Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Sylvi
Skin scented faintly of wintermint, I stepped from the bath Skjolli had conjured, steam still curling like pale ghosts in the washroom.
The chamber itself was modest in size, yet lavish in a way that unsettled me, luxuries shaped from nothing but will and magic.
A place that should not exist, yet did, born of a house that breathed and listened.
“You are most kind,” I said, the words trembling into the steam still rising from the water. “I hope I can repay you for these comforts.”
A large linen cloth floated through the air as if guided by unseen hands. It draped across my shoulders, soft and warm, and I clutched it gratefully around me. “Thank you,” I murmured, still feeling strange talking to a house.
On a stool beside the basin rested a white gown, neatly folded.
My fingers brushed over its surface, marveling at the weave.
Though made of wool, it was finer than silk, whisper-soft against my calloused hand.
What a contrast to the shredded, blood-stiffened gown I’d stripped from my body…
or the hardened leathers I had worn for most of my life.
I hesitated before the copper mirror propped above the basin, steeling myself as though I faced an enemy. When I finally decided to truly look at my reflection, my breath hitched. The person staring back was familiar, yet foreign.
My cheekbones were sharper, my jawline more unforgiving. My muscles were more defined, coiled, lupine. Every angle whispered of a predator born to run through these forests, not a captain meant to serve in a gilded court.
And yet there was more—something wilder, darker writhing beneath my flesh.
My body didn’t just look different, it looked ferine, raw and untamed, like a beast testing the bars of its cage.
My skin prickled as I traced the faint ridges of muscle that hadn’t been there before, taut as though my veins themselves were singing with power.
And my eyes… Once lavender and pink, they now burned with a silver glint, like twin flames flickering in the depths of a forest night. They were too bright, like the gaze of a creature that belonged to shadowed glades and blood-soaked snow.
I pressed my palm against the mirror as if I could push that stranger back, as if I could halt the transformation overtaking me, or squelch the fire threading through every fiber of my body, chain the beast clawing at my chest to be released.
Gods, was this a gift from the moon goddess, or her curse?
Was I truly becoming the wolf her people whispered of? Or was I simply turning into a monster?
Winter’s grace. My life was twisting in front of me at a pace I could not match, changing me from the inside out.
The thought shuddered through me like an ice storm.
My hands trembled, memories of claws tearing through flesh flashing in my mind, the dissenters ripped apart by my fangs, the taste of their blood alive on my tongue.
Everything I had believed about myself—about my people—was falling through my fingers like sand. How could I ever walk the cobbled streets of Isenheim again, pretending nothing had changed?
How could I face my family, knowing what I had become? Would my mother see her daughter? Would Aldric and Lyra see their sister? Or would they cast me out as something abominable, an unholy beast dredged from myth?
Bracing both hands on the cold stone basin, I dragged air into my lungs in slow gulps. It did nothing to ease the tremors splintering through me.
Here I thought the threats we faced came from the dissenters and the Unseelie King, or the frost giants at our borders.
Yet now, another, more dangerous war seemed to loom.
One born of forgotten bloodlines and cryptic prophecies.
If everything Helka said was true, the biggest danger to our kingdom stemmed from the exiled shifter clans who would stop at nothing to reclaim what was stolen from them.
And me? I stood caught between two worlds.
How in all the realms was I supposed to defend my people, when I no longer knew who my people were?
Turning away before my stomach could sink further, I hurried to dress and exited the washroom but was stopped in my tracks at the sight of Jack sprawled across the bed in the room opposite mine, bare chest gleaming with sweat beneath the weight of a fur throw.
His wound had sealed over into a faint pink scar, as though weeks rather than hours had passed.
I had no doubt it was the house’s enchantments that had scoured the blood and soot from his body.
His hair, damp against his brow, caught the firelight, and his chest rose and fell in shallow, fragile breaths.
As if guided by that invisible thread between us, within seconds, I found myself standing over his bed. “Jack,” I whispered, brushing fingers along the hard line of his jaw. His warmth seeped into me, but my heart ached as though his pain was my own.
Gods. If he had died…
If he’d died, I might have died with him.
