Updated Dec 14, 2025 • ~8 min read
ALARIC
Three days since she’d fled. Three days of agony as the bond stretched across the distance between us.
I should have chased her. Should have forced the issue. But she’d needed space, and I—
I was a coward.
Easier to let her run than face the hatred in her eyes. Easier to suffer the physical pain than the emotional devastation of watching her look at me like I was a monster.
“Your Highness, you need to eat.” Celine set down a tray I wouldn’t touch. “The bond rejection is affecting you.”
“She hasn’t rejected it.”
“She’s not accepting it either. The strain will kill you both if this continues.”
“Then perhaps that’s for the best.”
“Don’t.” She gripped my shoulder. “Don’t give up. Mate bonds are sacred. Rare. Worth fighting for.”
“Even when your mate wants you dead?”
“Especially then.”
I wanted to believe her. Wanted to believe this impossible situation could somehow work out. But I’d seen Cassia’s face. Felt her hatred through the bond. Known with absolute certainty that she would never forgive me.
How could she? I’d killed her brother. That wasn’t something love or fate or the cosmic joke of a mate bond could erase.
That night, I didn’t sleep. Couldn’t. The bond pulled at me, demanding I go to her. My vampire howled at the distance, at being separated from its mate.
So I did something inadvisable.
I opened my side of the bond completely. Let it flood with every memory, every emotion, every moment of guilt I’d been carrying.
Hoping—desperately, foolishly—that if she saw the truth, it might matter.
That if she understood I’d had no choice, she might hate me less.
I sent her everything.
The trial. Three months ago. I’d been called to attend as crown prince—witnessing high crimes was part of my duties. I’d expected routine testimony. What I got was evidence that turned my stomach.
Kael Silverfang, respected witch diplomat, caught red-handed passing military intelligence to vampire enemies. Not just rumors—hard evidence. Encrypted letters. Meeting logs. Documents that proved, beyond doubt, that he’d been spying.
But throughout the trial, something felt wrong. Kael didn’t defend himself. Didn’t offer explanations or excuses. Just stood there, calm and resigned, as if he’d expected this.
“The evidence is clear,” my mother had declared from her throne. “Treason against the crown. The sentence is death by stake at dawn.”
“He deserves a chance to defend himself,” I’d argued. “To explain his actions.”
“He waives that right,” Kael had said quietly, meeting my eyes. “I knew the risks. I accept the consequences.”
“But why?” I’d demanded. “Why throw your life away for our enemies?”
“Because sometimes the enemy of your enemy is still your enemy. And sometimes the only way to save everyone is to betray one side for the greater good.” He’d smiled sadly. “You’ll understand eventually. When it’s too late.”
The court had sentenced him. My mother had given me the order: carry out the execution personally. A test of my loyalty. A reminder that princes didn’t get to show mercy when the law demanded blood.
I’d tried to commute the sentence. Argued for imprisonment instead. Been overruled.
“Tomorrow at dawn,” my mother had said. “You will execute the traitor. Or I will question your fitness to rule.”
So I’d done my duty.
I sent Cassia the memory of that dawn. The courtyard filled with witnesses. Kael bound to the stake, dressed in the traditional white of the condemned. No fear on his face. Just quiet acceptance.
The ceremonial cup—blood laced with sedatives to ease the passing. A final mercy.
I’d approached him. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You’re doing what you think is right.” Kael had taken the cup. “But Alaric? When you discover why I did what I did, don’t blame yourself. The fault is in the system, not the executioner.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Peace. I was working for peace. And they killed me to prevent it.”
Then he’d drunk. And through the blood link—the final connection between condemner and condemned—I’d felt everything. His certainty that witch-vampire cooperation was possible. His secret meetings with moderate vampires trying to broker treaties. His belief that the Blood Wars could end if enough people on both sides worked together.
He’d been a spy. But not for enemies. For peace.
