The first lie I ever told him was that I came to kill him.
It wasn’t a lie, not then. Not truly. I *had* come to bury him in his own lies, to carve justice into his flesh with a silver blade. But now?
Now the truth is heavier than vengeance.
Now I’m lying to protect him.
And that—
That feels worse.
The Aerie breathes in slow, steady waves—its wards pulsing with the rhythm of something alive, something healed, something reborn. The corridors no longer echo with the ghost of fear. No more hushed whispers behind stone columns. No more furtive glances from guards who once served Cassian. The war is over. The Veil is dismantled. The law is written. The claim is made. And yet—
Here we are.
Still standing.
Still fighting.
Just not with blades.
Kaelen is in the war room—now the peace room, though no one says it out loud—overseeing the integration of the northern patrols. I told him I was going to the Hollow Moon Academy to train the new recruits. That I needed to be where the future was being forged. He didn’t question me. Just gave me that look—gold eyes burning, fangs pressing against his gums, body coiled tight like a storm about to break—and said, “Come back before dark.”
I didn’t promise.
Instead, I came here.
To the Sanctum.
To the sealed crystal.
The memory chamber is silent when I enter—no whispers, no echoes, no flickering images of the past. The air is thick with containment magic, the stone floor cool beneath my bare feet. The other crystals float in their orbits, their light soft, steady, pulsing like heartbeats. But the one I sealed—the one that showed me *her*—is gone. Swallowed by the stone. Hidden. Protected.
Or so I thought.
I press my palm flat against the black stone where it vanished, my storm-colored eyes scanning the runes. They’re still glowing faintly—storm-blue, electric—reactivating at my touch. My magic hums in response, syncing with the bond sigil on my chest, pulsing in time with Kaelen’s distant heartbeat.
But something’s wrong.
The ward is weakening.
I can feel it—a subtle tremor beneath my fingertips, like the stone is breathing, like it’s *remembering*. The runes flicker. The air thickens. And then—
—a whisper.
Not a voice. Not a sound.
But a *presence*.
Like someone is watching.
Like someone is *waiting*.
I step back, my hand flying to the dagger at my thigh. My breath comes slow, deliberate. My pulse hammers, but not from fear. From *recognition*.
She’s not just coming.
She’s already here.
—
The Council chamber is alive when I return.
Not with tension. Not with fear. But with movement. The circle of stone seats is full—twelve Councilors, three per species, their faces sharp with purpose, their voices low with debate. The witches sit in the center, their robes of deep indigo, their hands glowing faintly with ley-line energy. The Beast Courts—wolves, shifters, hunters—sit to the left, their fangs bared, their loyalty to Kaelen unshaken. The Silk Courts—fae and vampires—sit to the right, fractured still, but no longer united in opposition. Some watch with suspicion. Others with hope. All with attention.
And at the center?
Us.
Kaelen and I, side by side, our thrones level with the others. Equal. Not because of power. Not because of fear. But because of choice.
Silas stands at the edge of the circle, his dark eyes unreadable, his half-vampire scent laced with something I can’t name. Concern? Pride? Both? He doesn’t speak. Just studies me—my sharp jaw, my defiant eyes, the fire in my blood. And for the first time, I see it too.
Not just the avenger.
Not just the assassin.
But the queen.
“The Council is convened,” he says, voice low, official. “On this day, a breach has been detected in the Sanctum’s containment field. The source is unknown. The frequency matches no known magic. But it is—” He pauses. “—growing stronger.”
A murmur ripples through the chamber.
Not outrage. Not denial.
But tension.
Because they know.
They’ve seen the war. They’ve felt the bond. They’ve witnessed the claiming.
And now?
Now they are being asked to prepare.
“It could be a rogue hybrid,” a witch says, rising, her hands glowing. “One we haven’t reached yet. One who still believes in the old ways.”
“Or a remnant of Cassian’s blood magic,” a vampire adds. “He had allies we never found.”
“Or,” a fae noble says, his silver eyes too much like mine, “it could be a trap. A distraction. While something else moves in the shadows.”
I don’t speak.
Just press my palm flat against the bond sigil.
Because I know what it is.
It’s not a rogue. Not a remnant. Not a trap.
It’s her.
The woman from the vision.
And she’s not coming.
She’s already *here*.
Kaelen turns to me, his gold eyes burning. “You were at the Sanctum,” he says, voice low. “Did you see anything?”
I don’t flinch.
Just tilt my chin up, my storm-colored eyes locking on his. “Nothing,” I say. “The wards are holding. The crystals are stable.”
It’s the first lie I’ve told him since we claimed each other.
And it tastes like ash.
He doesn’t believe me.
I can see it—the way his nostrils flare, the way his fangs press against his gums, the low, guttural growl that vibrates through the Aerie. He knows when I’m hiding something. He always has. The bond doesn’t just sync our breath, our pulse, our magic.
It syncs our *lies*.
But he doesn’t press.
Just nods, sharp, final. “Then we prepare,” he says, turning back to the Council. “Reinforce the wards. Double the patrols. And if anything breaches the Sanctum—” His voice drops. “—you kill it.”
The chamber falls silent.
Not in shock.
Not in fear.
But in recognition.
Because they know.
They’ve seen the claiming. They’ve felt the bond. They’ve witnessed the war.
And now?
Now they see the truth.
I’m not just his fated mate.
I’m not just the woman who came to kill him.
I’m the woman who chose him.
And now?
Now I am lying to protect him.
