The world stopped.
Not with a scream.
Not with fire.
With silence.
One second, we were standing in the Chamber of Echoes, the Blood Crown humming against my chest, the runes on my arms glowing faintly, the bond flaring between us like a second heartbeat. The next—
Kaelen was on the ground.
His body limp. His storm-gray eyes wide. His coat soaked in blood—black, thick, unnatural. The blade that had pierced him was still embedded in his chest, its hilt carved with the sigils of the Hollow Thorne, its edge dripping with venom that burned like acid. His shadows had collapsed, curling in on themselves like dying serpents, his magic flickering, fading.
“Kaelen,” I whispered.
No answer.
Just the slow, shallow rise and fall of his chest. The faint tremor in his fingers. The way his fangs had retracted, his lips parting in a silent gasp.
“Kaelen!” I screamed, dropping to my knees, my hands pressing against the wound. Blood welled between my fingers, hot and thick, the scent of iron and decay filling the air. The bond flared—low, desperate—and I felt it. Not just his pain. His absence. He was slipping. Dying. And I was losing him.
“No,” I said, my voice breaking. “No, no, no—”
My magic surged—crimson fire lighting the air between us, the runes on my arms flaring brighter, spreading across my skin like wildfire. I pressed my hands harder, my fingers trembling, my breath coming fast. I could feel the venom—cold, ancient, cursed—tearing through his veins, eating away at his immortality, unraveling his soul.
He wasn’t just hurt.
He was unmaking.
And I was the only one who could stop it.
—
I didn’t think.
Didn’t hesitate.
Just bit into my wrist.
The pain was sharp, clean—my fangs slicing through skin, blood welling in thick, dark drops. I didn’t flinch. Just pressed my wrist to his lips, my voice low, commanding.
“Drink,” I said. “You don’t get to leave me. Not like this. Not after everything.”
He didn’t move.
Just lay there, his chest rising and falling, his eyes half-lidded, his breath shallow.
So I did it again.
Harder.
Deeper.
“Drink, damn you,” I growled, my voice breaking. “You don’t get to die for me. You don’t get to choose this.”
And then—
His lips parted.
Just slightly.
And he drank.
Not with hunger.
Not with need.
With trust.
My blood poured into him—warm, alive, pulsing with the magic of the Blood Crown, the power of the Vale bloodline. The runes on my arms flared crimson, then black, then crimson again. The bond screamed to life, a surge of heat, of pain, of pure, unfiltered connection.
And then—
He gasped.
His body arched into mine, his fangs lengthening, his shadows coiling at his feet. The venom recoiled, the wound sealing, the blood turning from black to red. His storm-gray eyes snapped open—burning, alive—and he looked at me.
Not with fear.
Not with pain.
With need.
“You’re not supposed to save me,” he said, his voice rough. “I’m supposed to save you.”
“And I’m supposed to burn the world down,” I said, my voice breaking. “But here we are.”
He didn’t smile.
Just reached for me—his hand cupping my face, his thumb brushing my lower lip. “You’re not just a queen,” he said, his voice low. “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.
—
We didn’t speak as we stood.
Not because we were afraid.
But because we were waiting.
The Chamber of Echoes was silent—no whispers, no shadows, no cursed blades. Just the slow, steady pulse of the basin, the faint hum of the Blood Crown, the weight of centuries pressing down on every breath. Kaelen leaned on me, his body still weak, his magic sluggish, but his presence a storm, a vow. I didn’t let him go. Just kept my arm around his waist, my fingers tight on his hip, my magic flaring beneath my skin.
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 stepped in front of a cursed blade meant for me.
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.
—
The Veil spat us out at dawn, its edges fraying like burnt parchment as we stumbled onto the obsidian cliffs overlooking Vienna. The city below was still wrapped in shadow, the spires of the Court piercing the sky like fangs, blood-crystals pulsing faintly in their veins. The bond hummed beneath my skin—low, steady, alive—but it wasn’t just relief I felt.
It was weight.
Kaelen leaned on me, his coat open, his storm-gray eyes burning, his presence a wall, a vow. The wound on his chest was sealed, but the magic still pulsed beneath his skin—dark, slow, healing. I didn’t let him go. Just kept my arm around his waist, my fingers tight on his hip, my magic flaring beneath my skin.
And then—
I saw it.
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 Dain in the heart of 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. He stood at the center of it all, 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 pulled me close, his body shielding mine, his storm-gray eyes burning. “It’s over,” he said, his voice rough. “You’ve taken back what’s yours.”
“No,” I said, stepping into him. “I’ve taken back what’s ours.”
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.