The ring burns in my pocket like a brand.
Not from the metal—though it’s cold against my thigh, its ancient silver biting through the fabric of my gown—but from what it means. From the sigil etched into the band, the same one on the forged decree, the same one Cassian wore like a crown of lies. It’s not just evidence. It’s a confession. A ghost. A key to a door I wasn’t ready to open.
And now, as I stand before the cracked mirror in Kaelen’s chambers, adjusting the sleeves of my storm-gray dress—simple, unadorned, the kind of garment a neutral envoy would wear—I can’t stop thinking about it.
About *him*.
Cassian.
My father?
The thought drops like a stone, heavy and final, sending ripples through every truth I’ve ever known. I don’t want to believe it. I *can’t* believe it. The man who condemned my mother to the Veil, who framed Kaelen, who tried to have me exiled—how could he be the one who gave me my blood? How could the monster be family?
But the ring says otherwise.
And so do the dreams.
I close my eyes, and I see it again—the night they came for us. Fire. Screams. The door bursting open, Council guards in silver-laced armor, their faces masked, their voices cold. My mother fighting, her magic flaring like lightning, her voice raw as she screamed for me to run. And then—
A hand.
Reaching through the flames.
Not to grab me.
Not to hurt me.
But to *pull* me back, into the shadows, out of sight.
A hand wearing that ring.
I open my eyes, my breath ragged. The woman in the mirror—storm-gray eyes, dark hair loose around her shoulders, lips still faintly swollen from the kiss that wasn’t a kiss—doesn’t look like a daughter. She looks like a weapon. A storm with a blade in her hand and vengeance in her blood.
And yet.
For the first time since I walked into this place with a knife at my throat, I’m not sure what I’m fighting for.
Not just justice.
Not just revenge.
But *truth*.
And the truth might destroy me.
“You’re quiet,” Kaelen says from the doorway.
I don’t turn. I can feel him—his presence, his proximity, the bond humming between us like a plucked wire. He’s dressed in black again, his jacket tailored to perfection, his face unreadable. But I feel the tension in him, the way his wolf is coiled tight beneath his skin, the way his gaze lingers on the back of my neck like he’s waiting for me to break.
“I’m thinking,” I say.
“About the ring.”
It’s not a question.
I finally turn to face him. “You knew it was his.”
“I suspected.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“Would it have changed anything?”
“Maybe.”
“Or maybe it would have made you reckless. You already want to burn the Council to ashes. Knowing Cassian might be your father?” He shakes his head. “That kind of fire consumes the one who carries it.”
I stare at him. “Since when do you care if I get burned?”
His jaw tightens. “Since the moment you kissed me.”
The words hang between us, sharp as glass.
I don’t answer.
Because he’s right.
That kiss—violent, desperate, *true*—changed everything. It wasn’t just a weapon. It was a crack in the armor, a glimpse of something deeper, something I can’t name. And now, every time I look at him, I see it—the way his hand trembles when he thinks I’m not watching, the way his breath hitches when I’m near, the way his wolf *knows* me, even if his mind refuses to.
“We’re attending the Unity Trial prep,” he says, shifting the weight. “Cassian will be there. So will the others. You’ll need to be careful.”
“Careful how?”
“You’re not just a suspect anymore. You’re a threat. And threats draw attention.”
“From Cassian.”
“From others too.”
“Like who?”
He hesitates. “Maeve Thorne.”
The name lands like a stone.
Maeve Thorne. Vampire heiress. Council liaison. And, according to whispered rumors, Kaelen’s ex-lover.
I’ve seen her once—across the Chamber, draped in blood-red silk, her lips painted the color of fresh blood, her eyes sharp as daggers. She didn’t speak to me. Didn’t acknowledge me. But the way she looked at Kaelen—possessive, hungry, *knowing*—made my skin crawl.
“What about her?” I ask, voice flat.
“She’s dangerous. Manipulative. And she doesn’t like competition.”
“Competition?” I laugh, short and bitter. “You think she sees me as competition? I’m bound to you by magic, not choice. I’m not your mate. I’m your *prisoner*.”
He doesn’t flinch. “She doesn’t see it that way. To her, any woman near me is a threat. And she plays to win.”
“Then let her play.” I step past him, heading for the door. “I’ve dealt with worse.”
“Torrent.”
I stop.
He’s behind me, close enough that I can feel the heat of his body, the scent of pine and wildness that clings to him. His voice drops, rough, low.
“If she tries to provoke you—ignore her. If she touches you—walk away. If she says anything about us, about the bond, about *me*—don’t react. She wants a reaction. Don’t give her one.”
I turn slowly. “And if I do?”
“Then you play her game.”
“And what if I want to?”
His eyes narrow. “This isn’t a game.”
“Isn’t it?” I step closer, tilting my chin up. “You’ve spent two centuries building walls, Kaelen. Pretending you don’t feel. Pretending you don’t want. But I’ve seen behind the mask. I’ve felt your wolf. I’ve tasted your *need*.”
His breath hitches.
