The Sacred Unity Ritual should have been the end of it.
Not the beginning.
After the blood, the nudity, the near-consummation in the basin—after Kaelen’s fangs in my breast, his hands on my body, his voice in my mind whispering You’re already mine—I should have felt broken. Ruined. Claimed.
But I didn’t.
I felt… alive.
Like I’d been walking through a dream, half-asleep, half-dead, and only now had I truly woken. The bond wasn’t just a leash anymore. It wasn’t just magic. It was a current, a pulse, a connection that thrummed beneath my skin, alive and electric. I could feel him—his breath, his heartbeat, the way his body responded to mine, even when we were apart.
And worse—
I liked it.
I press my fingers to the fresh bite on my breast. It’s still tender, the skin around it warm, the twin punctures deep and precise. The bond flares where he touched me, a slow, spreading heat that pools between my thighs. My breath hitches. My nipples tighten. My core clenches with need.
No.
I yank my hand back, stepping away from the mirror. This isn’t me. This isn’t who I am. I am Lavender. Daughter of Elara. I came here to break the Blood Vow, not become his consort.
But the mark throbs, a constant reminder: I am.
I wrap myself in a robe and sink onto the bed, pressing my back to the wall, my knees drawn to my chest. My mind races. What does this mean? Is the bond stronger now? Does it give him power over me? Can he control me? Command me?
No. The bond requires consent. Emotional honesty. It can’t force me to do anything I don’t want to.
But it can make me want things.
Like his touch. His voice. His fangs on my skin.
I close my eyes, pressing the heels of my hands to my temples. I need to think. Need to plan. The ritual is over. The bond is proven. Malrik said it himself. But that doesn’t mean I’m free. If anything, I’m more trapped than ever.
And now—
Now there’s Selene.
I saw her smirk. Heard her words. “I can smell it on her—your bite, your blood, your claim.” She knew. She smelled it.
And worse—
She didn’t look surprised.
She looked… amused.
Like this was all part of some game I don’t understand.
A knock at the door.
I freeze.
“Enter,” I say, voice steady.
The door opens.
Not Kaelen.
Not Thorne.
But a servant—a young fae woman with silver eyes and delicate features, dressed in gray robes. She carries a sealed scroll, her expression carefully neutral.
“My lady,” she says, bowing slightly. “A message from Lady Selene.”
My stomach tightens.
Selene. The woman who wore Kaelen’s shirt. Who had his ring on her finger. Who smirked when I stormed into his chambers, fury in my veins, betrayal in my heart.
“Set it on the table,” I say.
She obeys, placing the scroll gently on the small writing desk before retreating with another bow. The door closes behind her.
Silence.
I stare at the scroll like it’s a coiled serpent. I don’t want to open it. Don’t want to see what lies she’s spinning now. But I have to. Because if I don’t, the bond will punish me. And if I ignore her, she’ll find another way to cut me open.
I stand, my legs unsteady, and move to the desk. The parchment is warm to the touch, humming faintly with magic. I break the seal—a drop of dried blood, black as ink—and unfold it.
The writing is sharp, precise, the ink dark as blood.
Lavender,
You think you’ve won.
You think because he bit you, because he bared his body to you, because he whispered sweet words in the ritual—he belongs to you.
But you’re wrong.
He belonged to me first.
And I carry his child.
His heir.
His future.
Ask him. Ask him why he never marked me. Ask him why he never claimed me. Ask him why he let me leave.
And then ask yourself—
Do you really believe he loves you?
Or are you just his pawn?
—Selene
The parchment slips from my fingers, fluttering to the floor.
My breath stops.
His child.
His heir.
His future.
No.
It’s a lie. It has to be. Kaelen would have told me. He promised me—no more secrets. No more lies. Not after the ritual. Not after the way he looked at me, the way he kissed me, the way he let me see him.
But what if he didn’t know?
What if she’s been hiding it? Waiting for the perfect moment to strike?
I press my hand to my chest, where the bite above my heart still pulses. The bond hums, but it’s not the usual pulse. It’s a roar—a surge of heat, of magic, of rage that crashes through me like a wave.
He’s with her.
After everything. After the bond. After the mark. After the way he looked at me in the council—
He’s with her.
And now—
Now she’s carrying his child.
I don’t think. Don’t plan. Just move.
