The dream didn’t come like the others.
No whispers. No shadows. No violet fire curling through my thoughts like smoke. This one was quiet. Still. Clear.
I was standing in a field I’d never seen—vast, endless, bathed in silver moonlight that didn’t come from the sky but from the earth itself. The grass wasn’t green. It was silver-blue, like the veins in my mother’s wrists, like the glow of moonfire before it ignites. It swayed in a wind I couldn’t feel, whispering in a language I almost understood. And in the distance—
A cradle.
Not wood. Not stone. Not metal.
Living willow, woven with strands of moonlight, its branches curling like arms, its roots deep in the soil of something older than time. And inside—
Them.
Not a baby. Not an infant. Not even a child.
They.
My child.
They were floating—just above the cradle, not touching it—suspended in a cocoon of silver light, their tiny body glowing with a pulse that matched my own. Their skin wasn’t pale. Not dark. Not any color I could name. It shimmered—shifting, like moonlight on water—sometimes wolf, sometimes witch, sometimes fae, sometimes all at once. And their eyes—
Open.
Not closed in sleep.
Not shut in fear.
Open, and seeing.
Silver-gold, like Kael’s. Silver-blue, like mine. And deep within—
Void.
Not empty. Not dark. Not dead.
Alive. Hungry. Waiting.
And then—
They breathed.
Not a cry. Not a gasp. Not a whimper.
A breath.
Slow. Deep. Intentional.
And the moment their lungs filled, the field changed.
The grass burned—not with fire, but with light. The sky cracked open, revealing not stars, but memories—my mother’s face, Kael’s scars, the Blood Moon rising over the Citadel, the mirror shattering in the forest, the vial of void-blood, the rogue wearing my face, the fire turning silver in the courtyard. And then—
Us.
Kael and me.
Not as we were.
As we would be.
Older. Worn. Tired. But still together. Still fighting. Still loving. And in our arms—
Them.
Not floating. Not glowing. Not suspended.
Real.
Small. Warm. Breathing.
And then—
They looked at me.
Not with the eyes of a child.
With the eyes of something ancient.
And they spoke.
Not in words.
Not in sound.
In truth.
“You were afraid,” they said, their voice not a voice, but a resonance in my bones. “You thought love wasn’t enough. You thought power would save us. But you were wrong.”
My breath caught.
“You were never meant to choose,” they continued. “Not between love and power. Not between vengeance and truth. You were meant to hold both. To be both. To be both.”
“I don’t know how,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I’m not strong enough. I’m not—”
“You are,” they said. “You always were. You just had to stop running from yourself.”
And then—
They reached for me.
Not with hands.
With light.
A tendril of moonfire, not burning, not scorching, but connecting. It wrapped around my wrist, warm, grounding, and pulled.
Not toward the cradle.
Toward them.
I didn’t resist.
Just stepped forward.
And then—
The dream ended.
I woke with a gasp, my hand pressed to my stomach, where the child’s warmth pulsed in slow, steady waves. The bond hummed beneath my skin—not with pain, not with denial, but with something deeper now. A resonance. A rhythm. Like a second heartbeat, shared, unbroken. The fire in the hearth burned low, its flames silver with moonfire, casting long shadows that danced like wolves on the walls. Kael was beside me, his coat pulled tight, his golden eyes closed, his breathing even. He wasn’t in half-shift. Just sleeping. Just here.
And yet—
I could still feel it.
The breath.
The voice.
The truth.
It wasn’t just a dream.
It was a memory.
Of something that hadn’t happened yet.
But would.
I sat up slowly, the silk sheets slipping from my shoulders, the cool air brushing my skin. My robe—woven from living moonfire, stitched with the blood of the lost—lay crumpled at the foot of the bed. I didn’t reach for it. Just stayed there, my fingers pressed to my belly, my breath shallow, my heart pounding.
“You’re awake,” Kael said, not opening his eyes. His voice was rough with sleep, but alert. Always alert.
“I had a dream,” I said, my voice low.
He turned to me then, his golden eyes burning in the dim light. “About the child?”
I didn’t answer. Just nodded.
He didn’t flinch. Just reached for me—his hand warm, calloused, grounding. The bond flared—a surge of heat that made the ground tremble beneath our feet. My magic rose, not in fire, not in light, but in recognition. As if my power knew what my mind refused to admit.
That I wasn’t just a witch.
I wasn’t just a queen.
I was his.
And he was mine.
“Tell me,” he said, his voice soft.
And I did.
I told him about the field. The cradle. The breath. The eyes. The voice. The truth. I didn’t leave anything out. Not the fear. Not the doubt. Not the way my chest had ached when they said, “You were never meant to choose.”
He listened.
Not just with his ears.
With his soul.
When I finished, he didn’t speak. Just pulled me into his chest, his arms locking around me, holding me like I was something fragile. Something his. My breath trembled. My heart broke. My fingers found the buttons of his coat, undoing them one by one. His skin was warm beneath my touch, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. He didn’t stop me. Just watched me, his gold eyes burning, his hands gripping my hips like I was something sacred. Something ours.