“And if Maeve wants to test me?” I whisper. “Let her. Because I’m not afraid of a vampire who thinks she owns you. I’m not afraid of lies. And I’m *definitely* not afraid of the truth.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just watches me, his gold eyes burning, the bond humming between us like a storm about to break.
And then—
He steps back.
“Let’s go.”
—
The prep chamber is smaller than the main Council Hall—circular, dimly lit, the walls lined with carved runes that pulse faintly with containment magic. A single obsidian table stands in the center, surrounded by six chairs. The air hums with tension, thick with the scent of ozone and old blood. This is where the Unity Trials are prepared. Where secrets are tested. Where lies are stripped bare.
We enter together, ten paces apart but never truly separated. The bond thrums—steady, warm—his presence a weight against my spine. I keep my face neutral, my steps measured, my magic coiled tight beneath my skin. No spells. No tricks. Just observation.
Cassian is already there.
He stands by the far wall, his silver robes shimmering, his hands clasped behind his back, his smile sharp as a blade. He doesn’t greet us. Doesn’t acknowledge us. Just watches, his eyes tracking my every move like a predator circling prey.
And then—
Maeve Thorne glides in, her gown of liquid crimson clinging to her like blood, her lips curved in a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She doesn’t look at me. Just walks to Kaelen, her hips swaying, her voice smooth as poisoned silk.
“Kaelen,” she purrs. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“You weren’t invited,” he says, voice flat.
She laughs, low and dangerous. “But I’m so *fond* of Unity Trials. They’re so… intimate.” Her eyes flick to me. “Especially when the bond is *false*.”
I don’t react.
Just keep walking.
But then—
She moves.
Fast.
One second she’s beside Kaelen. The next, she’s in front of me, her hand brushing my arm as she “accidentally” spills a drop of bloodwine onto the fabric of my sleeve.
“Oh, *darling*,” she purrs, dabbing at the stain with a silk cloth. “I’m *so* clumsy.”
I freeze.
Her touch is cold, deliberate. And beneath the scent of wine, I catch it—the faint, intoxicating aroma of *him*. Kaelen’s blood. On her skin. In her veins.
My stomach twists.
“It’s fine,” I say, pulling my arm back.
But she leans in, her lips brushing my ear, her voice a whisper only I can hear.
“He let me taste his blood for three nights. Do you know what that feels like? His fangs in my neck. His hands on my body. The way he *groans* my name when he comes?”
I don’t breathe.
“He’s *mine*,” she murmurs. “And one day, when this little farce of a bond is over, he’ll come back to me. Because no hybrid—no *tainted* bloodline—could ever satisfy a wolf like him.”
Then she steps back, smiling, and walks away.
And I’m left standing there, my skin on fire, my heart hammering, my hands trembling so hard I have to clench them into fists.
Jealousy.
It hits like a blade—sharp, sudden, *unwanted*. I don’t want to care. I don’t want to feel. I came here to kill him, not to fight over him.
But the thought of her—her lips on his skin, her body beneath his, his fangs in her neck—makes something in me *snap*.
And then—
A hand on my thigh.
Under the table.
Strong. Possessive. *Kaelen’s*.
I look up.
He’s sitting across from me, his face a mask of ice, his eyes unreadable. But his hand—hidden beneath the long tablecloth, his fingers pressing into the muscle of my thigh—is burning me alive.
“Don’t,” I whisper.
“You’re trembling,” he says, voice low, rough. “Not from fear. From *want*.”
My breath catches.
“She’s lying,” he continues, his thumb brushing the inside of my thigh, just once. “I’ve never let her taste my blood. I’ve never touched her. Not like that.”
“Then why does she smell like you?”
“Because she stole a vial from my chambers. Because she’s desperate. Because she wants you to doubt me.”
My pulse hammers.
“And do you?” he asks, his voice dropping. “Do you doubt me?”
I don’t answer.
Because I *should*. Because he’s the High Alpha. Because he’s spent centuries hiding the truth. Because he let the world believe he was the monster who killed my mother.
But when I look at him—really look—I see it.
The truth.
In the way his jaw clenches. In the way his hand trembles. In the way his wolf *howls* for me, even now, even here, even with another woman claiming him.
He’s not lying.
And that terrifies me.
Because if he’s not lying…
Then I might actually *believe* him.
And if I believe him…
Then I might actually *want* him.
And if I want him—
Then I’m already lost.
“She’s watching,” he murmurs, his fingers tightening. “Don’t give her the satisfaction.”
I force my hands to relax. Force my breath to steady. Force my face to stay neutral.
But inside?
I’m burning.
From jealousy.
From need.
From the quiet, traitorous part of my heart that whispers—
You came here to kill him.
But what if you’re already falling for him?
—
The prep session ends in silence.
Cassian drones on about the next Unity Trial—something about breath-sharing and scent-memories—but I don’t hear him. My mind is elsewhere. On the ring. On the dreams. On the hand that pulled me from the fire.
When we leave, I don’t wait for Kaelen. I stride ahead, my steps fast, my breath coming in sharp bursts. I need space. I need air. I need to *think*.
