of crimson and obsidian clinging to my skin, the runes on my arms glowing faintly in the predawn gloom. My dagger was at my hip, my magic coiled tight in my chest like a serpent. The bond hummed beneath my skin—low, steady, alive—but it wasn’t just Kaelen I could feel now.
It was them.
The witches. The werewolves. The vampires. All bound to me, not by loyalty, but by truth. By blood. By the magic that had chosen me.
And I was ready.
—
Kaelen stepped beside me, his coat open, his storm-gray eyes burning, his presence a wall, a vow. He didn’t touch me. Not yet. Just stood close enough that I could feel the heat of his body, the slow, unnatural rhythm of his heartbeat. His fangs were just visible beneath his lips, shadows coiling at his feet like serpents. 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’re coming,” he said, his voice low, rough. “Dain’s forces. The Hollow Thorne. The blood purists.”
“Let them come,” I said, my voice steady. “Let them see what happens when they challenge the true sovereign.”
He didn’t smile. Just turned to me, his hand cupping my jaw, his thumb brushing my lower lip. “You’re not just a queen,” he said. “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.
—
The war room was alive when we entered.
Not with chaos. Not with fear.
With purpose.
Silas stood at the war map, his storm-gray eyes sharp, his posture tense. Enforcers lined the walls, their black cloaks cutting through the air like shadows. The blood-crystals pulsed with steady light, their crimson glow reflecting off the polished stone. This wasn’t just a battle.
It was a reckoning.
“They’ve breached the outer wards,” Silas said, unrolling a scroll. “Five hundred strong. Maybe more. Fae archers, illusionists, blood-mages. And Dain—” He hesitated. “He’s not fighting like a noble. He’s fighting like a king.”
“He’s not a king,” I said, stepping forward. “He’s a traitor. A murderer. A man who stole the Crown and left my family to burn.”
“To them, he is,” Silas said. “He’s telling them you’re an imposter. That the Blood Oath was faked. That you’re not the true heir.”
“And they believe him?” I asked, my voice breaking.
“They want to,” Kaelen said, stepping beside me. “Because if you’re the true heir, then everything they’ve built—everything they’ve fought for—is a lie.”
“Then we make them face the truth,” I said, my voice low, dangerous. “We show them the Crown. We show them the magic. We show them me.”
“And if they still attack?” Silas asked.
“Then we burn them,” Kaelen said, his voice low, dangerous. “Every last one.”
“And start a war?” Silas asked. “You can’t take on the entire Hollow Thorne. Not without allies.”
“We have allies,” I said, stepping forward. “The witches. The werewolves. The vampires.”
“The vampires are yours,” Silas said. “The werewolves are neutral. And the witches—” He hesitated. “They’re divided. Some see you as the heir. Others see you as a threat.”
“Then we convince them,” I said. “We show them the truth.”
“And what if the truth isn’t enough?” Silas asked.
Before I could answer, the door opened.
Maeve stood there, her dark hair loose over her shoulders, her eyes wide, a single scroll clutched to her chest. She looked like she’d run through the Veil herself—her cloak torn, her hands trembling, her breath coming fast.
“Onyx,” she whispered.
My breath caught.
“Maeve. What is it?”
She didn’t answer.
Just stepped inside, closing the door behind her, and held out the scroll.
Sealed with black wax.
Shaped like a raven in flight.
Wychwood Coven sigil.
My fingers trembled as I took it.
The wax was still warm, the scent of old magic 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.
—
The first wave hit at dawn.
Not with warning. Not with sound.
With fire.
Golden flames erupted from the northern wall, tearing through stone, igniting the towers. The Court erupted into chaos—enforcers shouting, alarms blaring, blood-crystals flaring crimson. I was on the balcony when it happened, my gown clinging to my skin, the runes on my arms glowing faintly in the predawn gloom. Kaelen was at my side in an instant, his coat open, his storm-gray eyes burning, his presence a wall, a vow.
“They’re here,” I said, my voice low.
“Then we end this,” he said, stepping in front of me. “Together.”
I didn’t argue.
Just reached for my dagger, my magic flaring in pulses of crimson light. The runes on my arms glowed, reacting to the shift in my heart, in my soul.
And then—
We moved.
Not with hesitation.
Not with fear.
With fire.
—
The northern courtyard was a warzone.
Flames licked the stone. Smoke choked the air. Fae warriors in golden armor clashed with vampire enforcers, their blades flashing in the dim light. Illusionists wove spells that made shadows move like living things, that turned allies into enemies, that made the ground split beneath our feet. I moved through it like a storm—my dagger cutting through flesh, my magic flaring in pulses of crimson fire. The runes on my arms glowed brighter with every step, reacting to the shift in my blood, in my soul.
