BLOOD BOUND: MY WITCH MATE

The basement of Ashwick City Archives smelled like forgotten things-old paper, leather bindings, and the musty odour of centuries of accumulated dust. Sera Thorne had long since stopped noticing the smell. She'd spent too many nights down here, alone among the stacks, for it to bother her anymore.

The only sound other than the old building's sporadic settling groan was the buzzing of the fluorescent lights overhead. The main floors above her had been cleared out hours before. Sera had the entire archive to herself at almost midnight after the day workers had left at five and the evening researchers had started to leave by eight.

Just the way she liked it.

Coughing as dust blew into her face, she took another leather-bound book off the shelf. Only a year had passed since the murder that had condemned her people when the novel was written in 1625. The stamped date on the spine, worn smooth by time and innumerable hands, was traced by her fingers. How many of those hands had belonged to others who shared her quest for the truth?

Documents littered the table in front of her, a meticulous mess she had created. She took pictures of documents she wasn't legally allowed to view, copied pages, and transcribed notes.

It all revolved around the execution of Morgana Thorne and the demise of King Aldric Ashcroft.

The ancestor of Sera. Ten times removed, roughly, her great-great-great-grandmother. The woman whose alleged crime had sentenced every witch who came after her to a life of hiding and fear.

Opening the volume, she skimmed through pages of official vampire documentation. The majority of it was pointless, including trade deals, property transfers, and the routine operations of a monarchy. But in the last three years, she had developed patience.

She had learnt to sift through mountains of irrelevant information for tiny grains of truth since her grandmother's death, when she was left alone with nothing but questions and a desperate need for answers.

Morgana was innocent, according to her grandmother. Had tried to prove it her entire life. Sera was carrying the torch now, burning it in this dark place where nobody could see.

She was drawn to the following line: "Council meeting, 15th day of September, 1624."

Discussion regarding concerns about the king's proposed reforms..." Her pulse quickened. She pulled out her phone and snapped a photo of the page. King Aldric had been planning reforms. She'd found oblique references to this before, but never details. What kind of reforms? Why had they concerned the council enough to warrant a formal meeting? She flipped pages, looking for more, but the next entry jumped forward a month.

Everything that had been addressed was either lost or had never been documented in this specific volume.

Rubbing her weary eyes, Sera reclined in her chair. It always went like this. Bits and pieces of knowledge, glimpses of something bigger, but never enough to create a whole picture. Because she so much wanted them to exist, she occasionally questioned whether she was chasing ghosts and seeing patterns where none were.

Her phone buzzed. "You're at the archive again, aren't you?" texted Marco, one of the few friends who was aware of who she really was.

This is getting unhealthy." She ignored it. Marco was human, well-meaning, but unable to understand. He thought she was obsessed with local history as a quirky hobby. He didn't know she was hunting for evidence that might save her people. Though "save" might be too strong a word.

The witches who remained were scattered, hidden, surviving. Most had given up on anything beyond survival. Only a few, like Rowan and his resistance network, still actively fought against vampire rule. And even fewer, like Sera, believed that truth might accomplish what violence never had. She returned to her search, pulling more volumes.

The trial records from Morgana's execution had been heavily edited, she knew. Whole sections removed, testimony redacted. But sometimes information leaked through in other records-mentions in personal letters, footnotes in unrelated documents, the cracks where the official narrative didn't quite fit together. Hours passed.

Sera was hunched over the desk, and her back hurt. Insufficient light caused her eyes to burn as she read tiny handwriting. But since this was all she had, she persisted. When she was eight years old, a vampire raid on the apartment building where her parents had been sheltering resulted in their deaths.

Raised by her grandmother, she learned to be invisible, to avoid using magic in public, and to survive by being inconspicuous.

Then her granny fell three years ago. A single, tiny spell to aid a neighbour's ailing child.

Someone had noticed. Someone had reported. The Nightguard had come.

It had occurred when Sera was at work. When she returned home, she saw her grandmother dead on the floor, furniture overturned, and their apartment door smashed. Sera knew the truth, even if they had pretended it was a heist.

The story was revealed by the burns on her grandmother's wrists-spelt chains, the kind reserved for witches.

Since then, she has been by herself.

No family. Few friends.

All she had left was her modest apartment, her position at the archives, and her personal battle for a truth that no one else seemed to care about.

A document fluttered to the ground after slipping between the pages of an ancient ledger. Sera scowled as she leaned to get it.

