The Obsidian Citadel was not built for silence, yet Kaelen carried it with him. The moment he stepped through the silvered doorway of the Aurum Suite, the low, insistent throbbing of the Bond of Sovereignty settled, pulling the frantic edge from his power but replacing it with a far worse distraction: awareness.
He could feel Lyra. Two floors below, she was a storm of raw, defiant energy—a pure, solar fire trapped in a cage of shadows. Her rage was a tangible heat that pulsed against his own consciousness, a direct feed from the rune on his throat to the pit of his stomach. A terrifying, maddening new vulnerability.
Pathetic.
Kaelen rarely allowed anything human to influence his actions. For centuries, he had worn the mantle of tyrant, a cold, unfeeling monarch whose will was the only law in the Shadowlands. He had to be. The ancient curse that bound this realm to his power the blight that slowly destroyed everything it touched required constant, ruthless control, and for years, he had been slowly wasting away, the shadow essence draining him just as it blighted the land.
He reached the heavy, iron-wrought doors of his Solar his private strategic war room and paused. The sensation of Lyra's anger was so sharp, so bright, it was like a sudden, searing light behind his own eyes.
He didn't need to ask if she'd accepted his ultimatum. Her rejection pulsed through the Bond like a broken nerve. He knew she was planning his downfall even as she stood in his suite, dressed in his silks. The thought, instead of frustrating him, brought a grim, cold smile to his lips. He hadn't wanted a sheep. He wanted a lioness he could cage.
"Enter," he commanded, his voice a low, gravelly rasp.
Commander Varr, the head of the Eighth Shadowguard, emerged from the shadows, his heavy armor thudding against the floor. Lord Veridus, Kaelen's ancient, skeletal advisor and master of arcane lore, floated out next, his features contorted by a rare expression of alarm.
My King," Varr began, kneeling instantly. "The witch is secure. We have also located the Scepter of Dawn—it was not on her person, but hidden in a secondary location outside the city walls. We await your orders to retrieve it."
"Leave the Scepter," Kaelen commanded, walking to the holographic map of Aethel that dominated the center of the chamber. The glowing red lines of his conquest covered three-quarters of the continent. "Its time has passed. Its purpose is moot."
Veridus gave a wheezing gasp. "Moot? My Lord, it is the focus of the Resistance! If we possess it, the war ends immediately!"
Kaelen spun, his golden eyes hardening into chips of lethal ice. The full, crushing weight of his Kingly authority settled over the room, forcing both men to flinch. "The witch is the key, Veridus. Not the trinket." He walked over to the old advisor, his shadow engulfing the smaller man. "When she drew my blood, the Bond awakened. Lyra is the Anchor—the living stabilizer of the ancient wards. I had planned to rule by brute force and fear. Now, I shall rule by unbreakable permanence."
He slammed his hand down on the holographic map, specifically on the Sunstone Principality. "Her mission was assassination. Her only goal was my demise. Yet, the Bond demands our symbiotic existence. She cannot kill me without killing herself. She cannot escape my lands without the separation throttling the life from her. This is not a cage, gentlemen. This is fate. And I will not waste it."
Varr, ever the pragmatist, rose slowly. "What are your orders regarding her, My King? Do we interrogate her for the location of the other light witches? Use her as a political tool to bait the remaining resistance?"
"We will do better," Kaelen said, walking to his desk where a measure of Nox the thick, shadow-liquor sat. He took a slow, deliberate sip. "We will end the war within the week, not by attrition, but by ritual. Prepare the court. Send for the finest royal tailor and the jewelers from the Sunless Vault. We will have an accession ceremony, not a wedding. She will be crowned within the week."
Veridus sputtered, adjusting his robes. "My King, the Council of Shades will never allow this. They already question your methods. To force a human a Sunstone Witch into the position of Queen is unheard of. It destabilizes the political hierarchy."
Kaelen laughed, a dry, harsh sound that held no humor. "The Council of Shades is a collection of dust and ambition, Veridus. They will allow it because I will show them proof: The Bond. It is the only magic older and more powerful than their collective treachery. Tell them this: The witch is the only thing that guarantees my rule, and thus, guarantees their place in the new order. They are welcome to challenge the ancient magic, if they dare."
He looked down at the goblet, the liquid black and impenetrable. "The announcement is deliberate. It cripples the morale of the free kingdoms, turning their savior into my ultimate weapon. It forces the Council to accept her as an undeniable, magically bound entity. And most importantly," his golden eyes lifted, cold and brilliant, "it publicly ensures that no foolish assassin, foreign or domestic, will risk killing Lyra. She is the Anchor. She is protected by her own necessity."
Veridus," Kaelen commanded, his focus returning to the crucial detail. "I need every treatise, every forgotten scroll, and every prophecy pertaining to the Bond of Sovereignty delivered to my private study within the hour. Focus specifically on the weaknesses. Every magical bond has a flaw. This is a tool, and all tools must be mastered."
He needed to understand the limits of his new tether. Could she influence his mind? Could she siphon his power? The sudden intimacy of the bond was maddening. When she was furious, he felt a painful, physical spike in his own chest. When she calmed, he felt a subtle, unnerving sense of peace. He needed to find the means to dampen the connection, to control the torrent of her emotions flooding his own.
"And the arrangements, My King?" Varr pressed. "Will she be held?"
She will be treated as the consort of a powerful ruler," Kaelen replied, walking to the great windows and staring out at the shadowed city. "She is no mere prisoner. She is the symbol of my eternal reign. Arrange a rotating staff of the most skilled, yet magically inert, servants. She will be monitored, but discreetly. No chains. No cages. She will be given the illusion of freedom within the Citadel."
He thought of her hands, small yet fiercely capable, the ones that had tried to tear his throat out. He thought of her stormy eyes, blazing with an undiluted will he hadn't seen in centuries.
"And Varr, one final thing," Kaelen added, his voice dropping to a dangerous, intimate low. "She bit me. She is a creature of raw instinct, and she will fight this with every ounce of her spirit. I want her to. But she will require one lesson immediately: the distinction between political maneuvering and genuine threat
He set down the goblet. "When I return to her, I want the Aurum Suite stocked with the finest food, silks, and whatever petty comforts she could wish for. I want her to know I can give her everything. But I also want a detailed report on the weakest point of her personal guard. The moment she attempts an act of direct, physical violence against me or my court, she will be given a brutal, undeniable demonstration of the consequences of their shared fate."
Kaelen turned, his eyes fixed on the heavy oak door. He might have the power to destroy her, but Lyra, the stubborn spark, now had the power to destroy him.
He felt her anger below, still white-hot and raging. He finished the Nox, the liquor giving him the cold clarity he needed. This was not a romance. This was a war of wills, and the prize was not a crown, but his own stability. And he intended to win.