“My duty?” I laugh, but there’s no humor in the sound. “My duty has been my entire existence for three centuries. I have sacrificed everything—happiness, love, the simple pleasure of choosing my path—all in service to this realm and its ungrateful inhabitants.”
“And now you would throw it all away for a human woman you’ve known for mere weeks?” Councilor Lyren speaks for the first time, her voice soft but cutting. “Is her cunt truly so sweet that it’s worth abandoning everything you’ve built?”
The crude dismissal of what Jessa means to me ignites something primal and violent in my chest. Before I can stop myself, I’m moving, my hand closing around Lyren’s throat as I lift her from her chair. Her feet dangle inches from the floor, her eyes wide with sudden fear.
“Say her name again,” I snarl, letting my fangs extend fully. “Speak of her with anything less than respect, and I will paint these walls with your blood.”
“Aelin!” Theron’s voice cracks like a whip, and I force myself to release Lyren, letting her drop back into her chair gasping.“This is exactly what we mean. You’re losing control, becoming something our people won’t recognize.”
I step back, running shaking hands through my hair as I struggle to regain my composure. They’re right, and that’s what terrifies me most. The bond has changed me, made me more volatile, more prone to violence. What if they’re right about other things too? What if claiming Jessa would truly weaken the realm?
“The Solstice approaches,” Morel continues, apparently unfazed by my loss of control. “Seventeen days remain before the bond must be completed or dissolved. We offer you a choice, my king.”
“What choice?” The words come out hollow, defeated.
“Renounce the human. Let the bond burn itself out and claim a proper fae mate—one who can strengthen our bloodlines and secure our future. Do this, and we will help you weather the pain of loss. The realm will remain stable, and your reign will continue.”
“And if I refuse?”
The silence that follows is heavy with implication. Finally, Valdris speaks, his voice grave.
“Then we will call for a vote of no confidence. The council will declare you unfit to rule, and you will be stripped of your crown and exiled from the winter realm. The human will be… dealt with.”
Threat and promise, wrapped in political language but clear in its intent. Choose duty over love, or lose everything—including Jessa’s life.
“You would threaten her?” Ice begins forming on every surface as my power responds to the fury building in my chest. “You would harm an innocent woman to force my compliance?”
“We would do what is necessary to preserve our people,” Morel says simply. “As you should.”
The chamber falls silent except for the soft whisper of frost forming on stone. They’re serious. These ancient councilors, these advisors I’ve trusted for centuries, are prepared to murder the woman I love to maintain their version of order.
The realization that everything I’ve built, everyone I’ve served, could be so easily turned against the one person who matters most to me is devastating. And liberating.
“Seventeen days,” I repeat, my voice deadly calm. “You’re giving me seventeen days to choose between my crown and my mate.”
“We’re giving you seventeen days to remember who you are,” Theron corrects. “To remember your duty to your people.”
I look around the table at these faces I’ve known for decades, centuries in some cases. Advisors who’ve guided me through wars and plagues and the thousand minor crises that come with ruling an immortal people. They’ve served faithfully, given good counsel, helped me build something worth protecting.
But they don’t understand what the bond means. They can’t comprehend the completeness I feel with Jessa, the way she makes me more than just a king—she makes me whole.
“I understand your concerns,” I say finally, my voice carefully controlled. “The realm’s stability must be considered. The people’s welfare protected.”
Relief flickers across several faces, and I can see them relaxing, thinking they’ve won.
They’re wrong.
“But you’ve made one critical error in your calculations,” I continue, letting steel creep into my tone. “You assume I value the crown more than I value her. You are wrong.”
The temperature plummets as I let my power unfurl fully, until my breath mists in the air and ice crystals form on every surface. When I speak again, my voice carries the full weight of winter’s fury.
“I am Aelin, King of the Northwood, Master of Winter Storms, Heir to the Deepest Cold. I have ruled for three centuries not because of your approval, but because I am strong enough to hold this realm together through will alone. You seem to have forgotten that.”
I stand, and the ice throne behind me reshapes itself, growing taller, more elaborate, crowned with spikes that gleam like deadly stars.
“Seventeen days,” I repeat. “Not to choose between duty and desire, but to decide what kind of king this realm truly needs. One who rules through fear and tradition, bowing to the small minds of frightened councilors? Or one who has the strength to evolve, to grow, to choose love over politics and still maintain his power.”
“Aelin—” Theron starts, but I cut him off with a gesture.
