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~ C leo ~

The throne room inside the tower was a chamber carved from obsidian and oath-stone, its ceiling vaulted like the inside of a cathedral built to house gods. Dark flames flickered in wall sconces—blue-black and whispering with barely restrained power. The air smelled of dust, iron, and ancient magic. I stood on a rune-carved floor that pulsed faintly under my boots like a heartbeat.

At the far end of the chamber, seated atop a jagged throne of black stone veined with crystal, loomed the Knight Eternal.

He was terrifying.

Tall as a statue, cloaked in layered mage-robes darker than midnight, he radiated magic so ancient it made the walls hum. His hair was silver—not with age, but with power—and his skin was the pale ash of someone who had lived too long in the embrace of the Veil. One hand rested on the arm of the throne like a blade laid to rest; the other gripped a staff topped with a shard of the original Riftstone, the crystal used by Earth’s ancient mages to open the original Void. To save what humans they could from the ravenous entities that inhabited the Void.

Eyes like dying stars locked onto me where I stood in a gown of dark blue that matched Devin’s hair. Fur lined boots did little to protect me from the pulses of icy death magic surging under my feet.

I felt the truth of this eternal being in my bones—this was no man, no king, no courtier. This was a weapon crafted by time and torment, a being who had watched empires rise and fall and stood unmoved. The only thing that still tethered him to this realm was duty—and now, judgment.

I should have been afraid. I was too angry.

Jarrik stepped forward, his black robes pristine, his voice smooth as satin stretched over knives. “My lord, I stand before you today to assert my legal and magical claim. I have here”—he held up a parchment, thick and sealed in mage-wax—“a signed and binding betrothal contract. Witnessed, sealed, and archived. The girl, Cleo Rathmore, was promised to me by her Matron mother. I claimed her and escorted her out of the capital city. She is mine.”

I curled my fingers into fists. The girl. Not a person. Not a woman. Property.

A rustle of robes echoed behind him. Four men and one woman stepped out from the shadows—his allies. All dressed in regal mage attire, silver and violet sashes marking them as nobles of The Spire’s High Houses. Their expressions were smug, condescending.

One of them—a man with sunken eyes and fingers stained with ink—snorted softly. “She’s an orphan. Unbound. Untamed. Jarrick should have married her before taking her from the city. The contract is the only thing preserving propriety here.”

“I refused to marry him.” I spoke clearly. Slowly. So these idiots could understand my words.

“She’s a foundling, is she not?” said another, completely ignoring me, irritation flashing in dark grey eyes. “Reputation in tatters. No family to care for her. Gratefulness would suit her better than rebellion.”

I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood, fighting a sudden urge to hate all Death Mages again. Except mine, of course.

“She hasn’t completed the bond with Grimm,” another added, flicking a lazy glance toward Devin, who stood at the edge of the circle, radiating silent fury. “As far as tradition goes, the betrothal stands. Ritual law cannot be overridden by sentiment.”

Jarrik turned toward the throne. “I acknowledge that she fled. That her emotions are… troubled. But we were intimate. She gave herself to me willingly. The bond, though not sealed in blood, was forged in flesh.”

The words struck me like a slap.

A lie.

A monstrous, vicious lie.

I stepped forward, the fire in my chest rising like a scream. “That’s not true.”

“She denies it because she’s confused,” Jarrik said with a faux-gentle smile. “Her power is awakening. She fears what she doesn’t understand.”

“YOU LIAR!” My voice cracked the air like thunder. Magic surged up my spine, crackling under my skin like lightning in a bottle.

And then—I heard them. The words from the book in my room. Nova’s Requiem.

They shimmered in my mind’s eye, curling like molten gold across my memory. I’d read them the night before, scrawled in the ancient Earthen tome, hidden under a spell only one with Starborn blood would be able to see, tucked between warnings and half-burned pages. A spell of last resort. A weapon born of light and fury and soul-deep fire.

It wasn’t just magic. It was truth incarnate. And I couldn’t stop it.

The first word left my lips like a prayer.

The second, like a blade.

The third—a war cry.

Light exploded in my chest.