—
Later, in the war room—now the peace room, though no one says it out loud—I stand at the window, my back to the city, my storm-colored eyes scanning the Aerie. The shift is already happening. The old guards are being replaced. The wards are being rewritten. The records are being unsealed. And the Veil?
It’s being dismantled.
Not destroyed.
But repurposed.
Into a sanctuary. A school. A place where hybrids can learn, grow, live without fear.
Kaelen stands behind me, his hands sliding around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. “You’re lying,” he says, voice rough. “I can feel it. In the bond. In your pulse. In the way you won’t look at me.”
I don’t turn.
Just lean into him, my body warm, steady, alive. “I’m not lying,” I say. “I’m protecting you.”
He tenses.
“From what?”
I don’t answer.
Just press my palm flat against the bond sigil.
Because some truths—
Some memories—
Are not mine to reveal.
And some secrets—
Are not mine to keep.
But this one?
This one, I’ll carry alone.
For now.
“Torrent,” he says, voice low. “You don’t have to protect me. I’m not some fragile thing. I’m your mate. Your equal. Your *king*.”
I turn in his arms, my storm-colored eyes locking on his. “And I’m your queen,” I say. “And queens don’t just fight battles. They *see* them. Before they happen. Before they destroy everything we’ve built.”
He doesn’t flinch.
Just cups my face, his thumb brushing my lip. “You’re not just my mate,” he says, voice rough. “You’re my queen.”
And this time, I don’t just believe it.
I am it.
But even queens lie.
Even queens bleed.
And even queens—
—fall in love too deeply to tell the truth.
—
That night, I don’t go back to the chambers.
Not yet.
Instead, I go to the Sanctum.
Alone.
The memory crystals float, silent. The air hums with it—thick with ozone and new magic, the wards pulsing in steady, rhythmic waves. I press my palm to the stone, channeling a thread of my magic—not storm, not fire, but protection. A shield. A ward. A promise.
“If you’re coming,” I whisper, “you’ll have to go through me.”
And then—
I do something I’ve never done.
I reopen the crystal.
Not with force.
Not with magic.
But with blood.
My fingertip presses into the black stone, just enough to draw a bead of crimson. And the runes flare—white-hot, electric—lightning crackling across the floor, the air thick with ozone, the very walls trembling as the chamber remembers.
And then—
It returns.
The crystal hovers at the edge of the circle, its light faint, flickering, its surface etched with runes I’ve never seen. Not fae. Not witch. Not even vampire. Something older. Something darker. Something that hums with a frequency that makes the bond sigil on my chest ache.
I reach for it.
My fingers brush the surface—cold, smooth, like obsidian kissed by frost—and the moment I touch it, the chamber shifts.
Not in space.
But in time.
The walls dissolve. The floor vanishes. The air thickens with the scent of blood and iron, of ancient magic and something… hungry. I’m standing in a room I’ve never seen—circular, carved from black stone, its walls lined with chains, its floor stained with centuries of sacrifice. In the center, a woman kneels—her face hidden, her silver robes torn, her hands bound in silver cuffs. And standing over her—
—is Kaelen.
Not the Kaelen I know.
Not the man who holds me like I’m something fragile. Not the Alpha who bends his head to kiss my neck in front of the world. Not the lover who whispers vows against my skin.
This is the Wolf-Alpha of legend.
Gold eyes slitted. Fangs bared. Claws extended. His body coiled tight, his voice a growl that shakes the stone. He’s not speaking. Not yet. Just watching her—this woman—with something I can’t name. Not hatred. Not cruelty.
Pain.
And then—
She lifts her head.
And I see her face.
My breath stops.
It’s me.
Not my face. Not my eyes. But my soul. I feel it—the same fire in her veins, the same storm in her blood, the same defiance in her gaze. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t beg. Just stares at him, her voice low, raw.
“You don’t have to do this,” she says. “I know what you are. I know what you’ve done. But I also know what you could be.”
Kaelen doesn’t move.
Just tightens his grip on the hilt of the blade in his hand—black steel, etched with runes that pulse with containment magic.
“You’re a threat,” he says, voice rough. “To the Council. To the packs. To everything.”
“And you’re a prisoner,” she says, lifting her chin. “Of your own fear. Of your own pride. Of the lies they’ve fed you.” She smiles—slow, dangerous. “But I see you, Kaelen. I see the man beneath the monster. And I’m not afraid of you.”
He growls.
But doesn’t strike.
Instead—
He reaches.
Just for a second.
Just enough for his fingers to brush the side of her face.
And the moment he does—
The vision shatters.
I stumble back, gasping, my hand flying to the bond sigil, my heart hammering like a war drum. The Sanctum snaps back into focus. The crystals float, steady. The air is still. But the echo of that touch—his fingers on her skin, the raw ache in his eyes—lingers like a brand.
It wasn’t a memory.
It was a prophecy.
And it wasn’t about me.
It was about her.
The woman who looked like me. Who spoke like me. Who fought like me.
And Kaelen—
He knew her.
He loved her.
And he was about to kill her.
—
I don’t go back to the chambers.
Not yet.
Instead, I go to the training grounds.
Alone.
The storm is coming.
I can feel it in my blood.
In the bond.
In the silence between heartbeats.
And when it comes—
When she steps out of the shadows—
I’ll be ready.
Because some battles aren’t fought with fire.
Some wars aren’t won with blood.
And some loves?
Are protected not by truth—
But by silence.
And some lies?
Are not spoken aloud.
But carried in the heart—
Until they break you.