Page 7 of Marked by the Enemy (The Binding Vow #1)

“You expected me to lose?”

“No. But I expected you to show restraint.”

“That was restraint.”

His mouth curved. “Walk with me.”

I followed.

He led me down a shaded path behind the arena, past empty fountains and low stone benches. No guards trailed us. No nobles hovered.

“Do you know why the bond trials exist?” he asked.

“To test compliance.”

“No. To test character.”

He stopped beside a twisted yew tree. Its branches bent inward like they were listening. “You’re not like the others we’ve seen. ”

My breath hitched, and I squinted at him. “You’ve seen others who were bonded.”

“Why yes. Many.”

“I thought it was rare.”

“It’s rare for the bond to choose on its own—normally, the fae decide. Of course, you need a particularly powerful fae in the arts of magic to do that.”

My thoughts froze, bewildered. “Was Prince Darian already bonded?”

“No. It chose the two of you. You may have been bound by accident or ambition.”

I didn’t want to ask him. I didn’t want to seem weak. I certainly didn’t trust him, but I couldn’t help myself. “Have you seen others who the bond chose?”

“No. Only those who chose the bond.”

“Why would anyone want to choose the bond?”

“We fae like magic. Bond magic is the strongest. Glamor magic is nothing but egotistical. The bond chose you.”

“You say you haven’t witnessed the bond choose anyone else?”

“That’s right.”

I chewed the inside of my lip, acting innocent. “Is it in the history books?”

His smile froze, and his eyes flashed ultraviolet for a second. “No.”

I gave a slight nod and pretended not to dwell on his response, moving on to the next question quickly. “You said it was rare, so I thought you had read about it.”

“Oh no. There are some tales. None of them are written.”

“Well, the bond chose me.”

“Yes. And you’re holding the bond like a blade. Just remember—blades cut both ways.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“It’s a warning.”

I folded my arms. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because Darian listens to you. And because the bond listens more.”

I studied him. “Do you want me to influence the prince?”

“Influence isn’t the goal. Balance is.”

“Same thing.”

He looked toward the sky. “There will come a moment when you can choose to burn everything down—or keep it standing.”

“You think I’ll burn it.”

“I think you already have a match in hand.”

He stepped away before I could answer.

“Enjoy your day, Consort.”

He vanished down a side corridor, robes trailing like mist.

When I returned to my chambers, the fire was already lit. The table had been cleared. A new tunic waited on the chair. Pale gray. Embroidered only at the cuffs.

Darian sat in the corner near the balcony, hands clasped between his knees.

I shut the door.

“You could have stopped it.” He peered at me from across the room with those cold, pale eyes.

Heat roiled in my belly, and a flush crept up my neck, making my ears impossibly hot. “I did.”

“Too late.” He stood. “The bond isn’t a weapon to sheath. It’s a living channel.”

“It used me. It moved my body without my free will or intention.”

“It responded to what you buried. That’s different.”

“What I buried? What the hell does that even mean? You’re blaming me for the way it acted?”

“I’m saying it won’t stay quiet just because you pretend it isn’t there.”

I turned away before I said something worse. The gloves from the trial remained tucked into my waistband. I dropped them on the table. “I didn’t ask for this. ”

“Neither did I.” His voice was so even it nearly slipped past me—stripped of heat, stripped of bitterness.

I turned back, trying to hold back the tears welling in my eyes. “Then why accept it?”

His eyes met mine. “Because denying it wouldn’t change it.”

We stared at each other. His jaw was tight. Mine was locked. The bond pulled between us, wanting contact. I didn’t want it. But it was there. And some part of me leaned toward it anyway, like warmth in winter. Foolish. Dangerous.

“If it fuses,” I said quietly, “will it keep doing that?”

“I’m uncertain. Perhaps the Council understands it better than me.” He turned to the door, paused there, hand on the knob. “You did well today. But if you wait too long to face what’s inside you, the bond will stop waiting.”

“What if I face it and still don’t want it?”

He opened the door. “Then we break. And the pieces decide the rest.” He left.

I stood alone in the middle of a room that still smelled like fire.

Did Darian seriously believe that if I brought up all my worst memories—laid them bare for the vow-magic to devour—it would stop controlling my body?

Where did that idea even come from? He’d already admitted he knew little about the bond.

So how could he make claims like that without evidence? Without experience? Unless...

Had the Bone Seat told him? Had the Bone Seat said that if I fed my memories to the bond, it would stop taking over?

Was that what Darian believed? Or what he was told to believe?

In the fighting ring, the bond might have seized control to protect me.

But why would Darian want me to surrender to that same control—and then also offer solutions to stop it? He couldn’t have it both ways.

If I gave the bond my memories, he might see them. Might feel them. That might have been all this amounted to. The court was clearly curious. The council whispered. The nobles watched. Why had the bond chosen me? It was possible Darian wished to know as well .

And then there was the rebel group behind my assassination attempt. They would surely want to know about the Boundless, where its hideout was, and all its secrets and plans against the Fae Realms of Caldaen.