Chapter Thirty-Three
Alaya
I always feel a sense of trepidation when summoned into the King’s presence, but having Kiernan with me, his hand in mine, calms me.
“What could he want?” I ask Kiernan as we make our way down the long hall leading to the King’s personal office.
“Probably asking you about the Equitae. He’s become even more obsessed with destroying them since you’ve been away.”
As we near the door, Kiernan pulls me to a stop and spins me to stand in front of him. Both hands come up, cupping my face, and he leans down close.
“You and me in there, Alaya. I promised you before, he’s never going to hurt you again. And say what you need to, no more. OK?”
I simply nod, which seems to be enough for him as he reaches out, knocks on the door, and we’re called inside.
King Malaxor sits behind his desk with his elbows leaning on the surface. As usual, his face is stoic, his dark eyes piercing, holding mine. Kiernan pulls the only chair out for me to sit on and leans on the back above me once I am seated, resting a hand on my shoulder.
I look to the bookshelf built into the entire length of the wall and imagine what kind of books stand there, hidden away by a secretive and paranoid King to keep his subjects from discovering the truth.
“You seem well after your … ordeal,” King Malaxor says finally.
“I’m alive,” I reply, my voice flat.
“Quite. I’d be very interested in hearing about it.”
“I’m not sure what you want to know.”
He sighs.
“Let’s not play games, Alaya. You spent over ten days within Heartwood, amongst them. You must know how many of them there are, what warriors they have, and where the entrance to Heartwood is. Why do you think I held off with the attack?”
The words hang in the air for a heartbeat.
Then Kiernan’s entire body goes rigid behind me.
“You.Did.What?” His voice is like a blade, sharp and stinging. “You left her there on purpose to gather information for you?”
His hand tightens on my shoulder, trembling with barely restrained fury.
“Watch your tone, Kiernan. It was a strategic move. The General suggested having someone on the inside was the only way we would get the information we need.”
“A strategic—” Kiernan’s voice cracks. “She’s my wife. You left her there to be—” He can’t finish the sentence.
The King’s expression doesn’t change. “And she returned, didn’t she? Alive and well.”
Kiernan’s rage floods through our Bond, hot and violent. I reach up and place my hand over his, trying to ground him.
Anger flames to my cheeks, and my head throbs. Once again, I was used as a pawn, with no care for my wellbeing. And he expected me to betray the Equitae like they asked me to betray Kiernan? I never broke then, and I’m not about to break now.
That defiance cultured in the face of Reth’s punishments rises. My fists clench in my lap, and my heart pounds. Even within Heartwood, when I felt at my most vulnerable, I never felt as afraid as I do now, knowing what I must do.
“I’m not going to betray the Equitae, Your Majesty. I won’t help you destroy them.” I stare right into those fathomless eyes, defiance flaring, taunting.
Kiernan’s hand clenches my shoulder. The King holds my gaze as he rises to his feet, palms flat on his desk. He leans towards me.
“It seems you may need more persuasion. You will provide me answers to everything I need. You want to see your brother again, am I correct?”
“Your brother?” Kiernan asks behind me, his voice quizzical. “Alaya, what is he talking about?”
My throat tightens. “Quinn. He has Quinn.”
“Your—” Kiernan’s confusion bleeds through the Bond. “Since when do you have a brother?”
“Leave Quinn out of this,” I say to the King, my voice shaking. “This is between you and me.”
“Very well. I only need your compliance.”
His power surges; it has an earthy smell like that of the Pit—dead and rotting.
His hand whips out and grabs my arm, slamming it down to the desk with such force that every thought of rebellion is instantly crushed, replaced by the terrifying reality of his absolute strength.
“Father, NO!” Kiernan shouts, lunging towards him.
But he’s too late.
Spidery black veins of thorns spread out from the King’s grip over my skin. Agony explodes through my body—not just pain, but a wrongness, a corruption that feels like it’s rewriting every nerve, every cell.
I scream.
Kiernan roars.
Through my blurring vision, I see him collapse, dropping to his hands and knees beside my chair. His back heaves. Black tendrils crawl up his left arm, mirroring my own, pulsing in perfect synchronisation.
He’s feeling it. All of it.
