I’ve lived long enough to know when a storm is coming.
Not the kind that splits the sky with lightning or drowns cities in flood. No, the real storms don’t roar. They slither. They whisper. They wear silk and smile like angels while they poison your wine.
And right now, the air in the Obsidian Spire tastes like venom.
I feel it the moment I step into the eastern gardens—drenched earth, scorched magic, and beneath it all, the sharp, metallic tang of jealousy. Not just any jealousy. Hers. Sage’s. Hot, raw, unfiltered. It clings to the rain-slick stones, lingers in the shattered glass of the shattered lantern by the fountain, stains the very air like blood in water.
And then I see her.
Sage.
Standing at the edge of the koi pond, back rigid, fists clenched, her soaked tunic clinging to her like a second skin. Her hair, still damp from last night’s storm, hangs in dark ropes down her back. She doesn’t turn when I approach. Doesn’t acknowledge me. Just stares into the black water, where the pale faces of the spirit-koi drift like ghosts.
“You’re going to catch your death,” I say, stepping beneath the arched trellis, the ivy dripping with rain. “And not the poetic kind. The slow, feverish, delirious kind. Much less dignified.”
She doesn’t answer.
Just shifts, ever so slightly, her shoulder blades tensing beneath the thin fabric. A silent warning. Don’t touch me. Don’t speak. Don’t try to understand.
Too bad for her.
I move closer, boots silent on the moss-covered stone. “Let me guess. The Alpha-King let another woman wear his shirt. Again.”
Her head snaps toward me. Dark eyes blazing. “You think this is a joke?”
“I think,” I say, tilting my head, “that you’re standing in the rain like a tragic heroine because a vampire mistress walked out of his chambers in a borrowed shirt—and you’re letting it destroy you.”
“She wasn’t just wearing a shirt,” she hisses. “She was in his space. In his private chambers. She touched him. She—” her voice cracks, “—she smelled like him.”
I sigh. “And you, my dear, smell like rage and regret. Not nearly as attractive.”
She whirls on me. “You don’t get to judge me. You don’t get to—”
“Oh, but I do.” I step into her space, close enough that she has to tilt her chin to keep eye contact. “I forged your papers. I taught you how to mask your magic. I warned you about the bond. And now? Now you’re letting a lie unravel everything?”
“It wasn’t a lie.”
“Wasn’t it?” I arch a brow. “Let me guess. You confronted him. He gave you some noble explanation about not wanting to start a political incident. You didn’t believe him. You walked away. And now you’re here, drowning in self-pity, wondering if the man who carries your scent in his sleep is really capable of betraying you.”
She flinches. “He does carry my scent?”
“You think I don’t know? The entire Spire knows. The guards whisper. The witches gossip. Even the damn rats are spreading rumors.” I step back, folding my arms. “But you? You’re the only one who refuses to see the truth.”
“And what truth is that?”
“That Kaelen Dain hasn’t looked at another woman in seven years. That he turned down the High Elder’s own niece when she offered herself on a silver platter. That he hasn’t fed from a donor in over a decade—because the bond, even dormant, rejects any other taste.” I lean in. “And now it’s awake. And it’s screaming for you. So why, my brilliant, furious little witch, are you letting a pawn like Lira make you doubt that?”
She stares at me. “She’s not just a pawn.”
“Oh, but she is.” I smile, cold. “Lira is Malrik’s creature. A pretty face with sharp teeth, sent to test you. To test him. To see how far the bond has taken root. And last night?” I chuckle. “You played right into her hands.”
“I didn’t—”
“You attacked her. You stormed through the halls like a wounded animal. You let Kaelen see you break.” I tilt my head. “And worst of all—you let her see it. Do you know what she’ll do now? She’ll go straight to Malrik and say, ‘The Moonblood heir is unstable. Jealous. Possessive. The bond is corrupting her.’ And he’ll believe her. Because you gave him proof.”
