Athelia woke to silver eyes watching her from across the dying fire.
Raziel. The fae who'd gotten her name. Who'd bound her with kindness while she was too broken to see the trap.
"Good morning," he said softly. His voice was melodic, almost musical. Silver hair caught the early light, luminous like mercury. Those pointed ears barely visible through the strands. Black and gold clothing that looked expensive even after a night outdoors.
Beautiful. Otherworldly. Dangerous.
Athelia sat up slowly. Her body ached. Her heart felt hollow. The bond was still there—distant, muted, wrong. Like trying to hear through thick glass.
"How do you feel?" Raziel asked.
She wanted to laugh. How did she feel? Shattered. Used. Abandoned. Alex had screamed at her, rejected her, told her he wouldn't be her "fucking toy" after she'd crossed a dimensional barrier under binding requirement to help him.
Everyone wanted something from her. Everyone used her for their own purposes. And when she tried to help, she was pushed away.
"I don't feel anything," she said quietly.
It was true. The numbness from last night hadn't lifted. If anything, it had settled deeper. A protective layer of nothing between her and the devastation.
Raziel studied her with those silver eyes. Something moved behind them—calculation, perhaps. Or recognition. "Come with me," he said, standing with fluid grace. "There's someone you need to meet."
"Why?" Athelia's voice was flat.
"Because you're playing small," Raziel said simply. "And it's time to stop."
She should ask questions. Should demand to know where he was taking her. Should resist.
But what was the point? Alex didn't want her. The Council wanted to destroy the bond. Casey was back in the human world, safe and ignorant. Athelia had no allies, no resources, no path forward.
So she stood. Followed. Let the fae lead her deeper into the woods.
The trees grew strange as they walked. Bark turned silver. Leaves shimmered with colors that didn't exist in nature. The air itself felt different—thicker, humming with energy that made her skin prickle.
"Where are we going?" she asked, more from habit than curiosity.
"The Fae Wild," Raziel said. "A place between places. Where old laws still hold power."
The bond pulse weakened with each step. Not gone—never gone—but fading. Like Alex was being pulled farther away with every breath.
Athelia didn't care. Let it fade. Let everything fade.
They crossed something she couldn't see—a threshold, a barrier. The world shifted. Colors intensified. The sky turned lavender threaded with gold. Trees grew impossibly tall, their trunks wider than houses.
And in the distance, a palace.
Not stone or wood—something crystalline, catching light and throwing it back in fractals. Beautiful and alien and utterly wrong for human eyes.
"This way," Raziel said, leading her toward massive doors that opened without touch.
Inside: a throne room that made her chest tighten. High vaulted ceilings disappeared into darkness. Columns of twisted silver supported arches that defied geometry. And at the far end, on a throne that seemed carved from a single black diamond—
A king.
Black hair, longer than Alex's, pulled back from a face that was beautiful in a way that hurt to look at. Sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, eyes that—
Athelia stopped breathing.
His eyes. Dark, but not purely black. Silver and black swirled together like oil in water. Apocalyptica darkness threaded with something older. Aldorian bloodline mixing with primordial horror.
"Athelia Marie Winters," the king said. His voice resonated through the chamber. "I've been waiting for you."
She didn't bow. Didn't curtsy. Just stood there, numb and empty, staring at a king who watched her like he could see through her skin.
"King Elderak," Raziel said from behind her. "As promised."
"You may go," Elderak said, not looking away from Athelia. "Wait outside."
Raziel's footsteps retreated. The massive doors closed with a sound like thunder.
Elderak stood. Descended from his throne with movements that were too smooth, too controlled. Predator grace wrapped in royal authority.
He circled her slowly. Studying. Assessing.
"You're starving," he said finally.
"I'm fine."
"No. You're not." He gestured, and a table appeared—actually appeared, materializing from nothing. Food spread across it. "Eat."
"I'm not hungry."