Through our Bond, his agony crashes into mine, doubling, amplifying until I can’t tell where my pain ends and his begins.
King Malaxor’s eyes widen. He releases my arm with a gasp.
The agony cuts off like a severed rope, leaving me gasping and shaking. But the veiny black threads remain, pulsing on my skin like a second heartbeat.
“No! That can’t be.” The King stares down at Kiernan, where he is still on all fours, chest heaving.
Slowly, Kiernan raises his head. His face is pale, slick with sweat. “What the fuck was that?” He pushes himself up, using the arm of my chair for support. His voice is raw, shredded. “You tried to turn her into a Thorn Guard? And nearly me too.”
I look down at his left arm. The thin black veins are still there, identical to mine, etched into his skin like a brand.
For the first time since I have had the displeasure of knowing him, the King looks shocked and confused. He strides over to the bookcase and starts pulling books from the shelves, scanning pages with frantic eyes before discarding them to the floor.
Another book. Another. His movements grow more erratic, more desperate. He yanks entire rows down, leather bindings cracking as they hit the stone floor. Pages tear. Spines split.
“It’s not possible,” he mutters, ripping through another tome. “The Bond shouldn’t—it can’t—”
Books pile around his feet, a growing mountain of discarded knowledge. His hands shake as he searches, his breathing ragged.
“Kiernan,” I whisper. My arm still throbs where the King grabbed me, phantom pain pulsing with each heartbeat.
“Can you stand?” His voice is gentle, but I can feel the tremor running through him, the aftershocks still rippling below his skin.
I try to rise. My legs buckle.
Kiernan catches me, his arm around my waist. “I’ve got you.”
We stand there for a moment, leaning on each other, both of us shaking. The black veins on our arms pulse in unison.
“What does this mean?” I ask quietly, looking at the matching marks. “Why did it affect you too?”
His jaw clenches. “Let’s just get out of here.”
Behind us, the King has descended into muttering, pulling books down with wild abandon, pages fluttering around him like broken wings.
“We need to leave,” Kiernan says, his voice hard. “Now.”
I nod. We move towards the door, supporting each other.
The King doesn’t acknowledge our departure, so consumed within his spiralling madness, surrounded by the wreckage of his own library.
Kiernan has brought us back to his suite and I am sitting on the sofa in his lounge. He is pacing, his jaw tense and fists clenched, in front of the window.
“Kiernan, are we going to talk about what happened back there?” I ask, rubbing my arm where the black threads have almost completely faded.
He stops pacing and walks silently into his bedroom. When he comes back in, he is holding a small blue leather-bound book. He sits down on the sofa next to me.
“This is what my father was looking for.” He is quiet and guarded.
“I found it almost hidden away on the top shelf in the Main Library a while ago. It didn’t seem important at the time, just more cryptic references to the Marriage Bond, some of it in Ancient Fae that I can’t read.
I took it to my father, who is the only one I know that does understand Ancient Fae.
He dismissed it as useless, but I suspected there was something more. So I took it back.”
“Do you know what it says?” His tone is making me nervous.
“Some of it. Funny thing—Ned, the bartender at the tavern reads some Ancient Fae. He translated what he could for me.”
Kiernan’s gaze is serious, and he shifts on the sofa, as if uncomfortable with what he has to say.
“The Marriage Bond is a lot more than we were initially led to believe, which is why I suspect it’s not performed often. We knew about the shared emotions, the effect on my Gift and shared power. But there’s more.”
“Like what? You’re making me worried, Kiernan.” I can feel my heart beating fast, and my palms are sweaty.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his arm coming round to lean on the back of the sofa behind me as he sinks back. His fingers brush over my shoulder absentmindedly.
“The ‘One Life’ part of the ritual quite literally bound our lives together. What is done to one is done to the other.”
Silence stretches between us.
My breath catches.
Our lives are bound?
Not just our emotions, not just our power—our actual lives. If he’s hurt, I’m hurt. If he dies …
The room suddenly feels smaller, the walls pressing in. This is so much more than I understood when we made that Bond. So much more permanent, more dangerous.
But also …
I look at him, at the concern etched in his face, the way he’s watching me carefully, waiting for my reaction. This Fae who just took his father’s torture because of our Bond. Who would do it again without hesitation.
