The child’s scream didn’t fade.
It lingered—woven into the air like a curse, a whisper in the stone, a stain on the silence. Even as the Veil swallowed us whole and spat us back onto the moss-covered cliffs overlooking Vienna, the sound clung to my skin, crawling up my spine, settling behind my ribs like a shard of glass. The sky above was still bruised with storm, the blood-crystals in the Court’s spires pulsing gold now, steady, calm, as if the world had exhaled. But I hadn’t.
Not yet.
Because I knew—
She wasn’t just Dain’s daughter.
She was his legacy.
And the blood remembered.
“She’s not dead,” I said, my voice low. My fingers curled around the hilt of my dagger, the runes on my arms still glowing faintly in the predawn gloom. The Blood Crown pressed against my chest, its obsidian spikes warm, its crimson core humming in time with my heartbeat. I could feel it—the truth, the fire, the war. But beneath it, something darker.
Doubt.
Kaelen didn’t answer at first. Just turned me, his storm-gray eyes searching mine, his hand sliding up to cup my jaw. His touch was firm, possessive, a vow. The bond flared between us—hot, sudden—and I felt it. Not just his magic. His hunger. He wanted to pull me close. To kiss me. To remind me that I was his. But he didn’t. Not here. Not now.
“No,” he said, his voice rough. “She’s not dead. But she’s broken. The Crown rejected her. The magic burned her. She’ll spend the rest of her life running—from you, from the truth, from herself.”
“And that’s enough?” I asked, stepping back. “She tried to take the Crown. She used glamour to attack you. She called me a lie. And now she just… runs?”
“No,” Kaelen said, stepping into me. “She answers to the Council. To justice. To you.”
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 Obsidian Court was alive when we returned.
Not with chaos. Not with fear.
With power.
Enforcers lined the halls, their black cloaks cutting through the air like shadows. Blood-crystals pulsed gold along the walls, their light reflecting off the polished stone. The scent of iron and fire clung to the air, thick and heavy, like the weight of centuries pressing down on every breath. Silas stood at the war room door, his storm-gray eyes sharp, his posture tense. He didn’t ask if I was well. Didn’t flinch. Just gave a slight nod—respect, not pity.
Good.
I didn’t want pity.
I wanted justice.
“She was here,” I said, stepping past him.
“I felt it,” he said, following. “A ripple in the wards. Fae glamour, but… different. Older.”
“Dain’s blood,” I said, my voice low. “Not just his magic. His line.”
He didn’t argue. Just stepped beside me, his presence a storm, a vow.
“Then we find her,” he said. “Before she finds you.”
—
The war room was silent when we entered.
No whispers. No murmurs. No enforcers moving through the shadows. Just the slow, steady pulse of blood-crystals in the walls, their gold light reflecting off the polished obsidian floor. The map of the Fractured Realms lay spread across the table, the Hollow Thorne marked in black ink, the Iron Den in silver, the Wychwood Coven in deep green. The hearth fire burned low, its embers pulsing like a dying heartbeat. The scent of jasmine and iron still clung to the air, thick and heavy, like a vow.
I didn’t speak.
Just walked to the map, my boots silent on the stone, the Blood Crown glowing at my throat. Kaelen followed, his presence a storm, a vow. He didn’t look at me. Just watched the city, his storm-gray eyes burning.
“They’ll challenge us,” I said, my voice low. “The ones who stayed silent. The ones who bowed but didn’t believe.”
“Let them,” he said, stepping beside me. “We’ve already won.”
I didn’t smile. Just reached for him, my hand cupping his jaw, my thumb brushing his lower lip. “You’re not just a king,” I said, my voice rough. “You’re a storm. And I’m not letting you face them alone.”
His breath caught.
Because I was right.
He wasn’t just Kaelen Valen.
He wasn’t just the ruler of the Obsidian Court.
He was fire.
He was war.
And he was ready.
—
But the night wasn’t done with us.
Not yet.
Because as we stood on the balcony, the bond humming beneath our skin—
The door opened.
Not with a creak.
Not with a groan.
With silence.
Maeve stepped inside, 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.
I turned, my violet eyes sharp. “Maeve. What is it?”
She didn’t answer.
Just stepped forward, closing the door behind her, and held out the scroll.
Sealed with silver wax.
Shaped like a crescent moon cradling a star.
Wychwood Coven sigil.
I took it, my fingers trembling. 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:
The blood remembers. The child lives.
No signature.
No threat.
Just a truth.
And I believed it.
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—
He had a child.
A secret heir.
And the blood remembered.
—
I didn’t speak.
Just handed Kaelen the scroll.
He read it once.
Then again.
And then—
He knew.
Not just that Dain had a child.
