The morning after the verification night, I woke alone.
The bed was cold. The sheets tangled, still bearing the ghost of his weight, the scent of him—jasmine and blood and something darker, deeper—clinging to the fabric like a brand. My body ached in places I didn’t want to acknowledge. My thighs trembled when I sat up. My core throbbed with a dull, insistent pulse, a reminder of what had happened.
What almost happened.
He hadn’t taken me. Not fully. But he’d touched me like he owned me. Fucked me with his fingers until I came apart in his arms, screaming his name into the silence. And when I collapsed, spent and shaking, he’d held me—close, possessive, hungry—and whispered, “You’re mine,” like it was a fact written into the stars.
I hated him.
I hated the way my body still hummed with the memory of his touch. Hated the way my skin tingled where his fingers had been, where his mouth had brushed my neck. Hated the way my magic still flickered in response to the bond, like a flame starved for air.
But most of all, I hated that a part of me—small, shameful, traitorous—had wanted more.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, wincing as the movement sent a fresh wave of sensitivity through my core. The suite was quiet now. No guards. No watchers. Just the low hum of the wards and the faint drip of water from the marble bathroom. The door to the outer chamber stood ajar, revealing the shattered remains of the lamp I’d exploded with my magic the night before. Glass still glittered across the floor like frozen rain.
Kaelen was gone.
Of course he was. He’d gotten what he wanted—proof of the bond, a taste of my surrender—and now he’d left me to face the aftermath alone.
Good.
Let him think he’d won.
Let him believe I was broken.
Because while he’d been busy claiming me, I’d been watching. Listening. Learning.
And I wasn’t done.
—
I dressed in silence, pulling on the dark gown the servants had left—silk, high-collared, designed to hide, not to entice. My fingers trembled as I fastened the buttons, but I forced them steady. I wasn’t weak. I wasn’t some trembling maiden caught in a vampire’s web. I was Onyx Vale, daughter of the Blood Crown, and I had spent ten years surviving in the shadows. One night of pleasure—almost pleasure—wouldn’t destroy me.
I braided my silver hair tightly, pulling it back from my face. No illusions this time. If they wanted to see who I really was, let them. Let them see the truth in my violet eyes, the defiance in my jaw. Let them know I wasn’t some pawn to be moved at their whim.
The bond pulsed beneath my skin, a quiet, constant thrum. It had calmed since the night before, the feverish heat receding, but it was still there—present, insistent, alive. I could feel him, even now, miles away in his throne room or his study or wherever he’d gone to lick his wounds and plan his next move. His presence was a weight against my chest, a whisper in the back of my mind.
You’re mine.
I clenched my fists. “No,” I whispered. “I’m not.”
And then I walked out of the suite.
—
The Obsidian Court moved like a machine—silent, precise, relentless. Vampires glided through the halls, their footsteps soundless, their eyes sharp. Werewolf guards stood at intersections, their golden eyes tracking me as I passed. Fae servants moved in pairs, their movements too graceful, too perfect, like puppets on invisible strings.
No one stopped me.
No one questioned me.
They knew who I was now. The king’s fated mate. The woman who had survived his touch and still walked upright. They watched me with a mixture of awe and fear, as if I were something dangerous, something unpredictable.
Good.
Let them fear me.
I moved through the east wing, my boots clicking against the stone, my spine straight. I wasn’t aimless. I had a destination. Kaelen’s private study—the heart of his power, the vault of his secrets. If the Blood Crown’s last known location was recorded anywhere, it would be there. If there was proof of who had ordered my family’s massacre, it would be locked away in his most secure chamber.
And tonight, I would find it.
—
I spent the day playing the part.
I attended the Council’s morning session, sitting beside Kaelen at the long obsidian table, my hands folded in my lap, my expression neutral. He didn’t look at me. Not once. But I felt his presence like a brand, his heat radiating across the space between us. When the Fae Envoy spoke of “alliance stabilization” and “bond verification protocols,” I kept my voice steady, my answers clipped. I wasn’t here to be charming. I wasn’t here to play politics.
I was here to survive.
