Updated Nov 6, 2025 • ~11 min read
Three hours earlier…
Blaze Emberclaw hated the mortal markets.
He stood in the shadows at the edge of the auction grounds, hood drawn, watching the parade of terrified humans being sold like cattle. Each one with their own story. Each one ripped from their life and dragged here to pay debts they didn’t owe.
It made him sick.
It had made him sick for three hundred years.
“You don’t have to do this every time,” Phoenix murmured beside him. His oldest friend, one of the few fae he trusted. One of the only people who knew the truth.
“Yes,” Blaze said quietly. “I do.”
Because if he didn’t, who would? The mortals would be sold to courts that actually wanted them. Courts that would use them, break them, kill them for sport.
At least when Blaze bought them, they lived.
He’d freed forty-three mortals over the past fifty years. Forty-three lives saved by maintaining the cruelest reputation in all the courts. By making everyone believe he was the monster they feared.
Sometimes he believed it himself.
“Which one?” Phoenix asked.
Blaze scanned the auction block. A young man, barely twenty, shaking so hard his chains rattled. An older woman with gray hair and defiant eyes. A girl who couldn’t be more than sixteen, crying silent tears.
His jaw clenched. “All of them, if I could.”
But he couldn’t. Buying too many would raise suspicion. He had to choose carefully, space out his purchases, make each one look like he was selecting the perfect victim for his sadistic entertainment.
The lies tasted like ash, even unspoken.
“Lot seventeen!”
Blaze’s attention snapped to the platform.
A young woman stood on the block, chin raised despite the iron collar around her throat. Red hair that caught the weird twilight of the market realm like flame. Green eyes that swept the crowd with more anger than fear.
She was terrified—he could smell it, sharp and acrid. But she wasn’t cowering.
Something in his chest tightened.
“Daughter of a royal scholar,” the auctioneer was saying. “Educated, literate in four languages—”
Educated. Intelligent. The kind of mortal who would understand what he was offering when he explained the arrangement. The kind who might actually survive the deception long enough for him to get her out.
Or the kind who would see through him immediately and ruin everything.
Risk. But then, they were all risks.
“She’s got fire,” Phoenix observed. “Fitting for the Fire Court.”
Blaze didn’t answer. He was watching the way she held herself, like she was carved from steel instead of flesh. Like she refused to break even though everything around her was breaking.
Brave. Foolishly, beautifully brave.
The bidding started. Fifty gold marks. Seventy.
Blaze waited. He always waited, let the price climb, then swooped in at the end. Made it look impulsive. Made it look like he’d been seized by sudden cruel inspiration.
Two hundred from Winter Court.
His fingers curled into fists. Not Winter. Kestrel would freeze her slowly just to watch the light fade from her eyes.
Two fifty from Spring.
Better, but not by much. Spring Court had a taste for mortal suffering wrapped in flowers and false kindness.
Four hundred. Five hundred.
The price was climbing fast. Someone else wanted her badly.
On the platform, the red-haired woman stood frozen, watching her fate being decided by creatures she’d probably only read about in books. And Blaze saw the exact moment her hope died. Saw her shoulders drop just slightly, her breathing go shallow.
Saw her accept that this was how her life ended.
Something in him snapped.
“One thousand gold marks.”
Phoenix’s head whipped toward him. “Blaze—”
Too much. He’d bid too much, too fast, too obviously. It would draw attention. Questions.
But he couldn’t watch that light go out of her eyes.
The market fell silent. Even the auctioneer looked shocked.
Then the whispers started, and Blaze felt the familiar mantle of his reputation settle over him like armor.
The Ember Prince. Haven’t seen him at a market in years. He must really want this one. Poor girl. Wonder how long she’ll last.
Let them think it. Let them think he was a monster selecting his next plaything.
As long as they never knew the truth.
“Sold!”
The word echoed across the market, final and binding. Blaze had just purchased another mortal to save. Another secret to keep. Another lie to maintain.
He should’ve felt relief. This was what he did. Who he was.
Instead, he felt something else. Something that made his skin prickle with warning.
He pushed through the crowd, aware of how they parted around him. Aware of their fear. He’d cultivated that fear for decades, and it worked beautifully.
It also meant he was always, always alone.
When he reached the platform, he looked up at her.
And she looked back.
Green eyes met his, wide with terror but still defiant. Still fighting even though she had to know fighting was useless.
Gods, she was—
Beautiful? No. Mortals were always beautiful in their fragility. It wasn’t that.
It was something else. Something that made him want to tell her it would be okay. That he wasn’t what she feared.
But he couldn’t. Not here. Not with a hundred fae watching.
So he kept his expression bored, detached. “Bring her.”
His guards moved to obey, and the woman—girl? No, woman. Twenty-two, the auctioneer had said—jerked against their grip.
“Let go of me!”
Fire. Definitely fire.
The guards chained her wrists, and Blaze saw her flinch. Saw the way the magic in the chains made her skin pale.
He hated this part. Hated the chains, the collars, the fear. But it had to look real.
Everything had to look real.
“Is this necessary?” she demanded, and he almost smiled. Almost.
Brave and stupid. Challenging a fae prince in front of his court.
“No,” he agreed, letting his voice go cold. “You’re not.”
Letting her know that running was pointless. That she was his now, completely and utterly.