The paper was fragile and brown with age; it was a letter, or a portion of one. It appeared as though someone had attempted to destroy it but had not completed the task because the edges were burnt.

With her heart pounding, she unfolded it carefully on the desk. The handwriting was difficult to decipher due to its antiquated style. Due to time and fire damage, the majority of it was unreadable. However, she noticed a few expressions that managed to survive:

"The blade was given by." The following line was destroyed. "didn't want peace between." More damage. "will look like the witch's doing, and none will question." Sera's hands started to shake. This wasn't part of the official record. This was someone talking about framing Morgana. This was evidence.

She reached for her phone to take a picture of it, but before she could, something struck her like a blow. It began with an abrupt tug in her chest, as though something had caught in her ribs and was pushing violently. She gasped because the sensation was so weird and unexpected.

It sparked at her fingertips as her magic reacted to it. Overhead, the lights flickered.

No. No, this couldn't be what she thought it was.

The mate bond. Her grandmother had described it: an irresistible pull toward your other half, the person whose magic and soul resonated with yours. Among witches, it was rare but celebrated. Two witches find each other, their powers complementing and enhancing one another. But the pull wasn't directing her toward the witch community hidden throughout the city.

It was pulling her north and west, toward the Nocturne District. Toward vampire territory. Sera shoved away from the desk, backing up until she hit the bookshelf. This was impossible. Witches didn't bond with vampires. Not anymore. That's what had gotten Aldric and Morgana killed. That's what had started the war.

The tug grew more pungent and more unpleasant. The lights went completely out as her magic erupted in response. She could see her hands glowing slightly green in the sudden darkness, power seeping out despite her best efforts to contain it.

She had to go, hide, return home, and guard her apartment. However, the attraction was so strong that it overpowered reason. Every cell in her body was yelling at her to pursue it, to locate the origin, to complete the bond.

With trembling hands, Sera reached for her bag and instinctively shoved the broken letter inside. Using the flashlight on her phone, she staggered in the direction of the stairs. The lights flashed back on behind her, but she didn't pause to look into it.

When she came out of the building, the night air slapped her face. There were a few late-night passersby on the street, and most stores were closed. She began moving toward her house and safety.

She staggered as the force pulled hard in the wrong direction. It wanted her to turn away.

"No," she muttered to herself. "Absolutely not."

But her feet had stopped moving toward home.

The bond tugged and tugged as she stood motionless on the sidewalk. It was no longer merely physical. She was experiencing feelings that were not her own, such as restlessness, hunger, and perplexity. The feelings of another person seep through the incomplete bond.

Her someone. Her mate. A vampire.

Sera turned to face the Nocturne District, which could be seen in the distance due to its older buildings and the gentle glow of gas lamps, which the vampires favoured over contemporary lighting. She would never go there. No sensible witch would. They immediately slaughtered her species because it was vampire territory.

However, the bond was now tugging so firmly that opposing it was like attempting to stop a river with her bare hands. Beneath the horror and the rational terror of what she was thinking about, there was a deep-seated conviction that she had to find this person.

That something essential was incomplete without them. "This is insane," she told herself. Then she started walking north.

As she got closer to the Nocturne District's edge, the streets altered. Older structures supplanted newer ones, with stone and wrought iron replacing steel and glass. The lighting becomes more dramatic and dimmer. The smell of old roses from the gardens that many vampire houses kept filled the air, making it feel even colder.

A few pedestrians walking in the opposite direction passed her. They appeared to be humans returning to safer neighbourhoods after patronising vampire establishments. They didn't look at her again.

Although unmistakable, the border was clearly visible. Sera sensed it as soon as she crossed-a tingle of ancient magic that denoted territory-even though there was neither a wall nor a sign.

Vampire law took precedence over human law after this point. She had no protection after this.

She raised her hood and kept moving.

The nighttime beauty of the Nocturne District was perilous. The stone façades of the well-kept antique houses were illuminated by gaslight, creating swirling shadows. The streets were lined with expensive vehicles. She could see sophisticated bars and restaurants through the windows, vampires visible in their finery.

They moved differently than humans, she noticed.

More fluid, with a graceful, predatory economy of motion. They exuded danger even through the glass.

If any of them knew who she was, they would kill her.

She was drawn farther into the district by the bond, past residential neighbourhoods and toward what appeared to be a commercial core.

Her heart pounded in her chest. She tried to appear like a human being with business here by keeping her head down, but she couldn't understand what business a woman by herself at midnight may have.

