The night is quiet.
Not the silence of absence. Not the hush of exhaustion.
The silence of after.
After the war. After the purge. After the burning of the Pact and the crumbling of the old council. After the standing, the choosing, the living. The city below is still—no torches lit in anger, no wolves howling for blood, no witches whispering spells of vengeance. Just the soft glow of lanterns, the distant laughter of children who no longer hide, the rustle of wind through the leaves of the sapling that now stands tall in the square, its roots deep, its branches wide.
It’s real.
All of it.
And yet, I still don’t trust it.
I stand at the window of our chamber, barefoot, my robe open at the throat, the night air cool against my skin. No armor. No sigils. No weapons. Just me—Sage, daughter of Lyra, last of the Moonbloods. Co-leader. Queen. Lover. Human.
At least, that’s what I’m trying to remember how to be.
Kaelen sleeps behind me, his breathing slow and even, his body stretched across the bed, one arm flung out where I should be. He’s on his back, his chest rising and falling, the scars across his ribs catching the moonlight. The ones from the purge. From the betrayal. From the night he stood between me and my revenge—and I chose him instead.
He’s not restless anymore.
Not tense. Not guarded.
For the first time since I’ve known him, the Alpha-King is still.
And I should be too.
We stood in the throne room today. We watched the last of the border clans kneel—not in submission, but in choice. We felt the weight of the crown settle, not on our heads, but in our hands. We said the words: “We are one. We are free. We are alive.”
And the world believed us.
But I still don’t.
Not completely.
Because peace isn’t the end.
And truth isn’t safety.
And I am no longer just Sage.
I am a symbol.
I am a leader.
I am a mother.
I slip from the window, careful not to wake him. The furs whisper against my skin as I move, the stone floor cool beneath my bare feet. I don’t pull on another robe. Don’t cover myself. Just walk—slow, bare, real—through the chamber, past the candles still burning low, past the arched windows open to the stars, past the bed where he lies, peaceful, home.
I stop at the hearth.
The fire is nearly out—just embers now, glowing like dying stars. I crouch, reach into the ashes, and pull out a single shard of blackened parchment. The Pact of Eclipse. The law that called hybrids abominations. That demanded loyalty to blood over truth. That ordered the burning of my mother.
I hold it in my palm.
It crumbles at the edges, fragile, meaningless.
And yet, it still burns.
Not with fire.
With memory.
With grief.
With rage.
I close my fist. Let the ash fall through my fingers.
And then I rise.
Walk back to the bed.
Kaelen stirs as I climb in, his arm instinctively finding my waist, pulling me against him. His heat sears through my skin, his heartbeat a steady drum beneath my palm. He doesn’t wake. Just holds me, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. Like he’s afraid this is a dream.
And maybe it is.
Maybe we’re both still broken.
Maybe Malrik is still out there, waiting.
Maybe the world will turn on us tomorrow.
But right now?
Right now, I don’t care.
Because for the first time since I walked into the Spire—
I’m not fighting.
I’m not surviving.
I’m his.
And he is mine.
“I love you,” I whisper, not because the bond demands it, not because the world expects it, but because it’s true. “Not because of fate. Not because of magic. But because you’re the only thing that’s ever felt like home.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just pulls me closer, his breath warm on my neck, his fingers tightening around my waist.
And I let myself believe it.
—
Dawn breaks.
Soft. Quiet. Golden.
It spills through the arched windows, painting the stone walls in warm light, catching the dust motes in the air like floating stars. Kaelen is already awake—sitting at the edge of the bed, his back to me, his shoulders broad, his scars catching the light. He’s dressed in simple trousers, no armor, no crown. Just a man. Just my mate. Just the man who loves me.
“You’re awake,” I say, voice rough with sleep.
He turns. His silver eyes meet mine. No fangs. No mask. Just him.
“So are you,” he says.
“I was thinking.”
“About?”
“About how far we’ve come.” I sit up, the furs slipping from my shoulders, my skin bare in the morning light. “You were going to kill me, you know.”
He doesn’t flinch. Just watches me. “I know.”
“And I was going to kill you.”
“I know that too.”
“And now?”
He doesn’t answer.
