The peace didn’t last.
It never does.
One moment, I was standing in the garden alcove, my skin still warm from Kaelen’s touch, the bond humming beneath my ribs like a lullaby. The next, the world exploded.
Not with fire. Not with magic.
With *her.*
Lysara.
She stormed into the inner gardens like a storm given flesh, flanked by two fae guards whose eyes glowed with enchanted light. Her gown of living shadow writhed around her, the silver vines pulsing like veins. Her golden, slit-pupiled eyes locked onto me the second she stepped through the archway, and that smile—sharp, triumphant, *vicious*—spread across her lips.
“Onyx,” she purred, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “I was just thinking about you.”
Kaelen stepped in front of me, a wall of muscle and shadow, his presence like a blade drawn. “You’re not welcome here, Lysara.”
“Oh, but I am,” she said, gliding forward. “I’m a guest of the Council. Invited to observe the… *progress* of your bond.” She let her gaze slide over him, slow, deliberate, before flicking to me. “Though I must say, I’m disappointed. I expected more fire. More *passion*. But you two look… domestic.”
My magic flared.
Not a whisper. Not a spark.
A *surge.*
Crimson energy crackled along my arms, the runes glowing like embers beneath my skin. The air between us shimmered, charged with power. I didn’t care about control. Didn’t care about consequences. All I could see was that mark on her neck—fake, I knew it was fake, but it still *burned*—and the way she looked at him, like she had a right to.
Like she had ever touched him.
“You don’t get to talk about him,” I said, my voice low, dangerous. “You don’t get to *look* at him.”
She laughed—light, melodic, utterly infuriating. “Oh, darling. He’s not yours. Fated mates don’t own each other. They *consume*. And if you’re not careful, he’ll devour you whole.”
“He already has,” I said, stepping around Kaelen, my gaze locked on hers. “And he didn’t leave me wanting.”
The garden stilled.
Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Lysara’s smile faltered—just for a second—before it returned, sharper than before. “Brave words,” she said. “For someone who’s still wearing her clothes.”
My hands clenched.
“You think I need to be naked to prove I’ve been with him?” I asked, stepping closer. “You think a *bite mark* makes you special?”
“I think it makes me *believed*,” she said, tilting her head, exposing the fake claim on her neck. “And soon, the entire Council will know the truth—that he promised me the Blood Crown. That he *belongs* to me.”
“He doesn’t belong to anyone,” I said, my voice rising. “Least of all a liar who fakes a vampire’s mark because she’s too weak to earn one.”
Her eyes flashed—gold like molten metal. “You dare—”
“I *dare*,” I said, stepping into her space, my magic flaring. “I dare because I’ve seen the truth. I’ve felt it in the bond. I’ve tasted it on his lips. And you?” I leaned in, my voice a whisper. “You’re just a ghost trying to haunt a man who’s already moved on.”
She slapped me.
Fast. Sharp. The sound cracked through the garden like a whip.
My head snapped to the side, my cheek burning, my vision blurring for a heartbeat. The bond *screamed*—a surge of heat, of rage, of pure, unfiltered *fury*—and before I could stop myself, I swung.
My fist connected with her jaw, hard enough to snap her head back. She stumbled, her guards lunging forward, but I was already moving, my magic exploding in a wave of crimson fire that sent them flying. One crashed into a marble fountain, the other into a hedge of black roses, thorns tearing into his skin.
Lysara recovered fast—too fast for a fae noble who’d spent centuries in luxury. She spun, her gown shifting into a whip of living shadow that lashed toward me. I dodged, but it caught my arm, slicing through fabric and skin. Blood welled, hot and bright, and the scent of iron flooded the air.
The bond *roared.*
Not just pain.
*Power.*
My witch’s magic surged, feeding on the blood, on the rage, on the bond’s desperate need to protect, to *claim.* I didn’t think. I didn’t plan. I just *acted.*
A snap of my fingers, and the earth cracked beneath her feet. Vines erupted from the soil, thorny and black, wrapping around her ankles, yanking her down. She snarled, slashing at them with a dagger that appeared in her hand, but I was already moving, my magic weaving a net of crimson energy that slammed into her chest, knocking her back.
“You don’t get to touch him,” I growled, advancing. “You don’t get to *speak* his name. You’re nothing. A fraud. A *joke.*”
She laughed—blood on her lips, her golden eyes blazing. “And you’re a *monster*,” she spat. “A half-breed playing queen. You think he’ll keep you when he has a real mate? A real *queen*?”
“I *am* the queen,” I said, my voice cold. “And you’re just a stain on his past.”
I raised my hand, magic coiling like a serpent, ready to strike—
And then he was there.
Kaelen.
He moved like shadow given form, one second behind me, the next between us, his body a wall, his hand gripping my wrist, stopping me.
“Enough,” he said, his voice low, rough. “Onyx. *Stop.*”
I tried to pull away. Tried to break his grip. But he was stronger. Faster. And the bond—*gods*, the bond—flared, not with rage, but with something else.
*Pain.*
Not mine.
His.
“You’re hurting her,” he said, his eyes locking onto mine. “And you’re hurting yourself.”
“She started it,” I hissed, my breath coming fast. “She *slapped* me. She’s been lying, manipulating—”
“And you’re letting her win,” he said, stepping closer, his other hand cupping my face. “She wants you to lose control. She wants the Council to see you as unstable. As a threat.”
I clenched my jaw. “I *am* a threat.”
“To her,” he said. “Not to me. Not to *us*.”
