For tonight the great hall of Arttoria held no coronation or treaty. It held a mating auction.

This was where unmated wolves came when all other options had expired. When they were too old for a first marriage, too scarred by life or circumstance to find a proper mate.

Wolves couldn’t exist in a pack unmated. That would disturb the hierarchy their kind needed.

Hence, the auctions. The men who came here were not seeking wives in the traditional sense.

They sought second or third wives to tend homes, mistresses, and nursemaids. But none sought love.

The crowd that had gathered was smaller than in previous years, the interested parties fewer.

The auctioneers’s voice droned on, listing bloodlines and basic qualities with all the enthusiasm of a man selling livestock he knew to be lame.

One woman wept silently, tears tracking through carefully applied powder on her aging face. She’d been beautiful once.

You could still see it in the bones of her. But time and three failed betroals had brought her here.

Another stood with her chin high, defiant despite the scar that ran from temple to jaw.

A third stared at nothing, her expression blank, her hands curved protectively over her belly.

Pregnant and abandoned most likely. The last figure in the line drew the most attention.

However, the attention of whispers and sidelong glances rather than open stairs. She stood apart from the others, shrouded completely in a hooded cloak of dark, heavy fabric.

Not even her hands were visible. The hood hung low over her face, revealing nothing.

“She might have been beautiful. She might have been monstrous, and that perhaps told the crowd everything they needed to know.”

“What’s wrong with that one?” A merchant muttered to his companion. The whispers rippled through the hall like wind through grass.

What could be so wrong that even her face must be hidden? Beneath the hood, Clare felt every eye like a physical touch.

This was it. The end of everything. If she wasn’t chosen today, if no one was desperate or foolish enough to take a woman whose face they couldn’t see, her father would be within his rights to sell her as a slave.

He was standing near the edge of the platform with her sister, Celia, pretending not to know her.

Who would buy a hooded woman? Sight unseen, her father had said, and he’d been right.

At best, they would demand to see beneath the hood first. And that that would be so much worse than not being chosen at all.

The auctioneer had moved on from the pregnant woman when the great doors burst open.

Every conversation died mid-word, every head turned. An alpha presence rolled through the doors like a wave.

And it wasn’t the ordinary dominance of a strong wolf. This was the kind of power that came from bloodlines so pure, so undiluted that they were more legend than wolf.

Clare felt it even beneath her hood. “The Alpha King,” the auctioneer gasped. “Gods above?

What is he doing here?” The whispers started immediately, shocked and disbelieving, rippling through the crowd.

“That’s impossible,” someone added. “Why would the king come to a mating auction?” Alpha King Ellen of Arttoria walked into the hall as if he owned it, which Clare supposed he did.

He was tall, taller than any man in the room, with blonde hair falling past his shoulders in a pale gold that looked almost silver in the torch light.

Rumors said he was so beautiful it made noble women composed terrible poetry, and princesses from distant kingdoms invent reasons to visit Arttoria.

But Clare thought beautiful didn’t cover it. Beautiful was too soft a word for these cheekbones, these pale gray eyes, cold and clear and absolutely merciless.

Several of the noble stepped back as if distance might protect them from whatever this was.

Because this made no sense, none at all. Kings didn’t come to mating auctions. Kings, especially this king, could have empresses, could have anyone, anything.

So why was he here? Ellen stopped in the center of the hall and his gaze swept over the platform.

His expression revealed nothing. “Continue,” he said. It took the auctioneer three tries to find his voice.

“Your majesty, I we are honored by your I said continue,” the king said. He’d begun walking toward the platform, the crowd parting before him.

Clare felt him approaching and fought the urge to run. She heard his footsteps stop at the first woman, the one who’d been weeping.

A long pause. Clare imagined him studying her, weighing her worth. The footsteps moved on.

Another pause. The scarred woman perhaps more consideration, more dismissal. He continued down the line, and then the footsteps stopped directly in front of her.

Clare’s breath caught in her throat. She kept her head bowed, staring at the stone beneath her hood.

The silence stretched. No one in the hall dared to breathe. And then, cutting through it like a blade through silk, cold and final and absolutely certain, the king announced, “I’ll take her.”

There was only silence, and only when chaos erupted did Clare realized he’d meant her.

Chapter 2. Through the small window, she could see the castle rising in the distance.

Greystone towers piercing a pale sky. And despite everything, despite the terror coiling in her chest, she felt something unexpected.

Relief. She could still smell the desperation and shame in the air of that auction hall.

Her father had made it clear no one would want what they couldn’t see. And when the auction ended with no offers, he’d be legally permitted to sell Clare into proper slavery.

It was meant to be her father’s final revenge. But then the Alpha King had walked into that hall, and everything had changed.

“He chose me,” she thought, still unable to make sense of it. The carriage stopped.

Clare’s heart hammered as a guard opened the door and offered his hand. She took it with shaking fingers, stepping down onto smooth stone.

His castle loomed above her, impossibly large, impossibly grand. “This is madness,” she thought. “Why would he choose me?”

She followed the guard through corridors that seemed to stretch forever, her boots silent on thick carpets.

Servants bowed as she passed, their eyes curious, but not cruel. No one sneered. It was so different from her father’s house that she felt dizzy.

They stopped before a heavy wooden door. The guard knocked twice, then pushed it open.

The king will see you now, my lady. Clare’s throat went dry as she stepped inside.

The room was a study, shelves lined with books, a desk covered in maps and documents, a fire burning low in the hearth despite the summer heat.

And standing by the window, backlit by gray afternoon light, was the alpha king himself, Elen.

He was tall. That was Clare’s first coherent thought. And when he turned to look at her, she felt the cold radiating from him like a physical force, as if winter lived in his bones.

She dropped into a curtsy, her hood slipping forward. “Your majesty.” “Rise,” he said. His voice matched everything else about him, distant, controlled, empty of warmth.

Clare straightened, her heart pounding so hard she was certain he could hear it. Through the fabric of her veil, she could make out was the hard line of his jaw, the coldness in his eyes as they passed over her without interest.

No curiosity at all about what lay beneath her disguise. “Your majesty,” she began, her voice barely steady.

“I never meant to deceive you.” “Deceive me?” He asked, sounding surprised. “Yes,” Clare nodded.

“The veil? I He raised one hand, cutting her off. I don’t need to know.

The wedding will take place in 3 days. That’s all you need to concern yourself with.

Clare blinked. Your majesty, please, she implored. Before you look, you have to understand the reason I wear it.

If you’d just let me explain. I will not be looking. The statement hung in the air between them, flat and final.

Excuse me? Clare asked. Ellen turned fully toward her, his expression unchanged. You’ve hidden your face.