I storm through the corridors, my boots silent on the obsidian floor, my robe flaring behind me like a banner of war. The Blood Garden glows faintly in the moonlight, the pale roses edged in rust. The air is thick with magic, old and restless. I don’t care. I don’t stop.
I reach Kaelen’s chambers and throw the door open.
He’s there.
Standing at the window, his back to me, his coat open at the collar, his hands clenched at his sides. The fire burns low, casting long shadows across the stone walls, the shelves lined with ancient tomes, the maps of war and alliance pinned to the stone. He doesn’t turn. Doesn’t speak.
But I feel him.
The bond hums between us, tense, watchful.
“You knew,” I say, voice low, dangerous.
He turns slowly, his red eyes burning into mine. “Knew what?”
“About Selene.”
“What about her?”
“She’s carrying your child.”
His breath stops.
For a heartbeat, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stares at me, his face unreadable.
And then—
He laughs.
Low. Cold. Sharp as a blade.
“She told you that?” he says.
“She sent me a message. Said you never marked her because she was already pregnant. That you let her go because you didn’t want the child raised in court.”
“And you believed her?”
“I don’t know what to believe.”
He steps closer, his presence like a storm. “Selene cannot bear children. She never could. It’s one of the reasons I never claimed her. She wanted the power, the title, the ring—but she could never give me an heir.”
My breath hitches.
“She’s lying,” he says. “She always has. She’s not carrying my child. She’s not carrying anyone’s child. It’s a ploy. A trap. She wants to drive a wedge between us. To make you doubt me. To make you leave.”
“And if she’s not lying?”
“Then I’ll have her blood tested. In front of the Council. In front of the Oathweavers. In front of you.”
“You’d do that?”
“I’d do anything to prove my loyalty to you.”
He reaches out, his hand lifting to cup my face. His skin is cold, his touch gentle, his thumb brushing my lower lip. “You’re not just my consort. You’re my fated. My salvation. My future. And I will not let her destroy that.”
“Then why did you let her wear your ring? Why did you let her sleep in your bed?”
“Because I wanted to see if you’d fight for me.”
“And if I hadn’t?”
“Then you weren’t mine.”
My breath catches.
He steps closer, his body pressing me back against the wall, his hands caging me in. “You think I don’t feel it? The way your body burns when I touch you? The way your pulse hitches when I say your name? The way you arched against me in the Blood Garden?”
“It’s the bond.”
“Then why doesn’t it happen with anyone else?”
I don’t answer.
He grinds against me, the friction maddening. “Say it,” he growls. “Say you’re mine.”
“Never.”
“You’re lying.” His hand slides down, fingers pressing between my thighs. I gasp. He feels it—the wetness, the heat, the way my body arches toward him. “You’re soaked,” he murmurs. “For me.”
“It’s the magic.”
“Then why does it only happen with you?”
I don’t answer.
He kisses me—hard, deep, hungry. His lips move over mine, his tongue sliding against my own, demanding surrender. I gasp, and he takes the sound, swallowing it, his hands moving over me—down my back, over my hips, gripping my ass and pulling me flush against him. I can feel every hard line of his body, the heat of him, the thick length of his cock pressing against my stomach.
And then—
I kiss him back.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of the magic.
But because I can’t not.
My hands fist in his coat, pulling him closer, my mouth crashing against his, desperate, furious, real. He groans, low in his chest, and takes control, his tongue sliding deeper, his hands moving faster, until I’m breathless, until my knees weaken, until the world narrows to his mouth, his hands, his body against mine.
“You’re mine,” he growls against my lips. “Say it.”
“Never,” I gasp, even as my hips roll against his.
He bites my lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. I cry out, but he swallows the sound, his tongue laving over the wound, his fangs grazing my skin. “You’re lying,” he murmurs. “Your body knows the truth.”
“It’s the bond.”
“Then why does it only happen with you?”
I don’t answer.
He kisses me again, deeper, harder, until I’m breathless, until my knees weaken, until the world narrows to his mouth, his hands, his body against mine. His free hand slides under my robe, his fingers grazing my bare hip, then higher—
And then—
A knock at the door.
We freeze.
Kaelen pulls back slowly, his body still shielding mine, his arm still around my waist. I press my face into his chest, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my body still trembling with need.
“Enter,” he says, voice low.
The door opens.
Not Malrik.
Not Thorne.
But Selene.