Then she noticed it: The Crimson Room, a velvet and dark wood restaurant that would likely cost more for a single dinner than she could prepare in a week.

The bond pulled her directly toward it.

In particular, toward a single figure visible through the glass.

He was seated at a table with several other people, all dressed in the dark, formal attire typical of vampires. However, she could tell which one he was from the outside, even before she gave him a conscious glance. A note of recognition vibrated in her bones as the bond sang between them.

His dark hair curved slightly at the nape of his neck, his angular features were almost too flawless, and even at this distance, she could see his eyes. He had vampire-like beauty. The eyes were remarkable, ice blue, and seemed to sparkle.

Then, through the glass, those eyes locked with hers, and the bond solidified.

The world narrowed to that connection for a brief period. She sensed his disbelief, his bewilderment, his hunger-and behind it all, the same compelling attraction she was feeling. Recognition. Completion.

Something instinctive in her whispered, "Mine."

Then reality crashed back in. She saw his expression shift from shock to realization to something more complex. She saw him stand, saw his companions react with alarm.

She saw the exact moment he decided to come after her.

Sera ran.

Sera's boots pounded against cobblestones as she ran, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Behind her, she heard the restaurant door slam open, heard voices calling out in alarm.

She didn't look back. The streets of the Nocturne District blurred past her as she pushed her legs harder, faster. Her magic sparked at her fingertips, responding to her panic, and she forced it down. Using magic would only make her more visible and mark her as a witch to every vampire in range.

But the bond was screaming at her to stop, to turn around, to go back to him. It felt like running against a riptide, every step away from him requiring twice the effort it should. Her chest ached with more than just exertion.

Her thoughts were racing as she turned down a small side street. To have a shot, she had to leave vampire territory and return to neutral land. If she could stay ahead of him for a few more blocks, the district wouldn't be too big.

Just in front of her, a figure fell from a rooftop.

Sera almost fell as she slid to a stop. The vampire straightened to his full height and stood carefully. Those ice-blue eyes stood out even in the low light of the gas lamps. He was even more impressive up close, towering and broad-shouldered, wearing dark clothing that seemed both official and practical. The costly tailoring conceals a fighter's bulk.

"Don't run," he murmured in a calm, low voice. "You'll only make this harder."

Sera extended her hand instead of responding. The spell struck him squarely in the chest with a burst of kinetic force that came out of instinct. He flew backwards and hit the building's stone wall behind him with enough power to break the mortar.

She sprinted in the other direction.

The lessons her grandmother had taught her about surviving in a world that wanted you dead began to take effect. If you can escape, don't fight. If you can hide, don't use magic. Nobody should be trusted, especially if their type has been pursuing you for forty centuries.

The relationship tugged more forcefully now, almost painfully. She sensed his surprise, his confusion, and, beneath that, what may have been admiration. He didn't think she would fight back.

She almost ran into two more vampires as she turned another corner. They moved in a predatory, coordinated manner to block her way. She understood they were guards. He had requested assistance.

"Which," one of them growled, his lips retracting to reveal his fangs.

Sera's magic erupted once more, but she shaped it differently. Her skill, passed down from her grandma, is shadows. The gas lamp light vanished as the alley's darkness deepened and grew more complete. She darted between the two vampires in the chaos, feeling their hands grab at the vacant space where she had just been.

She suddenly emerged onto a larger street from the alley. A few pedestrians in the late hours of the night turned to look. Human witnesses could help discourage the vampires from doing anything obvious.

Then again, vampires owned this district. They made the rules here.

Impossibly quick footsteps behind her. She dared to look back and saw him once more-the one from the restaurant-closing the distance with unbelievable speed. He had a focused, intense look that was more nuanced than hostile.

She sensed his resolve through the bond. He would not allow her to get away.

Sera noticed a crevice between buildings that was so small she would have to turn sideways to go through. She threw herself into it, scurrying up and over a fence on the other side with the aid of a bit of levitation. Her jacket tore when it caught on the iron spikes at the top, but she managed to free herself and descend into what appeared to be a private garden.

She'd bought herself seconds at most. The fence wouldn't stop a vampire.

The garden was modest, with a fence along the fourth side and tall stone walls along the other three. A dead end. She had trapped herself.

She whispered, "No, no, no," and turned to find another way out. There was a door in the distant wall that most likely led to the building that owned the garden. She grabbed the handle and raced for it.

Locked.

She heard the fence rattle behind her. He was on his way.

