They said I was born to rule — but they never said I'd share my fate with a traitor."
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The throne room of Ravaryn was carved from obsidian stone, cold as the prince who stood at its center.
Prince Kaelion Ravaryn, heir to the throne, didn't flinch as the prisoner was dragged before him—bloodied, chained, but still wearing a smirk.
Evren Solare.
A name whispered in rebel camps. The last known descendant of the Solare bloodline—outlaws, mages, and once, royalty.
"You're braver than I expected," Kaelion said, voice sharp as the blade at his hip. "Or stupider."
Evren didn't bow. He didn't kneel. He just stared up with bright, reckless eyes and said, "You're taller than I expected. Still an asshole, though."
The guards moved, but Kaelion raised a hand. "Leave us."
They hesitated—no one left the prince alone with someone this dangerous. But they obeyed.
When the doors shut, silence fell. Magic crackled faintly in the air, coiled like smoke.
"You used blood magic to break into the archives," Kaelion said. "What were you looking for?"
Evren leaned back on his heels, still chained. "Something your family buried."
"You're not walking out of here alive," Kaelion warned.
Evren smiled slowly. "I'm not here to walk out."
That's when the magic surged—wild and uncontrolled. The two men clashed in a moment of fury, light and shadow colliding in the center of the throne room. Kaelion raised a ward. Evren broke it. But the spell—imperfect, desperate—lashed back at them both.
The magic twisted.
It bound.
It sealed.
Then everything went black.
When Kaelion opened his eyes again, the chains were gone.
And so was the distance between them.
Their magic had bonded.
Fused.
Linked by ancient power not even the prince could undo.
Now, the crown prince and the traitor mage were tied by fate itself.
When Kaelion moved, Evren moved with him.
Not by choice.
By force.
By fate.
The bond tugged at them like an invisible thread woven through their bones. When Kaelion turned sharply, Evren stumbled forward, their shoulders nearly colliding.
Kaelion's fists clenched. "Unbind it. Now."
Evren scoffed. "You think I meant to soul-bond with you? Trust me, you're not even in my top five nightmare matches."
Kaelion grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him close, eyes blazing like molten gold. "Then fix it."
"I can't," Evren hissed. "You think I'd chain myself to a royal brat for fun?"
The silence between them was thick. Heavy. Dangerous.
Kaelion released him with a shove and turned away, pacing the throne room floor. "This changes everything."
"For you maybe," Evren muttered. "For me, it just shortens the time until your court slits my throat."
Kaelion stopped. His voice was cold. "As long as this bond exists, your death is mine too."
Evren blinked.
Oh.
So the mighty prince was trapped too.
A cruel twist of fate.
Kaelion summoned the royal mage, an old man with silver eyes and deep scars from ancient wars. He studied them both, then shook his head.
"The bond is sealed in old magic. Blood-forged. It cannot be broken."
Kaelion's jaw flexed. "There must be a way."
"There is one," the mage said carefully. "But it requires the two of you to remain… close. In body and in will."
Evren's face twisted. "What the hell does that mean?"
The mage didn't smile.
"It means if you hate each other too much, the bond will turn violent. It will tear you both apart."
A pause.
Then Kaelion said darkly, "We leave for Blackspire tomorrow."
Evren blinked. "Blackspire?"
"My fortress. Far from the capital. We'll train. We'll fix this."
Evren crossed his arms. "What if I don't come?"
Kaelion turned to him, gaze like steel.
"You're mine now, mage. You come… or you burn."
The road to Blackspire was cold, steep, and endless.
Storm clouds rolled above the mountains like hungry beasts, and the air grew thinner with every step. Snow fell in quiet flurries, but the silence between Kaelion and Evren was louder than thunder.
They rode alone—no guards, no servants.
Just the two of them, bound by magic and mutual hatred.
Evren tugged at the reins of his horse, teeth chattering slightly. "You know, I always imagined if I was being dragged to some cursed fortress by royalty, it'd be more dramatic. Maybe torches. Screaming villagers. A beheading."
Kaelion didn't glance at him. "Would you prefer that?"
Evren shrugged. "Not the beheading part."
Kaelion's expression didn't change, but Evren noticed how his hands tightened on the reins. Tension lived in Kaelion like it was born there—every breath measured, every word cut down to precision.
They didn't speak again until the spires came into view.
Blackspire.
A fortress carved into the mountain, black stone rising like jagged fangs against the snowy sky. The gates opened with a groan as ancient magic scanned their bond and allowed them passage.
Inside, the halls were lined with firestones that glowed blue. Evren felt them hum against his skin—magic older than the crown.
Kaelion dismounted first and turned. "This is where you'll sleep."
He opened the door to a stone room—not a prison, but definitely not a guest chamber. Simple bed. No windows.
Evren scoffed. "Cozy. Planning to tuck me in?"
Kaelion stepped closer. "I should've left you in chains."
Evren smirked. "You did. Until the universe decided you needed a soulmate."
Kaelion's eye twitched.
That night, the bond burned.
Evren woke from a nightmare, sweating, heart pounding—not from fear, but from the connection. His chest ached, not with pain, but with Kaelion's emotions.
Rage. Restlessness. Guilt.
He wasn't alone.
He stumbled out of the room and followed the pull.
He found Kaelion in the training hall, sword in hand, shirt soaked in sweat. He was training like he wanted to kill something. Or himself.
Evren stepped forward.
Kaelion stopped, breath ragged, eyes burning. "Can't sleep either?"
Evren shook his head.
And in that moment—no chains, no throne, no politics—just silence and sweat and tension too thick to breathe through…
They stood there.
Bound.
Waiting to break.
The next morning came with no warning—just a sharp knock at Evren's door and Kaelion's cold voice.
"Get up. We start training today."
Evren groaned. "You know, for someone magically bonded to me, you're not very nurturing."
Kaelion didn't reply. Of course not.
By the time Evren dragged himself into the training hall, Kaelion was already there. Sword in hand. Stance perfect. Like he was born to fight gods.
"Pick a weapon," Kaelion said, eyes not leaving him.
Evren eyed the rack of blades. "I prefer magic."
Kaelion tossed a dagger at his feet. "You'll learn both."
Evren bent to pick it up, muttering, "Royalty and their control issues."
What followed wasn't training—it was war.
Kaelion didn't hold back. Every slash was a test. Every dodge a dare.
Evren stumbled. Swore. Countered with short bursts of magic—nothing too destructive, but just enough to prove he wasn't weak.
Until—
The bond snapped.
Not broke—pulled.
A pulse of pure power ricocheted through the room, throwing them both apart. Evren hit the wall. Kaelion staggered back, eyes wide.
"What the hell was that?" Evren gasped, chest rising and falling fast.
Kaelion was silent.
Then the door burst open.
A figure strode in—dark cloak, eyes silver, mouth curled in smug amusement.
"Trouble already?" the man asked smoothly. "You always did make bonding look painful, Your Highness."
Kaelion's face darkened. "Leave, Therin. Now is not the time."
"On the contrary," Therin said, walking closer, gaze sliding over Evren like he was something fragile and interesting. "I think it's exactly the time. You haven't told him, have you?"
Evren narrowed his eyes. "Told me what?"
Kaelion's jaw tensed.
Therin smiled. "That the bond you share? It's lethal if ignored. Neglect it too long, and it will consume you both."
Evren's heart dropped.
Kaelion finally spoke. "I was going to tell you—"
Evren took a step back. "When? After I started bleeding magic?"
The room crackled with tension. Magic. Fear.
And something deeper.
Therin just watched, pleased. "This is going to be fun."