Page 4 of Marked by the Enemy (The Binding Vow #1)

Chapter three

The Knife Beneath the Pillow

T he fire had burned low by morning. I had slept little. The bond itched under my skin, like a memory caught beneath the surface. Initially, I believed the bundle on the chair to be only fresh clothes. But when I unwrapped the dark cloth, a glint of metal caught the firelight.

A knife. Narrow-bladed. Balanced for throwing or close work. Beneath it, a folded square of paper:

You’ll only get one more chance.

I read it twice. Then a third time.

The knife went under the pillow. The note into the fire.

Let him think I had given up. Let him think the bond was enough.

Outside, the sky had cleared. Light from the window, pale and sharp, made stone glitter and shadows stretch thin.

Morning in the Moon Court. The air smelled like jasmine and iron.

A maid came in with fresh clothes and a bowl of warm water. A different one this time—older, maybe. She quietly folded the robe, set it on the bed, and dipped a cloth into the basin .

I watched her move. “The prince—has he ever had another?” I didn’t know why I asked.

“No. There has never been another.”

“Because of the war?”

Her hands paused. “Ask someone with the authority to speak.”

I watched her wring the cloth. “What is this bond, really?”

She blinked. “I bring clothes.”

I tried again. “Do people ever survive it?”

The faintest curl touched her lip. “Do you believe I’d be aware?”

“You’re fae.”

That earned a laugh, short and dry. “Yes. So are the dust piles that the bond leaves behind.” She pressed the cloth into my palm. “It’s dangerous. Old. Powerful. It...” She stopped.

“What?” I leaned forward, heart thudding quickly and lightly. “Did Prince Darian’s parents bond this way? Is that why they’re gone?”

Color touched her cheeks. She looked away. “That answer belongs to someone else.”

“But you understand something.”

She picked up the discarded robe and smoothed the hem between her fingers. “If you have questions, Consort, you ought to bring them to the prince.”

She left before I could ask more. I looked down at the water in the bowl. Steam curled from the surface. My reflection rippled. The bond had chosen. That much was clear. What wasn’t clear was why. Or who else did the bond choose and erase before me?

The palace gardens surpassed most villages in size. I stepped through a side door without permission, walking into soft light and air that didn’t feel owned .

Stone paths curved through hedges shaped into moons, stars, wings. Water flowed along channels carved into the ground, sparkling in the sunlight. It moved like consciousness, like a soft whisper of secrets being shared, winding between trees that hadn’t been planted, only persuaded to grow here.

I kept to the paths. The guards let me. The bond might have suggested I wouldn’t travel far.

Yet how would they know what the bond thought?

What did their history books say about the victims of the bond?

Everyone appeared frightened, except the prince; this seemed odd, since he surely understood it would end us both.

Above me, the sky appeared blue, the clouds like swirling white whirlpools. Flowers opened along the walls, petals wide. I didn’t know the names, but if they were anything like the Fae Kingdoms of Vyrelen, I knew their purpose. Beauty. Power. Control. The scent clung to my skin.

I passed a stand of silver birch and noticed a single path leading into its center. Inside, I found a round pool, set in the ground and surrounded by smooth moonstones carved into the shapes of crescent moons. Every single one glimmered with pastel rainbows inside, reflecting the sunlight.

The water remained still, yet my reflection trembled. Two faint circles on my skin: the first on my palm, the second near the bone of my left wrist. They didn’t shine now, but they never faded.

The bond wasn’t burning. It was observing.

Suddenly, the pool bulged up from its center. I stared at it, my mouth gaping open. When the water flattened again, an image formed.

She, a lovely fae woman with short red hair, cried profusely on her hands and knees. Five interlinked circles appeared on her forehead. They shone silver like the circles on my palm and wrist when they were burning.

But despite her pointed ears, it struck me how old she looked for a fae. She looked like a human woman would in her mid-forties. I touched my wrist without meaning to. What happens when the bond doesn’t stop?

The vision disappeared, but I continued to gape, breathless. I stood there for a long time, my mind billowing with questions .

I sat beneath a tree with its white, papery bark.

Priestess Jinth had declared the Silver Birch a witches’ tree.

Her words lingered in my mind, challenging my beliefs.

I wasn’t a witch, or so I told myself, as my rational mind clung to science and Earth.

Yet, a part of me wondered if there was truth to her words.

