Chapter 33
Callum
Iduck low as a blast of magic explodes against the crystalline wall beside me, sending iridescent shards scattering across the marble floor. The palace magic ripples in response, defense systems pulsing brighter with each strike.
“Left flank!” Ben signals, his fingers flashing commands through the chaos.
Without hesitation, Rhonan spins toward the approaching guards, drawing a deep breath. The dragon fire erupts from his throat in a controlled burst, not to kill but to create an impassable barrier between us and the next wave of reinforcements.
“That won’t hold them long,” Rhonan warns, his Drakorian accent thickening under stress. “Fae guards are trained for elemental counters.”
Every nerve in my body screams toward the massive doors ahead. Lyanna. Our tether pulses like an exposed nerve, drawing me forward with magnetic intensity. She’s close—so fucking close—but I can feel the ceremony magic building through our connection.
“Derek!” I bark.
He appears at my side instantly, eyes already tracking the guard rotations. “They’re shifting patterns. Doubling up at the western approach. But—“ his eyes narrow, ”—there’s a three-second gap when they rotate. If we time it right ...”
Rafe’s hands glow with disruptive magic, targeting the shimmering wards blocking our path. The crystalline barriers waver, creating temporary openings before snapping back into place.
“I can keep these down for maybe five seconds at a time,” he grits out. “These are old, dark magic. Powerful.”
It’s unusual for a wolf to wield magic like this. But questions can wait.
My own wolf surges against my skin, desperate to break free. To charge forward, tear through anything between us and our mate. I force him down, barely. We need tactical thinking.
The palace architecture works against us, amplifying magical clashes against the translucent walls. Each burst of power sends rainbow cascades of light rippling through the corridors, making it impossible to move undetected.
Through whatever connects us, I feel Lyanna crossing a threshold. Ceremonial music pulses through me—ancient, binding notes that make my blood run cold. They’re starting the ceremony. We’re running out of time.
“Throne room two corridors ahead,” Ben reports, eyeing the magical palace schematics Evren provided. “Guard concentration tripling—final push.”
A wall of guards forms ahead—at least thirty, their weapons pulsing with enhanced magic. Behind them, the massive crystalline doors to what I assume is the throne room shimmer with protective wards, strengthening visibly by the second.
“Final approach,” Ben signals, his hands moving in precise military patterns. “Gamma takes point. Rhonan and I flank left. Derek and Rafe right. Evren, hold the rear.”
I nod, my wolf’s fury coiling beneath my skin. The connection screams through my blood, each pulse a reminder that Lyanna is just beyond those doors. The ceremonial music shifts in tone—the third binding note already beginning. Four more to go.
Rhonan steps forward, eyes flaring with gold flecks. “On my mark,” he says, rolling his shoulders. “Three. Two—“
He inhales sharply, then exhales a controlled blast of dragon fire, creating a semicircle of flames that forces the first line of guards to retreat. The corridor fills with shouts and the acrid scent of burned crystal.
I charge through the opening, slamming my shoulder into the nearest guard.
His enchanted blade slices my arm, but the pain is nothing compared to the agony already tearing through me.
I drive him back with three precise strikes, each one calculated to disable, not kill—though every instinct screams to end the threat permanently.
These guards aren’t the enemy. They’re soldiers following orders, probably with no idea their court has been infiltrated by a monster wearing noble skin. Lyanna wouldn’t want a bloodbath of innocents on her conscience. This restraint is for her.
Derek materializes on my right flank, moving like smoke between two guards. “Nine o’clock!” he shouts, ducking under a swing and driving his knee into a guard’s sternum.
Ben coordinates our assault with hand signals, his movements economical and precise. Under his direction, we push forward in a coordinated wedge formation, gaining ground methodically.
Rafe strikes the floor, sending ripples of counter magic that destabilize the guards’ enchanted weapons.
The music shifts again—fourth binding note. My wolf howls inside me, clawing to get out. Three more to go.
“Stronger wards ahead!” Rhonan warns, his voice tight as he deflects a blast of magic with a barrier of dragon-summoned wind.
I feel it too—the palace defenses thickening, crystalline barriers reinforcing the throne room entrance. The doors pulse with ancient power, almost sentient in their resistance.
“Dane trained us for this,” Ben reminds us, blood streaming from a cut above his eye. He doesn’t wipe it away, doesn’t even flinch—just keeps fighting like the pain is irrelevant. Like he’s irrelevant.
I’ve noticed it before, that reckless edge. The way he throws himself into danger without hesitation. Something broke in Ben a while back, and none of us has figured out what.
“Strike pattern Omega!”
We shift instantly into the formation—Derek and Rafe creating magical distractions at the flanks while Ben and Rhonan concentrate force on a single point. I channel all my rage into becoming the spearhead, driving directly toward the doors.
My vision narrows to a single focus—those massive crystalline doors, behind which the fifth binding note has just begun.
The throne room doors pulse with ancient power, crystalline surface flaring brighter with each magical barrier the guards throw up. Fae guards form a wall between us and our target, their eyes burning with fanatic determination. They know what’s at stake. So do we.