I assume that’s because it isn’t pleasing to look upon. Beneath her veil, Clare grimaced.

He wasn’t entirely wrong, but he wasn’t entirely right either. Not that she could explain that.

Not without revealing everything, which she would rather die than do, though lying to her king, her future husband, was death.

He had to know. Your majesty, wait. Clare took a step forward. Before we marry, you should know the truth about me.

About why I, he paused at the door, didn’t turn to look at her. You will be my wife, he said quietly.

But other than that, I have no interest in seeing you ever. Clare stood frozen, trying to process what he’d just said.

No interest in seeing her. Not just now. Ever. Your majesty, she managed. Even if you never wish to see me, others will.

People will talk. They’ll let you know what what I look like. I would prefer you hear it from me before the ceremony.

Before you feel betrayed, she didn’t say. Ellen finally turned and for the first time his eyes focused on her fully.

Cold eyes, gray as winter frost. If you would prefer that no one ever sees you, he said slowly.

Then it shall be so. Clare gaped at him. What? You are to be queen.

You will receive jewels and palaces and titles and land. Receiving veils and a staff which ensures you are never looked upon directly.

On top of that, is no hassle. I assure you. She couldn’t speak. This was this was too good to be true.

It had to be. Why would he choose her? Why would he allow her to keep hidden?

He could have married a beautiful princess pleasing to look upon, someone he knew, someone with a bigger dowy.

If that is all, Ellen said, already pulling the door open. I’ll see you at the cathedral.

And then he was gone. Clare stood alone in the study. She should refuse. That was the logical choice.

Go back to her father, accept her punishment, face whatever fate awaited her there. Because this this strange offer from a cold king who wanted a wife he’d never look at felt like a trap.

But then she remembered the look in her father’s eyes the last time she’d seen him.

Pure hatred. The kind of loathing that had burned there for years. The labor of his wife’s affair.

He’d called her. A stain on his family’s name. He would have sold her into slavery with a smile.

The Alpha King had looked at her with nothing. No hatred, no disgust, not even disdain, just cold indifference.

And he’d offered her something she’d never dared hope for. Permission to stay hidden. Clare touched the fabric at her throat, feeling the weight of the hood against her shoulders.

Cold over cruelty, she thought. I’ll choose cold over cruelty every time. Chapter 3. The next morning, Clare was summoned to the king’s council chamber.

She’d barely slept. The room they’d given her was larger than any space she’d ever occupied, a suite of chambers with a canopied bed, and a team of blind servants who’d arrived within hours of her request, just as the king had promised.

They’d bathed her gently, dressed her in soft fabrics, brought her food she was too nervous to eat.

No one had been gentle with Clare in a very long time. So now, walking through the castle corridors with a guard as escort, Clare tried to steady her breathing.

This meeting, the wedding contract negotiations needed to go well. But her father would be there, and the thought made her stomach turn.

“Lady Clare, your majesty,” a guard announced as Clare stepped inside. The council chamber was even bigger than she’d expected.

A long table dominated the space, windows behind it letting in cold morning light. The Alpha King sat at the head of the table, two advisers flanking him.

He was beautiful in the way winter was beautiful, harsh and unforgiving and impossible to look away from.

And at the far end of the table, barely looking at her, sat her father.

“Please sit,” Ellen gestured to a chair near him. One of the advisers cleared his throat.

Your Majesty, the marriage contract has been prepared according to your specifications, they said. If you’d like to review, I’ll summarize, Ellen interrupted.

He picked up a document, scanned it briefly, then set it down. The terms are straightforward, Ellen declared, looking at Clare, or at the veil where her face should be.

Of first and most important, I will never look upon you, he said. Neither I nor anyone in my household, my court, or my kingdom will be permitted to see your face.

Clare’s breath caught. “Is this agreeable to you?” Ellen asked. Before Clare could answer, her father surged forward in his seat.

“Your Majesty, I must protest. You don’t understand what you’re agreeing to. If you knew what was beneath that veil.”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Ellen said calmly. “I was talking to my future queen.”

Clare stared at the king, something warm and unfamiliar blooming in her chest. “My future queen,” he said.

“Is this agreeable to you?” He repeated. “Yes,” Clare said quietly. “It’s more than agreeable, your majesty.”

“Thank you for your kindness.” One of the advisers shifted uncomfortably. Ellen tilted his head slightly, and for the first time, she saw something other than cold indifference in his expression.

Kindness? He asked, confused. Yes. Clare’s voice was steadier now. You’ve honored my request to remain veiled.

The servants you sent, the blind maids, they’ve been gentle and respectful. She steadied her breathing before she concluded simply.

That was very kind of you. Ellen looked at her for a long moment, then he shook his head slightly and returned his attention to the contract.

The other conditions are as follows, he said, his tone once again purely factual. You will give me an heir, preferably more than one, to secure the succession, but other than that, we will not share a life.

We will not share a room. We will not dine together or spend time together.

You will attend certain royal functions with me, perhaps three or four times a year to maintain appearances before the court and visiting dignitaries.

That is all.” He paused, then added with the same measured precision. The marriage will be contractual only.

You will live comfortably. You will want for nothing. But I want nothing to do with you beyond what is necessary to produce children.

Clare could feel the advisers watching her, waiting for her reaction. Her father had gone very still, his eyes fixed on her as if expecting her to break, to weep, to refuse.

Even Ellen seemed to be bracing for something. His jaw set in a way that emphasized the strong line of it.

But Clare didn’t flinch. His scent was calm, controlled. There was no malice in it, no desire to humiliate, no cruelty.

He was simply stating facts the same way someone might state the time or the weather.

He wasn’t trying to hurt her. I agree to your terms, your majesty, Clare said clearly.

They’re more than generous. You do me a great honor. The adviser stared. Her father’s expression twisted with fury.

And Ellen? Ellen looked utterly perplexed. The confusion made him seem younger somehow. An honor, he repeated slowly.

To be married to someone who wants nothing to do with you, who will never care for you.

Clare met his gaze through her veil, unwavering. “Yes, your highness,” she said. “It’s more than I deserve, more than my family has ever given me, she thought.

More than I ever dared hope for. Safety, protection, a life where no one would look at her with hatred or disgust, a husband who would never raise his hand to her.

A husband who simply wanted nothing. That was better than cruelty. That was mercy. Very well.

Ellen pushed the contract across the table toward her. Sign here. Clare signed. Her father signed as witness, his hand shaking with barely suppressed rage.

The adviser signed. Both of them sneaking glances at their king as if trying to understand what he was thinking.

And then it was done. She was going to be queen. To him. This beautiful, cold, mysterious man who the entire court seemed to regard with a mixture of fear and reverence.

