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The silence in the chamber is absolute except for my labored breathing and the sound of my own blood hitting stone.

Complete. Utter. Failure.

Through the agony, I hear Orion make a sound like a wounded animal. See Kieran’s ice-blue eyes blazing with helpless fury. Watch Finnian’s careful composure crack completely.

But none of them move. None of them act. Whatever they’re hiding, whatever they could do, magical interference won’t let them help me.

They’ve all been played. We’ve all been played.

“The manifestation has failed,” The Morrigan begins, but I cut her off.

“Stop.” Ancient authority floods my spine as I force myself to my feet. Blood streaming down my face, white robes stained crimson. But my voice carries power that makes the ancient chamber ring. “I invoke autonomy rights.”

Amarantha bolts upright, violet eyes blazing with fury. “What are you doing? This is not the time for?—”

“Autonomy rights supersede trial continuation,” The Morrigan interrupts, and there’s something in her ancient voice that sounds almost... pleased. Silver eyes gleam with satisfaction as she watches me reclaim control. “The candidate may choose her fate rather than have it imposed.”

“I’ve heard the offers,” I continue, looking directly at Amarantha, then at Moros. “Death disguised as mercy. Binding disguised as salvation. Control disguised as care.”

Power floods my spine. Ancient birthright refusing to be suppressed any longer. When I speak, my voice carries weight that makes the chamber stones ring like struck bells.

“But if chains are inevitable, I choose who forges them.”

“You cannot possibly—this is madness! Child, you don’t understand what you’re choosing!” Amarantha rises from her seat like a fury made manifest.

“I understand perfectly.” I meet her gaze with steel in my voice. “You want to save me from choices you think are wrong. He wants to own me through debt I never truly owed.” I gesture toward Moros, whose satisfaction is turning to concern. “But I choose the Unseelie Court. Not because I have to. Because I want to.”

“That’s not how this works!” Amarantha’s voice carries desperation now, perfect composure cracking. “The trial failed! You need guidance, protection?—”

“She needs to choose her own path,” The Morrigan says with a smile. Ancient eyes hold something that might be approval. “Even if that path leads through darkness.”

Moros straightens in his seat, calculating something behind those ice-blue eyes. “Binding. Complete binding to Unseelie authority, accepting our protection and guidance for the remainder of your existence.”

The words hit like physical blows. In the gallery, Orion’s face contorts with rage that makes shadows recoil. Kieran goesabsolutely still, understanding exactly what his father is offering. Finnian’s careful composure shatters completely.

They’re watching me choose slavery over death.

But slavery to Moros beats the alternatives. Better than bleeding out on this dais. Better than giving Amarantha the satisfaction of my suicide. Better than letting Davis break what’s left of my mind.

Has to be.

“Yes,” I whisper, loud enough for binding magic to hear. “I accept.”

Silver chains wrap around my ribs, claiming me from the inside out. Binding magic settles into my soul, but it feels different than what Moros intended. Still corruption, still invasion, but corruption I chose rather than had forced upon me.

Suppression enchantments shatter under the strain. Clarity floods back like ice water. Just in time to understand the full scope of what I’ve done.

Joke’s on all of you. I just stole the game.

Amarantha stares at me with something approaching horror, realizing her psychological warfare failed completely. Moros’s satisfaction has turned to uncertainty as his perfect trap becomes something else entirely.

And The Morrigan... The Morrigan is smiling like she’s witnessed something magnificent.

“Interesting,” she murmurs, silver eyes holding ancient approval. “Very interesting indeed.”

But as magical chains lock around my soul, as binding magic makes me property of the Unseelie Court, I look up at Moros and smile anyway.

Not because I’m confident. Not because I have a plan. Because I chose this hell on my own terms, and that makes me more dangerous than any of them understand.

“My king,” I say, voice steady despite the blood on my lips and the chains around my soul. “Hope you’re prepared for what you just inherited.”

Binding magic pulses with my heartbeat—silver chains everyone assumes make me powerless.

But chains I choose hit different than chains they force.

And I plan to make that difference cost him everything.