“Torrent,” he calls.
I don’t stop.
“You’re pushing the bond,” he says, catching up. “Ten paces. Remember?”
“Or what?” I snap, turning on him. “You’ll feel it? You’ll *know*?”
“I already do.”
I glare at him. “Then you know I’m not running. I’m *thinking*.”
He studies me, his gold eyes searching mine. “About Cassian.”
“About *everything*.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just walks beside me, his presence a quiet weight. We reach the corridor that leads to his chambers, but I don’t go in. I turn down a side passage—narrow, dimly lit, lined with old storage rooms and forgotten archives.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“To find the truth.”
“The Council archives are sealed.”
“Then I’ll break in.”
“Torrent—”
“You said I was clever,” I say, stopping. “You said I was too good. Well, I’m going to use it. I’m going to find out what really happened to my mother. And if Cassian *is* my father—”
“Then what?”
I look at him. “Then I’ll make him pay for both.”
He doesn’t argue.
Just nods once. “I’ll cover for you.”
My breath catches. “You’d do that? For me?”
“I’ve done worse.”
And then he turns and walks away, leaving me standing in the dark.
—
The archive is deep in the Aerie’s underbelly—stone walls, iron door, no windows. A single ward glows faintly above the lock, pulsing with containment magic. I press my palm to it, whispering the counter-sequence—a fae trick my mother taught me, a whisper of words that unravels lies. The ward flickers. Dies.
I step inside.
Dust. Silence. Rows of ancient scrolls, bound records, sealed files. I move fast, scanning titles, pulling out anything with my mother’s name, anything with Cassian’s sigil, anything with the word *Veil*.
And then—
I find it.
A single file, tucked behind a false panel in the wall. No label. No seal. Just a thin sheaf of papers, tied with black ribbon.
I untie it.
The first page is a Council transcript—dated seventeen years ago. The trial of Elara Veyne, hybrid, accused of blood-taint and sedition.
My mother.
I scan the names of the Councilors present. Kaelen Dain. Cassian Vael. Others.
And then—
The vote.
Unanimous in favor of the Veil.
Except one.
Kaelen Dain—*nay*.
My breath stops.
I flip to the next page. A sealed addendum. A private note from the scribe: *Final tally altered. Kaelen Dain’s vote changed from nay to yea. Signature forged. Source: Lord Cassian.*
No.
It can’t be.
I flip to the last page.
A photograph.
My mother, younger, her hair long, her eyes wild with fear. And beside her—Cassian, his arm around her waist, his hand resting on her stomach.
Pregnant.
And on the back, written in her hand: *He promised to protect us. But he sold me to the Council. And he took our daughter.*
The room spins.
I stagger back, clutching the file, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The truth hits like a blade—sharp, sudden, *final*.
Kaelen didn’t sign the decree.
Cassian did.
And he’s not just the one who framed Kaelen.
He’s the one who *took* her.
And if he knew her…
If he left his ring behind…
Then maybe—
Maybe he’s not just the villain.
Maybe he’s my *father*.
The thought drops like a stone.
And the world tilts.
I don’t scream. Don’t cry. Just stand there, the file trembling in my hands, the truth burning through every lie I’ve ever known.
And then—
I hear footsteps.
Fast. Controlled.
And then—
Kaelen appears in the doorway, his face pale, his eyes wide.
“Torrent,” he says, voice rough. “What did you find?”
I don’t answer.
Just hold out the file.
He takes it. Scans it. And then—
He closes his eyes.
“I tried to save her,” he says, voice low. “I voted to spare her. But Cassian outmaneuvered me. The vote was tied. And when the final tally was read, my name was on the decree—my signature forged, my voice silenced.”
My breath hitches.
“I couldn’t prove it,” he continues. “And I couldn’t admit weakness. So I let the world believe I was the monster.”
“And my father?” I whisper.
He looks at me. “Cassian.”
“He’s my *father*?”
“He was with your mother. Before the Council took her. He promised to protect you both. But when the trial came, he betrayed her. Sold her to the Council. And when they came for you—”
“He pulled me from the fire,” I finish.
Kaelen nods. “He saved you. But not out of love. Out of guilt. And power. He wanted you hidden. Unclaimed. A secret weapon.”
My knees buckle.
He catches me, pulling me into his arms, holding me as I shake, as I sob, as the world I’ve built on revenge crumbles to ash.
“You didn’t come here to kill me,” he whispers, his breath warm on my neck. “You came here to burn the lies.”
I don’t answer.
Just cling to him, my tears soaking his shirt, my body trembling against his.
And then—
He carries me back to his chambers.
Lays me on the bed.
And for the first time since I walked into this place with a knife at my throat—
I let someone hold me.
—
I wake with a gasp.
The room is dark. The fire in the hearth has burned to embers. And Kaelen is beside me—on top of the covers, fully clothed, one hand resting on my hip, his breath warm on my neck.
“Don’t move,” he murmurs. “Or I’ll forget myself.”