Sera raised her hands and slammed her back against the door. Green light flickered between her fingers as her magic grew. She felt as though her heart might burst through her ribs due to its intense pounding. It was this. She didn't think she could defeat a vampire, so she was going to have to fight him-really fight.

Particularly not one who seemed quick enough to follow her across the narrow alleyways.

He barely made a sound as he landed in the garden and slowly straightened. They simply gazed at one another for a considerable amount of time. With less distance between them, their bond grew stronger and drew them closer.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he declared.

Sera let out a hysterical laugh. "All right. Since vampires are renowned for their generosity toward witches."

His jaw clenched. "You're breaking district law. You have no business being here.

"Then let me leave."

"I can't do that." He moved in closer, raising his hands in a gesture of appeasement.

"You're... this bond is..." "Impossible?" she finished. "A mistake? A curse?" "Real," he said quietly. The word hung between them. Real. Undeniable. The mate bond, the thing that hadn't existed between their kinds for four hundred years, since Aldric and Morgana. Since the murder that started the war. "It doesn't matter," Sera said, though her voice wavered. "You're a vampire. I'm a witch. This can't happen." "I know." He sounded almost regretful. "But it is happening.

I now have to choose how to handle it."

He reached for something at his belt. Sera responded with a flare of power, but he was quicker. She heard footsteps coming from several directions as he touched a button on what appeared to be a little remote.

More guards are surrounding the garden. "Don't make this violent," he said. "Please." The please surprised her.

Through the bond, there was a hint in his voice and expression that he didn't want to harm her. She should have felt reassured by the realisation. Instead, it made her more afraid. Because it was inevitable that a vampire would want her dead. A troubled vampire posed an entirely new kind of threat.

Every Nightguard member in the garden was armed and stared at her with a variety of shocked and enraged looks. They have heard the term "witch." They were aware of her identity.

One of them, a woman with amber eyes and silver-blonde hair, had a look of dawning terror on her face as she glanced between Sera and the vampire from the restaurant.

"Lucien," the woman uttered in a strained voice. "What is this?"

Lucien. So that was his name. Sera filed it away, her thoughts searching for a way out but failing to find one. She was outnumbered, surrounded, and worn out from running.

"Stand down," Lucien ordered his group. "She's not to be harmed."

Another guard said, "She's a witch," while holding his firearm.

"Protocol is clear-" "I said, stand down."

Lucien's voice suddenly had the authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed. "She's... under my protection."

He seemed to lose something as a result of the words. The guards glanced at one another, seeming perplexed. With what appeared to be betrayal, the blonde woman-Elara, Sera somehow knew, information seeping through the bond-stared at Lucien.

"Sir," Elara murmured cautiously. "You can't be serious."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Lucien had a stern look on his face.

"Restrain her, but carefully. No harm comes to her. That's an order."

Pulling out the shackles, two guards advanced. They were the same kind that had burned her grandmother's wrists, and Sera knew them. Anxiety tore at her throat.

"Don't touch me," she said, her magic cracking.

She could not keep up with Lucien's rapid movements.

He was a few feet distant in one instant, and then he was standing in front of her, his hand around her wrist. His flesh on hers completed a circuit she was unaware was lacking, and the contact sent a shock through the bond, combining pleasure and pain.

He said, "Don't fight," just to her. "They are afraid of you. They will retaliate with deadly force if you attack, and I won't be able to stop them all."

She searched his face and shouted, "Why?" "Why would you stop them at all?"

His mouth tightened. She saw the conflict within him through the bond-centuries of training and animosity clashing with something more recent that the bond had sparked.

Instinct that said protect, mine, mate. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I'm not letting them kill you. So please, stop fighting." The guards approached with the chains. The metal looked ordinary but felt wrong, coated in magic designed to suppress witch power. Sera's magic recoiled from it even before it touched her skin. "I'll go with you," she said, hating how her voice shook. "But those chains-" "Are necessary," Lucien finished. "You're powerful. I felt that blast you hit me with.

They are just as much in need of protection as you are.

She was terrified when the cold metal tightened around her wrists, even though the reasoning made sense. Her charm instantly became muffled, remote, and dampened. It felt cramped, as if you were covered in a heavy fabric that blocked out sound and air.

She sensed Lucien's uneasiness at her fright through the bond. Even though he didn't like this, he wasn't going to stop it.

She said, "Where are you taking me?"

"The palace," he murmured. "You'll be held there until I figure out what to do with you."

"You mean until you decide how to kill me."

