Chapter 3
1243 Words
“You may resist all you like, but the pact has been sealed.”
Vaeren’s voice was smooth, controlled—a blade honed to perfection. He stood before her, tall and severe, his golden eyes unreadable under the flashing torchlight. He was every inch the Crown Prince of Draganthar…brutal elegance, ruthless poise. His presence filled the chamber like a storm threatening to break, cold and unshakable.
Xyra refused to look away. Even as the heaviness of the High Council’s judgment bore down on her, as her father’s decree rang like a death knell in her ears, she held her ground. Her pulse pounded inside her skin, quick and wild, like a trapped bird battering against a cage.
This was not freedom. This was not a choice.
“This is not my choice,” she said, her voice sharp as a blade drawn from its sheath.
Vaeren stepped forward, his steps measured and deliberate, his shadow swallowing hers below the ancient symbols etched into the stone floor. He loomed over her, a wall of power and control, but there was no gloating in his gaze. No triumph.
“Nor is it mine.”
The truth of his words struck her harder than she expected. There was no resistance in his tone, no softness either, just the cold acceptance of duty. Still, that knowledge brought no comfort.
The High Priestess emerged from the corner of her father , draped in robes of midnight, her face hidden inside a heavy hood. In her gnarled hands, she held a ceremonial dagger, ancient, cruel. The runes carved into the blade pulsed faintly with magic, alive with something older than kingdoms. The chamber thickened with the scent of burning herbs and sacred oils, a veil of smoke and power.
Xyra’s throat tightened. She knew what came next. She had dreaded this moment from the instant her father’s voice condemned her to it.
“The Blood Oath must be taken," the High Priestess intoned, her voice trembling with ancient power. "By blood and bond, by fire and moonlight, let this union be forged.”
She turned to Xyra first. “Kneel.”
Xyra’s jaw locked. Her pride burned hotter than the torches that lit the chamber. She had knelt only before her moon goddess, and even they had to earn it. Never before a man. Never before an enemy. Yet here she was…a pawn in a war she had no desire to fight. A bride to a kingdom that had slaughtered her kin. Her freedom was being stripped from her, piece by piece, and all she could do was bear witness.
Her heart cracked under the massiveness of it.
With a slow breath that tasted of surrender and resistance all at once, she lowered herself onto one knee. Her spine was rigid, her head held high, but inside, she was splintering. The whispers of the gathered nobles slithered through the air. Even Kaelor, her betroth, her anchor, stood rigid by the far wall, his fists trembling. His face was a mask of barely restrained anger, but his eyes…his eyes bled for her.
The priestess knelt beside Xyra, her cold fingers wrapping around her wrist. The touch was as lifeless as the blade that pressed into her skin.
“This sigil binds you to him,” the priestess whispered. “Through blood and spirit, through strength and fate.”
Xyra gritted her teeth as the dagger bit into her flesh. The pain was sharp, a searing line of fire, but she welcomed it. Pain was honest. It reminded her that she was still here, still fighting even if it was only within the prison of her skin. Blood welled up, rich and dark, as the priestess traced the ancient sigil into her wrist. Magic licked at her veins, sinking deeper than the wound, binding itself to her very soul.
A sudden heat curled under her ribs, foreign, invasive. Her body knew before her mind did. This was not simply a ritual. This was a claim.
The priestess rose and turned to Vaeren. “Your turn, my prince.”
Vaeren knelt, his movements smooth and controlled, but Xyra saw it now, the faint rigidity in his shoulders, the tension hidden behind his calm mask. He did not look at her as the blade kissed his skin, but when his blood spilled, her breath hitched.
Molten gold. His blood shimmered like liquid fire, running along the carved sigil on his wrist. The lines ignited with an otherworldly glow, the power humming so loudly she felt it in her teeth. The air shifted, pressing down on her chest. It was as if the goddess themselves leaned in to watch.
The bond took root. She felt it. A thread stretched between them, invisible but unbreakable. She felt the presence of him…not his thoughts, not his heart, but his existence. His nearness was no longer just physical. It was in her blood. In her bones.
Her freedom fractured into dust. The High Priestess lifted her arms, her voice ringing through the chamber with finality.
"By the will of the gods and the Moon Goddess, by the law of Vaeloria and Draganthar, this bond is sealed."
A surge of magic ripped through her body. Xyra gasped, her nails digging into her palm as heat scorched through her veins. Her chest tightened, this was not pain of the flesh; this was deeper. It was the shattering of something sacred.
Her autonomy. She dared to meet Vaeren’s gaze. His golden eyes locked onto hers, and for a heartbeat, just one, his mask slipped.
There was something there. A glint of regret. Of grief. Of captivity. He felt it too. He was not free either.
The sigils on their wrists faded into scars, forever etched into their skin. The bond was done. Permanent. No blade could sever it. No death could erase it. The chamber erupted into murmurs, but Xyra heard none of it. Her heart was breaking, silently, invisibly, down the burden of duty and expectation. She clenched her fist, her palm slick with blood.
Vaeren stood first, extending his hand toward her. A prince’s hand. Her captor’s hand. Every part of her screamed to refuse him. But there was something else now, something twisted and wrong. The bond pulled at her. It whispered that his touch was no longer just his. It was hers. His heartbeat echoed faintly in her chest.
She reached out. Her fingers brushed his. The contact was like fire…searing, consuming. She nearly gasped at the heat of it. His grip tightened, just for a breath. And in that brief second, she felt him.
Steady. Strong. And hurting. He let go, and the warmth vanished, leaving only the cold reality between them. Xyra stood, her face carved into stone. She would not let them see her break.
The High Priestess addressed the council. “The Blood Oath has been completed. The bond is sealed. From this moment forth, Princess Xyra Vaelthorne and Crown Prince Vaeren Drakarion are bound by the Moonfire Pact.”
Bound. The word echoed through her mind like a curse. There was no undoing it. Kaelor stared at her across the chamber, his eyes wide with disbelief and something more. Loss.anger. Betrayal.
She was no longer just Xyra. She was his. She was theirs. And part of her was already afraid she would never belong to herself again. She was Xyra Drakarion, but no, she can’t carry his last name, not yet.
- Writer