Her breath hitches. “I didn’t—”
“You did.” I step closer, my voice dropping. “And now the council will use it against you. They’ll say you’re too volatile to be Alpha’s mate. Too dangerous. Too hybrid. And they’ll push for the claiming ritual early. They’ll force the bite. They’ll chain you to him in front of the court, not as a wife, but as a prize.”
She pales. “No.”
“Yes.” I reach out, brush a wet strand of hair from her face. My fingers linger on her cheek, tracing the curve of her jaw. She doesn’t pull away. Too numb. Too shattered. “And when they do, you’ll have no leverage. No power. No choice. Because you let a lie make you weak.”
“It wasn’t a lie,” she whispers. “She was in his chambers. She was wearing his shirt.”
“And?” I arch a brow. “Did he invite her? Did he touch her? Did he feed her his blood?”
She hesitates. “He said no.”
“And you believe him?”
“The truth-seeker’s sigil—it flared. He wasn’t lying.”
“Then why are you here?” I demand. “Why are you letting this eat you alive?”
“Because it doesn’t matter if he didn’t want her!” she snaps. “It matters that she was there. That she thought she could take what’s mine.”
“And is he yours?” I ask, soft. “Truly?”
She doesn’t answer.
Just looks down, her fingers curling into fists.
I step back. “You came here to burn them all. To expose Malrik. To reclaim your mother’s honor. But somewhere between the bond and his hands on your hips, you forgot why you came.”
“I haven’t.”
“Haven’t you?” I smile, but it’s not kind. “Because right now, you’re not planning your next move. You’re not gathering evidence. You’re not outsmarting the council. You’re standing in the rain, letting a vampire slut with a death wish make you question your own worth.”
Her head snaps up. “Don’t call her that.”
“Why not? It’s true. Lira’s been angling for the Alpha’s favor for years. She thought if she could just get close enough, seduce him, feed from him, she’d rise in the ranks. But he never looked at her. Not once. And now?” I laugh. “Now she sees you—hybrid, untrained, reckless—and she thinks, ‘Finally, someone I can destroy.’”
“She’s not wrong,” Sage whispers.
“She is.” I step into her space again, my voice low, dangerous. “You’re not reckless. You’re not untrained. You’re not weak. You’re the last Moonblood. You can channel three magics. You’ve survived the purge. You’ve infiltrated the Spire. And you’ve made the most feared Alpha in history hesitate.”
Her breath catches.
“So stop acting like a girl with a broken heart,” I growl. “Start acting like the queen you’re meant to be.”
She stares at me. “And what do I do?”
“You take back control.” I reach out, trace a sigil on her back—the Mark of Unveiling, etched in Fae ink. It flares beneath her skin, warm, alive. “You stop reacting. You start acting. You stop letting Lira dictate your emotions. You make her afraid of you.”
“How?”
“By being smarter. By being colder. By being ruthless.” I step back, smiling. “And by remembering one thing—”
“What?”
“That Kaelen Dain may be the Alpha-King—but you’re the one who holds his heart.”
She flinches. “He doesn’t—”
“He does.” I tilt my head. “You think I don’t see it? The way he watches you. The way his voice changes when he speaks to you. The way he carries your scent like a sacred thing.” I step closer, my voice dropping. “And if you don’t believe me—ask him about the blood-sharing.”
Her breath stops. “What?”
“Lira’s going to say it soon. That he fed her his blood. That they shared a bed for three nights. That she’s his true mate.” I smile. “And when she does—will you run? Or will you stand and fight?”
“She’s lying,” Sage says, but her voice wavers.
“Is she?” I arch a brow. “Or did he drink from her once, in a political alliance, and now she’s twisting it into something more?”
“He wouldn’t—”
“Wouldn’t he?” I step back. “Ask him. Or let the lie destroy you.”
She stares at me, eyes wide, chest rising and falling.
And then—
“I will,” she says, voice low, fierce. “I’ll ask him.”
“Good.” I smile. “And when you do—don’t let him off easy. Make him bleed for the truth. Because if you don’t, someone else will.”
