The morning after our shared quarters were assigned, I woke with the bond humming beneath my skin like a second pulse.
Not fire this time. Not the molten surge of touch or proximity. This was quieter. Deeper. A slow, insistent thrum, like a bow drawn across a taut string. It resonated in my bones, in the hollow of my throat, between my thighs—where the ache had become a constant, shameful companion.
I sat up, pressing a hand to my chest. The arch between our chambers pulsed faintly, its glow dimmed in the pale light filtering through the silver vines above. Cassian wasn’t in his room. I could *feel* it—the absence like a missing limb, a silence where there should have been noise.
Good.
I needed space. Needed time to think. To plan. To stop remembering the way his thumb had brushed my neck, the way his voice had dropped when he said, *“You want me to take you right here…”*
I dressed quickly—black silk, high collar, sleeves to the wrist. No temptation. No provocation. I braided my hair tight against my skull, hiding the storm-gray strands that kept slipping free from the illusion. The knife was back in my corset. The poison, sewn into the hem. The scrap of ledger with Mira’s name tucked into a hidden pocket over my heart.
I was not here to be broken.
I was here to break *him*.
—
The Royal Gardens were a labyrinth of thorned roses, moon-blooming lilies, and trees with bark like cracked obsidian. Paths twisted between them, too narrow for two to walk side by side, lined with statues of forgotten kings and queens, their faces eroded by time and magic. It was the only place in the Thorned Hall where the air didn’t feel like it was pressing against my skin, where the bond didn’t scream with every step.
I came here to breathe.
And to think.
Mira. My mentor. My savior. The woman who had smuggled me out of Elderglen the night they took my mother. The woman who had raised me in the shadows, taught me blood magic, whispered warnings about the Fae court and the lies they built their thrones upon.
And according to the book I’d found—she was Cassian’s mother.
No. Not possible. Not *true*.
But the sketch had been clear. The sigil. The execution date. The accusation: *consorting with the royal bloodline*. Not treason. Not cursing. *Consorting*.
Love.
She had loved him. The king before Cassian. And she had paid for it with her life.
And Cassian—her son—had been raised in silence, his witch blood hidden, his truth buried beneath a crown of thorns.
I pressed my fingers to my temple.
If Mira was his mother… and she had protected *me*… then why? Why risk everything for a stranger’s child?
Unless—
Unless I wasn’t a stranger.
Unless she hadn’t just saved me.
Unless she had *claimed* me.
The thought slithered through me, cold and sharp. I shoved it down. Not now. Not here. I couldn’t afford distractions. Couldn’t afford *doubt*.
I needed proof. Needed to see Mira. Needed to hear the truth from her lips before the bond, the court, the *lies* consumed me whole.
But first—I needed to survive the day.
Because Cassian wasn’t the only threat in this court.
And I had seen the way Lirien looked at me. Like I was already dead.
—
I found her in the Moon Garden, where the Truth-Sense Ceremony had been held.
She stood beneath a silver tree, its weeping light casting her in pale glow. Dressed in a gown of liquid mercury, it clung to her like water, revealing the curve of her hip, the slope of her shoulder. Her bone-white hair was loose, falling over one breast. And on her hand—the ring. The thorn band fused with dried blood. Still there. Still *worn*.
She smiled when she saw me. Slow. Sharp. Like a blade sliding between ribs.
“Seraphina D’Lune,” she purred. “Or should I say… *nothing*?”
I didn’t flinch. “Lirien. I didn’t know you still had access to the royal chambers.”
Her smile widened. “I have access to *everything* he’s ever touched.”
She stepped closer, her heels silent on the moss. “You think you’re special? That the bond makes you unique? That *he* sees you?”
I said nothing.
“He touched you,” she said, circling me like a predator. “I saw it. In the throne room. In the arch. You *trembled*.”
“We all react to power,” I said coolly. “Even you.”
She stopped in front of me, close enough that I could smell her—jasmine and venom, just like before. “Power isn’t what makes you tremble, little liar. It’s *desire*. And you? You *burn* for him.”
My breath hitched.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” She leaned in, her lips brushing my ear. “I’ve felt his hands on me. His mouth. His *teeth*. I’ve worn his ring. I’ve bled for him. I’ve *screamed* his name in the dark.”
She pulled back, smiling. “And you? You’re a *novelty*. A pawn. A distraction. When the summit ends, he’ll discard you like all the others.”