Exiting the council chamber felt like walking through a gauntlet. The corridors were full of courtorters and servants, all of them stopping to stare as she passed.

Whispers followed in her wake. Is that her? Why does she hide her face? But his majesty could have anyone.

Why her? Clare kept her head down, her hands clasped together, trying to ignore the burning curiosity in their eyes.

Just three more days. Three more days and she’d be married. She was almost to the staircase leading to her rooms when someone stepped into her path.

Her sister Celia dressed in a gown of pale blue and more beautiful than ever.

“We need to talk,” she said quietly. Against her better judgment, Clare nodded. They found an empty alcove off the main corridor, a small space with a window overlooking the gardens.

You can still refuse him, Celia said finally. And why would I? Clare said. You’d risk the king’s anger when he discovers what you are.

Clare’s hands clenched beneath her veil. He won’t discover anything. He’s agreed never to look at me.

You really think he’ll never demand to see his now wife? Her sister’s voice rose despite herself.

He’s the alpha king Clare. Women throw themselves at him. Eventually, her sister continued, he’ll insist, and when he sees what’s under that veil.

I’ll explain, Clare whispered. Her sister’s expression hardened. Explain what? Your face says it all.

You don’t deserve to be queen. Not after what you did. Clare took a step back.

Celia, I told you it wasn’t me. She attempted. Liar. Her sister’s voice broke. You couldn’t stand that Eric was leaving you, and so you Tears burned behind Clare’s eyes.

“I don’t know what happened that night,” she interrupted. “I was angry, yes, but I would never hurt him.”

“The king seems kind to you now,” her sister hissed. “But when he discovers the truth, he’ll destroy you, Clare.”

Then she was gone. Chapter 4. The carriage rocked gently as it made its way through the crowded streets toward the cathedral.

Clare sat rigid on the velvet seat, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap.

Outside there were people, common folks and nobles alike, thousands of them packed into every available space along the route.

They were waiting to see their new queen. Her ride slowed, then stopped. She braced herself as a footman opened the carriage door and offered his hand.

Clare took it, stepping down onto smooth stone. The crowd’s noise intensified. Her veil is so thick, someone said.

I can’t make out her features at all. We will see her once she exits the cathedral, a woman concluded.

Clare’s stomach twisted. They’re about to be disappointed, she thought. One step, then another. The cathedral entrance loomed before her, and she walked toward it alone.

No father to give her away. The moment she crossed the threshold, the noise outside faded to a muffled hum.

The pews were packed with nobility in their finest clothes, silks and velvets, jewels glittering in the candle light.

Every single face turned toward her, whispers rustling through the crowd. What does she look like?

Perhaps she’s hideously scarred. Clare’s fingers tightened around the bouquet, but she kept her gaze fixed straight ahead where the altar waited.

Where he waited. Ellen stood perfectly still. He wore black, of course he did, formal clothing that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, and even from this distance, Clare could see the sharp lines of his features, the cold beauty that made him look like something carved from ice.

He was watching her approach, but his expression revealed nothing. Just that same blank perfect control he always showed.

And as she approached, she noted his scent didn’t betray anything either. “How does he do that?”

She wondered. Most wolves couldn’t control their scent so completely. Emotion always bled through. The priest began the ceremony, his voice echoing through the vast space.

Clare barely heard the words. She was too aware of Ellen standing beside her, radiating that strange coldness that shouldn’t exist in a shifter’s body.

Alphas ran hot. Everyone knew that. But Elellen felt like winter itself. The vows, the priest in Clare snapped back to attention.

Do you, Elellen, Alpha King of Arttoria, take this woman to be your wife, your queen, your mate?

Ellen’s voice was steady, emotionless. I do. Then he turned to her and Clare felt the weight of his gaze even through the layers of fabric covering her face.

“I will never love you,” he said, leaning closer. “Please understand that.” Clare nodded. “I understand your majesty,” she said.

“Do you?” Doubt flickered behind his eyes, guilt also. “Truly,” he insisted. “Yes, and she did.

Whatever reason he had for this strange marriage, she understood that love was not part of the bargain.

She could live with that. The priest was looking at them expectantly, confused by the delay.

Ellen straightened, returning his attention to the ceremony. The rings, he called out. The moment his fingers closed around her, she gasped.

He was cold. Not just cool, but genuinely cold, as if he’d been standing outside in winter without gloves.

Clare couldn’t help staring at their joined hands. His palm was larger than hers, his fingers elegant and strong, but the temperature.

“How is this possible?” She wondered. “Your finger,” he prompted gently. She fumbled, pulling off her glove with shaking hands.

Ellen slid the ring onto her finger with practiced ease, his touch remaining cold throughout.

By the power vested in me, the priest said, “And before these witnesses, I now pronounce you husband and wife, alpha and queen, mates bound by sacred vow.”

The claiming, they needed to claim each other verbally since the physical claiming, biting, marking, would require her to reveal her neck, her skin, things she couldn’t do here.

“I claim you as mine,” Ellen said, his voice carrying through the cathedral. My wife, my queen, my mate.

Clare’s wolf stirred restlessly inside her, but she felt no snap of a mate bond, no overwhelming pull or certainty.

That would come later. She knew in private when they completed the physical claiming. I claim you as mine, she echoed.

My husband, my king, my mate. The priest smiled. You may kiss your bride, your majesty.

The cathedral went utterly silent, waiting to see what would happen. Would he lift the veil?

Would they finally see the mysterious queen’s face? Clare’s heart hammered against her ribs. Your majesty, she whispered.

Will you not look at me? Ellen tilted his head slightly, studying her veiled face.

“Do you want me to look at you?” He asked quietly. “No,” Clare breathed. “But you should.”

She could see his eyes now through the sheer fabric closest to her face. Gray eyes like winter storms.

“You’ve made your wishes clear,” Ellen said, “and I will honor them.” Before she could respond, he took her hand, that same cold grip, and lifted it to his lips.

The kiss was gentle, formal. His lips were as cold as his hands, pressing against her gloved knuckles for just a moment.

It wasn’t what anyone expected. The crowd murmured in confusion and disappointment. But Clare stood frozen, her hand still tingling from that brief contact.

He kissed my hand instead, she thought dazedly. He could have demanded to see my face, but he respected my wish.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Outside, the crowd’s roar hit them like a physical force. The noise was deafening.

Thousands of voices all talking at once, expressing their shock and confusion. The queen was still veiled.

“Something must be terribly wrong,” the crowd murmured. And yet, the king didn’t seem to care.

“How strange! How utterly, completely strange!” Chapter 5. Clare sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded in her lap, trying to control her breathing.

The blind maids had prepared her. They’d bathed her in rose scented water, brushed her hair until it fell in soft waves down her back, and dressed her in a night gown.