She nods, turning toward the path.
But I catch her wrist.
“Sage.”
She stops.
“Be careful,” I say, softer now. “Malrik’s not just testing you. He’s testing the bond. And if he thinks it’s weak—” I don’t finish. I don’t need to.
She knows.
If the bond fails, she dies.
And so does Kaelen.
She pulls her wrist free and walks away, boots striking the stone with sharp, final beats.
I watch her go.
And I pray—something I haven’t done in centuries—that she’s strong enough to survive what’s coming.
Because the real game has just begun.
I don’t follow her. Don’t shadow her steps. I know where she’s going—the war room, where Kaelen reviews border reports, where he stands like a statue carved from night and muscle, his silver eyes scanning maps, his jaw tight with tension.
And I know what she’ll do.
She’ll walk in. She’ll demand answers. She’ll let her fear wear the mask of fury.
And he’ll give her truth.
Or he’ll break her.
I move through the Spire like a ghost, my Fae glamour cloaking my steps, my presence. The corridors are quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that comes before a storm. I pass vampires in crimson, werewolves in furs, witches with eyes like daggers. They don’t see me. Don’t feel me. Just the whisper of wind, the flicker of shadow.
And then I hear it.
Laughter.
Light. Mocking. Familiar.
Lira.
I turn down the eastern hall, where the moonlight filters through stained glass, painting the floor in fractured colors. She’s there—leaning against the wall, sipping blood from a crystal goblet, her dark hair cascading over one shoulder, Kaelen’s shirt still draped over her arm like a trophy.
She sees me. Smiles.
“Riven,” she purrs. “Come to warn me about the wrath of the Moonblood heir?”
“No,” I say, stepping closer. “I came to warn you.”
She laughs. “About what? Her pathetic little threats? Her truth-seeker’s sigil? Please. I’ve dealt with hybrids before. They burn bright. They burn fast. And then they’re gone.”
“This one isn’t like the others.”
“Neither is Kaelen.” She takes a slow sip. “But even he has his limits. And right now? He’s torn. Between duty and desire. Between the council and the bond.” She smiles. “And when he chooses—” she leans in, “—it won’t be her.”
“You think he’ll choose you?” I ask, amused.
“No.” She grins. “I think he’ll choose power. And when he does, I’ll be there to remind him of the night he drank from me. Of the taste of my blood. Of the way I screamed his name.”
“You’re lying,” I say. “He never fed from you.”
“Did he?” She shrugs. “Does it matter? All that matters is that the council believes it. That Sage believes it.” She takes another sip. “And when they do—she’ll break. And the bond will fracture. And then?” She smiles. “Then Malrik will have his weapon. And I’ll have my revenge.”
“Revenge for what?”
“For being ignored. For being used. For being nothing.” Her voice turns sharp. “And when I’m done, the Alpha-King will kneel. And the Moonblood heir will burn.”
I study her. “You’re not just Malrik’s pawn. You’re his daughter.”
Her smile falters. Just for a second.
Then it returns, wider, crueler. “And if I am? What will you do, Fae prince? Expose me? Destroy me?” She steps closer. “Go ahead. But know this—when I fall, I’ll take her with me.”
I don’t answer.
Just smile.
Because she’s already lost.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
“Enjoy your victory while it lasts,” I say, turning. “It won’t be long.”
She laughs behind me, the sound echoing down the hall like a curse.
But I don’t care.
Because I know the truth.
And soon—so will Sage.
I don’t go to the war room.
Don’t eavesdrop on their confrontation.
Some things a mentor shouldn’t see.
Some truths are meant to be spoken alone.
So I wait.
In the garden. Beneath the trellis. Where the rain has stopped and the moon hangs low, silver and full.
And when she comes—hours later, her face pale, her eyes red-rimmed, her body trembling—I don’t ask.
I just open my arms.
And she steps into them.
Not because she needs comfort.
But because she finally understands.
The war isn’t just coming.
It’s already here.
And she’s the only one who can win it.