After the meeting, I took a walk through the inner gardens—manicured hedges, black roses, fountains that flowed with liquid shadow. I let the vampires watch me. Let them see me pause by the reflecting pool, my reflection distorted in the dark water. Let them see me touch the thorns of a rose, draw blood, and suck the drop from my fingertip like a challenge.
Let them report it all to him.
Let him know I wasn’t broken.
That night, after a silent dinner served in the suite—food I didn’t eat, wine I didn’t drink—I waited until the moon was high, until the corridors were quiet, until the last of the night guards had made their rounds.
Then I moved.
—
Kaelen’s study was in the north tower, accessible only by a private stairwell guarded by two vampire sentinels and a blood-locked door. The wards were ancient, woven from the veins of fallen kings and the oaths of traitors. Most would need a key, a password, or a drop of the king’s blood to pass.
I had something better.
My blood.
I pressed my palm to the door, focusing on the bond between us, on the thread of magic that tied his power to mine. The runes flared crimson, then gold, then faded. The lock clicked open.
I stepped inside.
The study was vast—walls lined with black bookshelves, a massive desk of polished onyx, a fireplace where flames danced in hues of violet and silver. Maps covered one wall, detailing the territories of the Fractured Realms. Another held portraits of ancient vampire lords, their eyes following me as I moved.
But I wasn’t here for art.
I went straight to the desk.
Drawers. Locked. Warded. I didn’t waste time with picks or spells. I used my magic—witch’s fire, drawn from the blood in my veins. A whisper, a flick of my wrist, and the locks shattered, the wood splintering under the heat.
The first drawer held correspondence—diplomatic letters, trade agreements, reports from lieutenants. Nothing useful.
The second held weapons—daggers, vials of poison, a silver whip etched with binding runes. I ignored them.
The third drawer was the deepest. Reinforced. Sealed with a blood sigil that pulsed like a heartbeat.
My breath caught.
This was it.
I pressed my palm to the sigil, letting my magic surge. The bond flared in response, a jolt of heat that made my knees weak. The sigil cracked. The drawer slid open.
Inside: a single ledger.
Black leather. No title. No markings. But I knew what it was before I even touched it.
Kaelen’s private records.
My hands trembled as I lifted it, the weight of it like a stone in my chest. I carried it to the desk, lit a candle with a snap of my fingers, and opened it.
The first pages were mundane—financial records, troop movements, supply chains. But deeper in, the entries changed.
Year 309. The Blood Crown resurfaces in the Hollow Thorne. Confirmed sighting by Agent R. Investigation ongoing.
My breath hitched.
The Hollow Thorne. Fae territory. My uncle’s domain.
I flipped the page.
Year 310. Contact with Lord Dain established. Mutual benefit proposed: Crown for political alliance. Denial. He claims no knowledge.
Liar.
I knew Dain. Knew his ambition, his hunger for power. He’d betrayed our family to seize the Crown. He’d framed me to cover his tracks.
And Kaelen had known.
My fingers tightened on the page.
Year 311. The Vale estate burns. Heir presumed dead. Blood Crown missing. No survivors.
No survivors.
But I had survived.
I turned the page, my heart pounding.
Year 311. Post-investigation: No evidence of royal involvement. Fire attributed to rogue witches. Case closed.
My blood ran cold.
Lies. All of it.
He’d known. He’d investigated. And he’d buried it.
Not because he was innocent.
But because he’d wanted the Crown.
He’d let the lie stand. Let my name be dragged through the mud. Let my family be erased from history.
All so he could take the throne.
All so he could become king.
A wave of fury crashed through me—hot, blinding, violent. My magic surged, lighting the air with crimson sparks. The candle flame roared, then died. The portraits on the wall cracked, their glass shattering.
And then I heard it.
Footsteps.
Slow. Deliberate. Coming down the hall.
I slammed the ledger shut, heart pounding. No time to hide. No time to escape.
The door opened.
And there he was.
Kaelen.
He stood in the doorway, his coat open, his hair slightly disheveled, his storm-gray eyes locked onto mine. He didn’t look surprised. Didn’t look angry.
He looked… resigned.
“I knew you’d come,” he said, stepping inside. The door closed behind him with a soft click.