Then they’d left her alone in the candle lit chamber to wait for her husband, for the consummation of their marriage.

It had been just words on a contract before, “You will give me an air.”

Easy to agree to when it was theoretical, but now it was real. Now it was happening tonight.

Three soft knocks at the door made her jump. “Come in,” she managed. Ellen stepped inside and Clare’s breath caught.

He’d changed from his formal wedding clothes. The elaborate jacket was gone, leaving him in just a white shirt, unlaced at the throat, the fabric loose enough to reveal the strong column of his neck.

His hair was disheveled, as if he’d run his hands through it, and in the soft candle light, he looked like a man, not a king, beautiful and somehow vulnerable in his simplicity.

He closed the door behind him with a soft click that seemed to echo in the quiet room.

They were alone now, and Clare’s heart hammered as Ellen’s gaze swept the room before settling on her veiled face.

Even across the distance, she felt the weight of that look, and panic flared. I will wear this, Ellen said quietly.

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a strip of black silk. A blindfold if you’re worried I might see you, even accidentally.

The thoughtfulness of it made her throat tight. All right, Clare said softly. Turn around.

Clare’s hands shook as she reached up to tie the blindfold. She had to step closer, had to rise on her toes to reach.

Up close, she could see everything the distance had hidden, the individual dark lashes resting against his cheeks, a small scar at the corner of his mouth.

She secured the blindfold, her fingers lingering perhaps a moment too long against his skin.

The last candle went out. Complete darkness fell over the room like a blanket. Her heart hammered so loudly she was certain he could hear it.

She could hear his breathing, steady and controlled. But she could also feel something else.

A subtle shift in his scent, the winter sharpness giving way to something warmer beneath.

She heard him move closer, felt the temperature drop as his body neared hers. “I can smell your nervousness,” he said quietly.

His words made her more nervous. “Of course,” he could smell it, the anxiety, the anticipation.

His hands rose slowly in the darkness, giving her time to pull away. When she didn’t move, his palms settled gently on her shoulders.

His hands were large and cool against her bare skin. His palms spanning from the curve of her shoulders toward her collar bones.

But it wasn’t just the touch. It was the care in it, the gentleness. For a long moment, he simply held her like that.

His thumbs began to trace small, soothing circles against her skin, and Clare felt herself relax into the touch.

He’s being kind, she thought, even now. Slowly, Ellen’s finger slipped beneath the thin straps of her night gown.

He paused, a question in the stillness. Clare made a soft sound of ascent. He slid the straps down with aching slowness.

First one shoulder, his fingertips trailing lightly against her skin, then the other, the same careful gentleness.

The silk clung to her breasts for a moment before whispering down her body, pulling around her feet with a soft sigh.

Ellen’s hands remained on her shoulders, neither moving nor retreating, just holding, anchoring. His scent was changing, growing richer, deeper.

Something warm and masculine that made her wolf stir with interest. Clare reached for him with trembling hands, finding the edge of his shirt.

Her fingers fumbled with the remaining buttons, clumsy with nervousness and anticipation. His skin was cool and smooth, stretched over solid muscle that shifted beneath her palms.

She explored cautiously in the darkness, mapping what she couldn’t see. The breadth of his shoulders, the firm plains of his chest.

When her hand settled over his heart, she felt it beating fast and strong, faster than his controlled demeanor suggested.

She grew bolder, her fingers tracing the ridges of his stomach, the dip of his waist, his muscles tensed beneath her touch, and she heard his breathing change, becoming more ragged.

When she reached his waistband, she hesitated, her fingers resting at the edge. “May I?”

She whispered. “You may do whatever you like,” he replied. The way he said it, rough and low, made her heart skip.

She pushed the fabric down with fumbling hands, revealing more bare skin. Ellen caught her hand gently, stilling her exploration.

He lifted her fingers to his mouth and kissed them one by one, his lips cold and soft against her skin.

His hand came up to cup her face. His palm was cool against her flushed cheek as his thumb brushed over her lower lip.

Then his fingers moved to trace her cheekbone. Exploring. She felt him pause, his scent shifting, confusion bleeding through.

“What is it?” Clare asked nervously. “Nothing. I just thought,” he trailed off, his fingers continuing their exploration of her face.

When they moved higher toward her forehead, panic flared. He was trying picturing her features through touch.

Clare caught his wrist stopping him. Instead of speaking, she guided his hand downward, pressing his palm against her collarbone, just above her breasts.

Ellen went completely still, slowly, giving her every chance to stop him. His fingers began to move, tracing along her collarbone with feather-like touches that made her shiver, then lower.

The sensation was she had no words for it. His hand was cool against her heated skin, and the contrast sent sparks of something unfamiliar racing through her.

A small sound escaped her, surprise and pleasure mixed. She felt Ellen’s answering reaction, a slight tremor in his hand, a hitch in his breathing, his scent deepening into something rich and heady.

His other hand found her waist. Then both hands began to explore with increasing confidence.

The curve of her ribs, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips.

When his palm pressed against the small of her back, pulling her closer, Clare startled at the cold of his skin.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Ellen murmured. Clare barely had time to process the words before his mouth found hers.

The sensation overwhelmed every thought. His lips were cool but soft, moving against hers with careful patience.

Her first kiss. And it was everything and nothing like she’d imagined. Sweet and overwhelming and perfect.

Clare’s hands found his shoulders, gripping them for balance. She stepped closer without thinking, wanting to be nearer to him.

And the moment their bare bodies pressed together, they both gasped, his chest against her breasts, his stomach against hers.

The contrast in temperature, his coolness, and her warmth created sensations she’d never imagined. The kiss deepened, became less careful, more urgent.

His hand in her hair tightened, tilting her head to a better angle. Something was building inside her.

A warmth, a need she didn’t understand, but felt with every fiber of her being.

Ellen carried her across the room, his mouth finding hers again. When they reached the bed, he laid her down with such care, as if she were something breakable and infinitely precious.

Then his body covered hers, and Clare forgot how to breathe. The solid press of his body, the way he surrounded her completely, covered her, protected her even as he possessed her.

It was overwhelming. When his lips found the sensitive skin of her neck, she made a sound that surprised her, breathy and wanting.

His mouth worked at her neck, kissing, sucking, his teeth grazing lightly. And with each touch, his scent grew stronger.

“Please,” Clare whispered. “Bite me.” Ellen went rigid above her. His whole body locked up, trembling.

His scent exploded around her, dark and wild and utterly intoxicating. I shouldn’t, he groaned, his voice strained.

It would be too much. The refusal achd, but there was something in his voice, regret, maybe even pain, that told her this cost him, too.

His mouth moved lower, kissing down her chest. The sensation was shocking. His mouth was hot despite his cold skin in ways that sent pleasure shooting straight to her.