Just stands, walks to me, and kneels beside the bed. His hands frame my face, his thumbs brushing my scars—across my cheek, my collarbone, my wrist. The ones from the purge. From the betrayal. From the night I chose him instead of revenge.
“Now,” he says, voice rough, “you’re the only thing that keeps me from burning the world down.”
I don’t smile.
Just lean into his touch.
“And you’re the only thing that keeps me from becoming the weapon they made me.”
He kisses me.
Not with hunger. Not with need.
With certainty.
Slow. Deep. Endless.
And as his hands move, as his mouth finds my neck, as he whispers my name like a prayer—
I know.
The war isn’t over.
Malrik is still a threat.
The council still a prison.
But we’re not fighting alone.
We’re not just a weapon.
Not just a pawn.
Not just a hybrid.
We’re Sage and Kaelen.
And we are unstoppable.
—
Late that night, we return to the balcony.
The city is quiet. The stars are bright. The wind carries the scent of pine and smoke—his scent—mingling with the faint trace of jasmine—mine. Kaelen stands behind me, his arms around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. He doesn’t speak. Just holds me, his breath steady, his heartbeat strong.
“You’re thinking again,” I say.
“So are you.”
“I was remembering,” I say. “Of her. Of all of them.”
He’s silent for a long moment. Then: “You carry them with you. In your blood. In your scars. In the way you fight. In the way you love. You don’t have to burn the world to honor them, Sage. You just have to live.”
I close my eyes.
Because he’s right.
And that’s what terrifies me.
Not the war.
Not the blood.
But this—this quiet, this peace, this life where I don’t have to fight to breathe. Where I can stand here, hand in hand with the man who once stood between me and my revenge, and not feel like I’m betraying my mother’s memory.
“I don’t want to forget,” I whisper.
“You won’t.” His lips brush my ear. “You’ll tell their story. You’ll build something that lasts. You’ll make sure no child burns for who they are. That’s how you honor them. Not with fire. With life.”
I turn in his arms.
Look up at him.
And for the first time, I let myself believe it.
—
Later, in the chamber, the candles are low.
The furs are soft. The night is deep.
Kaelen lies beside me, on his back, his chest rising and falling, his hand resting on my hip. I’m on my side, my head on his shoulder, my fingers tracing the scar on his neck—the bite.
My bite.
From the night I claimed him in front of the council. From the night I said, “I am not your pawn. I am your queen.”
He sees me looking. Doesn’t flinch. Just lifts a hand, brushes his thumb over the mark. “Still there.”
“Still mine,” I say.
He smiles—just a twitch of his lips, but it’s real. “Always.”
And then he turns to me, his silver eyes searching, his voice low. “Say it again.”
“Say what?”
“What you whispered last night.”
I don’t look away. Just meet his gaze. “I love you. Not because of fate. Not because of magic. But because you’re the only thing that’s ever felt like home.”
He doesn’t move.
Just pulls me on top of him, his hands framing my face, his heat searing through my skin.
And then—
“Say it again,” he growls.
“I love you.”
“Again.”
“I love you.”
“Again.”
“I love you,” I whisper, my lips brushing his. “Always.”
He flips me beneath him, his weight delicious, his arousal a hard line against my core. “Then prove it.”
And I do.
Not with words.
With hands.
With mouth.
With heat.
And as he enters me slowly, as his fingers tangle in my hair, as he whispers my name like a prayer—
I know.
The war isn’t over.
Malrik is still a threat.
The council still a prison.
But we’re not fighting alone.
Not just a weapon.
Not just a pawn.
Not just a hybrid.
We’re Sage and Kaelen.
And we are unstoppable.
—
After, I lie awake.
Not because I’m afraid.
Not because the past claws at the edges of my mind.
But because the future is bright.
Kaelen sleeps beside me, his arm draped over my waist, his breath warm on my neck, his heartbeat a steady drum beneath my palm. He’s not restless. Not tense. For the first time since I’ve known him, the Alpha-King is still. The warrior is quiet. The man is home.
And I should be too.
We stood in the square today. We watched the child smile. We felt the hope rise like a tide.
We broke the lie.
We burned the council.
We built something new.
And yet—
I can’t sleep.
Because peace isn’t the end.
And truth isn’t safety.
And I am no longer just Sage.
I am a leader.
I am a symbol.
I am a mother.