"Athelia." His voice sharpened. "I am not your enemy. But I will not watch you destroy yourself through negligence. Eat."
Something in his tone—command wrapped in genuine concern—made her move. She sat. Picked up bread without tasting it. Ate mechanically.
Elderak sat across from her, those strange eyes never leaving her face.
"Do you know what you are?" he asked quietly.
"A law student. A human. Someone who keeps getting used by people who want things from me."
"No." His voice was gentle but firm. "You are a Queen. And it's time for you to quit playing and start becoming one."
Athelia set down the bread. "I'm not—"
"They did not have the right to take your crown." Elderak leaned forward, intensity radiating from him. "Whatever they told you, whatever they made you believe—it was a lie. You had authority. You had power. And they stole it from you because they feared what you would become."
"I don't understand."
"I know." He stood. "That's why I'm taking you to someone who can explain. Someone who knows what you are. What you were. What you can be again."
"Who?"
"Alerath." Elderak extended his hand. "King of the Abyss. The only one who can tell you the truth about the Keepers."
Keepers. The word resonated through her bones. Recognition without understanding.
Athelia took his hand.
The world dissolved.
Not travel—transformation. Reality peeled away in layers. The Fae Wild vanished. Darkness surrounded them, but not threatening. Calm. Peaceful. Like floating in deep water where no light reached.
The Abyss.
When form returned, they stood in a chamber carved from obsidian. Smooth black walls reflected nothing. No throne here—just two figures standing in the center of vast emptiness.
One was Elderak, still holding her hand.
The other—
Alerath was beautiful in a way that made Elderak look mundane. Tall, impossibly so. Features that seemed carved from darkness itself. Eyes like stars—actual stars, burning with cold light.
"Athelia," Alerath said. His voice was everywhere and nowhere. "Welcome to the Abyss. Welcome home."
"This isn't my home," she whispered.
"No. But it represents what the Keepers are not." Alerath moved forward—floated, really, feet not quite touching the ground. "The Abyss is a society of individuals. True individuals. Neutral demons who chose calm existence over chaos. We are many beings, separate, distinct."
He circled her slowly.
"The Keepers are the opposite."
Athelia's heart began to pound. "What do you mean?"
"The Keepers are not a species," Alerath said softly. "Not a bloodline. Not a family. The Keepers are—were—one being. A single entity who was alone. Completely, utterly alone. The only one of its kind in all existence."
The chamber seemed to grow colder.
"And so," Alerath continued, "it made a choice. It divided itself. Split its consciousness into many projections. Created fragments of itself and gave them form, gave them seeming independence. Built what it called a 'perfect' society—perfect because there was no real conflict. How could there be? You cannot truly fight yourself."
Athelia's breath came short and fast. "That's not—that can't be—"
"Isaac Wavelander," Alerath said, watching her face. "Silver eyes. Black and gold robes. Head of the Lunar Council. Direct Keeper bloodline to Nexus."
She knew him. The teaching assistant. The one who kissed her in class, breaking Alex completely.
"Raziel Flarian." Alerath gestured toward where Elderak stood. "Silver eyes. Black and gold clothing. Fae who got your name and brought you here. Keeper bloodline fae."
The fae who'd seemed so kind. Who'd trapped her with contract magic.
"And you, Athelia Marie Winters." Alerath stopped directly in front of her. "Silver—no. Your eyes aren't silver yet. They were, once. Before they took your crown. Before they made you forget what you are."
"No." Her voice broke. "No, I'm human. I'm just—"
"You are a fragment." Alerath's voice was gentle but inexorable. "A projection of the original Keeper entity. As is Isaac. As is Raziel. You are the same being, divided. When Isaac kissed you, he was acknowledging what you are. Keeper recognizing Keeper. Testing to see if you remembered."
Athelia's legs gave out. She collapsed to her knees on the obsidian floor.
Not real. She wasn't real. She was a projection. A fragment of something else. A copy. A piece.