Jack stirred, lips parting as if caught in a fevered dream.
My name slipped from his mouth in a broken whisper, and I bent closer, my throat tight.
I wiped away a bead of sweat from his brow, and before I could stop myself, the words trickled from my lips…
“Sál mín, I am here with you. Always. Forever.”
His lashes fluttered as though he’d heard me, and that tightness in my chest squeezed so hard it nearly dropped me to my knees.
Helka’s footsteps creaked against the wooden floorboards as she entered with a small clay jar and set it by his bedside. Her eyes met mine, and it was as if she’d heard the words I’d whispered to him. The weight of her gaze made my heart thunder, and I had to look away.
She smeared more salve across his chest. “He heals well. Better than most would under the touch of volgrath. He may need only tonight for the frostfire to restore his strength.”
A shuddered breath escaped me, a mixture of relief and exhaustion.
Helka cupped my cheek in her warm hand. “His will is strong, my child.” She guided me back into the main room, where a stew awaited, steam curling above earthen bowls.
We sat across from one another at the table, the firelight flickering over the walls, illuminating the runes etched into the wood beams.
My hands curled around the bowl, grounding me in the simple act of sitting and eating.
But Helka was watching me too closely, those milky eyes cutting through me. “The ache you feel is not merely your heart longing for your prince,” she said at last.
I stirred the stew slowly, refusing to look up, afraid of what she might see in my face.
“I heard what you said to him. There’s no need to hide your feelings.
That thrumming in your bones, pulling you toward him until it hurts to breathe, is the mating bond.
It hungers to be sealed. And it will not ease, no matter how hard you deny it, until it is.
Left unfulfilled, it will not fade; it will consume you until it breaks you both. ”
The spoon slipped from my hand, clattering against the rim of the bowl, her words jolting through me like a thunderbolt. My lips parted, but all I could manage was a hoarse, trembling whisper, “What did you say?”
“The mating-bond, dear. It is the oldest magic in our world. Spun by the gods themselves. It is no mere longing, nor even love, though both burn within it. It is the soul recognizing its counterpart, spirit calling to spirit, a tether that cannot be cut by crown, nor curse, nor blade. Deny it if you wish, but the bond only carves itself deeper, unyielding, eternal. It can be the holiest gift a soul is given…or the cruelest fate, for once the bond is forged, it will burn through you both until neither heart can beat without the other.”
I stared at her in disbelief, though the words rang inside my chest like the toll of the bell atop the tallest spire in the Frostbound castle. “I’ve never heard of such a bond.”
Helka leaned forward. “Does that surprise you? Have you not listened to a word I’ve said?
Just as magic once flowed freely across the north, so too did every fae once know of the mating bond.
It was a sacred gift bestowed by the gods themselves.
But as I’ve already told you, after the War of Four Kings, the rulers of the northern kingdoms feared what they could not control.
“You see, a mating bond cannot be forced, nor broken. It could tie a royal heir to a common-born faeling, or worse, to a rival court. And with that union would come the mingling of bloodlines, the blending of magics never meant to converge.”
“Are you saying they blocked the mating bonds, too?”
Helka tipped her head, bringing a spoon to her lips and gingerly sipping the broth.
“Ahh, now you’re paying attention… They didn’t block them—well, not at first. The monarchs tried decree alone.
Forbidding such unions and forcing arranged marriages upon their heirs.
But law could not snuff the fire of a mating bond.
So, they turned to unseelie magic yet again.
Just as they shackled the shifters and their magic, they suppressed the bonds and scrubbed the memory of them clean from history. ”
My lips thinned, my teeth clenching hard.
“So that’s how they’ve been able to hoard magic and power all these centuries.
Not just by almost eradicating the shifter race, but by taking away our mating bonds.
It’s how they’ve kept the common fae obedient and subdued.
” Heat flared in my veins like rivers of lava.
I could almost sympathize with the wolf prince and his anger toward the royals.
“Ahh, but though silenced, the bonds never died,” Helka mused. “They only managed to suppress the mating bonds, but one cannot so easily smother the will of the gods.”
A shiver prickled my arms, and I rubbed my palms over my skin.