The world was quieter after the storm.
Lucian lay still, the scent of Kyrell thick on his skin, blood humming with a force not entirely his own. It wasn't just passion that burned through him now—but possession, and something far older. The mark he'd left on Kyrell's neck had bled gold, then faded into silver like it had always belonged there.
Kyrell stirred beside him, breath warm against Lucian's chest. But it wasn't sleep that held him—it was clarity. His eyes, half-lidded, glowed faintly in the dark. The old blood had settled now, not quiet, but calm. It had found its match.
"You knew what that would do," Kyrell whispered. "Didn't you?"
Lucian nodded once. "Yes."
Kyrell didn't ask for regret. He didn't need to. The way his fingers laced through Lucian's told the truth before it had to be spoken.
"I feel you inside me," Kyrell murmured, eyes fluttering closed again. "Like your hunger. Your name. It's all there. I don't know where I end anymore."
Lucian's voice was low. "You don't."
Outside, the night crackled.
Far across the realm, the council chambers shifted. Fires flared. The veils twitched in their sacred vaults. The Seer, blind and bound in the lower sanctum, rose from her trance with blood pouring from her nose.
She whispered to no one:
> "The bond is made. The throne will bleed. And the one who bears the mark of the night… will not bow."
---
Elsewhere—Renak
The letter burned in Renak's palm. Even the ash was dangerous.
He had read it twice. Each time, the seal twisted. Each time, Lucian's name had been scrawled deeper across the royal crest—only to be scratched violently out by Silas's hand.
> The last heir. Hidden. Marked for death should he awaken the old blood.
Renak leaned against the corridor wall, chest heaving. He had always known Silas feared something more than rebellion. But this—this was treason. To erase a rightful heir, to keep the bloodline severed so his own power would never be threatened…
He turned to find Mara behind him.
"I know what you saw," she said.
Renak didn't flinch. "Then you know he'll never stop now. Lucian has him. And he's not just bonded to Kyrell anymore. He's bonded to the throne."
Mara's lips were pale. "Then the throne is already lost."
---
Meanwhile—Damien
"You felt it, didn't you?" Damien's voice cracked across the quiet of the forest. His blade was half-drawn, not for prey, but out of panic. Something had rippled through the wards—something primal, permanent.
The young hunter beside him nodded slowly. "They're sealed. There's no undoing it now."
Damien turned, eyes furious. "No. He was supposed to falter. Lucian was supposed to break. The boy was the weapon—not the shield."
But it was too late.
From across the valley, the wolves began to howl.
And the old powers—those long buried beneath the Throne of Ash and Blood—began to wake.
---