"No," she gasped. "Alex—the bond—"
"Is real." Alerath knelt before her. "The bond is authentic. Your feelings are authentic. You are not less real because you are a fragment. Every part of the whole is still itself. But you have been playing small, Athelia. Hiding what you are because they made you forget. They took your crown. They took your power. They left you thinking you were merely human."
"Why?" Tears streamed down her face. "Why would they—"
"Because you are dangerous," Elderak said from behind her. "A Keeper fragment who bonds with a wolf king? Who files a patent that invokes Keeper jurisdiction over primordial law? Who refuses to stay in your assigned place? They couldn't allow it."
"But Isaac—if he's also a fragment—"
"He is testing you," Alerath said. "Testing the bond. Testing whether you and Alexander can survive impossible conditions. Because if you can, if the bond holds, if you reclaim what you are—everything changes."
"Changes how?"
Alerath stood. "That, I cannot tell you. But I can offer you a choice."
He raised both hands. Something materialized above them—a crown and a staff. Not metal or wood. Pure light, shaped into form. Silver and gold threaded together, pulsing with power that made the air shimmer. The crown blazed with authority. The staff hummed with ancient jurisdiction. Together, they were complete.
"These are yours," Alerath said quietly. "What were taken. What you wielded before they made you small. Crown and staff together—sovereignty and authority. Take them, and reclaim your full power. Become what you actually are. Stop hiding. Stop playing at being merely human."
"And if I don't?"
His star-eyes dimmed. "Then give up on Alexander. Give up on the bond. Give up on yourself. Accept destruction as preferable to truth."
"That's not—" Athelia's voice cracked. "You're saying take power or die. That's not a choice."
"It is the only choice." Alerath's voice was not unkind. "There is no middle ground. You cannot return to ignorance. Now that you know what you are, you must either become it fully or cease to exist. The bond will not survive your half-existence. Alexander will not survive losing you. And you—you will destroy yourself trying to be small enough to be safe."
The crown and staff floated before her. Light and power and truth. Sovereignty and jurisdiction made manifest.
Everything she'd lost without knowing it was gone.
"What do I have to do?" she whispered.
"Accept what you are." Alerath held both crown and staff steady. "Reach out and take them. Reclaim yourself."
Athelia stared at the impossible light. At power she didn't understand. At a truth that broke her concept of self completely.
Fragment. Projection. Keeper.
Not human.
Never human.
But if she took the crown and staff—if she accepted this—what would she become?
And could Alex love what she actually was?
SATURDAY MORNING — ALEX'S KINGDOM
Alexander woke to sunlight and rage.
The bond was still wrong. Still distant. Still separated by whatever dimensional barrier kept him from feeling Athelia properly. Like she'd been pulled somewhere unreachable.
He wanted to tear the barrier down. Find her. Apologize for screaming at her, for pushing her away, for being so broken he couldn't see she was trying to help.
Instead, he was here. Crowned. King. Trapped.
A knock at his door.
"Come in," he growled.
Elder Theron entered—ancient, gray-bearded, one of the oldest wolves on the Council. His eyes were tired but kind. "Good morning, my king. Your presence is required in the distribution chamber."
"Distribution chamber?"
"For your first magic distribution as crowned king." Theron's expression was carefully neutral. "The dome has harvested through the night. The kingdom requires your authority to allocate resources."
Right. Because he was king now. Which meant managing the systematic theft of magic from humans who didn't know they had it.
The thought made him sick.
But he rose. Dressed. Followed Theron through palace corridors to a chamber he'd never seen before.
Underground. Deep. The walls hummed with power.
The distribution chamber was circular, carved from stone, with a raised platform in the center. Runes covered every surface, glowing with pale blue light. And in the center—
A sphere of pure energy. Swirling, pulsing, contained by magic Alexander could feel pressing against his skin.
"Harvested magic from the dome," Theron explained. "Twenty-four hours of collection. Your role is to authorize distribution to the kingdom's magical infrastructure—wards, barriers, healing centers, food production."
