The dreams used to come at night.
Now they come in daylight.
Not when I’m sleeping. Not when I’m weak. But in the quiet moments—when I’m braiding my hair, when I’m reading the old grimoires in the library, when I’m standing at the window watching the Blood Moon rise over the Citadel’s spires. That’s when he finds me.
Vexis.
Not in the flesh. Not in the void. Not even in memory.
In my mind.
At first, it was just a whisper—faint, like wind through dead leaves. A name. A warning. A lie. But now, it’s stronger. Clearer. Like he’s standing behind me, his breath on my neck, his voice curling around my thoughts like smoke.
“You think you’ve won,” he says, not in sound, but in sensation. “You think the bond protects you. That love makes you strong. But you forget—love is the easiest thing to break.”
I don’t answer.
Not out loud.
Not even in thought.
I just press my hand to my stomach, where the child’s warmth pulses in slow, steady waves. The bond hums beneath my skin—not with pain, not with denial, but with something deeper now. A resonance. A rhythm. Like a second heartbeat, shared, unbroken. And beneath it—
Truth.
I know he’s trying to unravel me. To make me doubt. To make me fear. But I won’t let him. Not again. Not after the forest. Not after the trial. Not after everything Kael and I have fought for.
Still.
Still.
When I close my eyes, I see it.
Not the future.
Not a memory.
A possibility.
Me, standing in the Obsidian Chamber. My eyes cold. My hands stained with blood. Kael at my feet, not as a mate, but as a prisoner, his golden eyes dull, his body broken. The child—floating, their veins threaded with moonfire, their eyes pits of void—calling me *mother*, but not with love. With fear.
And Vexis—
Smiling.
I open my eyes.
The library is silent. The shelves stretch into shadow, lined with ancient tomes, their spines cracked with age, their pages whispering secrets in languages long forgotten. The fire in the hearth burns low, its flames silver with moonfire, casting long shadows that dance like wolves on the walls. I’m alone. Or I should be.
And then—
I feel it.
Not magic.
Not the bond.
A presence.
Like cold air where there should be warmth. Like a breath that isn’t mine. I turn slowly, my fingers brushing the hilt of the moonfire dagger at my thigh—the one Lysander stole, the one I reclaimed. The one I’ve worn every day since.
And there—
In the corner of the room, where the shadows are thickest—
He stands.
Not real.
Not solid.
A reflection.
But not in glass.
In air.
Like a ripple in water. Like a dream given form. Tall. Cloaked in twilight. His eyes—violet fire, burning with ancient hunger. His smile—too wide, too sharp, too knowing.
Vexis.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, his voice smooth, mocking. “I’ve been calling. Whispering. Dreaming. And still, you refuse to answer.”
“I don’t talk to shadows,” I say, my voice steady. I don’t reach for the dagger. Not yet. “I don’t bargain with liars.”
He laughs—a low, velvet sound that curls through the room like smoke. “I’m not here to bargain. I’m here to remind you.”
“Of what?”
“Of what you are.”
He steps forward, not with feet, but with *intent*. The air thickens. The fire dims. The shadows stretch toward him, bowing like servants.
“You were never meant to be a queen,” he says, his voice soft. “You were meant to be a weapon. A fire that burns in the dark. A blade in the heart of the truce.”
“And you think you can control that fire?” I ask, lifting my chin. “You think I’m still the girl who came here to kill Kael? To break the bond? To avenge my mother?”
“I think,” he says, stepping closer, “that you’re afraid. Afraid of what you’ve become. Afraid of what you’re capable of. Afraid that the love you feel—for him, for the child—is just another chain.”
My breath catches.
He’s not wrong.
Not entirely.
Because sometimes, in the quiet moments, I wonder—
What if I’m not strong enough?
What if the bond isn’t love?
What if it’s just magic? Just need? Just a trick of the Blood Moon?
And what if, one day, I wake up and realize I’ve become her?
The woman in the mirror.
The queen who rules with blood.
“You’re not fooling anyone,” I say, my voice sharper now. “Not me. Not Kael. Not the child.”
“The child,” he says, his smile widening. “So fragile. So new. Do you really think it can survive in this world? With its magic? With its blood? With *you* as its mother?”
“Don’t,” I warn, my fingers tightening on the dagger.
“Or what?” he asks, stepping closer. “You’ll banish me? You’ll burn me with moonfire? You’ve tried before. It didn’t work.”
He’s right.
I’ve tried. In dreams. In visions. In the forest. Every time, he slips away—like smoke, like shadow, like a lie that refuses to die.
“You don’t have to fight me,” he says, his voice softening. “You don’t have to fear me. I’m not your enemy, Opal. I’m your truth.”
“No,” I say, stepping back. “You’re my warning. My temptation. My *test*.”
He doesn’t flinch. Just tilts his head, his violet eyes burning. “And what if I’m also your only chance? What if the power you need—the power to protect them, to save them, to rule—is locked behind the door you’re too afraid to open?”
