The Obsidian Spire breathes lies.
I’ve known it since the moment I stepped into its cursed halls—since the bond flared between Kaelen and me like a cursed star igniting in the dark. Every corridor whispers deception. Every shadow hides a knife. And every law they claim to uphold is just another chain wrapped around the truth.
But now, after three days of being caged in that tomb-like suite, of enduring Kaelen’s cold presence and the ever-present hum of the bond beneath my skin, I’ve had enough.
I won’t wait for the claiming ritual. I won’t stand before the council like some obedient bride while Malrik watches with serpent eyes, waiting for me to break.
No.
If they want war, I’ll give them one—on my terms.
The plan formed in the silence of the night, as I lay awake listening to Kaelen’s steady breathing from the furs on the floor. He thinks he’s protecting me. Thinks the bond, the fever, the threats—they’re enough to keep me still. But he doesn’t know what I am. What I’ve survived. What I’m capable of.
I am not a pawn.
I am not a weapon he can point and then leash.
I am Sage of the Moonblood line.
And tonight, I strike.
The council meets at dusk in the Chamber of Echoes—a circular hall built of black glass that reflects every movement, every whisper, making secrecy nearly impossible. But that’s the point. The chamber is designed to deter rebellion, to expose dissent before it can take root. Only the most brazen would attempt sabotage here.
Perfect.
I wait until Kaelen leaves for the war room, his boots echoing down the hall, his scent fading like smoke on the wind. I don’t move right away. I count to fifty, then one hundred, letting the silence settle. The bond tugs at me, a low, insistent pulse in my chest, as if it knows what I’m about to do. As if it’s warning me.
Good.
Let it warn.
I rise from the bed, my bare feet silent on the cold stone. My silver dress has been replaced with a fitted black tunic and trousers—standard attire for bonded consorts, they said. I call it a uniform of submission. But the fabric is light, flexible, and it hides the sigils I’ve etched into my skin. The containment charm on my ribs. The silence rune on my inner wrist. The truth-seeker’s mark behind my ear—activated by blood, designed to reveal lies spoken in my presence.
I press a fingertip to the mark behind my ear, then bite down, letting a drop of blood well. The sigil flares faintly, a warm pulse beneath my skin. It’s working.
Now, to the door.
The guards outside—two vampires, as always—stand like statues, their fangs barely visible, their eyes scanning the corridor. They don’t speak. Don’t move. Just wait.
I don’t try to sneak.
Instead, I open the door and step out, my spine straight, my gaze level.
“I need to speak with the Council,” I say, voice firm. “It’s urgent.”
The left guard—tall, pale, with eyes like frozen mercury—tilts his head. “You have no summons.”
“Then summon me,” I say. “Tell them the Moonblood heir requests audience. Tell them I bear proof of treason.”
His partner, shorter but broader, narrows his eyes. “You’re not permitted—”
“I am the Alpha-King’s betrothed,” I cut in, letting a thread of magic slip into my voice—the subtle push of a witch’s compulsion. Not enough to control, but enough to unsettle. “And if you delay me, you answer to him.”
The first guard hesitates. Then, with a slow nod, he taps a rune on the wall. A pulse of crimson light travels down the corridor.
“They’ll send someone,” he says.
“Good.” I fold my arms. “I’ll wait.”
They don’t argue. They know better.
Minutes pass. The bond hums, restless. I can feel Kaelen—distant, focused, moving through the Spire like a shadow. He doesn’t know what I’m doing. Not yet. But he will.
And when he does—
A door opens down the hall.
Taryn steps out.
Kaelen’s Beta. Silent. Watchful. Loyal to a fault.
He doesn’t look surprised to see me.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says, voice low.
“I’m supposed to be wherever the truth is,” I reply. “And right now, it’s in the Chamber of Echoes.”
He studies me, his dark eyes unreadable. “Kaelen will be furious.”
“Let him be.”
“He’s trying to protect you.”
“From what? The truth?” I step forward. “Or from me?”
Taryn doesn’t answer. But he doesn’t stop me, either. Instead, he gestures down the hall. “They’re in session. You can observe from the gallery. But you don’t speak. You don’t act. Or I pull you out myself.”
I nod. “Fair.”
He leads me through the twisting corridors, past guarded arches and sealed doors, until we reach the grand staircase that spirals up to the observation gallery. The Chamber of Echoes looms below, a vast circle of black glass, the council seated in a crescent around the central dais. Malrik is there, of course. And Kaelen. His silver eyes scan the room, sharp, alert. He doesn’t look up. Doesn’t sense me.
Yet.
Taryn gestures to a bench along the railing. “Stay here. Move, and you’re out.”
“Understood.”
He leaves, taking position near the stairwell, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on me.
Good.
Let him watch.
I lean forward, pressing my palms to the cool glass, and listen.
“—cannot delay the mobilization,” Malrik is saying, his voice smooth, persuasive. “The Eastern packs grow restless. The Fae stir in the Veil Courts. If we do not act, war will come to our gates.”
“And your solution?” asks a witch elder, her voice dry as dust. “More blood tithes? More conscription?”
“A show of strength,” Malrik replies. “We deploy the Northern Legion to the border. We remind the packs who holds the leash.”
My stomach twists.
