Updated Nov 6, 2025 • ~10 min read
Ember had three hours to compose herself before the knock came.
She’d spent those hours pacing her chambers, trying to make sense of what happened. Trying to convince herself it was nothing. A magical fluke. A side effect of being in the Fire Court.
Not what every instinct in her body was screaming it was.
“Miss Quinn.” Lark’s voice through the door. “The prince requests your presence at court dinner.”
Of course he did.
Ember checked her reflection in the polished obsidian mirror. She’d changed into another dress Lark had brought—this one a deep burgundy that made her red hair look like living flame. Her face was too pale, her eyes too wide.
She looked terrified.
Perfect.
She opened the door. Lark stood there with two guards, her expression sympathetic.
“He told you,” Ember said quietly. “About tonight.”
Lark nodded. “I’m sorry. The first public appearance is always the hardest.”
“What do I need to know?”
“Don’t fight back. Don’t show defiance. And whatever he says, whatever he does—remember it’s not real.” Lark’s eyes were kind but firm. “It’s all performance.”
Right. Performance.
Ember could do this. She’d agreed to do this.
Even if her hand still tingled from where he’d touched her. Even if something inside her was screaming to run toward him instead of away.
The guards escorted her through the palace. More corridors of black glass and flame. More fae stopping to stare as she passed.
The dining hall was massive, carved from volcanic rock with a ceiling so high it disappeared into shadow. A long obsidian table dominated the center, surrounded by Fire Court nobles in various shades of red and gold.
And at the head of the table, in a chair that was almost a throne, sat Prince Blaze.
He didn’t look at her as she entered. His attention was on a female fae beside him—beautiful and cruel-looking, with flames dancing in her dark hair.
The guards brought Ember to a spot near the prince’s end of the table, but not at the table itself. A lower position. Submissive.
She stood there, acutely aware of every eye on her.
“Ah.” Prince Blaze’s voice cut through the murmurs. He finally deigned to look at her, and his expression was coldly amused. “The new acquisition. I’d almost forgotten about you.”
Lie. She could feel it was a lie, even if the words were technically true—he’d probably been thinking about nothing else since their hands touched.
But the court didn’t know that.
“Your Highness,” Ember said quietly, dropping into an awkward curtsy. Lark had coached her during the walk: be respectful but not too practiced. Like she was trying to appease him and failing.
“You’ve cleaned up nicely.” He stood, moving toward her with that predatory grace. “Though you still look rather… defiant.”
He circled her slowly, and Ember forced herself to stay still. To not react as he invaded her space.
This close, she could feel his heat. Could smell smoke and cinnamon and something else—something that called to whatever had awakened when they touched.
The mate bond. It had to be. Nothing else explained this pull.
“Kneel,” he said softly.
Ember’s breath caught. They’d discussed this—she knew public humiliation was part of the act. But knowing and doing were different things.
She lowered herself to her knees slowly, keeping her eyes down.
“Better.” His voice held cruel satisfaction that she knew was fake. Knew was for the audience watching with rapt attention. “You’re learning your place.”
Laughter rippled around the table.
“Though I wonder,” Prince Blaze continued, “how deep that lesson has sunk in. Perhaps a demonstration is in order.”
Ember’s heart hammered. What demonstration?
He gestured, and servants brought food to the table—platters of roasted meat, fresh bread, delicacies that made Ember’s mouth water despite her fear.
The court began to eat, talking and laughing among themselves.
Ember remained kneeling on the stone floor.
Slowly, she understood. This was the demonstration. While everyone else feasted, she would kneel. Hungry. Humiliated.
It’s not real, she reminded herself. He’ll make sure you eat later. This is just for show.
But gods, it was hard to remember that with her knees aching on stone and her stomach growling.
Time crawled. The fae ate multiple courses, drank wine that glowed like liquid flame, told stories about mortals they’d broken. Every word was designed to remind Ember how powerless she was.
And Prince Blaze participated, laughing at the right moments, adding his own comments about mortal weakness.
Each word from him felt like a knife, even knowing it was fake.
Finally—after what felt like hours—the female fae beside Prince Blaze spoke up.
“Your Highness, you’re being terribly cruel to your new pet.” Her smile was vicious. “At least let her eat table scraps. I do so enjoy watching mortals grovel for food.”
Table scraps. Like she was a dog.
Prince Blaze considered this, swirling wine in his goblet. “An excellent suggestion, Lady Kindle.”
He picked up a piece of bread from his plate, examined it with apparent disinterest, then tossed it on the floor in front of Ember.
The court watched with eager anticipation.
Ember stared at the bread. Humiliation burned through her, hot and acidic.
It’s not real. It’s not real. He needs them to believe—
She reached for the bread with shaking hands.
“Ah-ah.” Prince Blaze’s boot came down on the bread, pinning it. “Did I say you could use your hands?”
The court erupted in delighted laughter.
Ember’s vision blurred. This was too much. Too far. How was she supposed to—
Watch what he doesn’t do, Lark had said.
Ember forced herself to focus. To really look at what was happening.
Prince Blaze’s boot was on the bread, yes. But his weight wasn’t. He was barely touching it. If she reached for it, he’d move. She knew he would.