For a moment, she saw past the vampire and the adversary to someone who shared her confusion and fear. Both his and her worlds had been turned upside down by the bond.

"I mean until I figure out what this bond means," he said. "And why does it exist between us when it shouldn't be possible?"

Elara took the lead as the guards gathered around them. She continued to look back at Sera with hardly disguised hostility. The other guards were the same; their bodies were rigid, their hands on their weapons, and they were prepared to attack her despite the chains.

Pedestrians scrambled out of their way as they passed through the Nocturne District like a little military procession. Word would soon get out that a witch had been apprehended by the Nightguard.

In vampire territory, that was news.

Sera's thoughts were racing. She had to get away and let Rowan and the others know that she had been compromised. She was surrounded by skilled vampire fighters, even without the chains, which prevented her from using magic. It would be suicide to fight.

She followed them as they led her farther into enemy territory and in the direction of the vampire royalty's palace. A witch who was dumb enough to allow a mate bond to drag her into the depths of evil would face whatever doom was ahead.

With its imposing spires and Gothic architecture, the palace loomed in the distance. Everyone in Ashwick had previously witnessed it from a distance, but Sera had never seen it quite like this. Never as a prisoner being marched to her likely demise.

She sensed Lucien's agony through the bond. He was making choices, doing calculations, and attempting to choose a course of action that would not result in the death of one or both of them.

She nearly felt sorry for him. Nearly. Then she recalled all the witches who had been murdered by his type, including her parents and grandmother. Like water on a hot stone, any sympathy vanished.

They entered a courtyard illuminated by additional gas lighting after passing through enormous iron gates.

When the guards at the door spotted Lucien, they were alert, and when they saw Sera in her chains, their eyes grew wide.

"Get word to the king," Lucien commanded. "Tell him I need an audience immediately."

"Sir, at this hour-"

"Now."

The guard ran away. They proceeded inside, past paintings of old vampires whose eyes appeared to follow Sera as she went, and down corridors adorned with crimson carpets and black wood. Everything about the palace was intended to intimidate and impress, and it was gorgeous in a frigid sense.

At last, they came to a halt outside a pair of doors. With a low but urgent voice, Elara moved closer to Lucien.

"What are you doing, Lucien? A witch cannot be brought before the king. You are unable to-" Her eyes widened as she halted. "No. The bond. You and she are bound.

It wasn't a question. Elara had figured it out, and judging by her expression, it was worse than she had anticipated.

"Elara," Lucien began.

Elara remarked in a trembling voice, "We've been at war for four hundred years because of a vampire and witch bond." "Because it resulted in betrayal and murder." You've bonded with one of them, too. To the enemy."

"I didn't choose this."

"Neither did King Aldric!" Elara's composure cracked. "And it got him killed.

Your great-great-grandfather's witch mate killed him as a result. How are you going to pretend that this isn't a death sentence?

Sera's heart fell. Naturally, she was aware that Lucien was a member of the vampire nobility. It was clear from the way he carried authority and the way the guards obeyed him. However, learning that he was descended from Aldric himself verified it...

This wasn't just any vampire. This was the great-great-grandson of the man her ancestor allegedly murdered.

The symmetry was too flawless.

History really was repeating itself. The doors opened before Lucien could respond to Elara.

A steward motioned for them to enter.

The steward responded, "His Majesty will see you now," but he appeared anxious. "Though he wishes me to convey his... displeasure at being woken at this hour."

"Noted," Lucien remarked sourly.

He motioned for Sera to move ahead of him. Despite her dread, she refused to back down and raised her chin. She would pass away with dignity if she were to die here.

Shadows gathered on the lofty ceiling of the enormous throne room. A vampire who could only be the king sat at the far end on an elaborate chair that was unmistakably a throne, even though vampires no longer used that term.

He had the same sharp features and ice-blue eyes as Lucien, but he was older and more rugged. His dark hair was interwoven with silver, and his expression conveyed a sense of centuries of power, choices made, and repercussions endured.

King Matthias Ashcroft. The vampire who had spent the previous four centuries spearheading the fight against witches.

In front of him, Sera was shackled, captured, and totally at his mercy.

"Well," Matthias remarked, his voice resonating effortlessly over the spacious space.

"This is unexpected."

The throne room felt colder than the night outside. Sera stood with the spelt chains weighing on her wrists, very aware of the guards positioned throughout the room, of Elara's hostile stare boring into her back, of Lucien standing rigid beside her.