“Say something,” he whispers.
“I’m trying to understand what this means.” My voice is steadier than I feel. “Your father could have killed us both today.”
“I know.”
“And you knew this already. Before today.”
He nods slowly. “I suspected. The book confirmed it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Would it have changed anything?” His green eyes search mine.
The answer comes without hesitation. “No.”
Relief floods through our Bond, warm and golden.
“My life is yours,” I whisper, the admission a quiet surrender that leaves me breathless. “I’m done hiding in the dark. I’d rather burn out beside you than live a second in the shadows without you.”
Kiernan’s smirk doesn’t just flash, it ignites—a hungry, predatory heat blooming in his gaze that sends my pulse racing. He leans forwards, his voice a low thrum against my skin.
“Careful,” he murmurs, his thumb catching my bottom lip. “I’m greedy enough to hold you to that. I’d hunt through a dozen lifetimes just to hear you claim me like that again.”
The weight of what we’ve just discussed—the danger, the permanence—settles over me, but so does something else. A rightness. We made this Bond for love, not just duty. And knowing our lives are truly intertwined only makes that choice feel more real.
I crawl onto his lap, pushing him back, my knees on either side of his body and lean on his shoulders. His hands grip my waist, pulling me close. My hand traces the line of his jaw, and I study his face—every angle and plane I’ve memorised, every feature I’ve missed.
“I didn’t forget a single curve, a single line. You’re exactly as breathtaking as I remembered.”
“I want to explore every inch of you, like I’m discovering you for the first time.” He smirks.
His hands move up over my back, and he slowly eases the zip down the back of my dress so that he can run his hands on the bare skin of my back. I shiver with pleasure, and he leans in slowly, his lustful gaze asking me to meet him.
I don’t hesitate.
Our lips meet, soft at first, a quiet affirmation.
The kiss deepens as he tilts his head back and his arms tighten around me, pulling me flush against his chest. It’s slow, thorough, full of a familiar tenderness that makes my chest ache.
His tongue lazily explores with mine, slow and sensual, savouring the taste of each other.
His hands part my dress at the back and slip the straps down my arms. I let out a moan when we break the kiss and they slide off, my breasts tingling as my nipples brush his chest.
“Mmmm, hello, beauties,” he purrs, looking at me with unguarded desire.
“They missed you.” I laugh.
“Well then, we need to get reacquainted.”
He kisses down my neck, and I arch my back towards him as he moves downwards, my pleasure at his touch starting to burn and the anticipation of his mouth on my breasts making me tingle.
But when his mouth, hot and wet, covers my nipple and his tongue encircles, teasing, a sudden flash of memory crashes through me.
Reth.
The same sensation but different—the smell of sweat and grass, rough hands gripping my hips, the strands of his white hair tickling across my skin as he bent to taste me. His deep voice rumbling with pleasure.
Guilt pierces through me, sharp and sudden. I gasp, and Kiernan reacts, holding me closer, biting my nipple gently between his teeth.
I try to shake away the memory of Reth’s face, those ice-blue eyes flashing with desire as he told me how good I tasted. But my body betrays me—arousal rushes between my legs, slick and undeniable, the memory and the present moment tangling together until I can’t separate them.
No. No, not now. Not here with Kiernan.
But I can’t stop it. Can’t stop remembering. Can’t stop wanting.
Panic grips me. I’m too hot, too close, suffocating under the weight of my own desire and guilt. I push away from Kiernan, and he groans with surprise as I scramble off the sofa.
“Alaya, what’s wrong?” His voice is low and concerned.
“I’m … sorry. I …”
What can I say that wouldn’t hurt him? That I was just thinking of Reth while he touched me? That my body responded to a memory of someone else?
“It’s been a bit of an overwhelming day. I just need more time to adjust,” I finally stammer out, slipping myself back into my dress.
It’s not entirely a lie. Today has been overwhelming. But it’s not the whole truth either.
Before he can say anything, I walk to the door and leave him sitting there, confusion and hurt written across his face.
Another lie. Another piece of myself I’m keeping from him.
How many more before there’s nothing left between us but secrets?