The bond flared again—hot, sudden—and I felt it. Not just his words. His *truth.* He wasn’t afraid of me. Wasn’t disappointed. He was *proud.* Proud that I’d defended him. Proud that I’d fought for us.
But he was also afraid.
For me.
“Let me go,” I whispered.
“Not until you calm down,” he said. “Not until you remember who you are.”
“I know who I am,” I said, my voice breaking. “I’m the girl who survived the fire. The heir who vanished. The woman who loves you even when she hates you.”
His breath caught.
And then—
He kissed me.
Not gently. Not softly.
A brutal, claiming thing—his mouth crashing into mine, his tongue sweeping inside, tasting, conquering. My magic flared, lighting the air between us with crimson fire. The vines around Lysara tightened, her gasp lost in the sound of our kiss.
He pulled back just enough to growl, “You’re *mine*,” against my lips.
And I believed him.
Not because he said it.
Because the bond *screamed* it.
—
The throne room was chaos.
We were summoned within the hour—me, Kaelen, Lysara, and her guards—dragged before the Council like criminals. The Fae Envoy sat at the head of the table, her too-perfect smile gone, replaced by cold disapproval. The Werewolf Alpha leaned forward, golden eyes gleaming with something like amusement. The Witch Elder remained hidden behind her veil of smoke, but I could feel her gaze, sharp and assessing.
“Onyx Vale,” the Envoy said, her voice like glass. “You assaulted a Council guest. You used magic in a restricted area. You caused significant property damage. How do you plead?”
I stood tall, my cheek still stinging, my arm bandaged but still throbbing. “She provoked me. She lied. She faked a vampire’s mark to discredit me and the king.”
“And you responded with violence,” the Envoy said. “With *recklessness.* You are supposed to be a stabilizing force. A symbol of unity. Instead, you are a liability.”
“I’m a woman who fought for her mate,” I said, my voice steady. “And if you think I’ll stand by while someone tries to steal him from me, you don’t know me at all.”
“She’s unstable,” Lysara said, her voice soft, wounded. “Look at her. She’s consumed by the bond. By *jealousy.* She attacked me without provocation. Without *reason.*”
“Without provocation?” I snapped. “You slapped me. You called me a pet. You paraded a fake bite mark like it meant something—”
“The mark is real,” she said, touching her neck. “The Council can verify it.”
“Then verify it,” I said, stepping forward. “Scan it. Test the magic. See if it’s vampire or fae.”
“Enough,” Kaelen said, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. “The mark is a glamour. A lie. And if anyone dares to suggest otherwise, I will rip their throat out myself.”
Silence.
Even the Envoy didn’t speak.
He turned to me, his storm-gray eyes burning. “You didn’t have to fight her.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” I said. “She was going to keep lying. Keep twisting the truth. I had to *stop* her.”
“You could have come to me,” he said. “You could have trusted me.”
“I *do* trust you,” I said, my voice breaking. “But the rest of them? They don’t. And if I don’t fight for us, who will?”
He didn’t answer.
Just stepped forward, his hand finding the small of my back, pulling me close. His touch was fire and ice, sending shocks through my body. The bond flared—hot, sudden—and I felt it. Not just his anger. His *arousal.*
He wanted me.
Here. Now. In front of them all.
“She’s not stable,” the Werewolf Alpha rumbled. “The bond is driving her mad. If she can’t control it, she’ll be a danger to the Court.”
“Then lock me up,” I said, lifting my chin. “Chain me. Cage me. But know this—every time you touch me, every time you try to break me, I’ll fight back. And if you think I’ll let someone like *her* take what’s mine, you’re dead wrong.”
“She’s right,” Kaelen said, his voice low, dangerous. “She *is* mine. And if any of you so much as *look* at her with intent, I will destroy you.”
The room fell silent.
And then—
The Witch Elder spoke.
“The bond is strong,” she said, her voice muffled by smoke. “Too strong. It’s feeding on her emotions. Her magic. If it’s not consummated soon, it will consume her.”
“Consummated?” I asked, my voice hollow.
“Sex,” the Elder said. “Union. A claiming that binds not just magic, but blood and breath and body. The bond demands it. And if it doesn’t get it…” She let the words hang.
“We’ll die,” I whispered.
“Or worse,” she said. “You’ll go mad. And when that happens, you’ll destroy everything in your path.”
My breath caught.
Kaelen’s hand tightened on my back. “Then we’ll do it.”
“No,” I said, turning to him. “Not like this. Not because we’re being forced.”
“Then when?” he asked, his voice rough. “When they’ve broken you? When they’ve turned you into a weapon?”
I didn’t answer.
Because I didn’t know.
—
That night, I didn’t sleep.
I sat by the balcony window, my arm throbbing, my magic still humming beneath my skin. The bond pulsed, a quiet, insistent ache. I could feel him—distant, guarded, *waiting*—but I didn’t reach for him.
I couldn’t.
Because what if the Elder was right?
What if the bond *would* destroy me?
What if I became a monster?
I closed my eyes, pressing my forehead to the cold glass.
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 know if it was the truth.
Or just another kind of lie.
But for the first time, I didn’t fight it.
For the first time, I let myself *want.*
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.
So when the door opened, and he stepped inside, his coat open, his hair slightly disheveled, I didn’t turn away.
I just whispered the words I’d never say to his face:
“I do.”
Not hate him.
Not anymore.
And as he crossed the room, his storm-gray eyes burning with something like hope, I realized something:
The fire wasn’t coming to burn me down.
It was here to *save* me.
And I was ready to let it.