Most of all, she was aware of King Matthias studying her with those ancient eyes, calculating and cold. "Lucien," the king said finally. "Would you care to explain why you've brought a witch into my palace? Into my presence? At midnight?"

"Your Majesty-" Lucien started.

"And not just any witch, from what I'm sensing." With predatory grace, Matthias rose slowly from his throne and descended the steps. "One you've... bonded to?"

The gathered guards felt astonishment as the words dropped like stones into quiet water.

Sera heard whispers, gasps. Beside her, Lucien's shoulders tightened.

"Yes," he replied simply.

Matthias paused a few feet away, glancing between Sera and his son. Sera sensed danger emanating from him like scorching heat, even if his countenance was unreadable. This vampire had ruled for generations, putting down uprisings and keeping his people under strict supervision. You should not undervalue this person.

"Remarkable," Matthias said. "And how exactly did this happen?"

"I don't know," Lucien said. "The Crimson Room was close to her.

The bond manifested when we saw each other. I pursued, captured her, and brought her here because..." He trailed off, seeming to struggle for words. "Because the bond wouldn't let you kill her," Matthias finished. "Even though that's what protocol demands. What four centuries of law demand.

What my grandfather's memory requires."

Sera forced herself to talk even though her lips were dry. "I didn't want this either."

She felt the tangible weight of Matthias's attention as his focus suddenly shifted to her. "I don't recall giving you permission to speak, witch."

"I don't recall asking for it."

Before she could stop them, the words had already been spoken. Elara let out what sounded like a choked swear. The hands of several guards shifted to their firearms. However, Sera had had enough of being scared and cowering. She would die on her own terms if it was inevitable.

Matthias surprised her by grinning.

It wasn't a kind expression. "Brave," he said. "Or foolish. With your kind, it's often hard to tell the difference." He circled her slowly, assessing. "What's your name?" "Sera Thorne." She oversaw his reaction. If he recognised her family name, recognised the connection to Morgana, he didn't show it.

Though given that Morgana had been executed four centuries ago, her family name might mean nothing to him now. "And what brought you to vampire territory tonight, Sera Thorne?" Matthias asked. "Surely you know that witches found here are killed on sight. Were you on some mission for your resistance? Spying? Planning sabotage?" "I was following the mate bond," Sera said honestly.

When the truth was imprinted on her and Lucien, there was no need to lie. "I tried to resist it, tried to go home, but it pulled me here."

"Convenient," Elara said behind them.

Matthias held up a hand for silence. "The mate bond can't be faked. That much I know. But it also hasn't manifested between our kinds since..." He paused meaningfully. "Well.

The last time a vampire and witch foolishly believed in such a bond, we all know what happened."

Sera exclaimed, "My ancestor was innocent," before she could stop herself.

The room's temperature appeared to drop by ten degrees. There was no longer any softness in Matthias's countenance as he turned to completely face her.

"Your ancestor?"

"Morgana Thorne," Sera murmured, raising her chin. "King Aldric was not killed by her. She was set up.

There was complete stillness after that. The guards appeared to have stopped breathing as well. Through the bond, Sera sensed Lucien's disbelief and his immediate defensive rage at her charge.

Matthias let out a low, humourless laugh. "I understand. You are a descendant of the witch who killed my grandfather, in addition to having a bond with my son. The symmetry is nearly poetic.

"She didn't murder him," Sera maintained. "The trial was a fraud. The evidence was suppressed. Just have a look at-"

"Enough."

Matthias's voice broke like a whip. "During my entire life, I witnessed my father's grief for his father. That murder and its treachery weighed heavily on me as I grew up. And you dare tell me it was all a lie while standing in chains in my palace?"

"Yes," Sera replied, her heart pounding. "Because it was."

She worried for a long time that he might end her own life. She noticed his fangs slightly expand as his hands flexed at his sides. Then, though, he inhaled and showed signs of self-control.

"Lucien," he uttered while maintaining eye contact with Sera.

"A word. Alone." "Your Majesty-" "Now."

After a moment of hesitation, Lucien followed his father to a side entrance. He looked back at Sera before he left, and she saw his turmoil through the bond-angry at her allegation, worried about her, confused about everything.

After that, they vanished, leaving Sera alone with Elara and twelve antagonistic guards.

Elara moved forward right away, drawing near enough for Sera to see the sparkles of gold in her amber eyes. "Are you not actually descended from her? The witch who murdered our king.