The Northern Legion. Kaelen’s soldiers. His people. He’s been preparing them for this—reviewing reports, assessing readiness. But he never mentioned deployment. Never said Malrik was pushing for war.
And now I know why.
It’s not about defense.
It’s about control.
Malrik wants the packs divided. Wants their Alpha-King stretched thin, distracted, dependent on the council. Wants me isolated, vulnerable, desperate enough to submit to the claiming ritual just to survive.
Well.
Two can play at sabotage.
I close my eyes, focusing on the truth-seeker’s sigil behind my ear. I let my magic rise, just a whisper, just enough to activate the rune. Then I open my eyes and fix them on Malrik.
And I wait.
He continues, laying out his plan—troop movements, supply chains, the use of vampire enforcers to oversee the werewolf soldiers. Lies, every word. Twisted truths and half-confessions, designed to sound reasonable while hiding his true intent: to weaken Kaelen, to fracture the packs, to make them dependent on the council.
Then—
The sigil flares.
Hot. Sharp. A jolt of certainty.
Liar.
Not just deception.
Proof.
I don’t hesitate.
I press two fingers to my lips, then touch the glass of the railing. A whisper of magic—silent, invisible—and the rune etched into my wrist flares. The silence charm. It won’t last long, but it doesn’t need to.
Then I lean over the railing and speak, my voice clear, cutting through the chamber like a blade.
“You’re lying.”
The room falls silent.
Every head turns. Every eye locks onto me.
Malrik’s smile doesn’t waver. “Ah. The Moonblood heir. How… unexpected.”
“You’re not preparing for war,” I say, stepping forward, my voice ringing in the glass chamber. “You’re manufacturing it. You want the packs weakened. You want Kaelen distracted. You want me afraid enough to submit to your ritual.”
Gasps ripple through the council.
Kaelen stands, his chair scraping back. His eyes—silver fire—lock onto mine. “Sage. What are you doing?”
“Telling the truth,” I say. “Something this council seems to have forgotten.”
“You have no proof,” Malrik says, calm. Too calm.
“I don’t need it,” I reply. “The magic knows. The bond knows. And now—” I press my palm to the truth-seeker’s sigil, letting the blood on my fingertip smear across the rune, “—you know.”
The sigil blazes.
A pulse of golden light ripples through the chamber, invisible to all but me—and Malrik.
Because the rune doesn’t just reveal lies.
It forces the liar to feel them.
Malrik gasps.
His hand flies to his chest. His face twists—just for a second—into something raw, something guilty. Then he schools it back into a mask of calm.
But I saw it.
And so did the others.
“Remove her,” he orders, voice tight.
No one moves.
Too late.
I’ve already turned, already sprinting for the stairs.
I don’t get far.
Strong hands grab me from behind, lifting me off my feet. I kick, twist, claw at the arms holding me—but it’s no use. He’s too strong. Too fast.
Kaelen.
He carries me down the corridor like I weigh nothing, his grip unrelenting, his breathing steady. I thrash, scream, bite at his arm—but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t speak. Just walks, his boots striking the stone with finality.
“Put me down!” I snarl. “You have no right—”
“You just accused the High Elder of treason in front of the council,” he growls. “You think I’m going to let you walk away?”
“I told the truth!”
“And now they’ll use it against you. Against me. Against the packs.” He turns a corner, his pace unwavering. “You think Malrik won’t twist this? Say you’re unstable? That the bond is corrupting you?”
“Let him try.”
He stops.
Whirls me around and slams me against the wall.
His body cages me in, one hand braced beside my head, the other gripping my hip. His eyes blaze, silver fire, his breath hot on my face. The bond flares between us, a live wire, a storm. My pulse spikes. My skin burns. My thighs press together, trying to smother the heat pooling low in my belly.
“You don’t get to do this,” he says, voice low, dangerous. “You don’t get to charge into war without a plan. Without thinking. Without—” his thumb strokes my hip, just once, “—considering what it costs.”
“I’m not your soldier,” I whisper. “I’m not your weapon. I’m not your mate.”
“You are,” he growls. “Whether you like it or not.”
And then—
His hand slides up, under my tunic, his fingers brushing the bare skin of my waist.
Fire erupts.
Not from the bond.
From me.
My magic surges, unbidden, raw, responding to his touch like it’s starved for it. My back arches. A gasp tears from my throat. His eyes flare. His breath hitches.
“You feel that?” I pant. “That’s not the bond. That’s me. And I will not be controlled.”
He doesn’t pull away.
Just leans in, his mouth hovering over mine, his voice a velvet threat. “Then stop pretending you don’t want this.”
“I don’t—”
“Liar.”
His lips brush mine—just once. A whisper. A promise.
And then he pulls back, dragging me with him down the hall.
We don’t speak again.
He doesn’t touch me again.
But the heat between us—
It doesn’t fade.
When we reach the suite, he shoves me inside and slams the door. The lock clicks. The guards take their positions.
I stand in the center of the room, trembling—not from fear, but from fury. From something else. Something I refuse to name.
And then—
Kaelen turns.
His eyes lock onto mine.
“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” he growls.
I lift my chin. “Then let me go.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just stares at me, his chest rising and falling, his jaw tight.
And in that moment, I see it—the crack in his control. The flicker of something raw. Something human.
Regret?
Desire?
I don’t know.
And I don’t care.
Because one thing is certain.
The war has begun.
And I will not lose.