She’d never felt anything like this. Didn’t know her body could produce such intense sensation from such a simple touch.

There was a warmth spreading from where he touched, pooling low in her belly. She felt restless, needy, her hips moving of their own accord.

Ellen’s hand slid down her stomach over her hip lower. Clare tensed at the intimate touch, but he was gentle, patient, learning what made her respond to him.

The pleasure built slowly, climbing towards something she didn’t understand. Then they came together slowly.

There was a moment of sharp discomfort that made her tense. “Breathe,” Ellen murmured. “Just breathe for me.”

Clare forced herself to breathe, and soon the discomfort faded. The sensation was overwhelming, a connection beyond anything she’d imagined.

They found their rhythm together, and Clare understood what it meant to be truly connected to another person.

Ellen’s breathing grew more ragged, his movements less controlled. “You’re so warm,” he said, sounding almost overwhelmed.

“I’m sorry,” Clare gasped. “Is it too?” “No.” The word came out as a groan.

“It’s good. So good.” They lay tangled together in the darkness afterwards, both trembling. His arm was wrapped around her, holding her close.

For a long moment, neither moved, just breathed together in the darkness, hearts racing in sink.

Then he moved away. She heard him dressing in the darkness. But instead of leaving immediately, his footsteps approached the bed again.

He kissed her knuckles slowly, each one a gentle press of cool lips. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“For tonight.” The tenderness in his voice made her throat tight. Then reluctantly, he released her hand and left.

Chapter 6. The morning after her wedding night, Clare woke alone. She touched her neck where Ellen had kissed and marked her, feeling the tender spots where his mouth had worked.

“He was here,” she thought. The blind maids arrived to help her dress, their gentle hands efficient.

Once covered, Clare ventured out into the palace, free to wander. It was strange being here, being safe.

No one sneered at her. She found the library, a vast room filled with more books than she’d ever seen, and spent hours reading.

“This is enough,” she told herself firmly. “Being safe is enough.” The king had been clear about their arrangement, contractual, distant.

She needed to stop hoping for anything else. The next evening, Clare sat by the fire in her chambers when her door opened.

Ellen stood in the doorway, hands were clasped behind his back, his posture rigid. “Your majesty,” Clare said, surprised.

“Hello,” Ellen said, the word coming out stiff. An awkward silence stretched between them. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

Clare asked finally. “Oh, no,” he clenched his jaw. “I just thought I would come and inquire after your health.”

He came to check on me, Clare realized, warmth blooming in her chest. I’m perfectly fine, your majesty, she said softly.

Another silence. But Ellen didn’t leave. He stood there clearly wanting to say something more, but not knowing how.

Do you think you’re with child yet? He asked, the words bursting out of him suddenly before he immediately looked mortified.

Forgive me. That was quite forward. Oh, not at all, Clare said quickly. I mean, I I can’t know yet.

It’s too soon to tell. Yes, of course. Ellen nodded. Claire’s heart was racing. She knew she shouldn’t say anything.

He’d just come to check on her health, but the words came out anyway, “Though perhaps your majesty,” she heard herself begin.

His eyes snapped to her. “Yes.” He took a step forward. So did Clare. Well, it’s just that I understand having an heir is crucial to his majesty and the the kingdom, she said.

Yes, it is. Ellen nodded. Then perhaps, I mean, I’ve heard that more frequent, she hesitated, feeling her cheeks burn.

The more frequent the union, the greater the chances at conception. Perhaps it would be good to Yes, Ellen interrupted, sounding almost relieved.

They barely made it to the bed. Ellen’s hands were everywhere, gripping her hips, tangling in her hair, pulling her closer, and the following day, Clare admitted to herself that she liked that he’d visited her, would very much like him to do so again.

But he’d said repeatedly that once she was pregnant, their physical relationship would end. I need advice, she said quietly to her maids, about about pleasing one’s husband.

The eldest spoke, there is someone who might help your majesty. Lady Regina was a high lord’s mistress, beautiful, sophisticated, and apparently quite knowledgeable about matters of the bed chamber.

She received Clare in her apartments with a knowing smile. “Your majesty,” Regina said warmly.

“How may I help you?” Clare twisted her hands together. You understand? It’s purely for the kingdom’s sake.

It’s important I conceive a child for his majesty. Of course, Regina said smoothly. So, it’s important that he that he comes back.

So, we keep trying, Clare said. Very important, Regina’s eyes sparkled with amusement. Then, what do I do?

Clare asked desperately. Regina smiled. That night when Ellen returned, and he did return, appearing at her door as the sun set, Clare put Regina’s advice into practice.

She was bolder, more confident. She touched him the ways Regina had suggested, kissed him in places that made him grown.

Her husband seemed very pleased. He returned the next night, and the next, far more frequently than was strictly necessary for conception.

But after a week, Clare realized she wanted more. She wanted him to stay through the night instead of leaving while she was still catching her breath.

So she went back to Regina. How do I Clare hesitated. How do I get him to hold me afterwards?

Regina studied her for a long moment. His majesty isn’t known to have many mistresses, she said.

And the ones he has taken in the past never lasted more than one night.

So you’re already doing something right. She leaned closer. But if you want to get him to actually sleep with you in the proper sense, Clare held her breath.

“Yes, exhaust him,” Regina said solemnly. So Clare put all her newfound knowledge to use.

She begged for his touch. She did things to him that made him curse and lose himself completely.

They made love once, twice. She coaxed him back to arousal a third time, and a fourth time.

By the time dawn approached, Ellen collapsed beside her, his arm coming around her waist automatically pulling her back against his chest.

Within moments, his breathing evened out into sleep. Clare lay very still, hardly daring to breathe, delighted beyond measure.

In the morning, her fingers found the edge of his blindfold, touching it gently. “You really don’t mind,” she whispered.

Ellen smiled. “I would like to see you,” he said quietly. Very much, but not if you don’t want me to.

Not if it would make you unhappy.” He pressed a kiss to her shoulder and pulled her closer, and Clare felt like she might float away from happiness.

“Why can’t you love me?” She wanted to ask. “When you are already so good to me,” she dared not ask.

He respected her desire to conceal her face. She’d respect his. And every evening, without fail, Ellen came to her chambers.

Though. One night she woke to find him shivering beside her despite being buried under blankets.

His skin was like ice against hers. Clare slipped from the bed and added more logs to the fire, building it up until the room was almost uncomfortably warm.

It became a pattern. She’d wake in the night to tend the fire. She had the servants bring warmer clothes to his chambers.

One evening after he’d arrived looking particularly pale, Clare finally asked, “Is something wrong?” “What do you mean?”