She steps in, draped in silver silk, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders, her lips curved in a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Her gaze sweeps over us—Kaelen’s arm around my waist, my robe half-open, my body pressed against his—and she smirks.
“Am I interrupting?” she asks, voice a velvet purr.
“You’re not welcome here,” Kaelen says.
“And yet, here I am.” She steps closer, her heels silent on the stone. “I just came to deliver the news in person. In case the message wasn’t… clear enough.”
My stomach tightens.
“You’re not pregnant,” Kaelen says, voice cold. “And you never will be.”
“Are you sure?” she says, tilting her head. “Or are you just afraid to find out?”
“I know the truth.”
“Then prove it.” She steps closer, her fangs glinting. “Let the Oathweavers test my blood. In front of the Council. In front of her.”
Kaelen doesn’t hesitate. “Done. Tomorrow. The Chamber of Blood.”
She smiles. “I’ll be there.”
And then she’s gone, vanishing into the corridor like smoke.
Silence.
Kaelen turns to me, his red eyes burning. “You’re mine,” he says. “No matter what happens. No matter who comes. You’re mine.”
I don’t answer.
Because in the silence, beneath the hum of the bond, I hear it.
A whisper.
Not in my ears.
In my mind.
You’re already mine.
And for the first time—
I don’t hate it.
I don’t fight it.
I just… let it in.
The hours pass like knives.
I don’t sleep. Don’t eat. Just pace, my thoughts circling like vultures. Selene’s words echo in my skull—his child—and I hate her for it. Hate her for making me doubt. Hate her for making me care.
And then—
A sound.
From his chambers.
Low. Soft. Intimate.
My breath catches.
I move to the threshold, pressing my back to the wall, peering into the dim light of his room. The fire burns with blue flame, casting long shadows. The bed—massive, canopied in black silk—dominates the center.
And in it—
Her.
Selene.
She’s lying on her side, the sheets pooled around her waist, her back to me. She’s wearing only a shirt—his shirt—its sleeves too long, the fabric thin, clinging to her curves. Her dark hair spills over the pillow, her skin pale in the firelight. And on her finger—
The ring.
My mother’s ring.
My breath stops.
She’s in his bed.
Wearing his shirt.
With his ring on her finger.
And then—
She turns.
Her eyes meet mine, and she smirks.
Not surprised. Not guilty.
Triumphant.
“Looking for something, Lavender?” she asks, her voice a velvet purr.
I don’t answer. Can’t. My chest is tight, my throat raw. The bond hums, but it’s not the usual pulse. It’s a roar—a surge of heat, of magic, of rage that crashes through me like a wave.
He’s with her.
After everything. After the bond. After the mark. After the way he looked at me in the council—
He’s with her.
I step into the room, my boots silent on the obsidian floor. The firelight flickers, casting my shadow long and sharp. Selene doesn’t move. Just watches me, her smile widening.
“He’ll be back soon,” she says. “We were just… catching up.”
“Get out,” I say, voice low, dangerous.
“Or what? You’ll tell him? He already knows I’m here. He likes it when I warm his sheets.”
My magic flares, a low burn in my palms. “You’re lying.”
“Am I?” She sits up slowly, the sheets slipping from her shoulders, revealing the smooth line of her back, the curve of her waist. “Ask him. Ask him how many nights I’ve spent in this bed. Ask him how he likes to be touched.”
I lunge.
Not with magic. Not with venom.
With my bare hands.
I grab her by the throat, slamming her back against the headboard. The ring glints on her finger, mocking me. “You don’t belong here,” I snarl.
She doesn’t fight. Just smiles. “Neither do you.”
And then—
The door bursts open.
Kaelen stands in the threshold, his coat pristine, his face unreadable. But his eyes—red fire, blazing—lock onto me, onto my hands on her throat, onto the fury in my voice.
“Let her go,” he says, voice cold.
“She’s in your bed,” I hiss. “Wearing your shirt. With your ring on her finger.”
“She’s not lying,” he says. “I let her in.”
My heart stops.
“You let her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to see what you’d do.”
The world narrows.
Not to the fire. Not to the bed. Not to Selene’s smirk.
To him.
To the cold fire in his eyes. To the way his voice drops. To the way his magic curls around mine, not as a shield, but as a claim.
“You wanted to test me?” I whisper.
“I wanted to see if you cared.”
“And if I didn’t?”
“Then you weren’t worth keeping.”
My breath hitches.