I slip from the bed, careful not to wake him. The furs whisper against my skin as I rise, the stone floor cool beneath my bare feet. I pull on a simple robe—undyed wool, no sigils, no armor—and move to the window. The city sprawls below, its spires and ruins bathed in moonlight, the new hall glowing faintly in the distance. The sapling still stands, a slender silhouette against the sky, its leaves shimmering with captured starlight.
It’s beautiful.
It’s fragile.
And it’s mine to protect.
“You’re thinking again.”
I don’t turn. Don’t need to. Kaelen’s voice is rough with sleep, warm with concern. I feel him before I see him—his heat at my back, his hands settling on my hips, his chin resting on my shoulder.
“I can’t stop,” I say, my fingers curling around the windowsill. “We did it, Kaelen. We actually did it. And now… now I have to keep it. Not just for us. For them. For the hybrids who’ll come after me. For the ones who still hide in the shadows, afraid to breathe too loud.”
He doesn’t answer at first. Just holds me, his breath steady, his presence a wall against the quiet. Then: “You don’t have to do it alone.”
“I know.” I lean back into him. “But I have to lead. And I don’t know how. I was trained to survive. To fight. To kill. Not to govern. Not to inspire. Not to… rule.”
“You already are,” he murmurs. “You ruled the moment you walked into that hall and refused to burn Malrik. You ruled when you chose to build instead of destroy. You ruled when you stood before the city and said, ‘We are not afraid.’”
“That wasn’t ruling,” I say. “That was surviving.”
“And ruling,” he says, turning me to face him, “is just surviving on a larger scale.”
I look up at him—his silver eyes sharp even in the dim light, his jaw tight, his fangs just visible when he speaks. He’s not wearing his armor. Not even his tunic. Just the loose pants he slept in, the scars on his chest and side on full display. The ones from battles. From punishments. From love.
And the one on his neck.
The bite.
My bite.
From the night I claimed him in front of the council. From the night I said, “I am not your pawn. I am your queen.”
He sees me looking. Doesn’t flinch. Just lifts a hand, brushes his thumb over the mark. “Still there.”
“Still mine,” I say.
He smiles—just a twitch of his lips, but it’s real. “Always.”
And then he kisses me.
Not with hunger. Not with need.
With certainty.
His mouth moves over mine, slow, deep, grounding, like he’s reminding me who I am. Not just a weapon. Not just a hybrid. Not just a queen.
His.
And he is mine.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, his breath warm on my skin. “You don’t have to have all the answers tonight,” he says. “You don’t have to carry it all. That’s what the Accord is for. That’s what I’m for.”
“And what if I fail?” I whisper.
“Then we fail together.” He cups my face, his thumb brushing my lip. “But we won’t. Because you’re not just strong, Sage. You’re right. And the world finally sees it.”
I close my eyes, leaning into his touch. “I don’t want to be a symbol,” I say. “I want to be real. I want to be able to walk the streets without people bowing. I want to be able to argue with you without half the city thinking it’s a crisis. I want to be able to love you without it being a political statement.”
He chuckles—low, warm. “Too late for that. Loving me was always a political statement.”
I open my eyes, glare at him. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love me anyway.”
“Unfortunately.”
He grins—fully this time—and pulls me into his arms, lifting me off my feet. I gasp, my hands flying to his shoulders, my legs wrapping around my waist. He carries me back to the bed, lays me down gently, then covers me with his body—his weight delicious, his heat searing, his arousal a hard line against my core.
“You’re distracting me,” I murmur, my fingers tangling in his hair.
“Good.” He kisses me again, deeper this time, slower, savoring. His hands move—over my ribs, around my breast, his thumb brushing my nipple—and I arch into him, a moan tearing from my throat. “You don’t have to be perfect,” he says against my lips. “You don’t have to be fearless. You just have to be you. And that’s enough.”
And then—
He shows me.
Not with words.
With hands.
With mouth.
With heat.
And as his fingers slide inside me, as his mouth closes over my nipple, as he whispers my name like a prayer—
I know.
The war isn’t over.
Malrik is still a threat.
The council still a prison.
But we’re not fighting alone.
Not just a weapon.
Not just a pawn.
Not just a hybrid.
We’re Sage and Kaelen.
And we are unstoppable.