“And you?” I asked, turning to face her. “Will he keep you? Or have you already been discarded?”
Her smile faltered.
Just for a second.
But I saw it. The crack in the mask. The flicker of something raw—*hurt*.
And then it was gone.
“You think you’re clever,” she said, voice icy. “But you’re *nothing*. A half-breed with a stolen name and a borrowed face. You don’t belong here. You don’t belong *near* him.”
“Neither do you,” I said. “Not if he’s betrothed to me.”
“Betrothed?” She laughed—a sound like shattering glass. “A political farce. A *game*. He doesn’t *want* you. He’s using you. Just like he used me. Just like he’ll use every woman who dares to look at him with those *hungry* eyes.”
“Then why are you still here?” I asked. “If he’s used you, discarded you—why do you wear his ring? Why do you linger in his shadow?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Because I know what he is. What he *needs*. And when the bond demands its price—when he’s desperate, when he’s *weak*—he’ll come back to me.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
She stepped closer. “Then I’ll make sure you’re gone before he has the chance.”
Then she was gone, vanishing into the silver trees like mist.
I stood there, trembling.
Not from fear.
From rage.
And something else—something I didn’t want to name.
Jealousy.
I clenched my fists. I didn’t care about her. Didn’t care about her ring, her blood, her *screams*. Cassian was a target. A symbol. A means to an end.
And yet—
I looked down at my hand. The mark still pulsed, faint but undeniable.
And between my thighs, the ache returned.
—
I spent the rest of the morning in the Archives, searching for Mira.
But the records were warded. Blood-sealed. Every time I tried to break the magic, the bond flared, a sharp stab of pain behind my eyes. I couldn’t risk it. Not here. Not now.
So I returned to my chambers, my mind racing.
That night, I dreamed of fire.
Not the gentle glow of candlelight. Not the controlled burn of ritual. This was wildfire—ravenous, consuming. I stood in the center of it, my mother’s voice echoing through the flames: *“They will lie to you. They will twist the truth. But remember this—love is not weakness. It is the only thing they cannot control.”*
And then—Cassian.
He stepped from the fire, bare-chested, scars glowing like embers. He reached for me, his hand hot against my skin. The bond *screamed*. I arched into him, my body betraying me, craving him, *needing* him—
I woke gasping, drenched in sweat, my thighs slick with arousal.
The bond pulsed, slow and insistent.
Outside, the wind stirred the thorns.
And somewhere, deep in the heart of the city, a wolf howled.
The full moon was coming.
—
The next morning, I went to the royal wing early, hoping to avoid Cassian.
But it wasn’t him I found.
It was *her*.
Lirien.
She emerged from Cassian’s chambers just as I turned the corner.
And she was wearing *his shirt*.
Not a gown. Not a robe. A simple, open-necked shirt of black linen, the sleeves rolled to her elbows, the hem falling just past her hips. It was too large for her, hanging off one pale shoulder, revealing the curve of her breast. And on her neck—fresh. A faint, pink mark, just below her ear.
A *bite*.
My breath stopped.
She saw me. Smiled. Slow. Victorious.
“Good morning, *betrothed*,” she purred, adjusting the collar with one delicate hand. “Did you sleep well?”
I couldn’t speak.
Couldn’t move.
My vision narrowed. The bond *screamed*, a surge of heat and pain and something darker—*jealousy*, raw and clawing. My hands trembled. My throat tightened. Between my thighs—*wet*, aching, *betrayed*.
She stepped closer, her bare feet silent on the stone. “He always did prefer me in his clothes. Said I wore them better than he did.”
“You’re lying,” I whispered.
“Am I?” She leaned in, her breath warm against my ear. “Or are you just afraid to admit that he chose me long before he ever saw you?”
“He doesn’t *choose* anyone,” I said, voice breaking. “He uses. He manipulates. He *controls*.”
“And you?” She pulled back, smiling. “Do you think you’re different? Do you think that *bond* makes you special? That he *feels* something for you?”
“I don’t care what he feels,” I lied.
“But you do.” Her smile turned cruel. “I can see it in your eyes. In the way your pulse races. In the way your body *aches* for him.”
She stepped back, twirling slowly, letting the shirt flare around her. “Last night, he had me against the wall. His hands on my hips. His mouth on my neck. He *bit* me, Seraphina. He *claimed* me.”
“Liar,” I spat.
