I’ve spent a lifetime building walls.
Not just the obsidian spire that claws into the sky, not just the shadow-woven armor that wraps around me like a second skin. No—walls of silence. Of control. Of cold, unyielding power. Seven years since the purge. Seven years since I stood in the council chamber and watched them sentence an innocent woman to death while I did nothing. Seven years since I became a king without a crown, a warrior without a war, a man without a name.
And now?
Now one woman—this woman, this storm in a silver dress—has cracked them all.
She’s not in the suite when I return from my meeting with Taryn. The bed is empty, the covers thrown back, the scent of her still clinging to the sheets—jasmine, iron, and something wild, something her. The journal lies on the stone chest, open to the last page, my mother’s final words etched in ink that still feels warm.
“Find the Alpha-King’s son. He carries his father’s honor. He may be your enemy now—but he is not your enemy’s ally.”
I close it slowly, pressing it to my chest. The weight of it is heavier than any crown. Heavier than any oath. Because it’s not just proof of Malrik’s lies. It’s proof that I was seen. That I was known. Not as the monster who signed the order. Not as the king who did nothing. But as the son of a man who tried to stop it.
And she believes me.
She believes me.
Not because I said so. Not because the bond demands it. But because she read her mother’s words and saw the truth.
And that—
That terrifies me more than any battle.
Because if she believes in me…
What happens when I fail her?
The door opens.
She steps inside, her boots silent on stone, her dark hair loose, her eyes sharp, her chin lifted. She’s dressed in black—tight trousers, a high-collared tunic, her gloves unlaced at the wrists, the sigils beneath glowing faintly. She looks like a warrior. A queen. My mate.
And she’s holding my gaze like she owns it.
“You’re back,” she says.
“I am.”
She doesn’t move. Just studies me—my armor, my stance, the journal in my hand. “Taryn said Malrik called another session.”
“He did.”
“And?”
“And I told him we’d be there.” I step toward her. “Together.”
She doesn’t flinch. Just tilts her head. “You’re ready to tell them the truth?”
“I’m ready to burn him with it.”
A flicker of something—relief? Hope?—passes through her eyes. Then it’s gone, replaced by steel. “Then you should know something.”
My pulse spikes. “What?”
She steps closer, close enough that I can feel the heat of her, smell the lavender on her breath. “I’m not just going to expose him. I’m going to destroy him. Publicly. Utterly. And if you hesitate—if you hold back—I’ll do it alone.”
I don’t smile. Don’t blink. Just reach out, cup her face, my thumb brushing her cheek. “Then I won’t hesitate.”
Her breath hitches.
“You think I don’t want this?” I growl. “You think I haven’t spent every night since the purge dreaming of the moment I could rip his heart out and show it to the council? That I could stand before them and say, ‘You followed a liar. You killed an innocent. And I let it happen.’?” My voice drops. “But I stayed silent. Because if I spoke, they’d kill you. They’d say the bond corrupted me. That I was weak. That I was hers.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t care.” I press my forehead to hers. “Let them say it. Let them call me weak. Let them call me hers. Because I am. And if that’s the price of justice—” my voice turns dangerous, “—then I’ll pay it.”
She doesn’t answer.
Just leans in, her lips brushing mine—soft, slow, a promise.
And then—
She pulls back.
“Good,” she says. “Because I’m not fighting this war for forgiveness. I’m fighting it for blood.”
I almost smile. “Then let’s give them a river.”
We arrive at the Eclipse Chamber in silence.
The guards part. The council watches. The air is thick with tension, with the weight of what’s coming. Malrik sits at the apex, his fangs just visible beneath a serpent’s smile, his eyes black as void. Lira is beside him, her dark hair cascading over one shoulder, her crimson gown hugging her curves, her gaze fixed on Sage like a blade.
But Sage doesn’t look at her.
She walks straight to the center of the chamber, the journal in her hand, her spine straight, her chin lifted. I follow, my presence a storm at her back, my boots striking the stone with finality.
“You called us,” Sage says, voice clear, steady. “Now let’s begin.”
Malrik leans forward. “You have proof, Moonblood? Or are you here to confess?”
“I’m here to expose you.” She holds up the journal. “This belonged to my mother. Lyra of the Moonblood. The woman you framed. The woman you murdered.”
A murmur ripples through the chamber.
“That journal was destroyed,” Malrik says, voice smooth. “Burned with her body.”
“No,” Sage says. “You kept it. You hid it. Because it proves you lied.” She flips to the last page, holds it up. “She wrote this the night before her execution. Read it.”
Malrik doesn’t move. Just smiles. “And if I refuse?”
“Then I’ll read it myself.”
She does.
Her voice is strong, clear, echoing in the chamber as she reads her mother’s final words—about the alliance, about the purge, about Malrik’s betrayal, about my father’s honor, about the bond not being fate, but justice.
When she finishes, the silence is deafening.
Even the Fae are still.