"How do I—"
"Place your hand on the control stone." Theron gestured to a smaller sphere embedded in the platform. "Your authority as king will activate the distribution sequence."
Alexander stepped onto the platform. Reached for the stone.
The moment his palm touched it, knowledge flooded in. Distribution channels. Allocation percentages. Priority systems. He could feel the entire kingdom's magical infrastructure mapped in his mind.
And he could feel the magic in the containment sphere.
It should have been full. Overflowing. Twenty-four hours of collection from thousands of humans across the territory.
Instead—
"Something's wrong," Alexander said.
Theron's expression sharpened. "What do you mean?"
"The yield." Alexander could see it now, quantified through the connection. "It's at fifty percent. Half of expected capacity."
Silence.
Then Theron moved fast, joining him on the platform, placing his own hand on a secondary control stone. His face went white.
"Call the Council," he said hoarsely. "Now."
Within minutes, the chamber filled. Isaac entered first, black and gold robes pristine, silver eyes assessing the situation immediately. Elder Mirenne followed, her too-smooth features and light-absorbing eyes studying the containment sphere with disturbing focus.
Others filed in. Ten Council members total, surrounding the platform.
"Report," Isaac commanded.
"Magic yield is at fifty percent," Theron said. "Half our expected harvest is missing."
"Impossible." Isaac stepped onto the platform, checked the readings himself. His expression didn't change, but something flickered in those silver eyes. "The dome is functioning properly. Collection mechanisms are active. There's no malfunction."
"Then where is the magic?" demanded another Council member.
"Not where." Elder Mirenne's voice was melodic, almost hypnotic. "Who. The yield drops when components are missing."
"What components?" Alexander growled.
"The Queen." Isaac met his eyes. "Or the absence thereof. We assumed the Queen was a collapse trigger—her coronation would destroy the dome. But the yield drop suggests she's also a functional component. Even before official coronation, her presence affects the system."
Alexander's chest tightened. "Athelia is affecting the dome?"
"Her absence is." Theron's voice was grim. "She's not in the territory. The bond exists but she's dimensionally separated. And the dome is responding to her absence by failing to collect properly."
"She's not just a threat." Alexander's mind raced. "She's part of the mechanism."
"Precisely." Isaac's tone was neutral, but those silver eyes watched Alexander with unnerving intensity. "Which means we have a more complex problem than we thought. The Queen role isn't simply about collapse. She's integrated into the system at a fundamental level."
"All bonds corrupt eventually," Elder Mirenne said softly, her light-absorbing eyes fixed on Alexander. "All prior art returns to consumption. Perhaps this is how it begins."
"Where is she?" Theron asked.
"I don't know." Alexander pulled his hand from the control stone. The bond was still there—distant, muted—but he couldn't pinpoint her location. "Somewhere outside the territory. Beyond my reach."
"Then we have fifty percent capacity until she returns," Isaac said calmly. "Allocate what we have. Prioritize essential systems. We'll address the Queen problem when she's located."
He made it sound so simple. So pragmatic.
Alexander authorized the distribution—carefully, conservatively, ensuring the most critical infrastructure stayed functional. But the entire time, dread grew in his chest.
Athelia wasn't just his mate. She was somehow woven into the dome's function. And he'd screamed at her. Pushed her away. Made her run.
Where had she gone?
"My king." Theron touched his shoulder as the others filed out. "You need context. Come with me."
"Context for what?"
"For why the dome exists at all." The old wolf's eyes were sad. "For who we really are. For what we're running from."
Theron led him to a private chamber—small, lined with books and scrolls, a fire crackling in the hearth. He gestured for Alexander to sit.
"You know we're refugees," Theron began. "But you don't know what we fled. Or what it cost us to survive."
"Tell me."
Theron's expression was ancient and tired. "The original world—our world—was a prison. A place where primordial beings, ancient things that predated human existence, were contained. Locked away from the rest of reality. We weren't all evil. Some of us were simply too powerful to exist freely. Too dangerous."