“Fifth binding note,” Rhonan gasps beside me, blood dripping from his arm. “We need to breach NOW!”
Rafe’s hands blaze brighter as he presses his palms toward the massive doors. “Can’t hold much longer,” he grits out, sweat streaming down his face. “Need more power.”
“On it.” Rhonan draws a deep breath, and golden light blazes through his eyes—his angel heritage rising alongside the dragon fire.
When he exhales, the flames that erupt burn with divine intensity, making the nearest guards stumble back.
The celestial fire twines with Rafe’s disruptive magic, the two powers weaving together into something neither could achieve alone.
The combined power slams into the crystalline barrier. Cracks spiderweb across the shimmering surface as the magics interweave, creating patterns that disrupt the ward structure.
“Working!” Derek shouts, spinning to take down a guard trying to flank us. “Keep it up!”
My wolf claws against my skin, desperate to break free. Lyanna is right there, just behind those doors. The ceremonial music shifts again, sixth binding note vibrating through my blood. One more to go before she’s lost to me forever.
Ben drives his elbow into a guard’s throat, creating space around Rafe. “Eastern flank secure! Focus on the breach!”
The ward structure wavers, a hairline fracture appearing in the center of the doors.
“Almost there,” Rhonan grunts, veins standing out on his neck as he maintains the stream of angelic dragon fire.
My skin burns with urgency, my muscles coiled to spring the instant an opening appears. I won’t let her be bound to another. Not while I breathe. Not while my heart beats in time with hers.
Rafe’s magic pulses brighter, his face contorting with effort. “Now or never,” he grits out.
The fracture in the ward structure widens suddenly, the magical barrier destabilizing as Rhonan’s dragon fire and Rafe’s disruptive magic find the perfect resonance.
“THERE!” Derek shouts, pointing at the opening forming in the wards.
The guards realize what’s happening, throwing everything they have into a desperate final defense. Three launch themselves at Rafe, knowing if they break his concentration, the breach will fail.
I intercept the first, driving him back with a vicious combination that leaves him stunned against the wall. Ben takes the second. Derek materializes behind the third, yanking him away from Rafe.
The breach in the wards grows wider, an actual physical opening appearing in the magical barrier. Behind it, the crystalline doors themselves begin to crack along the same lines.
Through the fragile thread that still connects us, I feel Lyanna’s desperation mixing with determination. She feels me coming. She’s fighting from the inside.
The seventh binding note begins to sound, its magical resonance building toward the final seal.
Now or never.
The crystalline doors explode inward as the combined magic finally shatters the wards. Shards cascade through the air, glittering like deadly diamonds under the throne room’s enchanted light. I stride forward with Ben and Derek flanking my left, Rhonan and Rafe to my right.
Every nerve in my body is singing with Lyanna’s presence after our dimensional separation. There she stands—at the altar beside Prince Korren, her ceremonial gown flowing like liquid moonlight, eyes locking with mine in a mixture of relief and terror.
The assembled court erupts.
Screams ricochet off crystalline walls, amplifying into a deafening symphony of pure chaos.
Noble fae scramble backward, ceremonial robes tangling around their legs as they flee the shower of razor-sharp crystal shards.
Guards draw weapons with a metallic song that cuts through the panic.
Diplomats freeze in perfect stillness, their political masks cracking to reveal genuine terror.
At the altar, the tribunal members remain statue-still, the seventh binding note dying on their lips. The magical resonance that was building toward the final seal sputters and fades, the ceremony’s power bleeding away into shocked silence.
And in that silence, every eye in the throne room turns to us.
“INTRUDERS!” The voice thunders across the chamber, and I recognize the face from Lyanna’s father’s message—Lord Theron himself, features hardening with rage as he steps forward from behind the altar. “Guards! Seize them!”
Prince Korren takes a careful step back from Lyanna, confusion crossing his aristocratic features as his gaze shifts between us. His hand moves slightly away from the ceremonial binding cord.
Behind Theron, a hooded figure shifts in the shadows. My wolf’s hackles rise before my conscious mind catches up—that corruption signature. I’d know it anywhere. The same rotting magic that poisoned our pack, that tore Lyanna from my arms.
Faelan. Wearing some noble’s face, but I can smell the corruption beneath the glamour.
Ben’s team locks into defensive formation behind me.
Derek materializes at my flank, appearing more shadow than substance.
Rhonan’s hands glow with elemental power, wind stirring at his command.
Rafe’s disruptive magic crackles around his fingertips, ready to counter any spell.
Behind us, I hear Evren breathing fire, keeping the guards from our backs.
The connection between Lyanna and me vibrates like a plucked string, her presence flooding my senses after what feels like a lifetime of agonizing separation. Everything in me wants to charge forward, grab her, and fight our way out—but that’s not why we came.
I raise my hand, my voice carrying through the throne room with authority that silences even the guards moving to intercept us:
“I challenge this ceremony’s legality under Inter-Realm law.”