“Ask him,” she said, turning toward the corridor. “Go ahead. Ask him if he fed me his blood. If he let me wear his ring. If he *fucked* me in that bed you now share.”
Then she was gone, leaving the scent of jasmine and venom in the air.
I stood there, trembling.
The bond pulsed, a hot, insistent throb.
And deep inside—where the fire had burned—I still *ached*.
But it wasn’t just desire anymore.
It was *rage*.
—
I found him in the training yard.
He was shirtless, sweat-slicked, his muscles moving like liquid under his skin as he sparred with Kaelen. A wooden staff in each hand, they moved in a blur of strikes and blocks, their movements too fast for mortal eyes. The air crackled with magic. The bond flared the moment I stepped onto the stone, a surge of heat that made my knees weak.
Cassian saw me.
He didn’t stop. Just fought harder, faster, his gold eyes blazing as he disarmed Kaelen with a single, brutal twist.
“You’re late,” Kaelen said, tossing his staff aside.
“Distracted,” Cassian replied, voice rough.
He turned to me, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. His chest rose and fell, his scars gleaming in the sun. The bond *pulsed*, a molten wave crashing through me.
“We need to talk,” I said.
“Later.”
“Now.”
He exhaled, then nodded to Kaelen. “Dismissed.”
Kaelen shot me a look—something unreadable—before vanishing into the shadows.
Cassian stepped toward me, his presence pressing against me like a wall. “What is it?”
I shoved him.
Hard.
He didn’t move. Just watched me, his expression unreadable.
“Was it worth it?” I spat. “Letting her wear your shirt? Letting her *lie* about what happened between you?”
His eyes narrowed. “Lirien?”
“Don’t play innocent. I saw her. This morning. Coming from your chambers. In *your* clothes. With a *bite mark* on her neck.”
He didn’t deny it. Just watched me, his jaw tight.
“Answer me,” I hissed.
“She was never in my bed,” he said, voice low. “She’s been trying to get there for centuries. Wears my shirt like a trophy. Leaves bite marks she faked with glamour.”
“And you let her?”
“I let her believe she has power over me,” he said. “It keeps her close. Watched. Controlled.”
“You could have stopped her.”
“And ruin a useful pawn?” He stepped closer. “You think I don’t know what she’s doing? She’s trying to make you doubt me. To make you *hate* me. So you’ll run. So you’ll break the bond.”
“And do you?” I asked, voice breaking. “Do you want me to run?”
He didn’t answer.
Just reached out, his hand brushing my cheek.
The bond *ignited*.
Fire. Need. *Hunger*. My breath punched out of me. My back arched. My thighs clenched, slick with sudden, shameful wetness.
He pulled me against him, his other hand gripping my wrist, pressing me back against the stone wall. Our bodies flush. His breath fanned my lips. His eyes—gold, blazing—held mine.
“You think I’d let another woman touch me?” he growled. “You think I’d let anyone *claim* me?”
My breath trembled.
“Then why?” I whispered. “Why let her wear your ring? Why let her lie?”
“Because,” he said, voice rough, “the only one who will ever *truly* claim me… is you.”
And then—
He kissed me.
Not soft. Not gentle.
*Brutal*.His mouth crashed into mine, teeth clashing, tongue demanding. I gasped, and he swallowed the sound, one hand fisting in my hair, the other pinning my wrist above my head. The bond *screamed*, a molten wave crashing through me, pooling between my legs, making me *drip* for him.
I should have fought.
Should have shoved him away.
But I didn’t.
I kissed him back.
Hard. Desperate. *Hungry*.
And when he finally pulled back, his breath ragged, his eyes blazing, I didn’t speak.
Because the truth was written in the fire between us.
In the way my body *knew* him.
In the way my heart *ached* for him.
And in the way, when he looked at me, I finally understood—
I wasn’t just hunting the truth.
I was falling for the enemy.
He released me. Stepped back.
“You have no idea what I’ve sacrificed,” he said, voice raw.
Then he turned and walked away.
And I stood there, trembling.
The mission. The vengeance. The truth.
It was all slipping through my fingers.
And the worst part?
I wasn’t sure I wanted to hold on.
Because every time he touched me, every time the bond flared, every time he looked at me like I was the only flame in a world of shadows—
I forgot why I’d come.
And remembered only how much I *ached*.
Outside, the wind stirred the thorns.
And somewhere, deep in the heart of the city, a wolf howled.
The full moon was coming.
And I was no longer sure which of us was the hunter.
And which was the prey.