He steps closer, his presence like a storm. “You think I don’t know what she’s doing? You think I don’t see her games? I let her in because I wanted to see if you’d fight for me.”
“And if I hadn’t?”
“Then you weren’t mine.”
I release her, stepping back, my hands trembling. Selene laughs, low and melodic, and slips out of bed, the shirt hanging loose on her frame. She doesn’t look at me. Just walks to Kaelen, pressing the ring into his palm.
“You win,” she says. “She fights for you. I don’t.”
And then she’s gone, vanishing into the corridor like smoke.
Silence.
Kaelen closes the door, the lock clicking shut. Then he turns, his red eyes burning into mine. “You’re jealous.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re trembling.”
“I’m angry.”
“You’re mine,” he growls, stepping closer. “And you don’t get to deny it.”
“You let her into your bed.”
“I let her in to see if you’d claim me back.”
“And if I hadn’t?”
“Then I’d have let her stay.”
My breath catches.
He pins me against the wall, his body pressing me down, his hands caging me in. His fangs are bared, his breath hot against my lips. “You think I don’t feel it? The way your body burns when I touch you? The way your pulse hitches when I say your name? The way you arched against me in the Blood Garden?”
“It’s the bond.”
“Then why doesn’t it happen with anyone else?”
I don’t answer.
He grinds against me, the friction maddening. “Say it,” he growls. “Say you’re mine.”
“Never.”
“You’re lying.” His hand slides down, fingers pressing between my thighs. I gasp. He feels it—the wetness, the heat, the way my body arches toward him. “You’re soaked,” he murmurs. “For me.”
“It’s the magic.”
“Then why does it only happen with you?”
I don’t answer.
He kisses me—hard, deep, hungry. His lips move over mine, his tongue sliding against my own, demanding surrender. I gasp, and he takes the sound, swallowing it, his hands moving over me—down my back, over my hips, gripping my ass and pulling me flush against him. I can feel every hard line of his body, the heat of him, the thick length of his cock pressing against my stomach.
And then—
I kiss him back.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of the magic.
But because I can’t not.
My hands fist in his coat, pulling him closer, my mouth crashing against his, desperate, furious, real. He groans, low in his chest, and takes control, his tongue sliding deeper, his hands moving faster, until I’m breathless, until my knees weaken, until the world narrows to his mouth, his hands, his body against mine.
“You’re mine,” he growls against my lips. “Say it.”
“Never,” I gasp, even as my hips roll against his.
He bites my lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. I cry out, but he swallows the sound, his tongue laving over the wound, his fangs grazing my skin. “You’re lying,” he murmurs. “Your body knows the truth.”
“It’s the bond.”
“Then why does it only happen with you?”
I don’t answer.
He kisses me again, deeper, harder, until I’m breathless, until my knees weaken, until the world narrows to his mouth, his hands, his body against mine. His free hand slides under my shirt, his fingers grazing my bare hip, then higher—
And then—
His hand slips under my shirt.
His fingers graze my bare hip, then slide higher, tracing the curve of my waist, the dip of my ribs, then—
My breast.
His thumb brushes my nipple through the fabric, and I gasp, my back arching, my core clenching with need. He feels it. Of course he does. His mouth crashes down on mine again, swallowing my moan, his fingers teasing, torturing, until I’m trembling, until I’m begging.
“Please,” I whisper, though I don’t know what I’m asking for.
“Say it,” he growls. “Say you’re mine.”
“I can’t—”
“You can.” His teeth graze my throat. “You will.”
And then—
The door bursts open.
“Enough.”
Malrik stands in the threshold, his silver hair gleaming in the torchlight, his eyes cold. Behind him, Oathweavers flank the entrance, their masks glinting.
“The ritual is complete,” he says. “The bond is proven.”
Kaelen pulls back slowly, his hand still on my breast, his body shielding mine. The bond hums, tense, waiting.
Malrik’s gaze flicks to me. “You’ve passed the trial, witch. For now.”
Then he turns and leaves, the Oathweavers following.
Silence.
Kaelen looks at me, his red eyes burning. “You’re mine,” he says. “No matter what happens. No matter who comes. You’re mine.”
I don’t answer.
Because in the silence, beneath the hum of the bond, I hear it.
A whisper.
Not in my ears.
In my mind.
You’re already mine.
And for the first time—
I don’t hate it.
I don’t fight it.
I just… let it in.