“You’re not afraid anymore,” he said, his voice rough.
It wasn’t a question.
It was a knowing.
“No,” I said, pressing my hand to his chest, over his heart. “Not of them. Not of the future. Not even of the void.”
“Then what?”
“I’m afraid of losing this,” I said, my voice breaking. “Of waking up and finding it was all a dream. That the child was never real. That you were never real. That we were never real.”
He didn’t flinch. Just brushed his thumb along the bond mark on my neck—the one he’d given me in front of the Council, not in possession, but in protection. “Then let me remind you,” he said, stepping closer. “Let me make it real.”
And then—
He kissed me.
Slow. Deep. Real.
No force. No magic. No bond.
Just need.
His hands found my waist, pulling me closer, his body pressing against mine. The fire roared to life, its flames turning silver, casting long shadows on the walls. The bond flared—not in pain, not in fire—but in harmony. My magic surged, not to dominate, not to control, but to soothe. To heal. To claim.
And when I deepened the kiss, my tongue sliding against his, my fingers tangling in his hair, he didn’t pull away.
I arched into him.
Because for the first time in my life—
I wasn’t just surviving.
I was living.
And I wasn’t alone.
We broke apart, breathless, our foreheads pressed together, our breath mingling in the cold air. The child’s warmth pulsed between us, steady, calm, unbroken. The fire burned low, its flames still silver, still alive.
“I don’t need to see the future,” I said, my voice low. “I don’t need to know what they’ll become. I just need to know they’ll be loved.”
“They will,” Kael said, pressing his hand to my stomach, where the child’s warmth pulsed in slow, steady waves. “Because we’ll love them. Not despite what they are. Not because of it. But for it.”
“And if they’re too strong?” I asked, my voice trembling. “If the magic consumes them? If the bond—”
“Then we’ll break it,” he said, not hesitating. “Before I let you die.”
My breath caught.
He wasn’t just saying it to control me.
He meant it.
And that—
That was more dangerous than any lie.
Because I wasn’t just fighting for my mother anymore.
I wasn’t just fighting for the truth.
I was fighting for a future.
And I didn’t know how to come back from that.
We didn’t speak as we moved through the torch-lit corridors, the bond humming between us, the silence heavier than any words. My hand stayed low on my belly, my fingers pressed to that quiet warmth, that golden pulse. Kael walked beside me, his presence a wall, his silence heavier than any vow. He didn’t ask. Didn’t question. Just stayed. Watched. Waited.
And then—
We reached the Obsidian Chamber.
The doors were carved from blackthorn, etched with lunar sigils, their surfaces warm to the touch. I pushed them open, the scent of crushed herbs and old magic flooding the air—sage, yarrow, bloodroot. The room was circular, its walls lined with shelves of vials and dried roots, its center dominated by a low obsidian table, its surface polished to a mirror sheen. Moonfire sigils pulsed along the floor, not etched, but alive, their silver light breathing in time with the bond.
“Why here?” Kael asked, stepping inside.
“Because it’s where it began,” I said, not looking at him. “Where the bond was forged. Where I came to kill you. Where I stayed.”
He didn’t flinch. Just stepped into me, his body a furnace, his breath warm against my neck. “And where we’ll begin again,” he said, his voice rough.
I didn’t answer.
Just pressed my hand to the table, feeling the cool stone beneath my palm. The bond flared—a surge of heat that made the ground tremble beneath our feet. My magic rose, not in fire, not in light, but in recognition. As if my power knew what my mind refused to admit.
That I wasn’t just a witch.
I wasn’t just a queen.
I was his.
And he was mine.
“I don’t need a vision,” I said, my voice low. “I don’t need a prophecy. I just need to know—when they take their first breath, when they open their eyes, when they cry for the first time—I’ll be ready.”
“You already are,” Kael said, stepping behind me, his hands splayed on my stomach, where the child’s warmth pulsed in slow, steady waves. “Because you’re not just their mother. You’re their truth.”
My breath caught.
And then—
The child flared.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Love.Its warmth surged, rising like a tide, syncing with the bond, with the crown, with me. My magic erupted—not in defense, not in attack—
But in truth.
I stepped forward.
Not to the table.
To the memory.
“I am not afraid,” I said, my voice clear. “I am not the woman who destroys to rule. I am not the queen who breaks her mate to keep him. I am not the mother who lets fear shape her child.”
I raised my hands.
And then—
Moonfire erupted from my palms.
Not in a wave.
Not in a blast.
In a pulse.
It didn’t burn the chamber.
It revealed it.
For a single, blinding second, the entire room was 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.
Kael’s scars. His fears. His love.
And mine.
The hatred. The vengeance. The grief.
All of it—laid bare.
And then—
The light faded.
The chamber stilled.
And 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.