Malrik’s smile falters. Just for a second.
Then he laughs. “And you expect us to believe this? A forged journal? A desperate lie from a hybrid witch with a grudge?”
“It’s not forged,” I say, stepping forward. “I kept it. Hidden. Protected. Because I knew the truth would rise.”
Gasps.
Shocked silence.
Malrik turns to me. “You’re defending her? After what she is? After what she’s done?”
“She’s done nothing,” I growl. “But you? You murdered an innocent. You framed her. You used her love as proof of treason. And you’ve been controlling the packs for decades.” I step closer, my voice a blade. “And I let it happen. Because I was afraid. Afraid of war. Afraid of chaos. Afraid of losing control.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m not afraid.” I lock onto his eyes. “Because I’ve found something worth losing control for.” I turn to Sage. “I didn’t sign your death warrant. I tried to stop it. I argued. I fought. And when I failed, I kept her journal—because I knew one day, her daughter would come. And when she did, I’d give her the truth.”
Malrik’s smile vanishes. “You’re a traitor.”
“No.” I step closer, my voice low, final. “I’m the Alpha-King. And I’m done letting you hide behind lies.”
He rises. “Then you’ll die with her.”
“Let it burn.”
The chamber erupts.
Vampires shout. Werewolves growl. Witches murmur. Fae smirk. And Sage?
She doesn’t move.
Just stands there, the journal in her hand, her eyes blazing, her breath steady.
And I know.
This isn’t just about justice.
It’s about power.
And she’s not just reclaiming her mother’s name.
She’s claiming her throne.
Malrik turns to the council. “Vote now. Declare them traitors. Execute them both.”
But no one moves.
Because they see it.
They see the truth.
They see the journal.
They see the bond.
And they see us.
And in that moment—
I know.
The war isn’t just coming.
It’s already won.
We leave the Eclipse Chamber in silence.
The guards don’t follow. The council doesn’t speak. Malrik just sits, his face a mask of fury, his eyes black with hatred. But he doesn’t stop us. Doesn’t call for our arrest. Because he knows.
The truth is out.
And it can’t be buried again.
Back in the suite, Sage doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just stands by the hearth, the journal in her hands, her back to me, her shoulders tense. I don’t approach. Don’t touch. Just watch her—the way her fingers trace the scorched edge, the way her breath hitches, the way her body trembles.
“You did it,” I say.
She doesn’t turn. “I didn’t do anything. You did. You stood in front of them and told the truth. You admitted you tried to stop it. You admitted you kept her journal.” Her voice cracks. “You admitted you were afraid.”
“I was.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m not.” I step closer. “Because I’m not alone.”
She turns.
Her eyes are red-rimmed. Her cheeks are wet. But her chin is lifted. Her gaze is steady.
“You didn’t just do it for me,” she says. “You did it for her. For my mother.”
“I did it for justice.”
“And for me?”
I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”
She stares at me. Then, slowly, she steps forward, closes the distance between us, and presses her forehead to mine. Her breath is warm on my skin. Her hands find my face. Her voice is a whisper.
“Thank you,” she says. “For not letting me fight alone.”
My breath hitches.
And then—
I do something I haven’t done in seven years.
I cry.
Not silently. Not with restraint.
But openly. Freely. A sob rips from my throat, raw and broken, and I pull her into my arms, my face buried in her hair, my body shaking. She holds me, her arms tight around me, her breath warm on my neck, her voice a low murmur in my ear.
“It’s okay,” she says. “You don’t have to be strong anymore. Not for the packs. Not for the council. Not for the war. You can just… be.”
And I do.
I let go.
I let myself feel it—the grief, the guilt, the relief, the love.
And when the sobs finally stop, when my breath steadies, when my body stops trembling—she pulls back, cups my face, her thumbs brushing my cheeks, smearing the tears.
“You’re not just a king,” she says, voice rough. “You’re not just an Alpha. You’re not just a warrior. You’re Kaelen. My mate. My equal. And I will spend the rest of my life proving that to you.”
My breath hitches.
“And if I don’t believe you?” I whisper.
“Then I’ll keep trying.” She leans in, her lips brushing mine, soft and slow and full of something I haven’t felt in years.
Hope.
And when she pulls back, she whispers—
“Prove it.”
I don’t answer.
Just take her hand.
And lead her to the bed.
Not to claim her.
Not to mark her.
But to hold her.
And for the first time—
I let her.
The next morning, I wake to sunlight.
Golden. Warm. Streaming through the high windows, painting the obsidian floor in honeyed light. Sage is beside me, her head on my chest, her breath steady, her body relaxed. The journal lies on the stone chest, closed, silent.
And I know.
The war isn’t over.
Malrik is still a threat.
Lira still a viper.
The council still a prison.
But we’re not fighting alone.
We’re not just a weapon.
We’re not just a pawn.
We’re not just a hybrid.
We’re Sage and Kaelen.
And we are unstoppable.