The silence after the battle 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 northern courtyard was a ruin of blackened stone and shattered crystal, the air thick with the scent of scorched earth and old blood. Fae corpses lay scattered like broken dolls, their golden armor cracked, their faces frozen in final screams. Vampire enforcers moved through the wreckage, dragging the dead, sealing breaches in the wards, their eyes sharp, their fangs bared. The blood-crystals in the walls pulsed weakly, their crimson glow flickering like dying stars.
And I stood at the center of it all.
Barefoot. Bloodied. alive.
The runes on my arms still glowed faintly, reacting to the shift in my blood, in my soul. My magic hummed beneath my skin, not weak, not broken—waiting. For what, I didn’t know. But I could feel it. The Crown. Distant. Dormant. But alive. It knew me. It remembered me. And it was calling.
Kaelen found me there, his coat open, his storm-gray eyes burning, his presence a wall, a vow. He didn’t touch me. Didn’t speak. Just stood beside me, his shadows coiling at his feet, his fangs just visible beneath his lips. The bond flared—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.
“He’s not gone,” I said, my voice low.
“No,” Kaelen said, stepping closer. “He’s hiding. Regrouping. Waiting.”
“And we’re going to find him.”
It wasn’t a question.
It was a vow.
—
The war room was quiet when we returned.
No shouting. No chaos. No frantic enforcers scrambling over maps. Just silence—thick, heavy, final. Silas stood at the center, his storm-gray eyes sharp, his posture tense. He didn’t ask if I was well. Didn’t offer condolences. Just gave a slight nod—respect, not pity.
Good.
I didn’t want pity.
I wanted answers.
“He’s gone through the Veil,” Silas said, unrolling a scroll. “We tracked his magic to the northern gate. Then—nothing. He vanished.”
“He’s in the Hollow Thorne,” I said, stepping forward. “Where else would he go? It’s the only place strong enough to shield him from the bond.”
“And the most dangerous,” Kaelen said, his voice low. “The Hollow Thorne isn’t just a stronghold. It’s a labyrinth. Ancient. Cursed. Filled with traps, illusions, blood-sealed doors. One wrong step, and you’re lost forever.”
“Then we don’t take a wrong step,” I said, my voice steady. “We go in quiet. We go in fast. We go in together.”
“You can’t just walk in,” Silas said. “The wards are keyed to fae blood. Only purebloods can pass.”
“I’m not pure,” I said, stepping closer. “But I’m Vale. And the magic knows me.”
“And if it doesn’t?” Silas asked. “If the wards reject you? If they tear you apart?”
“Then I die trying,” I said, my violet eyes blazing. “But I’m not letting him win. Not after what he did. Not after what he took.”
Silas didn’t flinch. Just looked at Kaelen. “You’re going with her.”
“Of course,” Kaelen said, stepping into me. “She’s not facing him alone.”
“And if you both die?” Silas asked.
“Then the Court burns,” I said, turning to the war map. “But not before I take Dain with me.”
—
We left at dusk.
No fanfare. No farewell. Just silence as we slipped through the Veil, the air thick with the scent of old magic and decay. The passageway between realms was narrow, the walls pulsing with golden sigils that burned against my skin. My magic flared, the runes on my arms glowing crimson, reacting to the shift in my blood, in my soul. Kaelen moved beside me, his presence a storm, his fangs bared, his shadows coiling at his feet.
And then—
We were there.
The Hollow Thorne.
Not a castle. Not a fortress.
A beast.
The ancient fae stronghold rose from the Scottish Highlands like a living thing, its spires of black stone twisting toward the sky, its walls carved with runes that pulsed with golden light. The air was thick with the scent of moss and magic, the ground soft beneath my feet, the sky above choked with clouds that glowed faintly, like embers in the dark. Torches flickered with cold flame, casting long, shifting shadows that made it impossible to tell where the walls ended and the void began.
“It’s watching us,” I whispered.
“It always is,” Kaelen said, his hand finding mine. “The Hollow Thorne doesn’t just house the fae. It is the fae. Ancient. Cruel. Hungry.”
I didn’t pull away.
Just tightened my grip on his hand, the bond flaring—hot, sudden. I could feel it. Not just his magic. His fear. He was afraid I’d die. Afraid he’d fail me. Afraid he’d lose me.
Good.
Let him be afraid.
Because I wasn’t.
Not anymore.
“Then we don’t give it a choice,” I said, stepping forward. “We go in. We find him. We end this.”
—
The first ward hit like a blade.
Not pain. Not fire.
Rejection.
My body slammed into an invisible wall, the runes on my arms flaring crimson as the magic tore through me. I gasped, stumbling back, my vision blurring. Kaelen caught me before I fell, his hand firm on my hip, his storm-gray eyes burning.
“The wards,” he said, his voice low. “They’re keyed to pure fae blood. You’re not—”
“I am Vale,” I said, stepping into the magic again. “And the Blood Crown answers to no one else.”
I raised my hand.
The runes 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.
And then—
The ward shattered.
Not with sound. Not with light.
With a scream.
Like the air itself was tearing apart.
And we were in.
—
The corridors of the Hollow Thorne were a nightmare of shifting stone and whispering shadows. The walls pulsed with golden sigils, their light flickering like dying stars. The floor was soft, spongy, like walking on flesh. The air was thick with the scent of old magic and decay, the weight of centuries pressing down on every breath. My magic flared, the runes on my arms glowing faintly, reacting to the shift in my blood, in my soul.