And his eyes—when she dared glance up—weren’t cruel. They were apologetic. Silently begging her to forgive him.
Performance, she reminded herself. Just performance.
She leaned down, reaching for the bread with her mouth.
Prince Blaze shifted his boot at the last second, letting her take it.
The court laughed and applauded like this was the finest entertainment.
Ember ate the bread, forcing each bite down past the lump in her throat. It tasted like ashes and humiliation.
“Good girl,” Prince Blaze said, his voice dripping false affection. “You’re learning.”
He returned to his seat, returning his attention to Lady Kindle as if Ember had ceased to exist.
The dinner continued. Ember remained kneeling, occasionally “rewarded” with scraps tossed her way. Each time, she forced herself to play the part. To act broken and grateful.
Inside, she was screaming.
Finally, mercifully, the dinner ended.
Prince Blaze stood, addressing the court. “Thank you all for joining me. It’s been… enlightening.” His gaze swept over Ember, dismissive. “Return my pet to her chambers. I’ve grown bored with her for tonight.”
The guards hauled Ember to her feet. Her knees nearly buckled—they’d gone numb from kneeling so long.
As they dragged her away, she caught Prince Blaze’s eyes one more time.
The apology there nearly broke her.
Back in her chambers, Ember collapsed on the bed, shaking.
A knock came almost immediately. Lark, with a tray of real food.
“I’m not hungry,” Ember said, even though her stomach growled betrayal.
“You need to eat.” Lark set the tray down, then sat on the edge of the bed. “I know that was awful. I’m sorry.”
“He made me—” Ember couldn’t finish the sentence. The humiliation was still too fresh.
“I know. He hates it too, if that helps.”
“It doesn’t.”
Lark was quiet for a moment. “The first time he asked me to do something like that, I wanted to kill him. I thought he was the monster everyone said he was.”
“What changed your mind?”
“He cried after.” Lark’s voice was soft. “I wasn’t supposed to see it. But I did. He was alone in his study, and he just… broke. Because he’d had to humiliate me to keep me safe, and it destroyed him.”
Ember processed this. “He cried.”
“Fae don’t cry often. It takes a lot to break through their composure.” Lark met her eyes. “He’s not cruel, Ember. He’s desperate. And he’s terrified that one day he’ll slip, and everyone he’s saved will die because of it.”
The anger inside Ember shifted, becoming something more complicated.
“I can’t do this for a month,” she whispered.
“You can. You’re stronger than you think.” Lark stood. “Eat. Rest. Tomorrow will be easier.”
She left, and Ember was alone with her thoughts.
And with the strange warmth in her chest that pulsed in time with her heartbeat. That reached toward something—someone—elsewhere in the palace.
The mate bond.
She couldn’t ignore it anymore.
Somehow, impossibly, she was mated to the Ember Prince.
And she had no idea what that meant for either of them.
In his private chambers, Blaze stood at the window, fists clenched against the glass.
He could still see her kneeling. Could still see the humiliation in her eyes when he’d made her take food from the floor.
He’d wanted to stop it. Wanted to tell the entire court to go to hell and pull her into his arms.
But that would’ve gotten them both killed.
So instead, he’d humiliated his mate in front of his court and hated himself for it.
“You did what you had to.” Phoenix stood in the doorway, watching him with worried eyes.
“I degraded her.”
“You saved her life. The court believes you’re breaking her now. That makes it easier when she ‘dies’ in a few weeks.”
“She’ll never forgive me.” The words tasted like ash.
“She knew what she was agreeing to.”
“She didn’t know about the bond.” Blaze turned to face his friend. “She doesn’t understand what it means yet. That every humiliation I inflict hurts me too. That I can feel her pain like it’s my own.”
“Then tell her.”
“I can’t. If she knows—if she understands what the mate bond is—she’ll either accept it or reject it. And either option is catastrophic.”
Phoenix moved closer. “Why?”
“Because if she accepts it, she’ll bind herself to me. She’ll become immortal. She’ll be trapped in this court forever, playing this role.” Blaze’s voice cracked. “And if she rejects it, the bond will kill us both.”
Silence.
“You’re damned either way,” Phoenix said finally.
“Yes.”
“What are you going to do?”
Blaze looked out at the volcanic landscape of his court. His prison. His responsibility.
“I’m going to keep her alive,” he said quietly. “Even if it destroys me. Even if she ends up hating me. I’ll get her free.”
“And the bond?”
“I’ll break it after she’s safe. However much it costs.”
It would probably cost his life. Rejected mate bonds were usually fatal.
But better him dead than her trapped.
Phoenix sighed. “You’re an idiot.”
“I know.”
“A noble idiot, but still an idiot.”
“I know that too.”
His friend left, and Blaze returned to staring out the window.
Somewhere in the palace, Ember was probably crying. Or raging. Or planning to kill him the moment she got free.
He didn’t blame her.
The bond hummed in his chest, reaching for her. Wanting to comfort her. Wanting to tell her the truth.
He ignored it.
He’d gotten very good at ignoring what he wanted.
It was how he’d survived three hundred years of watching mortals suffer.
What was one more sacrifice?
Even if this one felt like it might finally break him.
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