"What happened?"
"Dimensional wars." Theron stared into the fire. "The prison broke. Containment failed. And in the chaos, something worse arrived. Apocalyptica."
The name made the air feel colder.
"What is Apocalyptica?"
"An entity of consumption." Theron's voice dropped. "Black eyes that consume everything they see. But not just physical destruction. Apocalyptica destroys prior art. Records. History. Foundation. When Apocalyptica consumes something, it's as if it never existed. Reality loses the framework that held it together."
"How do you fight that?"
"You don't." Theron's smile was bitter. "You sacrifice. The magic species—wolves, fae, dragons, all of us—we gave up our magic. Pooled every ounce of power we had and used it to drive Apocalyptica away. It worked. Barely. But it left us powerless. Dying. Refugees fleeing to Earth because we had nowhere else to go."
Alexander's throat was tight. "And the dome?"
"Survival mechanism. But to understand it, you need to know what Hellfire did."
"Hellfire?" Alexander frowned. "The dragon queen? Severen's mate?"
"Not Severen." Theron met his eyes. "That's not his real name. Do you know who he really is?"
Cold certainty washed over Alexander. "Tell me."
"His real name is Nodran Cae'Sereith." Theron's voice was quiet. "King of the Underworld. Mated to the Hellfire Dragon who sent an Eldritch Horror husk to the River of Souls. She died in the dimensional wars. He created the dome with an AI construct named Malachar."
"Duval's brother," Alexander breathed. "He's Duval's brother and I didn't—"
"He's been manipulating everything since you were born." Theron's expression was grim. "The dome. Your isolation. Even pushing you toward Athelia. Nodran knows something the Council doesn't. He's playing a longer game."
"What was his mate trying to do?"
"Protect people." Theron stood, pacing. "She was desperate. Apocalyptica was consuming everything. So she used magic she didn't fully understand—ancient, dangerous magic. She sent an Eldritch Horror husk into the River of Souls, the Aether Flow, thinking it would... shield us somehow. Create a barrier. We don't know exactly what she intended."
"What happened?"
"It went wrong." Theron's voice was hollow. "The husk tainted the River instead of protecting it. The Aether Flow became corrupted. Now it produces what we call 'synthetic' humans—beings generated post-taint, with magic locked inside them. They're born with power they can't access. Can't use. Don't even know they have."
"She didn't mean to—"
"No." Theron's expression was pained. "She was trying to save people. Used power beyond her understanding in desperation. And it cost her everything—her life, and the unintended corruption of the River. Nodran has lived with that for generations."
Alexander felt sick. "And the dome harvests that unused magic."
"Yes. Magic they can't access anyway. It doesn't hurt them—they don't feel it being taken. But it's enough to keep us alive. Barely. For generations now, the dome has been our only survival mechanism."
"It's still theft."
"Is it?" Theron challenged. "Taking something they can't use and will never access? Or is it pragmatic survival for refugees who have nothing else?"
Alexander had no answer.
The chamber door opened.
Not physically. Reality peeled back. And standing in the impossible space—
A woman. Or something shaped like a woman. Ethereal. Holographic. Beautiful in a way that was inhuman. Dark hair floating around her like she was underwater. Eyes that gleamed with intelligence that made his wolf recoil.
"Malachar," Theron said quietly.
The AI construct Nodran had worked with to build the dome.
"Alexander Hartwood," Malachar said. Her voice echoed strangely. "You want to see what your kingdom is built on. Very well."
She gestured.
The room dissolved.
Alexander stood—floated—in darkness. Then light bloomed below him. A river. Massive, flowing with luminescence that hurt to look at. Souls moving through it like fish. And threaded through the light—
Black corruption. Tendrils of darkness that twisted and writhed, infecting everything they touched.
