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Dellyn levels his chin toward the King, demanding the formal seal to lock the contract then and there.

“The challenge has been issued,” Dellyn said smoothly. “And the Princess has accepted. Perform the sacred rites, Konungr. The pact is bound.”

The silence that clamped down on the grand chamber was absolute. Everything seemed to recede into a heavy blur.

Dagda-Fae.

Death.

Darkness.

Breathe, Tauriel Breathe.

Panic clawed at my throat as the reality settled in. This wasn’t a political argument I could maneuver around.

Not that I could ever understand the politics. No this was worse.

It was an ancient rite designed to strip away every guardrail I had left—my title, my father’s laws, the courtly lies that kept me breathing. There were no politics on the obsidian sand. Just steel and a fight that wouldn’t end until someone stopped breathing.

My father stepped down from the base of the obsidian throne. His face was fixed in an expression of deep, unadulterated grimness. I had never seen him look so frayed at the edges.

“Dellyn,” my father said, his voice rough. “She has only just stepped out of the pool. The magic hasn’t even settled in her veins. You cannot invoke the old code.”

“The challenge has been issued, Konungr,” Dellyn replied, his tone smooth as oil. “And your daughter accepted. The words cleared her lips. The ancient rite does not grant reprieves for ill timing.”

Before Aerynn could step forward. Before Soren could pull me back. Dellyn walked into the center of the room, stopping directly over the etched mountains of his own province on the floor map. He drew a silver dagger from his belt and dragged the blade cleanly across his palm without flinching. He held his hand out in the space between us, dark blood welling instantly.

I didn’t look at Caspian. I couldn’t. I knew what I would see in his eyes—the same reckless look that had almost made him jump into the silver pool. If I looked at him now, my focus would break.

If I looked, I’d have to admit there was someone besides Aerynn who might actually give a damn if I died. Or worse…I’d find nothing behind that stoic mask at all, proving I was the only fool bleeding in the dark.

I drew my own dagger. The metal cold against my fingers as I dragged the sharp edge across my palm. The biting sting of the fresh cut mixed instantly with the lingering heat of the marks on my arms, while beneath my skin, the darkness coiled up my spine, a suffocating weight whispering and clawing for release.

I forced the chaos down, locking it behind a wall of pure spite, and stepped forward.

Our bloodied palms met in the space between us. The skin-to-skin contact was jarring—a cold, uncomfortable overlap of intent.

Together, our voices rose into the quiet chamber. We spoke the old dialect of the First Age:

“Dagda-fae, amni sai, rahmna.”

The moment the final word cleared our lips, the ritual took hold.

The blood didn’t run down our wrists, nor did it drip onto the stone map beneath us. With each word spoken, our joined palms began to emit a faint, crimson glow. The air in the room turned freezing, my breath forming a pale cloud between us. Slowly, the droplets of our mixed blood began to hover in the air, suspended.

The droplets coalesced, twisting and merging in the dim light filtering through the high sconces until they formed a jagged, translucent dagger made entirely of crystallized blood.

The chamber fell into a terrified silence as the blade materialized, glinting in the pale light. With a sharp metallic ring that echoed off the pillars, the crystal dagger dropped toward the floor, hovering exactly three inches above the stone map. It emanated a slow, pulsing red glow, tracking the pulse of our hearts like an anchor waiting for a signal.

With a slow gesture, my father bent down. His calloused hands cradled the space beneath the crystalline dagger, taking the floating pact into his custody.

The lords behind the counsel tables. My friends—Rhea and Dax. Soren. Aerynn. Caspian. Everyone watched in rigid silence as the true weight of the decree settled over the room.

Holding the crimson blade firmly, the King spoke, his voice echoing with a hollow gravity.

“Let it be known,” my father declared, “that the rites of the Dagda-Fae are locked. From this moment until the steel is quiet, these rules shall govern your flesh.”

He looked at me, his green eyes steady as he delivered the ancient code.