Aaliyah replied, confused. “You’re always so” Clare hesitated. “We shifters tend to run hot, Ellen.

Especially alphas like you. But you, you’re Ellen tensed beside her. It’s a family condition,” he interrupted.

His tone made it clear he didn’t want to discuss it further. That night, after they made love, instead of dressing to leave, he lay beside her in the darkness, still wound tight.

“Something is troubling you?” Clare asked softly. “A long pause, then. Trade negotiations,” he explained.

“An old agreement is coming to an end with a foreign kingdom because we can’t provide potions like we used to.”

“Why not?” “Because most witches are banned from practicing their craft,” he said, frustration clear in his voice.

Clare’s heart skipped. “You think they should be allowed to use magic?” She asked carefully.

Ellie tensed beside her. “No, I suppose not,” Clare said. Nothing, afraid to push. And eventually, he continued, “I don’t know.

My father was against it, his father before him. They said witches needed to be carefully watched.”

“Perhaps,” Clare ventured carefully. There’s a way to watch them carefully while still allowing them to practice under supervision.

How would that work? Ellen asked, sounding intrigued. They talked for hours, discussing possibilities. Eventually, Ellen’s breathing evened out as he drifted to sleep, still holding her.

Clare lay awake, proud that he’d asked her opinion, that he’d shared his frustrations with her.

I’m falling in love with him, she realized with his voice, his touch. Time went by.

Ellen came earlier each evening now. Sometimes he arrived before dinner, eating with her in her chambers before taking her to bed.

The mate bond was forming, growing stronger with each night they spent together. Clare could feel it.

She craved him when he was away, and he seemed to crave her just as intensely.

Some nights they barely spoke, just fell into each other with desperate need. It went on like this until one evening Clare waited until after they’d made love until Ellen was relaxed and content beside her before she told him.

I’m pregnant. He sat up, his hand finding her stomach in the darkness. You’re certain?

Yes. Clare nodded. The healer confirmed it today. For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then we’re having a child. The joy in his voice was undeniable. He pulled her close, his hand still resting on her stomach.

Thank you, he murmured against her hair. Clare’s throat tightened with emotion. But beneath the joy was worry.

He has what he needs now, she thought. An air. He’ll stop visiting. Why would he keep coming when the purpose is fulfilled?

But the next night he returned, and the night after that, if anything, he was more devoted than before, more possessive.

He made plans for the baby, talking about nurseries and nurses and what they’d teach their son or daughter.

His voice was warm with excitement, with love. When the baby finally came, a boy, healthy and squalling, Clare wept with relief.

The midwife brought him to Ellen, who stared down at the tiny face with wonder, joy, fear, love.

So much love. Clare began to cry. Not tears of joy. Tears of fear and heartbreak and loss because it was over now.

He had his air. He didn’t need her anymore. Ellen’s smile vanished immediately. Clare, what’s wrong?

His hands found hers, gripping them tightly. Are you in pain? Clare shook her head.

“Tell me,” Ellen said, his voice breaking. “Please tell me what’s wrong. You’re going to leave.”

Clare managed between sobs. “You’ll stop visiting and I’ll I’ll lose you.” “What? No!” Ellen looked stricken.

“No, Clare, of course not.” “But that’s what you said,” Clare cried. “You said you’d never love me.

That once I gave you children, we’d have nothing more to do with each other.”

I was wrong,” Ellen said desperately. He brought her hands to his lips. “I love you,” Clare sobbed, the words spilling out.

“I know I shouldn’t, but I love you, and I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t lose me,” Ellen said, his voice fierce. He looked panicked, desperate. “You won’t.

I swear it. You’re the mother of my child. You’re everything to me.” Clare met his gaze through her veil.

He looked so sad, so pale. I want your love, she whispered. Not just your hand in marriage.

I want you. Ellen’s eyes widened. And then, without thinking, spontaneous and immediate, he said, “You have it.

Of course you have it.” He froze as if hearing his own words for the first time.

Clare’s heart soared. “Do I?” She whispers. “Have your love?” “Yes,” Ellen breathed. I love.

He stopped mid-word. His eyes went wide with pain. His hand flew to his chest, clutching at his heart.

Ellen. Clare struggled to sit up. Ellen, what’s wrong? His face went even paler, white as snow.

He tried to speak, but no words came out. His whole body convulsed. Then he collapsed.

Chapter 7. Help! Clare screamed, clutching Ellen as he collapsed in her arms. Someone help.

The king is dying. It’s no use, Ellen whispered, his voice barely audible. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused.

“There’s no cure. There never was.” She touched his face with trembling hands. His skin was like ice, colder than she’d ever felt it.

“Magic,” Clare realized with dawning horror. “This is magic. What’s happening to you?” She whispered.

Ellen’s hand found hers, his grip weak. There’s a curse, he said quietly. On all the kings of my line.

We cannot love. His eyes met hers through her veil. If we fall in love, we die.

Clare shook her head in panic. No, no, it can’t be. She denied. My ancestor generations ago, he wanted to ensure the kings of Arttoria would never be swayed by emotion.

Ellen’s breath came in shallow gasps, so he sought out a powerful witch. And now every king since has been incapable of feeling love, or rather incapable of surviving feeling.

Clare gasped. “If we ever do fall in love,” Ellen went on, the curse activates.

Our hearts freeze. We die. He laughed bitterly, the sound turning into a cough. My ancestor regretted it almost immediately.

Realized he’d been tricked. That’s why witchcraft was banned in Arttoria. He blamed them for his mistake.

Clare’s mind raced as Ellen’s eyes closed. I chose you because I thought I’d never fall in love with someone I couldn’t see, he confessed.

I thought I wouldn’t truly know you and that it would keep my heart safe.

But it didn’t, Clare whispered. No. His hand tightened on hers. “I fell in love with you, Clare.

Every part of you I could know. Then I’m killing you.” Tears streamed down Clare’s face.

“My very existence is killing you.” “No,” Ellen said fiercely. “You gave me life. For the first time, I felt alive.

You made me happy, Clare. So happy. I have no regrets. I won’t let you die.”

Clare’s voice was still through her tears. “What if you stopped loving me? Would the curse reverse?”

Ellen looked at her with such tenderness, it broke her heart. “I could never stop loving you,” he said.

“What if you had a reason to?” Clare’s hands went to her veil with shaking fingers.

“What if you saw what I really am?” Ellen’s eyes widened. “Clare,” he protested. “You need to see,” she said.

“You need to know the truth. Then you’ll hate me so much you’ll heal.” Before he could protest further, Clare pulled the veil from her face and watched her husband eyes widen, watched him take in her features.

She waited for the disgust, the horror. But his expression was one of wonder. “You’re beautiful,” he breathed.