Kaelen moved beside me, silent, deliberate, possessive. His coat was open, his fangs just visible, his shadows coiling at his feet. He didn’t speak. Didn’t touch me. Just kept pace, his storm-gray eyes scanning the darkness, his body tense, ready.
And then—
I felt it.
A whisper in the dark.
Not from the bond.
From me.
You want him. I can taste it.
I didn’t fight it.
Not this time.
Because I did.
I wanted him.
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.
“Kaelen,” I said, my voice breaking.
He stilled.
Didn’t look at me.
Just waited.
“Why do you keep doing this?” I asked. “Why do you keep saving me?”
He didn’t answer.
Just turned me, his hands on my hips, his storm-gray eyes searching mine. “Because you’re mine,” he said, his voice rough. “And I’m not letting you go.”
“And if I don’t want to be saved?”
“Then I’ll save you anyway,” he said, stepping closer. “Because I don’t care what you want. I care what you are.”
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.
—
We found the Chamber of Echoes deep beneath the Hollow Thorne, a hidden sanctum of black stone and veined crystal, lit by a single basin of liquid fire that pulsed like a heartbeat. The air was thick with the scent of old blood and iron, the weight of centuries pressing down on every breath. My magic flared, the runes on my arms glowing faintly, reacting to the shift in my blood, in my soul.
And then—
I saw it.
The Blood Crown.
Not on a pedestal. Not in a case.
Chained to the stone slab at the center of the chamber, its obsidian spikes glinting in the dim light, its crimson core pulsing like a second heart. The magic sang—a low, ancient hum, like the voice of the earth itself. The runes on my arms flared brighter, spreading across my skin like wildfire.
“It’s here,” I whispered.
“And so is he,” Kaelen said, stepping in front of me, shielding me with his body.
And then—
Dain appeared.
Not from the shadows.
Not from the door.
From the air itself—like he’d been waiting in the silence, woven into the very fabric of the night. He stepped forward, his silver hair loose over his shoulders, his violet eyes blazing. His smile was slow, perfect, deadly.
“Hello, niece,” he purred, his voice like silk over a blade. “Did you really think you could take back what’s mine?”
“It was never yours,” I said, stepping around Kaelen, my violet eyes burning. “It was hers. And now it’s mine.”
“You’re not worthy,” he spat. “A half-blood playing queen. A weapon with a pretty face. The magic will reject you. It will kill you.”
“Then let it try,” I said, stepping forward. “Because I’m not leaving without it.”
He laughed—low, melodic, and utterly false. “You think you’re strong? You think your little bond makes you powerful?”
And then I felt it.
The shift.
The trap.
He wasn’t fighting me.
He was distracting me.
My magic surged—crimson fire lighting the air between us—but before I could move, Kaelen lunged, shoving me behind him just as Dain’s glamour exploded in a wave of golden light.
It hit him full force.
Not pain.
Pleasure.
Heat pooled in his core, his cock thickening, his breath coming fast. Dain’s voice whispered in his ear—You’ll never have her. She’ll destroy you. She’ll burn the world for love.—and for a heartbeat, he believed it.
But then—
My hand found his.
Not a touch.
A claim.
The bond flared—hot, sudden, real—and the glamour shattered like glass.
Kaelen gasped, stumbling back, his vision clearing, his fangs retracting. Dain’s smile was gone, replaced by fury.
“You’ll never have him,” I said, stepping around him, my magic flaring. “He’s not yours. He’s ours.”
“And what are you?” Dain sneered. “A mistake? A lie? A girl who’ll burn the world for love?”
“I’m the fire,” I said, my voice calm. “And I’m here to remake it.”
And then—
I stepped forward.
Not with anger.
Not with fire.
With need.
My hands fisted in Kaelen’s coat, pulling him down, 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—
Dain lunged.
Not at me.
At the Crown.
But I was faster.
My dagger flashed, slicing through his wrist. He screamed, stumbling back, blood dripping from the wound, black in the low light. The Crown sang louder, its crimson core pulsing, its magic reaching for me.
And I reached back.
Not with fear.
Not with doubt.
With truth.
My fingers closed around the obsidian spikes.
And the world exploded.
Not with sound.
Not with fire.
With light.
Crimson fire burst from the basin, spiraling upward, forming a column that reached the ceiling. The runes on my body flared brighter, spreading across my skin like living flame. The sigils weren’t just glowing.
They were singing.
A low, ancient hum, like the voice of the earth itself. The blood in the basin churned, then stilled, solidifying into a single, obsidian-black stone.
And then—
I knew.
Not just that I was the heir.
Not just that I was the true sovereign.
But that I was home.
—
Dain screamed—raw, primal—as the Crown’s magic tore through him, his body convulsing, his violet eyes wide with shock. He tried to run, but the stone floor held him like a vise. The runes on the walls flared golden, then black, then golden again, and the Chamber of Echoes shattered.
And then—
He was gone.
Not with a flicker.
Not with a fade.
With a scream.
Like the air itself was tearing apart.
And I knew.
He wasn’t dead.
But he was broken.
—
Kaelen carried me back to the surface, his steps silent, his presence a storm. I clutched the Blood Crown to my chest, its magic humming beneath my fingers, its power a quiet, constant pulse. The runes on my arms still glowed faintly, reacting to the shift in my blood, in my soul.
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 fight it.
Not this time.
Because I did.
I wanted him.
And I was tired of pretending I didn’t.
I turned to him.
He was awake.
Watching me.
Waiting.
And I knew—
He’d been waiting for me to choose him.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of the fever.
But because I wanted to.
So I did.
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.