And then—
I saw him.
Dain.
Standing at the center of it all, his silver hair loose over his shoulders, his violet eyes blazing. He wore a crown of thorns and obsidian, the stolen Blood Crown’s twin. His magic pulsed in waves of golden light, his power radiating like a second sun.
“Onyx,” he purred, his voice like silk over a blade. “So good of you to join us.”
“You don’t get to speak my name,” I said, stepping forward. My voice was low, but it carried—like thunder before a storm. “You don’t get to stand in this Court. You don’t get to breathe the same air as me.”
He laughed—low, melodic, and utterly false. “You think you’re the heir? You think the magic chose you? You’re a mistake. A lie. A half-blood playing queen.”
“And you’re a traitor,” I said, my magic flaring. “A murderer. A man who burned my family to take what was never his.”
“I did what I had to,” he said, stepping closer. “To protect our bloodline. To preserve our legacy. And you—” His smile vanished. “You would have destroyed it.”
“No,” I said, my voice steady. “I would have restored it.”
And then—
He lunged.
Not with a blade.
With magic.
A wave of golden fire erupted from his hands, slamming into me with the force of a collapsing star. I flew back, crashing into the stone wall, pain flaring in my side where Lysara’s dagger had wounded me. My vision blurred. My magic flickered.
But I didn’t stay down.
Just pushed myself up, blood dripping from my lip, my violet eyes blazing. “You don’t get to win,” I said, my voice breaking. “Not after what you did. Not after what you took.”
“And what will you do?” he sneered. “Kill me? Rule in my place? The Council will never accept a hybrid queen.”
“They already have,” I said, raising my hand.
The runes on my arms flared—brighter than ever—spreading across my skin like wildfire, climbing up my neck, my chest, my face. The sigils weren’t just witch-born. They weren’t just fae.
They were royal.
Old. Ancient. The script of the first Bloodline—the House of Vale, the original keepers of the Crown.
And then—
I felt it.
The Crown.
Distant. Dormant. But alive.
It knew me.
It remembered me.
And it was waiting.
“You’re not the heir,” Dain spat, his magic flaring. “You’re a weapon.”
“And I’m aimed at you,” I said, stepping forward.
And then—
The world exploded.
Not with sound.
Not with fire.
With truth.
My magic surged—crimson fire lighting the air between us, the runes on my body glowing like a living crown. Dain screamed, stumbling back, his golden magic shattering like glass. The stolen crown on his head cracked, then split, falling to the stone in pieces.
And then—
He vanished.
Not with a flicker.
Not with a fade.
With a scream.
Like the air itself was tearing apart.
And I knew.
He wasn’t gone.
He was coming back.
—
Kaelen found me on the balcony at dawn.
I was watching the first light creep over Vienna, the bond humming beneath my skin, a quiet, constant pulse. My body ached, my magic sluggish, my fingers trembling as I touched the mark on my neck—still tender, still warm, pulsing faintly beneath my skin like a second pulse. The runes on my arms glowed, reacting to the shift in my blood, in my soul.
He didn’t speak.
Just stepped beside me, his presence a wall, a vow. His hand found mine, our fingers entwining, the bond flaring—hot, sudden. I could feel his relief, his fear, his hunger.
“He’ll come back,” I said, my voice low.
“And we’ll be ready,” Kaelen said, stepping into me. “Because you’re not just the heir.”
“No,” I said, turning to him. “I’m the true sovereign.”
“And I’m not just the king,” he said, his hand cupping my face. “I’m the man who stole the Crown to save millions.”
“And the man who let me hate you,” I said, my voice soft. “Because I needed my fire.”
“And now?” he asked, stepping closer.
“Now,” I said, leaning into him, “I let you love me.”
And then—
I kissed him.
Not in anger.
Not in war.
But in surrender.
Soft. Slow. Aching.
His lips parted beneath mine, his tongue brushing mine, tentative, searching. My hands tangled in his hair, holding him close, deepening the kiss. His magic flared, lighting the air between us with crimson fire. The runes on my arms glowed, reacting to the shift in my heart, in my soul.
He was choosing me.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of duty.
But because he wanted to.
And when I pulled back, my fangs bared, my eyes black with hunger, I whispered, “You’re not as cold as you pretend.”
“No,” he said, his voice rough. “I’m not.”
“And you never were.”
And as I leaned into him, the scent of jasmine and iron wrapping around us like a vow, I realized something:
The fire wasn’t coming to destroy me.
It was here to remake me.
And I was ready.