“Look closer,” Clare begged, tilting her head so he could see her forehead clearly. “Look at what I am.”

There, stark against her pale skin, was the cross-shaped scar, the brand, the mark of a dangerous witch whose magic had been bound for crimes against the kingdom.

Ellen’s eyes fixed on the mark, and Clare felt a flicker of hope. “Surely now, surely this will disgust him, but just in case it wouldn’t be enough,” she explained.

I was engaged once to a nobleman. It seemed like my one chance at a normal life despite despite what I am.

But then he fell in love with my sister instead, the legitimate one. They planned to run away together.

She paused, her fingers unconsciously touching the brand. He died before they could leave in a fire, an isolated magical fire that burned only him.

Ellen waited patiently for her to continue. My elemental magic is fire. Clare admitted. I was there that night.

I was angry and he died in flames. Everyone assumed I’d killed him in a fit of rage.

But you didn’t, Ellen said with outmost certainty. Clare met his eyes. I was never allowed to practice my magic, she said.

It was always wild, uncontrolled. So I I can’t be certain I didn’t do it.

Someone bound your magic? Ellen asked. Yes, my father. After Eric’s death, Clare sighed. He hated me already.

My mother. He said she’d had an affair with a wizard. That’s where my magic came from.

He banished her for it, though she denied it until the day she died. When my magic manifested, when the man my sister loved died by fire, Clare’s voice broke.

It gave him the perfect excuse to be rid of me. She looked down at Ellen at the frost spreading across his chest.

“I’m a witch,” she said. “Like the ones who cursed your family, like the ones your ancestor banned.

I’m exactly what you’ve been taught to hate and fear. Let that kill your love for me.

Let me be monstrous enough that you stop loving me and live.” Ellen reached up with a trembling hand and cupped her cheek.

“How can you say that?” He said softly. When I love you more now than I did a moment ago.

No, Clare protested. You were willing to let me see your deepest shame, your greatest fear, just to break my curse.

His thumb stroked over the brand on her forehead. “How could I not love you more for that?”

“Elellen, please,” Clare said. “You didn’t kill that man,” Ellen said with certainty. “I know you didn’t.

Your magic responds to your emotions, and you’re the kindest person I’ve ever known. Even in rage, even heartbroken, you wouldn’t kill.

He smiled weakly. “It doesn’t matter,” Clare said desperately. “I’m still a witch. I’m still branded.

I’m still the woman I love,” Ellen finished. “The mother of my child, my queen, and my mate, my everything.”

His breathing was getting shallower. You’ve made me so happy, Clare. But even as he spoke, Elellen’s eyes fluttered closed.

His hand fell from her face. The frost spread further across his chest. “Elellen!” She gasped.

He didn’t respond. Chapter 8. 3 weeks had passed since Milo’s birth. 3 weeks of Clare barely sleeping, dividing her time between caring for her infant son and sitting vigil beside her dying husband.

The frost had spread from his chest to cover most of his torso. His lips were blue, his skin translucent.

And yesterday he’d stopped waking at all. “I want a witch brought to the castle,” Clare said to the council.

“A powerful one.” “Today,” the counselors exchanged uncomfortable glances. “Your majesty,” the oldest began carefully.

“Witches are permitted only for minor healing, small potions, light charms. The king is dying.

Clare cut him off. The healers can do nothing. I am Queen Regent while the king is incapacitated and I will use that power if I must.

Bring me a witch or I will disband this council entirely and find people who will actually help me save my mate.

Silence. There’s a powerful earth witch in the neighboring kingdom, the first counselor said reluctantly.

We could send for her immediately. Do it, Clare commanded. The witch arrived that afternoon, an old woman with sharp eyes and gnarled hands.

She examined Ellen thoroughly while Clare hovered nearby, Milo sleeping against her shoulder. “Ice magic,” the witch said finally.

“A curse rooted deep, very old, very powerful.” “Can you break it?” Clare asked desperately.

The witch shook her head slowly. “It’s a family curse, not just his own. That makes it much more difficult to family.”

Clare looked down at Milo, sleeping peacefully in her arms. “Does that mean? Will my son be cursed, too?”

“It’s possible yes,” the witch said gently. Clare felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her baby, her innocent baby boy, would carry this curse.

“There must be a way to break it,” Clare said, her voice shaking. “Against ice, fire would be most effective,” the witch said.

“But unfortunately, I am an earth elementalist. I’m a fire witch, Clare said quickly. Could my magic work?

The witch’s eyes sharpened with interest. A fire witch? She stopped, studying Clare more closely.

But your magic is bound. I can feel the seal on you. Clare’s heart sank.

Yes, my father had me bound years ago after someone died and I was suspected of.

Wait. The witch stepped closer, peering at Clare’s face. That’s why you look familiar. Is your father Alistister Crane?

Clare blinked. Yes. How did you? I knew his mother. Your grandmother. The witch’s expression softened.

Isabelle was my twin sister. The world tilted. Your twin? But that would mean Yes.

Your grandmother was a witch. Claire’s mind reeled. My grandmother? My father’s mother was a witch?

Uh, she was, the witch said. But when your grandfather found out, he had her killed, accused her of treason, some fabricated crime, to get rid of her.

He was furious at having married a witch, and never told anyone in the family.

Understanding crashed over Clare like a wave. Her father had always hated her, always believed her mother had an affair because Clare had magic.

But the magic hadn’t come from an affair at all. It had come from him.

I need to speak to my father, Clare said. I need him to release the bind.

Clare rode through the afternoon, pushing her horse hard. She had no time to waste.

The crane estate loomed before her as the sun began to set. Clare dismounted and stroed toward the entrance, flanked by two of Ellen’s personal guards.

A servant tried to stop her. “Uh, my lady, Lady Clare, your father is not receiving.”

He’ll receive his queen,” Clare said coldly. She pushed past into the main hall. Her father stood by the fireplace, a glass of wine in his hand.

When he saw her, his face twisted with disgust. Clare’s sister, Celia, said from the corner, standing quickly.

“You,” he spat. “How dare you show your face here?” “I need you to release my bind,” Clare said, cutting straight to the point.

“Now Alistar barked a laugh. The Alpha King is dying, Clare insisted. I need my magic to save him.

Release the bind. No, her father said. Father, please, Celia began. She said the king was She’s a dangerous criminal, Alistister said.

I’ll not unleash her magic on the world again. You’ve always seen the worst in me, Clare said.

I told you I had nothing to do with Eric’s death, but you didn’t believe me.

Not even for a second. Of course I didn’t believe you. Alistister sneered. You’d lie to protect yourself.

You’re just like your mother. She kept crying. She’d never strayed. But I knew. Mother didn’t stray.

