The corridor beyond Kaelen’s chambers was silent, but the silence wasn’t empty. It was thick. Charged. Like the air before a storm breaks. My boots made no sound on the obsidian floor, but every step felt like a betrayal. Each one took me further from him. Further from the warmth of his arms, the rhythm of his breath, the way his voice dropped when he said my name like it belonged to him.
It did.
And I had just thrown it back in his face.
The truth serum burned in my veins, cold and relentless. It didn’t just silence the lies—it erased them. It carved out the truth and left nothing behind. And the truth was this: I loved him. I had loved him since the Blood Moon Ritual. Since he’d carried me through the shadows. Since he’d let me see the man beneath the monster. Since he’d said, I don’t want to die. I want to live. With you.
And I had just told him I didn’t.
That I never had.
That I was using him.
That I would kill him.
I pressed my back to the cold stone wall, my breath coming in shallow gasps, my fingers clutching the Blood Vow contract like it could save me. But it couldn’t. Nothing could. Not now. Not after what I’d done.
Behind me, the door to his chambers remained closed. No footsteps. No roar of rage. No command to return.
Nothing.
And that was worse than any scream.
Because I knew him. Knew the way he buried pain beneath ice. The way he locked grief behind silence. The way he turned love into war when it threatened to break him.
And I had broken him.
“You’re already mine,” his voice whispered in my mind, not as a claim, but as a ghost.
I squeezed my eyes shut. No. Not anymore.
I pushed off the wall and moved down the corridor, my steps steady now, my spine straight. I couldn’t afford to falter. Not here. Not now. Malrik’s spies were everywhere. His assassins lingered in the shadows. And if they saw me weak—if they saw me hesitating—they’d strike.
But I wasn’t hesitating.
I was running.
And I wasn’t running from him.
I was running for him.
I reached the west wing, the torches flickering in their sconces, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and old blood. The hidden chamber beneath the Hall of Echoes was sealed behind a false wall, its entrance marked only by a single rune carved into the stone—Veritas, truth. I pressed my palm to it, whispering the incantation Maeve had taught me. The stone slid open with a soft, grinding sound, revealing the narrow staircase beyond.
I descended, the air growing colder with each step, the walls lined with ancient tomes, the shelves cluttered with vials of dried herbs and forgotten spells. Maeve stood by the hearth, her silver hair loose, her eyes sharp, her hands clasped in front of her. She didn’t turn as I entered.
“You told him,” she said.
“I had to.”
“And he believes you?”
“The serum doesn’t lie.”
She turned, her eyes burning into mine. “And you?”
“I’m not lying. I do love him.”
“Then you’re already lost.”
“No. I’m saving him.”
She stepped closer, her hand lifting to cup my face. “You’re not saving him. You’re destroying yourself. Because if you don’t come back—if you don’t break the Vow and return to him—Malrik will kill you. And he’ll kill him too.”
“Then I’ll die trying.”
She pressed a small pouch into my hand—dried moonroot, vervain, and a sliver of obsidian. “Protection. And a way back. When you’re ready.”
I nodded, tucking the pouch into my belt. “I’ll find a way to break the Vow. I’ll learn its weaknesses. And when I do—”
“You’ll return,” she finished. “And you’ll fight beside him.”
“Not beside him. For him.”
She studied me—my clenched fists, my set jaw, the fire in my eyes—and for a second, I thought she’d argue. Would tell me I was being reckless. That love made fools of even the strongest.
But then she nodded. “Go. And don’t look back.”
I didn’t.
I turned and left, the hidden door sealing behind me, the rune fading into the stone. The corridor was empty. The torches flickered. And then—
A presence.
Not behind me.
Not to the side.
But around me.
Like the air itself had turned to shadow.
I spun, my dagger drawn, my breath sharp in my throat.
Malrik stepped from the darkness, his silver hair gleaming in the torchlight, his eyes cold, his smile sharp as a blade. Behind him, two Pale Court assassins flanked the corridor, their faces masked, their daggers drawn.
“Leaving so soon?” he asked, voice smooth as poison.
“I have work to do,” I said, my voice steady. “The Vow won’t break itself.”
“No,” he agreed. “It won’t.” He stepped closer, his presence like a storm. “But you won’t be doing it alone.”
“I don’t need help.”
“You need protection.” He gestured to the assassins. “They’ll escort you. Guard you. Ensure you don’t… stray.”
“I don’t need guards.”
“You do.” His smile widened. “Because if you run—if you try to return to him—I’ll kill you where you stand.”
My pulse hammered.
But I didn’t flinch.
“I swore on blood,” I said. “I’m not going back.”
“Good.” He stepped closer, his hand lifting to trace the fresh bite on my breast. The fabric of my dress was torn, the wound still oozing, the skin around it warm. The bond flared where he touched me, a slow, spreading heat that pooled between my thighs. My breath hitched. My nipples tightened. My core clenched with need.
And then—
Revulsion.
Because this wasn’t Kaelen. This wasn’t fire. This wasn’t hunger.
This was violation.
I slapped his hand away, my dagger flashing between us. “Don’t touch me.”
He laughed—low, cold, sharp as a blade. “You’ll learn. In time.”
“I’ll learn nothing from you.”
“Oh, but you will.” He stepped back, his smile fading. “Now—come. We have much to discuss. And little time.”
The assassins moved in, one on each side, their hands hovering near their daggers. I didn’t resist. Didn’t fight. Just followed, my boots silent on the stone, my mind racing. This wasn’t part of the plan. I was supposed to disappear. To study the Vow in secret. To return when I was strong enough to fight.
But Malrik wasn’t letting me go.