“I’ve already opened it,” I say, my voice breaking. “I chose love. I chose truth. I chose *us*.”
“And what if that’s not enough?” he asks. “What if, when the real storm comes, you’ll need more than love? What if you’ll need *power*?”
My breath comes in ragged gasps.
He’s playing me. Manipulating me. Using my fear, my doubt, my love for the child like a weapon.
And it’s working.
Because I *am* afraid.
Afraid of failing Kael. Afraid of failing the child. Afraid of becoming the monster in the mirror.
And what if he’s right?
What if love isn’t enough?
And then—
The child flares.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Love.Its warmth surges, rising like a tide, syncing with the bond, with the crown, with *me*. My magic erupts—not in defense, not in attack—
But in truth.
I step forward.
Not to the reflection.
To the *memory*.
“I am not your weapon,” I say, my voice clear. “I am not your pawn. I am not the fire you want to control.”
I raise my hands.
And then—
Moonfire erupts from my palms.
Not in a wave.
Not in a blast.
In a pulse.
It doesn’t burn the reflection.
It reveals it.
For a single, blinding second, the entire library is flooded with silver light—and in that light, I see it.
The truth.
Not just in the bond.
Not just in the magic.
But in us.
Kael’s scars. His fears. His love.
And mine.
The hatred. The vengeance. The grief.
All of it—laid bare.
And then—
The reflection shatters.
Not from the fire.
Not from the magic.
From *truth*.
It cracks—slowly, like ice breaking under spring sun—and in the fragments, I see not the future, but the past.
My mother, not broken, not begging, but *fighting*, her voice rising—“You are more than they say. You are more than they fear. You are the fire that burns in the dark.”
The reflection falls to dust.
And the library returns.
The shelves. The fire. The silence.
And then—
I feel it.
Not fear.
Not doubt.
Clarity.
I don’t need his power.
I don’t need his lies.
I have everything I need.
Kael.
The child.
My truth.
I press my hand to my stomach, where the warmth pulses—steady, calm, *unbroken*. The bond hums beneath my skin, not as a curse.
But as a promise.
And then—
The door opens.
Kael steps inside, his coat pulled tight, his golden eyes scanning the room. He doesn’t look surprised. Just walks to me, his boots silent on the stone, his presence a wall of heat and silence.
“You felt it,” I say, not looking at him.
“I always do,” he says, stepping into me. His hand finds mine, warm, calloused, grounding. “He’s getting stronger.”
“But I’m stronger,” I say, lifting my chin. “And I’m not afraid anymore.”
He doesn’t smile. Just pulls me into his chest, his arms locking around me, holding me like I was something fragile. Something his. My breath trembles. My heart breaks. My fingers find the buttons of his coat, undoing them one by one. His skin is warm beneath my touch, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. He doesn’t stop me. Just watches me, his gold eyes burning, his hands gripping my hips like I was something sacred. Something ours.
“Say it,” he whispers, his voice rough. “Say you want this. Say you want us.”
“I want you,” I say, my voice breaking. “I want this. I want everything.”
He doesn’t hesitate.
He kisses me slow, deep, his hands tangling in my hair, his body pressing against mine. The bond flares—a surge of heat that makes the ground tremble beneath our feet. My magic erupts, not in fire, not in light, but in pulse. Silver energy curls from my skin, not burning, not scorching—but revealing.
For a single, blinding second, the entire room is flooded with silver light—and in that light, I saw it.
The truth.
Not just in the bond.
Not just in the magic.
But in us.
His scars. His fears. His love.
And mine.
The hatred. The vengeance. The grief.
All of it—laid bare.
And then—
The light faded.
The room stilled.
And he was above me, his body a furnace, his eyes gold and burning. “Then let it burn,” he whispered. “Let it break. Let it remake us.”
“And if it destroys us?” I whispered.
“Then we’ll burn together,” he said, stepping closer. “But I won’t live in the dark.”
And then—
The bond flared.
Not in pain.
Not in fire.
But in need.
It wasn’t the heat cycle. Not the moon’s pull. Not magic.
It was us.
And for the first time, I didn’t fight it.
I just… let go.
My hands found his face, my fingers brushing his jaw, his scars, the rough edge of his stubble. His breath hitched. His body stilled. And then—
He kissed me back.
Slow. Soft. Deep.
No force. No magic. No bond.
Just need.
And as the fire burned low, its flames turning silver again, casting long shadows on the walls, I knew—
The game had changed.
Because now, it wasn’t just about revenge.
It wasn’t just about the bond.
It was about truth.
And I would burn the world to get her back.
But as I lay beside Kael, his arms locked around me, his heartbeat syncing with mine—
I couldn’t shake the feeling that the real danger wasn’t out there in the frozen wilds.
It was standing right beside me.
And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to kill him anymore.
Or keep him.