Chapter Three: Blood Oaths and Broken Crowns
1101 Words
The morning after their kiss broke with a hush, as if the forest itself held its breath.
Sunlight filtered through the misted windows of Eva’s cottage, illuminating dust motes that danced like faerie fire in the stillness. Eva stood in her kitchen, a mug of bitterroot tea cooling in her hand. She hadn’t slept. Not really. She’d spent the night reliving every heartbeat, every whisper, every brush of Kyle’s lips against hers.
What had they done?
More importantly—what did it mean?
Kyle was sitting outside beneath the bone-oak, sharpening a blade. Not his old ceremonial dagger, but the one she’d hidden in a chest below her floorboards. The one her mother had forbidden her to ever use. Not because it was cursed—but because it was true.
Forged in mortal fire. Runes carved in a lost language. A blade that could wound even fae.
Eva pushed the door open slowly, letting it creak. Kyle didn’t look up.
“You’re up early,” she said.
“I haven’t been to sleep.”
She crossed her arms. “I noticed.”
A silence passed, heavy with things unsaid.
Finally, he looked up. His eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, and something else. “I thought if I kept moving, I wouldn’t feel it.”
“What? Guilt?”
“No.” He stood. “Hope.”
That caught her off guard.
“You don’t understand what last night meant,” he said, walking toward her. “To feel something again. To want. I’ve lived numb for so long… I forgot what it was to be alive.”
She met his eyes, searching for cracks. “I haven’t. And that’s what makes this terrifying.”
Kyle reached for her hands, gently. “Do you regret it?”
“No,” Eva said honestly. “That’s what makes it worse.”
He nodded once, pulling her into a quiet embrace. No heat. No urgency. Just stillness. As if both of them were clinging to the calm before the storm.
Because the storm was coming.
It arrived just past noon.
The sky dimmed, though the sun was still high. The air thinned, heavy with magic. And when the knock came at the door, Eva already knew they weren’t ready.
She opened it anyway.
The woman standing on the threshold wore a cloak woven from night silk and pine needles. Her eyes were sharp enough to wound, her presence demanding. She was fae, but not like Kyle. Older. Sharper. More dangerous.
“Aeryn,” Kyle said behind her, his voice hard.
Eva stepped aside.
The woman entered like smoke through a c***k in the wall—silent, curling, deadly.
“You look tired, cousin,” Aeryn said. “Love doesn’t suit you.”
Kyle glared. “Get to the point.”
She tossed a sealed scroll onto the table. “The court demands your presence. The charges against you have escalated.”
Eva frowned. “Charges?”
Kyle hesitated. “Treason. Desertion. Forbidden magic.”
“And consorting with mortals,” Aeryn added with a cold smile. “That one was recently added.”
Eva’s heart pounded. “Because of me?”
Aeryn tilted her head. “You’re not just a healer, are you?”
Eva looked to Kyle, but he avoided her gaze.
“I saw the runes etched into your blade,” Aeryn continued. “Runes that haven’t been used in mortal spells for centuries. You wield old magic, girl. Deep magic. And that’s not something you stumble into by accident.”
Eva’s voice cracked. “What are you implying?”
“That you were born to be more than this.” Aeryn’s eyes narrowed. “And someone knew it.”
Kyle stepped forward, shielding Eva. “Enough.”
Aeryn held up her hands. “I’m not here to fight you, cousin. I came to offer a chance. Come back. Stand trial. Let the court see who you’ve become.”
He laughed bitterly. “They don’t want justice. They want blood.”
She grew quiet. “Then give them a reason not to spill it.”
He didn’t answer.
“Please,” Aeryn added, and for the first time, her voice softened. “There are some of us who still believe in you.”
Eva looked between them. “And if he refuses?”
“Then the court will send executioners,” Aeryn said, not unkindly. “And this place—this little life you’ve made together—will be the first to burn.”
Then she vanished, leaving only the echo of her footsteps behind.
They didn’t speak for hours.
Kyle sat on the windowsill, staring at the horizon like he could see his future burning there. Eva tried to busy herself, grinding herbs, organizing tinctures. But her hands shook too much.
At dusk, she finally said, “You have to go.”
He looked at her sharply. “No.”
“You have to,” she repeated. “You’re their prince. You’ve run long enough.”
He stood. “They’ll kill me.”
“Not if you fight. Not if you reclaim your birthright.”
He stepped closer. “And leave you behind? After everything?”
Eva turned, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “You said once that I helped you remember who you were.”
“You did.”
“Then let me remind you again. You are fire and frost. You are storm and story. You were never meant to waste away in exile.”
She reached for his hand.
“You were meant to change things.”
Kyle stared at her like she was a prophecy.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he said.
“You won’t,” she whispered. “But if you stay, we both lose something bigger.”
They embraced again, longer this time. And when they finally broke apart, she pressed something into his palm.
The dagger. Her mother’s blade.
“Mortal steel,” she said. “For fae lies.”
He nodded solemnly. “I’ll return. I swear it.”
“Swear it properly,” she said, stepping back.
He drew the dagger across his palm. The blood glowed gold, bright as flame.
“By blood and by flame,” he said.
Eva cut her palm too. Her blood shimmered silver.
“By fate and by fire,” she answered.
They pressed their hands together. The magic flared. A bond sealed.
And as the moon rose over the trees, Kyle vanished into the night—leaving behind a vow, a flame, and the woman who had dared to love him.
- Writer