But that the war wasn’t over.
It had only just begun.
“He’s afraid,” I said, my voice low. “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, his voice low, dangerous. “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 Kaelen’s. “We take everything from him.”
He 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.
—
Later, when the city slept and the stars burned cold above, I found him in the war room.
Alone.
Standing over the map, his fingers tracing the borders of the Hollow Thorne, the Blood Crown glowing at his throat. The runes on his arms still flared faintly, reacting to the shift in his blood, in his soul.
“You should be resting,” I said, stepping beside him.
“I can’t,” he said, his voice low. “Not yet. Not while he’s still out there. Not while his blood still walks this world.”
I didn’t argue.
Just reached for him, my hand sliding to his hip, pulling him close. “Then we find them,” I said. “Together.”
He leaned into me, his breath warm against my neck, his body arching into mine. “You’re not as cold as you pretend,” he whispered.
“No,” I said, my voice rough. “I’m not.”
“And you never were.”
And as I held 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.
—
The dream came that night.
Not a vision. Not a memory. But a pull—deep, insistent, like the tide dragging me under. I stood in the Chamber of Echoes, but it wasn’t ruined. It was whole—its spires of black stone twisting toward the sky, its walls carved with golden sigils that pulsed with 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.
And then—
I saw her.
The child.
But not as she was.
As she would be.
Older. Stronger. Her silver hair loose over her shoulders, her violet eyes blazing. She wore a gown of white, but it was stained with blood—black, thick, unnatural. Her wrists were no longer bound in fae iron. They were bare. And on her left hand—
A ring.
Not just any ring.
Dain’s ring.
The sigil of the Hollow Thorne carved into obsidian, the stone glowing with cursed light. The same ring he’d worn the night he betrayed us. The same ring he’d used to seal the oath that framed me.
She looked at me—really looked—and I felt it. Not just her magic. Her hunger. She wanted the Crown. She wanted my throne. She wanted my life.
And she would burn the world to get it.
“The blood remembers,” she whispered, her voice like silk over a blade. “And it will have its due.”
And then—
She raised her hand.
The ring flared—crimson fire bursting from the stone, spiraling upward, forming a column that reached the ceiling. The runes on the walls flared golden, then black, then golden again. The Chamber of Echoes shattered.
And I woke.
Sweating. Gasping. My heart pounding like a war drum.
Kaelen was already awake, his storm-gray eyes burning, his hand on my hip, his presence a wall, a vow.
“You saw her,” he said, his voice low.
I didn’t answer.
Just nodded.
“Then we don’t wait,” he said, pulling me close. “We go to her.”
“Or she comes to us,” I said, my voice breaking.
“Then we meet her in the fire,” he said, his lips brushing my temple. “And we burn her out.”
—
We left at dawn.
No fanfare. No army. Just the two of us, stepping through the Veil with the Blood Crown pulsing against my chest, its magic humming beneath my skin. The air in the corridor was thick, the walls pulsing with golden sigils that burned against my skin. My magic flared, the runes on my arms glowing faintly, reacting to the shift in my blood, in my soul. I didn’t care. Just walked forward, my boots silent on the stone, my shadows coiling at my 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 her. 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 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.
—
We found her in the heart of the Hollow Thorne, a hidden sanctum beneath the ruins, 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. She was small—no more than ten, maybe twelve—her silver hair loose over her shoulders, her violet eyes wide with fear. She wore a tattered gown of white, her wrists bound in fae iron, her magic locked away, her body trembling.
And I knew.
Not just that she was Dain’s daughter.
But that she was mine.
“Hello, niece,” she whispered, her voice like silk over a blade.
My blood ran cold.
Because she wasn’t afraid.
She was testing me.
“You’re not what I expected,” I said, stepping forward. “I thought you’d be older. Stronger.”
“And I thought you’d be dead,” she said, her voice steady. “But here we are.”
I didn’t flinch. Just reached for the Blood Crown, its obsidian spikes pressing into my palm, its crimson core pulsing like a second heart. The runes on my arms flared—brighter than ever—spreading across my skin like wildfire.
“Why are you here?” I asked.
“Because he sent me,” she said. “To deliver a message.”
“And what message is that?”
She smiled—slow, perfect, deadly. “The blood remembers. The child lives. And the fire will burn you all.”
And then—
I felt it.
The shift.
The trap.
She wasn’t just Dain’s daughter.
She was his weapon.
My magic surged—crimson fire lighting the air between us—but before I could move, Kaelen lunged, shoving me behind him just as the girl’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. Her 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. The girl’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?” she 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—
The girl lunged.
Not at me.
At the Crown.
But I was faster.
My dagger flashed, slicing through her wrist. She 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.