Clare said the witch powers came from you. Silence crashed over the room. What? Celia whispered.

Your grandmother. Our grandmother was a witch. Clare said, her eyes never leaving her father’s face.

Your father had her killed when he discovered it, but she passed her magic down to you, father, and to me.

Celia’s hand flew to her mouth. Mother never betrayed us. She never Father, is this true?

Clare watched her father’s face carefully, watched the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes flickered, and she realized the truth.

“You’ve known,” Clare said slowly. “You’ve always known.” “What? No, he didn’t,” Celia began. “Yes,” Alistar’s voice was flat.

“Of course, I knew,” Celia gasped. “What was I supposed to do?” Alistister demanded. “Father had assured me all witch powers in our line were bound.

Then my daughter manifests fire magic.” “Your mother refused to bind you. Said it wasn’t natural.

Wanted to contact the royal academy. Have you trained properly?” He shrugged. There was no way anyone would find out my daughter was a witch.

I needed your powers bound and so your mother had to go. The casual way he said it as if he were discussing the weather made Clare’s blood run cold.

Celia stumbled backward, her face white. “How could you?” She exclaimed. “She was our mother.

She loved us. Loved you.” “Daughter, I was always proud of who you’d become,” Alistister said dismissively.

“Don’t disappoint me now. Why get rid of mother at all if you just wanted to bind Clare?”

Celia cried. Why not just bind her and let mother live? I did have her bound, Alistister said, affronted.

I had Clare bound immediately, the very day after the magic manifested. Both Clare and Celia went very still.

Because Clare’s magic had manifested when she’d turned 13, and if she’d been bonded since then.

But then Celia’s voice shook. How did she kill Eric? If she was already bound, how did she use magic to kill him?

For just a moment, Alistister looked uncertain. You killed him, Clare breathed. You killed Eric.

That’s impossible, Celia said, shaking her head. Eric was killed with fire magic. Everyone said so.

The fire was too specific, too targeted for it to be an accident. She stopped.

Her eyes went wide. You also have fire magic, she said, pointing at their father with a trembling finger.

That’s how Clare inherited it. It passed from grandmother to you, then to her. You could have.

Ailia’s right, Clare said, stepping forward. You knew mother was innocent. You knew I was bound.

You knew you had fire magic. And you killed Eric to frame me, didn’t you?

Alistar’s face went red. It was two birds with one stone. Get rid of that.

That commoner unworthy of Celia and get rid of you. He pointed at Clare with shaking rage.

I could finally be rid of the reminder of my shame. He never finished the sentence.

Celia’s fist connected with his nose with a sickening crunch. Alistister stumbled backward, blood streaming from his face.

His head hit the edge of the mantle as he fell, and he collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

Silence. Clare and Celia stared at each other across their father’s prone body. “Sister, I” Celia began, her voice shaking.

She looked horrified at what she’d done, embarrassed. Guilty. “Later,” Clare said firmly. “I need the seal.

I need to break my bind and save Ellen.” “Do you know where father keeps it?”

Celia nodded quickly. She ran from the room. Clare stood over her father’s unconscious form, feeling nothing.

No anger, no satisfaction, just emptiness. He hated me my whole life for something that came from him,” she thought distantly.

“He killed my mother, killed Eric, ruined my life, all to hide his own shame.”

Celia returned breathless, pressing a small carved box into Clare’s hands. “Here, the seal is inside.”

“Thank you,” Clare said. “I’ll send for the guards,” Celia said. “Have father arrested. I’ll Her voice broke.

I’ll testify about what he did, about everything. Clare studied her sister, this woman who’d hated her for years, who’d believed her a murderer, but who’d just punched their father and was now offering to stand against him.

“Thank you,” Clare said again softer this time. “I’m sorry,” Celia whispered. “For everything, for believing him.”

“Later,” Clare repeated but gently. After. We’ll talk after. She pressed some of her guards to stay with Celia, then mounted her horse.

The sun was setting as she rode back toward the castle. The seal clutched tight in her hand.

6 months later, Clare stood in the training courtyard, flames dancing between her fingers. The fire responded to her will now controlled, beautiful, no longer wild.

“Good,” the old witch said. “Now shape it.” Clare concentrated and the flames spiraled upward, forming a perfect helix before dissipating.

She desperately needed to catch up on years of having her powers bound. When the seal had broken, power had flooded back into her veins like water released from a dam.

She remembered placing her burning hands on Ellen’s frozen chest, worried she’d hurt him. But the frost had melted.

After days, his eyes had opened. Clare. His voice had been hoarse. You’re alive,” she’d sobbed.

The memory still made her throat tight. “Your majesty.” Clare turned to see Celia approaching with Milo.

The baby squealled at seeing her. “Someone wanted his mama,” Celia said, passing him over.

Clare kissed his chubby cheek. “How was the council meeting?” Celia had taken a seat on the council after their father’s lands and title were stripped.

Alistister Crane now sat in a cell, convicted of murder and conspiracy. Productive,” Celia said.

“The new academy for young witches is nearly complete.” Clare smiled. Ellen’s first act after recovering had been to lift the ban on witchcraft entirely.

“Your majesty,” a guard bowed. “The king requests your presence in the gardens.” Clare’s heart skipped, the mate bond singing.

“Tell him I’ll be there shortly.” She found Ellen by the roses, Milo napping against her shoulder.

He looked healthy now. Color in his cheeks, warmth in his skin. The curse was broken completely.

Not just for Ellen, but for the entire bloodline. Milo would never suffer as his father had.

My queen, Ellen said, smiling. He pulled her close, careful not to wake the baby, and kissed her temple.

“And my son, he wanted to see you.” Clare smiled. “Boy knows what he wants.”

Ellen stroked Milo’s hair like his father. Clare laughed. Like his father? Is that so?

I wanted you from the first moment I touched you. Even when I was trying to convince myself I didn’t.

Ellen cuppuffed her face. You saved me, Clare. In every way a person can be saved.

We saved each other. She corrected softly. She looked at Milo. We were both hiding, both deceiving each other and ourselves.

And yet, Ellen said, “We found freedom anyway.” Clare thought of that moment when she’d removed her veil, shown him her shame, hoping it would save him when he’d loved her all the more for it.

She takes his hand. “The maids can watch Milo tonight,” Ellen said, his voice dropping.

“I want you to myself.” Heat bloomed in Clare’s cheeks. Your Majesty, Ellen, he corrected.

Always Ellen when we’re alone. She thought of everything they’d been through. The auction, the contract marriage built on lies.

The nights in darkness where truth had emerged. They’d both entered this marriage seeking escape.

But neither had expected love. Love had found them anyway. And in loving each other, they’d freed not just themselves, but an entire kingdom.

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