"She didn't-"

"Save it," Elara interrupted. "Your conspiracy theories don't concern me. I'm concerned that you've put Lucien in a bond that will kill him.

Just like it got Aldric killed."

"I didn't trap anyone," Sera retorted. "I didn't ask for this. This is not what I wanted.

"Then why didn't you run?" Elara made a demand. "When you sensed the bond, why didn't you leave the city? What brought you here?

Sera had been asking herself the same question, so it was reasonable. She had followed the pull, but why? Why hadn't she packed everything and left as soon as she sensed it?

"Because I'm tired of running," she finally replied. "Because I've lived my entire life pretending to be someone I'm not, hiding who I am, and denying my power. And I thought when I sensed the connection. Unsure of how to describe it, she drifted off.

"You thought what?"

Elara pressed. "That maybe there was a reason. That maybe if the bond exists, if it's pulling me toward a vampire despite everything, there might be something bigger at work. Something that could change things." Elara stared at her for a long moment.

"You actually believe that. You actually think you and Lucien are going to end the war? Bring peace between our kinds? Just like Aldric and Morgana tried to do?" "They didn't try to do anything," Sera said. "They didn't get the chance. Someone killed Aldric before they could." "Morgana killed him!" "No." Sera's voice was firm. "Someone else did.

Someone who was against peace. We are all doomed to repeat this cycle indefinitely if no one ever considers the reality and everyone simply continues to believe the lie.

Elara's expression briefly changed; it wasn't precisely agreement, but perhaps a crack in her confidence. Before she could reply, Lucien and Matthias came back via the side entrance.

Lucien appeared tight and upset, but the king's countenance was unreadable. Their conversation had not gone well.

"I've made a decision," Matthias declared. "You are accused of breaking into vampire territory, which carries a death sentence, Sera Thorne.

But I'm willing to be merciful because of the... unique circumstances."

His following words made Sera's heart skip a beat.

"You will be kept here, in the palace, under constant guard. You will be questioned about which resistance movements, about your people's plans, about everything you know. And then, once we've determined you're no longer useful, you will be executed."

"Father-" Lucien started. "Unless," Matthias continued, raising a hand, "you can prove your claim. You say Morgana Thorne didn't kill my grandfather? Fine. Prove it. You have one month. If you can show me evidence-real, verifiable evidence-that my grandfather was murdered by someone other than his witch mate, I'll spare your life."

It was a trap, Sera realized. There was no evidence. Everything had been destroyed or hidden four hundred years ago. Even the letter she'd found tonight was just a fragment, barely legible, indeed not enough to prove anything. Matthias was offering her false hope while giving himself time to extract information and plan an execution that wouldn't destabilise the mate bond's effects on Lucien. But it was also an opening. A month was better than immediate death.

"I accept," she said. "Good." Matthias looked at Lucien. "You will oversee her custody. She stays in the east wing, under guard at all times. You may work with her on this investigation, since you're apparently unable to keep away due to the bond. But Lucien-" His voice hardened.

"Don't mistake my mercy for approval. If she can't prove her claims, she dies. Mate bond or not. Am I clear?" "Crystal," Lucien said quietly. "Excellent. Now get her out of my sight. I need to think about how to explain this disaster to the council." Guards moved forward to escort Sera away.

She noticed Matthias observing her with a look she couldn't quite decipher as they brought her to the door. It may be a calculation. It could be something more intricate.

They proceeded up several flights of stairs and through several hallways before arriving at what appeared to be the east wing. Here, the hallways were more domestic and quieter.

Finally, they stopped at a door. "Your chambers," one guard said, unlocking it. Sera stepped inside and was surprised by what she found. This wasn't a cell. It was a suite-sitting room, bedroom visible through another door, tall windows that looked out over the city. Furnished comfortably, even luxuriously. Her prison was nicer than her actual apartment. "The windows are warded," Lucien said from behind her. "Don't try to escape through them.

There will be 24-hour security at the door. Unless you need to eat or take a bath, in which case guards will be present, your chains will remain in place."

Sera looked up at him. The realization that they were alone for the first time since the mate bond had bound them together hovered between them.

"So you're my jailer," she remarked.

"I'm trying to keep you alive," he clarified.

"My father wanted to execute you immediately. I convinced him to give you this chance." "How generous of you."

His jaw clenched. "You have no idea what you've done. The position you've put me in. King Aldric is my ancestor. Every vampire is familiar with the tale of how his witch lover killed him and how trust and love led to his demise. And now I have a bond with a witch who insists she was innocent and says she is descended from that same murderer. Do you know what this looks like?