He saw the moment it hit her. Saw the last flicker of hope die in those green eyes.
It was necessary. He had to break that hope now so he could give it back to her later, in private. Had to make her believe the worst so the truth would be believable.
But gods, he hated it.
He turned and walked toward the portal, trusting his guards to follow. And they did, dragging her behind them like a prize.
The whispers followed them all the way through.
The Ember Prince claims another victim. Wonder what he’ll do to this one. Think she’ll scream?
Blaze’s fire stirred beneath his skin, responding to his anger. He tamped it down viciously.
Soon. Soon he’d explain. Soon she’d understand.
Soon he could drop the mask, just for a moment, and let her see the truth.
They stepped through the portal, and the Fire Court throne room materialized around them. Home. Prison. Stage.
His courtiers were waiting, because of course they were. They always waited when he brought home a new mortal. Eager for the show. Eager to watch him prove, once again, that he was the monster they believed him to be.
He took his position in front of the throne, and his guards dragged the woman forward.
She was trying not to show fear. Failing. The heat of the court was too much for mortals who weren’t acclimated—he’d have to fix that quickly or she’d collapse from heatstroke.
But first, the performance.
He looked at her, let his expression show nothing but mild interest. Calculated cruelty.
“Welcome to the Fire Court.”
Her green eyes met his, and for a heartbeat, he saw himself reflected there. Saw the monster she believed him to be.
It never got easier.
He smiled, slow and vicious. “I hope you survive longer than the last one.”
The lie tasted like poison. There hadn’t been a “last one.” The last mortal he’d bought—a young man named Thomas—was currently living free in the mortal realm with enough gold to start a new life.
But his court didn’t know that. His court thought Thomas had burned.
They laughed, delighted by his cruelty, and Blaze watched the woman’s legs give out.
His guards caught her, and something in his chest twisted.
Soon, he promised silently. Just hold on. Please.
He turned away from her, dismissing her like she didn’t matter. Like she was already boring him.
And as he walked toward his private chambers, he told himself it was necessary.
Told himself it was worth it.
Told himself he wasn’t actually the monster he pretended to be.
But the look in her eyes followed him all the way down the hall.
An hour later, Blaze stood in his study, staring at the ledger that contained the names of every mortal he’d freed.
Forty-three names. Forty-three lives.
Forty-three people who thought he was a monster, because he could never tell them the truth until they were safely away.
He’d add her name soon. Once he explained the arrangement. Once she agreed to play along with the charade for a few weeks, maybe a month, until he could stage her “death” and smuggle her out.
It always worked. It had to work.
He was adding her name to the list—Ember Quinn, the auctioneer had called her—when Phoenix slipped into the study.
“The court’s talking,” his friend said quietly. “One thousand gold marks is… excessive.”
“I know.”
“They’re wondering what you have planned for her.”
“Let them wonder.”
Phoenix was quiet for a moment. Then: “What do you have planned?”
The same thing he always planned. Safety. Freedom. Life.
“The usual,” Blaze said. “A few weeks of performing for the court, then I’ll stage something fatal and get her out.”
“Blaze.” Phoenix’s voice was careful. “Why did you really bid so much?”
Because she’d looked defiant even in chains. Because something about her green eyes had made his chest ache. Because he couldn’t stand the thought of Kestrel freezing her or Spring Court crushing her spirit under false kindness.
Because for one terrible moment, looking at her, he’d felt less alone.
“Does it matter?” Blaze asked.
“It might.”
Before Blaze could answer, a knock sounded at the door. One of his guards.
“Your Highness. The mortal is secured in the chambers you specified. She’s asking to see you.”
Already? Most mortals cowered for at least a day before finding the courage to make demands.
“Tell her—” Blaze started.
And then it hit him.
A wave of heat and recognition and rightness that slammed into his chest like a physical blow. Magic that wasn’t his, reaching out and finding something in him that reached back.
His fire surged, responding to something he didn’t understand, and Phoenix caught his arm as he staggered.
“Blaze? What—”
No. No, no, no—
“Send her away,” Blaze gritted out. “Now.”
“Your Highness?” The guard looked confused.
“Send her back to her chambers. I’ll deal with her tomorrow.”
The guard bowed and left. Phoenix was still gripping his arm, staring at him with dawning horror.
“Please tell me that wasn’t—”
“It wasn’t,” Blaze said flatly.
“Blaze—”
“It. Wasn’t.”
But they both knew he couldn’t lie.
Fae couldn’t lie.
And the mate bond that had just recognized her—the impossible, forbidden, catastrophic mate bond between a fae prince and a mortal woman—was very, very real.
It hadn’t fully snapped yet. That would require touch, skin to skin, acceptance. But the recognition was there, undeniable and terrifying.
And if they ever touched, if the bond activated fully, they’d both be damned.
Phoenix’s face had gone pale. “You have to reject it.”
“I know.”
“If anyone finds out—”
“I know.”
“They’ll kill her, Blaze. And they’ll kill you too.”
Blaze’s fire crackled along his skin, responding to the bond, reaching for someone three corridors away who didn’t even know what had just happened.
A mortal mate. Forbidden by ancient law. Punishable by death.
And the worst part?
She’d been his for less than two hours, and he already knew he’d burn the entire court to ash before he let anyone touch her.
He was so completely damned.
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