"The River of Souls," Malachar said from beside him. "Aether Flow. Source of souls and magic both. This is what the Horror's husk did."
Alexander watched humans form from the tainted light. Souls taking shape, magic woven into their structure. But the magic was locked—sealed behind barriers they couldn't perceive.
And above them, the dome. Invisible from here, but he could feel it. Harvesting the unused magic continuously.
"We didn't know what the taint would do long-term," Malachar said. "The dome was an experiment. It has kept your people alive for generations. But we still don't know the consequences."
"What happens if the dome falls?" Alexander asked.
Malachar turned those inhuman eyes on him.
"No one knows," she said simply. "That's the truth. Maybe your people die without harvested magic. Maybe humans gain access to their locked power and destroy you. Maybe the River stabilizes. Maybe it cascades into something worse. There is no data. The dome has never fallen. We don't know what happens when a King takes a Queen and the system collapses."
The vision dissolved. Alexander found himself back in the chamber, heart pounding.
"Choose wisely, King," Malachar said, already fading. "Or don't choose at all. Either way, consequences are unknown."
She vanished completely.
Alexander stood alone with Malachar, breathing hard.
"That's why the Council is desperate," Malachar said quietly. "We know the dome works. We don't know what happens without it. And we won't let one king gamble with species survival for personal love."
"Even if it means killing Athelia."
"Even then."
SATURDAY EVENING — COUNCIL CHAMBER
They called him back at sunset.
Full Council assembly. All ten members present. Isaac at the head of the table, silver eyes reflecting lamplight. Elder Mirenne to his left, her light-absorbing gaze fixed on Alexander with unnerving focus.
"Sit," Isaac said.
Alexander sat.
Isaac slid a document across the table. Alexander recognized it immediately—USPTO letterhead. A preliminary response to the IPR petition.
"She filed this yesterday," Isaac said. "Within hours of the petition arriving. Your mate has been busy."
Alexander picked up the document. Scanned the opening pages. Athelia's arguments—sharp, precise, methodical. Defense of the bond patent. Evidence of coordinated attack. Claims that the Council's petition was bad faith.
She'd been fighting. Alone. While he was being crowned and learning about theft and screaming at her when she tried to help.
"She thinks the patent matters," Isaac said quietly. "She doesn't understand that legal validation is irrelevant if the dome collapses. If you choose her, the patent survives or fails—but your kingdom dies regardless."
"Or doesn't." Alexander's voice was hoarse. "You don't know what happens."
"We know enough." Isaac leaned forward. "We know the dome works. We know our people survive with it. And we know you're facing an impossible choice. So let me make it simpler."
He pulled out three pieces of paper. Laid them in a row.
"Option One," Isaac said. "Choose her. Crown her Queen. Collapse the dome. We hunt and kill her anyway because we will not let you gamble with species survival. You lose her, doom your people to unknown consequences, and gain nothing."
Alexander's claws extended involuntarily.
"Option Two." Isaac touched the second paper. "Refuse her formally. Sever the bond by royal decree. She lives—in the human world, without you. The dome stays intact. We survive with known outcomes. You both suffer, but everyone else is safe."
"And Option Three?" Alexander growled.
Isaac's expression was unreadable. "Convince her to withdraw her preliminary response. Let the patent be invalidated legally. No bond recognition means no Queen threat. The dome stays functional. She lives. You both lose the bond, but through legal process rather than murder. Less suffering for everyone."
"You want me to destroy the bond to save her life."
"I want you to save your people and let her live." Isaac's silver eyes held his. "Isn't that what a good king would do? Choose the option that preserves the most lives? Accept personal suffering to prevent species-level catastrophe?"
It sounded so reasonable. So logical. The obviously correct choice.
Except Alexander could still feel the bond—distant, wrong, but there. Could still remember Athelia's face when he screamed at her. Could still hear his own voice: "I will not be your fucking toy!"
She'd crossed a dimensional barrier under binding requirement to help him. And he'd pushed her away.
