Chapter 6 “Darian”

There's something cruel about the sky being so blue today.

One week.

It's been one week since they ripped me open and called it a test.

Since Sylas stood there and watched.

Since Aven looked me in the eye and called me "Majesty" like it meant anything after what he did.

Today is my twenty-first birthday.

The day my parents died.

The day everything was supposed to begin.

The day I meet the man I was promised to before I could speak.

Happy birthday to me.

Sylas has knocked on my door four times already. He doesn't say anything—just stands there, quiet, like the apology I won't let him speak is burning through the wood. I don't answer. I don't trust what I'd say if I did.

I haven't spoken to Aven since he sent me home.

I don't know if he's waiting. Watching. Judging.

He's probably planning something. He always is.

But Darian—

Darian is the one I can't stop thinking about.

Did he know about the trial?

Did he agree to it?

Was it his idea?

They say he's my soulmate.

That my parents made the arrangement with him long ago.

That our bond was written in fate before I ever had a say.

But how can he be so sure?

How can anyone be sure?

I remember what I was taught—

That a soulmate is one soul, split in two.

Two halves wandering through lifetimes, waiting to find each other again.

It doesn't happen at a set time. There's no rule or age or ritual.

It just… happens.

And when it does, you know—completely. Instantly.

No questions. No fear.

It's not just love. It's everything.

That's how it was for my parents.

They met, and the world changed.

Vampire and wolf. Heresy by blood.

But nothing could break what tied them together. Not kingdoms. Not war. Not even death.

Sometimes I wonder if I'll feel anything like that.

If my soul will really recognize his.

If this bond they all talk about will burn away the doubt I've carried for so long.

I'd ask Sylas what it's like—if it's real.

If the connection really burns the way they say it does.

But I'm not speaking to Sylas.

Not after the trial.

Not after the silence he let stretch like a blade across my throat.

And besides…

He's never talked about a soulmate.

Not once.

As far as I know, he hasn't found them.

Or maybe he has—and he's just hiding it, like he hides everything else.

Evening bleeds across the sky, slow and heavy.

The kind of dusk that feels like a warning.

I stare at the dress folded across the bed.

Simple. Black. Laced with silver thread that shimmers faintly under candlelight.

It's elegant, strategic. Easy to move in. Easy to fight in.

But the second I touch it, I feel rage rise in my throat.

I don't want to look beautiful for him.

I don't want to play the part of the delicate bride.

I want to walk into this meeting with fire dripping from my teeth and blood on my hands.

Still, I put it on.

Not for him.

For me.

Then I sit in front of the mirror and make the same mistake I always do.

I try to braid my hair.

"Gods," I mutter, ripping the comb through a particularly defiant curl. "I can disarm a man in two seconds. I know ten languages. I've broken three ribs and kept fighting. But this—"

I yank the braid loose, half-snapped already.

"—this is my greatest enemy."

After five minutes of snarling and silent fury, I drop the brush.

Screw it.

The wild platinum curls spill down my back like silver fire, refusing to be caged.

So be it. Let the world see the chaos. Let him see it too.

I slip my blades into hidden sheaths.

Every movement is too calm. Too careful. Like I'm trying to outrun the shaking in my bones.

I hate that I feel this way.

I hate that I care.

A knock.

I freeze.

Sylas.

I can feel it without him saying a word.

I don't move.

I don't speak.

I just sit there, breathing like something trapped in a golden cage.

He knocks again.

"Still mad at me?" His voice is light, teasing, but I hear the guilt underneath. "Because if you are, I brought you a peace offering. Two, actually. One's sharp, and the other is cake."

I stare at the floor.

Then softer—

"You don't have to do this alone, you know."

But I do.

I always have.

The silence stretches. Then fades.

When I open the door minutes later, he's gone.

But there's something left behind.

A silver chain. Twisted with a tiny charm in the shape of a wolf and a fang.

I don't pick it up.

Not yet.

The magic takes me before I can even swear at it.

One blink and I'm gone—

Dragged from my cabin without warning, no goodbye, no signal. Just gone.

And when I open my eyes, I know exactly where I am.

Nymerial.

But not the Nymerial I know.

The world exhales light and color around me.

Trees arch high and golden—not like the dense wildwoods I've trained in, but open, royal, sacred.

Flowers bloom in spirals like they were arranged for a coronation.

The grass beneath my boots is soft, untouched. Everything hums, alive and ancient.

The air here is too clean. Too sweet.

Like someone sprinkled sugar and moonlight into the wind just to piss me off.

I've never been allowed this close to the heart of it.

Not while hiding. Not while surviving.

And I hate how much of it feels like a dream I don't deserve to touch.

And then I see him.

Darian.

Just standing there like fate sculpted him out of my last nerve.

Tall. Built like a war god.

Black hair like midnight silk, and those eyes—

green.

Unreal. Vivid. Impossible.

Eyes that shouldn't exist outside of legends or hallucinations.

He has the AUDACITY to look like that.

To wear all that strength and silence like a crown.

To smell like danger and safety and something I could drown in.

And my body—

My traitorous, backstabbing, pathetic body—

wants to go to him.

Wants to run. To reach.

To bury itself in the one thing it wasn't supposed to need.

I was READY.

Ready to hate him. To tell him to rot in whatever castle he came from.

But now?

Now I can't stop staring.

Now my blood is screaming.

Now the bond is real. Loud. Alive. And I don't know how to silence it.

We don't speak.

Not a word.

He just looks at me.

Like I'm the storm he's been waiting for.

And I—

I want to break something.

Or kiss him.

Or stab fate in the face.

I hate this.

I hate him.

And I can't look away.

He moves.

Not fast. Not threatening.

Just… forward.

Like the bond is tugging him toward me and he's not even resisting.

He stops a few feet away—still too close.

And he says the last thing I expect.

"Where's Sylas?"

My entire spine locks up.

What?

I was ready to scream at him. To demand answers. To tear open every secret our parents sealed with magic.

To ask how he knew me before I ever got a chance to choose.

And now he's asking about Sylas?

I want to scream.

I want to hit something.

But instead, for some reason I can't explain—

My lips part.

And I say, "Cabin."

A whisper.

Why did I whisper?

Darian's entire face changes.

His posture tightens. His jaw ticks. Those perfect green eyes go sharp like blades.

"We need to leave," he says.

"What?" My voice is flat. "Why?"

"I thought Sylas would be here," he replies, already reaching for something under his cloak. "I thought he'd stay close after the trial."

"Why would he—"

"They know," he says. "Someone found out. That you're alive."

My stomach drops.

"Who?"

"I don't know yet," he growls. "But I will. I always do."

And then his hand is on my arm—warm, steady, terrifying—

And the world vanishes in a flash of light.