Page 33 of Blood Marked

Ruarc strode in like a storm given shape, his long black cloak trailing ash and snow. His golden eyes landed on Kael like hammers, heavy with the weight of expectation.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Ruarc said without preamble.

Kael didn’t bother denying it. “You’ve been busy playing king.”

“Iamking,” Ruarc snapped. “And you’re the heir—bonded, branded, and now part of something the court won’t let us ignore any longer.”

Kael’s spine stiffened. “They already tried to kill her.”

“And they’ll try again,” Ruarc said flatly. “That’s why we’re solidifying the bond. Publicly. A week from now, the ceremony takes place in front of the Houses.”

Kael’s breath left in a rush.

“No.”

Ruarc raised a brow. “No?”

“You’re forcing something that shouldn’t be forced.”

Ruarc stepped closer, his voice like tempered steel. “You don’t get to decide that anymore. The Mark has already spoken. The prophecy isin motion. Whether you like it or not, the girl is your mate in the eyes of every old-blood in the Veil. If we don’t show unity, strength?—”

“They’ll rip her apart.”

Ruarc didn’t flinch. “And you with her.”

Kael’s fists clenched at his sides. The bond flared low and hot beneath his skin. Even now, it hummed with Selene’s presence, distant but unmistakable.

He wanted to see her again. Gods help him, heneededto.

To touch her.

To prove that the kiss hadn’t just been weakness.

But it had. Hadn’t it?

“What happens if she refuses?” Kael asked quietly.

“She won’t,” Ruarc said. “Because she knows the alternative.”

Kael turned away, jaw tight.

There was no victory here. No peace.

Just the path laid out for him, marked in blood and ancient vows.

“I’ll prepare,” he said at last, voice dull.

Ruarc gave a sharp nod. “Don’t make me clean up your hesitations, Kael. You’ve done enough damage with your silence.”

Then he left.

Kael stood there long after the door shut, the words echoing.

Later, Kael found himself in the lower courtyard, pacing the snow-dusted stones beneath the darkening sky. The torches had just been lit, casting long golden fingers across the walls. His breath fogged in the cold.

He wasn’t thinking of strategy.

He wasn’t thinking of Ruarc or the prophecy.

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