I rolled my neck, trying to shake off the doubt, and stared at the grass, caught between two worlds. Everything instantly seemed unreal. The fae’s magic, the bond, the vision of the redhead in this pool. This otherworldly nonsense wasn’t for me.

During my decade of training, the talk about the fae and their magic had always been the hardest to digest. This bond—it didn’t need a name. It already knew mine.

I let my thoughts go quiet. I didn’t trust this peace, but I took it. Rest provided fuel. To observe meant to survive. Let Darian think I was getting comfortable. Let the court think I was adapting.

I would attempt to kill him again. Even if becoming dust was the outcome, I would try to kill him again. I had been prepared to die from the beginning. Let other assassins kill the other fae princes of Caldaen. Let them get seasick, travelling to other lands.

I sensed his presence before the knock. It was a pressure, like a coin pressed to the back of my spine.

Warm and deliberate. I opened the door for a breath before his knuckles touched it.

Darian stood there alone. Just a dark tunic, sleeves rolled to the elbow.

He wore his hair tied back. His eyes looked rinsed of meaning.

I stepped back. He entered. The door clicked shut behind him. His gaze swept the chamber like a soldier, checking the room for exits. He walked once around the space.

“You walked the garden,” he said.

“Were you spying on me? ”

“The bond leaves impressions.”

“The bond leaves impressions of what?”

“Location. Tension. Distance.”

I pondered if he saw what I did. If it were possible for him, he might discover a knife concealed beneath my pillow. When I talked, my voice was a pitch too high. “And?”

“Dreams. Sometimes.” He stopped by the table. “You played the court well.”

“I played to survive.”

“Same thing.”

“You expected me to fail.”

“No. I expected you to run.”

“I still might.”

He met my eyes. “If you do, I’ll find you.”

His voice didn’t change. I should have been afraid, but I wasn’t because I was prepared to die if it meant ending his life. He crouched by the hearth and stirred the fire with the poker. Sparks caught on stone.

I kept my eye on his back. One step. Two. The knife lay under the pillow. My hand found it. Steel, simple, short. It belonged in a wound. I rose to my feet.

One step. Two.

He turned and stared at the knife still clenched in my hand. “You idiot. You short-lived human.” His voice cracked on the word ‘short.’ The bond had already risen like a tide under my skin—alert, bracing. I perceived its observation. Waiting to stop me.

My knuckles tightened. The knife bit into my palm. I could do it. I could lunge right now. But I didn’t. Something inside me hesitated, and I hated it more than the bond.

Darian met my eyes. “You had a chance.”

I didn’t let go of the knife. My grip tightened. “And I chose not to take it.”

“No,” he said, too quiet. “You almost tore it. The bond flared.” His jaw twitched—almost a snarl, almost sorrow. “If you want to die, say it. Don’t drag me down with you.”

“If I could kill you, I’d risk anything. ”

But I didn’t say the rest: that some part of me didn’t want to anymore.

Not because I trusted him. Not because I liked him.

But because something in the bond was beginning to confuse me, and I hated it.

I hated the way it pulled at me when he was near.

I hated the way it made me wonder if he felt it, too.

My heart thudded louder and louder. My vision blurred. I saw two of him. The real one stood still. “You came in here unarmed,” I said.

“You had a chance.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The bond tossed and turned like a buried memory I never agreed to carry. I hated that I felt it—like the ghost of a choice I hadn’t made.

“And I took that chance you speak of.”

“No, you didn’t. You hesitated long enough for the bond to decide that I was worth keeping.”

My muscles and veins strained against my skin. How dare he accuse me of hesitating! The marks hurt. I stared at the silver circle faintly burning in the skin of my wrist. They were so hot now. They were so angry at me for trying to kill Prince Darian! “I’ll try again.”

“Good. You do that” He turned his back.

I remained statue still, because the bond quivered deep and cold in my core, and I knew it was waiting for me to try again so that it could prevent me.

He whipped around to face me. “The bond is fragile in its first days. It anchors on instinct.”

“How do you even know that?” I shouted.

“In the archives. In the history books.” He plodded to the hearth and crouched again. He stirred the fire, so defenseless, so open.

But the bond stayed alert.

I rubbed my hands over my hair. “You said the bond fuses. Or it breaks.”

“Sometimes. When it fuses, there isn’t any escape. When it breaks, you turn to ash.”