The silence after the Veil shattered was worse than the scream.
It wasn’t empty. It wasn’t peaceful. It was waiting. Like the air itself had drawn breath, like the stone beneath my boots held its pulse, like the blood-crystals along the corridor had gone still, their gold light dimmed to embers. The scent of iron and decay lingered, thick and cloying, like a wound left to fester. My dagger was still in my hand, the runes on my arms glowing faintly, reacting to the shift in my blood, in my soul. The Blood Crown pressed against my chest, its obsidian spikes warm, its crimson core humming in time with my heartbeat. But it wasn’t just power I felt.
It was loss.
Dain’s daughter was gone.
Not dead.
Not destroyed.
But unmade.
The Crown had rejected her. The magic had torn through her like a blade, her body convulsing, her violet eyes wide with shock. She’d tried to run, but the floor had held her like a vise. The Veil had shattered around her—not from force, but from rejection. The Hollow Thorne itself had cast her out.
And I knew—
She would not forget.
“She’ll come again,” Kaelen said, his voice low. He stood beside me, his storm-gray eyes scanning the breach, his coat open, his fangs just visible beneath his lips. His shadows coiled at his feet, restless, as if they sensed the lingering taint of Dain’s blood. “She’s not just angry. She’s bound to him. To his oath. To his lies.”
I didn’t answer.
Just stepped forward, my boots silent on the stone, the Blood Crown pressed against my chest. The runes on my arms flared—brighter than ever—spreading across my skin like wildfire, climbing up my neck, 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 they remembered.
“She’s not just his daughter,” I said, my voice breaking. “She’s his weapon. His last move. And she’ll use whatever she has to take what she thinks is hers.”
“And what if she’s not just fighting for the Crown?” Kaelen asked, stepping into me. “What if she’s fighting for survival? For identity? Dain didn’t raise a child. He raised a blade. And now that blade has no master.”
I turned to him.
My violet eyes burned into his. “And whose fault is that? Who let her be forged in shadow? Who let Dain twist the bloodline, poison the oath, steal what was mine?”
He didn’t flinch.
Just held my gaze, his hand sliding to my hip, pulling me close. “Mine,” he said, his voice rough. “I let it happen. I took the Crown to prevent war. I let you burn so you’d rise stronger. But I didn’t see her. I didn’t see the child he was shaping in the dark.”
My breath caught.
Because he was right.
And that terrified me more than any lie ever could.
Because I wasn’t just Onyx Vale.
I wasn’t just the heir.
I was fire.
I was war.
And I was ready.
But I wasn’t infallible.
Not anymore.
—
The war room was alive when we returned.
Not with shouting. Not with chaos.
With order.
The blood-crystals pulsed gold—steady, warm—reflecting off the polished obsidian floor, casting long shadows across the war map. The enforcers stood at attention, their black cloaks cutting through the air like shadows. Silas was there, his storm-gray eyes sharp, his posture tense. He didn’t flinch when I entered. Just gave a slight nod—respect, not pity.
Good.
I didn’t want pity.
I wanted power.
“The breach is sealed,” he said, stepping beside me. “But the wards are damaged. The Veil will need time to heal.”
“Then we don’t wait,” I said, stepping to the center of the room. “We go to her.”
“Or she comes to us,” Kaelen said, his voice low. “And next time, she won’t come alone.”
“Then we meet her with fire,” I said, my voice rising. “Let her bring an army. Let her bring every cursed blade and broken oath Dain ever forged. I don’t care. The Blood Crown has chosen. The magic has spoken. And I am not—” I raised my hand, the runes flaring crimson—“—a mistake.”
The room stilled.
Then—
One by one, they nodded.
Not in surrender.
But in recognition.
—
After the meeting, we returned to the suite.
No cheers. No celebration. Just silence as the door clicked shut behind us. The hearth fire burned low, its embers pulsing like a 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 balcony, 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, my 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, my 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, my breath warm against his neck, my body arching into his. “You’re not as cold as you pretend,” I whispered.
“No,” he said, his 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.