And I’d killed him before understanding.
I’d driven the stake through his heart at dawn, watched the light leave his eyes, felt his last thought through the blood link: Tell my sister I’m sorry. Tell Cassia this wasn’t her fault.
After, I’d barely made it to my chambers before vomiting. Shook for hours. Couldn’t stop seeing his face, feeling his regret, knowing I’d executed someone working for good.
But the evidence had been clear. The law had been followed. And I was a prince—I didn’t get to choose which executions were just and which were mistakes.
I sent all of it to Cassia through the bond. Every moment of guilt. Every night spent unable to sleep. Every time I’d questioned whether duty was worth the cost.
Hoped that maybe—maybe—seeing my side would make her hate me less.
Or at least understand why I’d done it.
I felt the moment she received the vision. Felt her shock, her confusion, her rage turning to something more complicated.
Then I felt her grief. Fresh and raw, as if losing him all over again.
Because now she knew: her brother had died working for peace. Had been trying to end the Blood Wars. Had sacrificed himself for a cause I’d unknowingly destroyed.
And I’d been the weapon used to kill him.
Gods, what had I done?
The bond flooded with her anguish. With questions she couldn’t voice. With the terrible realization that maybe I’d told the truth—that I’d had no choice but to follow the law, even when the law was wrong.
I felt her crying. Felt Sage trying to comfort her. Felt the way she pulled back from the bond, trying to protect herself from the empathy she didn’t want to feel.
Too late. We’d both seen too much. Felt too much. Understood too much.
The hate was still there. But now it was tangled with understanding. With shared grief over a man we’d both, in different ways, failed.
My phone rang. Unknown number.
I answered. “Yes?”
“Stop sending me your memories.” Cassia’s voice, wrecked from crying. “Stop making me see your side.”
“I can’t. The bond—”
“Fuck the bond. I don’t want to understand you. I don’t want to know you carried guilt. I don’t want to—” Her voice broke. “I don’t want to feel sympathy for the man who killed my brother.”
“Then block me. Close your side of the bond.”
“I’ve been trying! It doesn’t work! Every time I close it, the bond forces it open. Shows me you. Makes me feel what you feel.”
I knew. I’d been feeling her too. Her rage. Her grief. Her slowly dawning horror that the situation was more complicated than she’d thought.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “For all of it. For killing him. For not knowing. For being bound to you when you deserve so much better.”
“Stop apologizing.”
“I can’t. Because I am sorry. More than you’ll ever know.”
Silence on the line. Then: “Did he really say that? About peace?”
“Yes.”
“And you felt it? Through the blood link?”
“Every word. Every emotion. His certainty that he was doing the right thing.” I closed my eyes. “He was working with moderate vampires. Trying to broker treaties. And my mother—” The realization hit me like a physical blow. “My mother must have known. She pushed for immediate execution. Wouldn’t allow appeals. She wanted him dead before his mission could succeed.”
“Your mother sabotaged peace?”
“I think she did. And I was the tool she used.” The guilt was crushing. “Gods, Cassia. I’m so sorry. I should have questioned more. Should have demanded answers. Should have—”
“Stop.” Her voice was hard. “Don’t make me comfort you. Don’t make this about your guilt when my brother is still dead.”
She was right. This wasn’t about my pain. It was about Kael. About justice he’d never receive.
“What do we do now?” I asked.
“I don’t know. But Alaric? Don’t send me any more memories. I can’t—I can’t handle seeing you as human. I need you to be the monster. It’s easier that way.”
“I understand.”
“I doubt that.” She hung up.
The bond ached with her absence. But underneath the pain was something new: shared purpose. Shared grief. The beginning of understanding.
It wasn’t forgiveness. Wasn’t acceptance. But it was something.
A crack in the wall between us.
Small. Fragile. But there.
And through that crack, maybe—eventually—we could build something that didn’t destroy us both.
If we survived long enough to try.
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