He was taking me.
We moved through the lower corridors, the air growing colder, the torches flickering out one by one, replaced by the eerie glow of blood-red crystals embedded in the walls. The scent of iron and old wine thickened, the stone damp beneath my boots. We passed sealed chambers, their doors etched with runes, their interiors hidden in shadow. Oathweavers stood like statues at the edges, their masks gleaming, their eyes watching, always watching.
And then—
We reached it.
The Chamber of Chains.
A vast, circular hall carved into the bedrock beneath the court, its walls lined with iron manacles, its floor stained with centuries of blood. In the center, a dais rose, its surface carved with ancient sigils, its edges lined with candles burning with blue flame. And on it—
A throne.
Not of thorns. Not of silver.
Of bone.
Malrik ascended the dais and sat, his fingers curling around the armrests, his eyes burning into mine. “Kneel,” he said.
“No.”
He smiled. “You will.”
The assassins grabbed me, their hands like iron, their grip unyielding. They forced me to my knees, my dagger clattering to the stone, my breath sharp in my throat. The sigils on the floor pulsed, reacting to my presence, the air thickening with magic.
“You think you’re clever,” Malrik said, leaning forward. “You think you can play both sides. Use me. Use him. Break the Vow and walk away.”
“I’m not playing,” I said, my voice steady. “I’m surviving.”
“And what makes you think you’ll survive me?”
“Because I’m the only one who can break the Vow.”
“And what makes you think I need you alive?”
My breath stopped.
He saw it. Smiled. “Oh, I’ll keep you breathing. For now. But I won’t keep you whole.”
He raised his hand, and the assassins stepped back. “Remove her clothes.”
“No—”
They were on me in an instant, their hands tearing at my tunic, my trousers, my boots. I fought—kicked, twisted, clawed—but they were too strong. Too many. My clothes fell away, pooling at my feet, leaving me naked, exposed, trembling.
The sigils flared.
The air thickened.
And then—
He spoke.
“You are not a witch. You are not a fae. You are mine. And I will prove it.”
He stood, descending the dais, his boots silent on the stone. He reached into his coat and pulled out a vial—thick, dark, alive. Blood.
My blood.
From the ritual. From the oath.
“Drink,” he said, uncorking it.
“Never.”
He stepped closer, his presence like a storm. “You will.”
They forced my head back, their hands like iron, their grip unyielding. Malrik pressed the vial to my lips, the liquid thick and warm, the scent of iron and magic filling my nose.
And then—
I tasted it.
Not just blood.
Not just magic.
But power.
It burned through me, not with fire, but with something worse—something better. It coiled low in my belly, spreading through my veins, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. My skin heated. My breath hitched. My core clenched with need.
No.
I tried to fight it. Tried to push it down. But it was too strong. Too deep. It wasn’t just in my blood.
It was in my soul.
Malrik smiled. “You feel it, don’t you? The bond. The hunger. The way your body responds to me.”
“It’s the magic,” I gasped. “It’s the ritual.”
“Then why doesn’t it happen with anyone else?”
I didn’t answer.
He stepped closer, his hand lifting to trace the sigil on my wrist. The bond flared, a pulse of heat that raced through me, settling low in my belly. My knees weakened. My breath hitched. My core clenched with need.
And then—
He kissed me.
Not soft. Not slow.
Hard. Deep. Hungry.
His lips moved over mine, his tongue sliding against my own, demanding surrender. I gasped, and he took 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 could feel every hard line of his body, the heat of him, the thick length of his cock pressing against my stomach.
And then—
I kissed him back.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of the magic.
But because my body betrayed me.
My hands fisted in his coat, pulling him closer, my mouth crashing against his, desperate, furious, real. He groaned, low in his chest, and took control, his tongue sliding deeper, his hands moving faster, until I was breathless, until my knees weakened, until the world narrowed to his mouth, his hands, his body against mine.
“You’re mine,” he growled against my lips. “Say it.”
“Never,” I gasped, even as my hips rolled against his.
He bit my lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. I cried out, but he swallowed the sound, his tongue laving over the wound, his fangs grazing my skin. “You’re lying,” he murmured. “Your body knows the truth.”
“It’s the magic.”
“Then why does it only happen with you?”
I didn’t answer.
He kissed me again, deeper, harder, until I was breathless, until my knees weakened, until the world narrowed to his mouth, his hands, his body against mine. His free hand slid under my thigh, lifting me, pressing me against the cold stone wall—
And then—
A voice cut through the haze.
“Enough.”
We froze.
Malrik pulled back slowly, his body still shielding mine, his arm still around my waist. I pressed my face into his chest, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my body still trembling with need.
Thorne stood in the threshold, his leather armor splattered with blood, his dark hair matted to his forehead, his amber eyes wide with alarm. He didn’t look at Malrik. Didn’t look at me. Just spoke, voice low, urgent.
“We have a problem.”
Malrik’s jaw tightened. “What?”
“Kaelen. He’s mobilizing the Obsidian Guard. He’s coming.”
My breath stopped.
Malrik turned to me, his red eyes burning. “You think he’ll save you?”
“I know he will.”
He smiled. “Then let him come.”
He turned to the assassins. “Lock her in the inner chamber. No food. No water. No magic. And if she tries to escape—”
His fangs grazed my throat. “—kill her.”
They dragged me away, my body still humming with the echo of his touch, his voice, the way he’d looked at me when he said You’re mine.
And as the door slammed shut behind me, as the darkness swallowed me whole—
I heard it.
Not in my ears.
In my mind.
I’m coming for you.
And for the first time—
I didn’t fight it.
I just… let it in.