I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just held the ledger, my fingers white-knuckled around the spine.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice low. “This room is forbidden.”
“So was my family’s life,” I spat. “And you didn’t seem to care then.”
He didn’t flinch. Just stepped closer, his boots silent on the stone. “You think I ordered the fire?”
“You let it happen,” I said, my voice shaking. “You knew Dain had the Crown. You knew he’d betrayed us. And you did nothing.”
“I did what I had to,” he said. “The Council was unstable. War was coming. The Crown was the only thing that could unite them. If I had exposed Dain, it would have started a fae civil war. Millions would have died.”
“And my family?” I demanded. “We were just… collateral?”
He didn’t answer.
And that silence was worse than any lie.
“You’re no better than him,” I said, my voice breaking. “You wear the same crown. You sit on the same throne. You’re both monsters.”
He moved then—fast, too fast to follow. One second he was across the room, the next he was in front of me, his hand closing around my wrist, pulling me close. The ledger fell to the floor, forgotten.
Our bodies pressed together, heat flaring between us. His other hand cupped my jaw, forcing my face up. His eyes were black now—no gray, no smoke. Just void. Just hunger.
“You think I don’t carry it?” he said, his voice rough. “The weight of what I’ve done? The faces of the dead? I see them every night. I see you—sixteen years old, running through the fire, screaming your mother’s name.”
My breath caught.
He’d seen it?
“I watched,” he said. “From the shadows. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t save them. But I remembered your face. Remembered your name. And when you walked into my throne room, I knew—this was fate. Not just the bond. Justice.”
“Justice?” I whispered. “You call this justice? Trapping me? Claiming me? Using me to stabilize your power?”
“I call it survival,” he said. “For both of us. The bond won’t let us walk away. And now that you know the truth… you have a choice.”
“What choice?”
“You can hate me,” he said, his thumb brushing my lower lip. “You can fight me. You can try to destroy me. But know this—every time you touch me, every time you look at me, every time you let me inside you… you’re not just punishing me.”
His voice dropped, a whisper against my skin.
“You’re claiming me too.”
The bond flared—hot, sudden, searing. My magic surged in response, lighting the air between us with crimson fire. My body arched into his, betraying me. My breath came in shallow gasps. His cock pressed against my stomach, hard and insistent.
And then, before I could stop myself, I did the one thing I swore I wouldn’t.
I kissed him.
Not gently. Not softly.
A brutal, furious thing—my lips crashing into his, my teeth scraping his bottom lip, my hands fisting in his coat. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t surrender.
It was war.
And he kissed me back like he’d been waiting for it.
Like he’d been starving for it.
His hands tangled in my hair, holding me in place as his tongue swept inside, claiming, conquering. My magic flared, lighting the room in pulses of red. The books on the shelves trembled. The portraits cracked further.
And then—
A sound.
A gasp.
We broke apart.
At the door stood Silas, Kaelen’s lieutenant. His eyes were wide. His expression unreadable.
“Sire,” he said, his voice low. “The Council requests your presence. Immediately.”
Kaelen didn’t move. Didn’t release me.
“Tell them I’m occupied,” he said, his voice rough.
Silas hesitated. Then nodded. “Yes, Sire.”
He closed the door.
The moment he was gone, Kaelen turned back to me, his eyes burning.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said.
“Done what?” I whispered. “Told you the truth? Kissed you? Or realized that you’re not the monster I thought you were?”
He cupped my face, his touch almost tender. “You’re not just hunting the Crown, are you?”
I didn’t answer.
“You’re hunting him,” he said. “Your uncle. Lord Dain.”
My breath caught.
“And you think I’m in his way.”
“You are in his way,” I said. “You’re sitting on his throne.”
He smiled—a slow, dangerous thing. “Then let me help you move it.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“You want the truth?” he said. “You want justice? Then let me give it to you. Not as your enemy. Not as your king.”
His voice dropped.
“Let me give it to you as your mate.”
The bond flared again, hotter than ever, a surge of magic that made my vision blur.
And for the first time, I wondered—
Was I here to destroy him?
Or had I come to save us both?