A white-hot orb of condensed starlight ignited inside me, burning outward, every breath fanning the flames. I could feel my heart feeding it—my anger, my betrayal, my refusal to be claimed like a sword or a slave.

The fire surged through me and became me .

The floor beneath me cracked. The air shimmered. Then?—

Detonation.

The light burst from my chest in a ring of gold and silver flame, a shockwave of burning, howling truth.

Jarrik screamed. Not like a man caught in pain. Like a soul ripped open.

The Starfire struck him full force, not destroying his body—but annihilating every lie that clung to his essence. I saw it—black threads of corruption boiling away from his skin, his mouth forced open as if the light itself was dragging the lies from his throat. He staggered backward, clutching his chest, eyes wide and unseeing.

His allies fared no better.

One dropped to his knees, retching up a writhing shadow that twisted into smoke. Another clutched her head and screamed as illusory glamours tore away, revealing a younger woman beneath, twisted by dark bargains. All of them—liars, manipulators, false claimants—were burned down to what they truly were.

And the fire didn’t stop.

The Starfire rolled across the room like a tide. Every illusion, every shadow, every binding was torn away.

The Knight Eternal stood in the center of it all, unmoving. Until the fire touched him.

Then he shuddered.

Magic flared around him like a dying sun—and I saw it: the chains of darkness coiled inside his soul, centuries of sacrifice, layers of shadow that had kept him alive far past mortal limits.

The Starfire ripped through them like wind through dry leaves.

He roared—not in pain, but in release.

His knees hit the stone floor. The crown fell from his head. From within the brilliance of the flame, his voice rang out. “Devin Grimm.”

Devin stepped forward, silver eyes locked on mine. “Yes, my lord.”

“Do you love her?”

The chamber went silent. No breath. No motion. Only the fire and the question.

“Yes,” Devin said.

Not shouted. Spoken. Soft, sure, soul-deep.

The magic surged. I felt it. Felt it. His truth became mine, golden threads wrapped in Starfire that echoed through the bond forming between us like a second heartbeat.

The Knight Eternal nodded once. “Then you are to be bound immediately.” His body shivered, a flicker of shadow curling off his skin like mist. He turned to me, and for the first time, I saw his true face—not the warrior-king, not the death-lord. Just a man. Oberon Polaris. Kassio’s father. Death Mage. Necromancer. Revenant.

A tired, noble, broken man.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “For setting me free.” He collapsed.

The prince—Kassio, Devin’s oldest friend and heir to The Spire throne—rushed forward, catching his father’s body before it hit the floor. But it was already too late.

The darkness was gone, burned away by my magic. So was the life it had preserved. The Knight Eternal dissolved into soft, swirling shadows—and then nothing.

Silence crashed over the room.

Jarrik lay smoking on the floor, moaning faintly. Void take the asshole. I hoped he was in pain.

The remaining nobles staggered back, shaken, their illusions gone, their lies exposed. None dared speak.

Devin crossed the distance to me in three long strides, his hands cradling my face, his lips pressing to my forehead. “Cleo,” he breathed. “What did you do?”

“I told the truth,” I whispered, my voice still vibrating with residual magic.

From the side of the room, someone clapped.

Slow. Cackling.

My tutor—Elarra, Mistress of Broken Oaths—popped up from behind a column where she’d taken cover, brushing soot from her sleeves. “Marvelous,” she said. “Absolutely magnificent. No one’s seen a Nova’s Requiem in centuries. Worth every second.”

She gave me a wink. “Bit early in your education, but we’ll adjust.”

“Elarra…” Kassio growled.

“Oh hush, your father’s final command was quite clear,” she said, twirling a smoking wand. “The girl burns, the boy broods, and the two of them are to be bound before the next damn sunset.” She turned to us with a grin. “To the Void with you both. Let the bond be sealed. Preferably before you level another historical monument.”

I blinked. “Wait—now?” Jarrick had warned me that I might be wearing my wedding gown.

Devin’s arm wrapped around my waist. “Now.”

I could still feel the spell humming in my veins. But something inside me—something ancient, sacred, and undeniably mine—whispered that this was only the beginning.

And I was ready.