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SIX

KAEL

K ael stood at the foot of the throne dais, fists clenched behind his back, the burn of the Mark under his skin still flaring like a damn brand.

The high court of Fenrir stretched out before him—stone archways clawed toward the sky, fur-lined banners billowing with each gust of wind that hissed through the open columns. The throne room was carved straight from the bones of the mountain itself. Cold. Cracked. Watching.

Just like the wolves who filled it.

Shifters lined both sides of the chamber—House advisors, war captains, noble families in ceremonial armor and ink-dyed silks. And all of them, every last one, turned toward the entrance at the sound of heavy doors creaking open.

And there she was.

Selene walked like a storm bottled in a girl’s frame—quiet until it wasn’t. Raven-black hair braided back from her face, silver-threaded cloak whispering over the flagstones. She wore the court’s colors—crimson and bone—but somehow still managed to look like a rebellion dressed for supper.

She didn’t look at him.

Didn’t falter.

Didn’t smile.

And damn it if Kael didn’t respect the hell out of that.

Still, respect didn’t make the Mark throb any less. Didn’t stop the way the whole damn room seemed to lean forward when she passed, like predators sniffing out the blood they knew had already been spilled.

Kael descended the steps as she approached.

“You’re late,” he said under his breath, voice low enough that only she could hear.

“I’m fashionably hostile, ” Selene muttered, not missing a beat.

His jaw ticked. “Remember the part where we have to look united?”

“Don’t worry. I’m fantastic at pretending.”

She gave him a dazzling, false smile right as they stepped onto the central dais together. The court murmured in approval.

Kael didn’t smile back.

He stood just a breath behind her, his hand ghosting near the small of her back as dictated by custom. Not touching. Just near enough to suggest connection.

It made his skin crawl.

It made something in him ache .

And he hated it.

“Welcome,” Ruarc's voice rang out from the throne behind them, heavy and rich with command. “The Mark has spoken. The blood has bound. And in its binding, the path ahead begins.”

More murmurs. Some reverent. Others wary. A few openly skeptical.

Kael’s eyes drifted to the edge of the gathering, to Lord Varyn Duskthorn—a sleek bastard with a smile that never quite reached his eyes. Velvet coat. Black-gloved hands clasped like a prayer. Watching Selene like he was the one with a claim on her, not him.

Kael’s wolf snarled inside his chest.

After the ceremony’s initial speeches and the blood-oath recitation that followed—thankfully more theater than magic—they were ushered out of the great hall to a quieter chamber reserved for the bonded pair to “reflect.”

Kael didn’t wait for the guards to close the door before he snapped, “You could’ve tried a little harder not to antagonize every noble in the room.”

Selene wheeled on him, jaw sharp, eyes flashing like a storm at sea.

“Oh, forgive me,” she said, voice dripping poison. “I forgot I’m supposed to be demure now that I’m branded. ”

Kael growled. “Keep your voice down.”

“Why? Afraid they’ll hear the truth?”

He stepped toward her. “You knew what this was before you ever crossed the Veil.”

“I didn’t know it would bind me to you. ” Her breath hitched. “Or that I’d be dragged into a prophecy I don’t know anything about! I was here for peace! An offering.”

“You knew the ceremony might activate something,” Kael snapped. “You knew what the Stone was. You shouldn’t have jerked your damn hand.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I was cut too deep . That was an accident. You think I wanted this?”

Kael opened his mouth, then shut it.

Truth was, no. He didn’t think she wanted it.

She looked too much like he felt—cornered, burning, walking on a leash fate had wrapped around both their throats.

But that didn’t change the fact that she was his now. Bonded. Claimed by magic older than any of them She had been marked, and in turn, he was marked as well. Branded.

And that meant things had changed. For both of them.

“You’re part of this now whether you want to be or not,” he said finally. “You carry the Mark. That means you’re in this with me until we figure out what the hell to do next.”

Selene folded her arms, the motion slow, deliberate. “And what exactly is this prophecy?”

Kael’s silence stretched long enough that she tilted her head.

“You don’t know,” she said, more quietly this time. “You don’t know either, do you?”

“I know enough,” he said. “I know it ends with someone on a throne—or dead.”

“That’s comforting.”

“It’s the truth.”

Her laugh was humorless. “You really don’t know how to handle defiance, do you?”

“I don’t have time for posturing.”

“Good,” Selene said, voice sharp and cold. “Because I’m not posturing . I’m surviving.”

Their eyes locked.

Tension coiled between them—taut, unyielding, thrumming like a live wire. Her mouth was set in a line of fury and fear. His was clenched tight against a thousand things he couldn’t say.

She wasn’t afraid of him. Not really. That was the most dangerous thing.

Because it meant she’d push.

And if she pushed too hard, he wasn’t sure whether he’d break… or snap .

But then her posture shifted, shoulders straightening, chin lifting just a hair.

“I’ll play the part,” she said at last. “Because it keeps me alive. And because I have no choice. I didn’t come here to start a war. We want peace and right now, being binded to you will give both dominions that.”

Kael nodded once. “That’s all I need.”

“But don’t think I belong to you,” she added.

His voice came out low and dark. “I never asked you to.”

Her expression didn’t soften, but the air between them did. Just slightly. A hairline crack in the wall they both pretended wasn’t there.

He turned and opened the chamber door, voice clipped. “You’ll be summoned again tonight. Dress accordingly.”

“I always do,” she replied, already walking away.

He watched her go, that flick of raven hair vanishing around the corner.

Kael Fenrir had no idea if he was walking toward his destiny… or his damnation.