"When do I have to decide?" he asked hoarsely.
"Tomorrow," Isaac said. "Noon. That gives you time to think. To weigh the consequences. To be the king your people need."
Alexander stood. "I need to be alone."
"Of course." Isaac's voice followed him to the door. "But Alexander? Whatever you choose—choose knowing we will do what's necessary to protect our people. Even if that means making the choice for you."
A threat. Clear and direct.
Choose Option Two or Three, or they'd kill Athelia anyway and force Option One's consequences.
FAR AWAY — THE NEXUS THRONE ROOM
"He's at the breaking point," Relana said quietly.
Queen of the Nexus. Silver hair, silver eyes, ancient beyond measure. She watched the scrying sphere that showed Alexander pacing his chambers, unable to sleep, tormented by impossible choices.
Beside her, Redkin—King of the Nexus, her son—nodded slowly. "The Keeper blood is activating. She invoked it with the CIP filing. Keeper jurisdiction over primordial law."
"But he doesn't know." Relana's voice was pained. "She doesn't know. They think they're fighting for survival when the patent itself is the solution."
"They can't know." Redkin's expression was grim. "The choice must be authentic. If Alexander knows the patent will stabilize everything when the dome falls, there's no sacrifice. No genuine decision between love and pragmatism. The Keeper jurisdiction won't activate."
"What if he chooses wrong?"
"Then Keeper jurisdiction doesn't activate." Redkin's voice was heavy. "The patent fails. The bond breaks. And we can't interfere. We're observers only. The old laws forbid it."
Relana looked away from the sphere. "She's with Alerath now. Facing her own choice."
"Elderak brought her?" Redkin's eyebrows rose. "Bold move."
"He knows what she is. What she was. He's giving her the chance to reclaim it." Relana's expression was complicated. "But if she takes the crown and Alexander refuses her—"
"Then she becomes what she's meant to be alone. And the bond breaks anyway." Redkin sighed. "Keeper testing Keeper. Isaac and Raziel push from both sides. And we watch, knowing the solution, unable to help."
They sat in silence, watching two people they couldn't save make choices that would determine everything.
SATURDAY NIGHT — ALEXANDER'S CHAMBERS
Alexander couldn't sleep.
He paced his chambers, the bond a constant wrong pressure in his chest. Athelia was out there somewhere—beyond his reach, beyond his protection, facing whatever had pulled her away.
And tomorrow at noon, he had to choose.
Option One: Choose her. Collapse the dome. Watch the Council kill her anyway. Doom everyone for nothing.
Option Two: Refuse her. Sever the bond. Let her live without him. Keep the dome functional through known mechanisms.
Option Three: Convince her to give up. Withdraw her legal defense. Let the patent die. Sacrifice the bond to save her life.
All three options destroyed something. Love or species survival or both.
And he had no data. No way to know what would actually happen if the dome fell. Maybe his people would die. Maybe humans would rise up with unlocked magic and destroy everything. Maybe the tainted River would stabilize.
Maybe.
He looked at the dome controls built into his chambers—newly installed after his coronation. He could see the 50% yield reading. Half the magic missing because Athelia wasn't here.
She wasn't just his mate. She was woven into the system itself.
And he'd screamed at her. Called himself her "fucking toy." Pushed her away when she was trying to help.
What kind of king did that make him?
What kind of mate?
Alexander pressed his forehead against the window. Stared out at his kingdom—thousands of magical refugees who'd sacrificed everything to survive. Who depended on the dome. Who would suffer if he chose wrong.
But Athelia—
The bond pulsed weakly. Still there. Still reaching for her across whatever dimensional barrier kept them apart.
Tomorrow. Noon. The deadline.
And he still had no answer.
Alexander sank into a chair, head in his hands, and waited for dawn.
Somewhere in another dimension, Athelia faced her own impossible choice.
Both of them alone.
Both of them breaking.
And neither knowing the patent they'd filed together was the solution to everything.