"About as bad as how it looks for me," Sera retorted. Bonded with a vampire whose great-great-grandfather was purportedly murdered by my ancestor. Imprisoned in the palace of the king, who has been pursuing my people for four hundred years.

I'm not exactly having a great night either."

They gazed at one another, their connection drawing them closer even as mistrust and rage drove them apart. Through the bond, Sera could sense his feelings: dread, frustration, and, behind it all, an unwelcome attraction that reflected her own.

She detested how attractive she found him. She hated the fact that, while being chained and imprisoned, a part of her yearned to be nearer to him and experience the bond's completion.

"This won't work," she said.

"Your father's challenge. There's no evidence left after four hundred years. He knows that. This is just a slower execution." "Then we'll have to find evidence," Lucien said. "You mentioned proof. What did you mean?" Sera hesitated. She'd left her bag at the archive when she ran-stupid, panicked decision.

The letter fragment was in that bag. By now, the building would be locked for the night. "I found something tonight," she admitted. "A partial letter that suggests someone else was involved in Aldric's death. But I left it behind when I ran from you." "Where?" "The city archives.

In my bag, in the basement level where the old records are kept." Lucien considered this. "I can send someone to retrieve it tomorrow." "No." Sera shook her head. "The archives are human territory, neutral ground.

If vampires start searching it, people will notice and ask questions. And the letter is fragile. If someone handles it wrong, it could fall apart completely."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"Let me go back," Sera murmured. "During business hours tomorrow. I'll go get it myself. If you'd like, you can accompany me; just be careful."

"You think I'd let you out of the palace?" Lucien had a disbelieving expression. "You'd run the moment we hit the street."

"Where would I go?"

Sera asked. "You've felt the bond. You know how strong it is. I can't run from you-not really. The pull would bring me back."

She saw him think about this and accept the truth. Neither of them could separate from the other due to the bond. The charmed metal around her wrists was not as effective as this chain.

Finally, "I'll think about it," he said. "You should get some rest in the meantime. We'll begin organizing a response to your implausible assertion tomorrow.

Sera's words stopped him as he turned to walk away.

"Lucien." He paused. "Thank you. For keeping me alive tonight."

His expression was complex as he turned to face her again. "Don't thank me just yet. We have a month to establish that the most well-known murder story in our history did not occur as everyone believes, something no one has done in four centuries. I can't stop my father from putting you to death if we fail. It won't matter about the bond. Nothing will.

"I know."

"And even if we succeed," he went on, "even if we manage to establish Morgana's innocence, that doesn't mean we have a future." There is still fighting amongst our types.

We're still enemies."

"I know that too."

Something briefly passed between them, perhaps a mutual realization of how unfeasible their circumstances were. Then Lucien shut the door behind him and left. Sera heard guards positioning themselves outside and listened to the lock click.

She was alone.

Sera went to the window and gazed down at the city. Unaware that one of their own was imprisoned in the vampire castle, Rowan and the other witches would be living their secret lives somewhere. Without being aware of the challenge, the mate bond, or anything else.

She ought to be afraid.

And she was part of her. But another part, the part that had spent three years researching in archives and believing in truth, felt something else. Hope. She had a month.

Thirty days to find evidence that had eluded everyone for four hundred years.

Thirty days to demonstrate that her ancestor was innocent, that the war was based on a falsehood, and that perhaps-just possibly-the mate bond had brought her and Lucien together.

It was not feasible.

However, Sera had always been drawn to impossibilities.

But Sera had always been drawn to impossible things.

She felt the enchanted chains dampen her power as she touched them on her wrists. She would have to persuade Lucien to allow her to visit the archives tomorrow. She would have to locate that letter piece, thoroughly examine it, and determine whether there are any further hints.

With enemies on all sides and a ticking clock leading up to her death, she would have to solve a murder that occurred before she was ever born.

She could see the sun starting to paint the horizon through the window. Dawn was approaching. A fresh day marked the beginning of what could be her final month.

Sera grimaced. If she had to die, at least it would be while pursuing the truth.

Her grandmother would have been in favour.

Through the bond, she sensed Lucien's presence somewhere in the palace; he was awake, agitated, and grappling with the same impractical circumstance. For a moment, their thoughts met, and she sensed his resolve reflecting her own.

This could have been. This could have been doomed from the start. But they had one month to rewrite history. And Sera had never backed down from a challenge, no matter how impossible it seemed.