Chapter 1

Yvette's POV

"Yvette, His Grace is conducting the soul binding ceremony for Lady Iliya at the Sacred Spring. You cannot enter!"

Two spears crossed, blocking me from the crystalline doors.

An elven handmaiden nearby rolled her eyes, her gaze raking over me with contempt.

"Always groveling at His Grace's feet, and you actually thought you'd become queen?" She let out a sharp laugh. "You're nothing but a broken beast warming his bed. Pathetic."

Something twisted in my chest.

My mithril armor hung in tatters, dark crimson dragon blood dripping down the metal plates and pooling on the pristine marble floor.

I'd believed—foolishly—that surviving the abyss and bringing back the Soulspire Bloom would finally earn me the soul mark he'd promised five years ago.

I'd thought what we had meant something. Turns out I was just another toy to be discarded.

I slammed my boot into the crystal doors.

They burst open with a deafening crack. At the center of the spring, Othlan whipped around, his brow furrowed in annoyance.

He had Iliya pressed against him. Golden light still clung to his fingertips—the mark he'd just sealed into that pureblooded elf's skin. Her hands clutched his robes, her face still flushed from their intimacy.

It hurt worse than the poison eating through my shoulder.

Othlan's eyes flicked over my blood-soaked armor. For half a second, something almost like guilt crossed his face. Then it hardened into ice.

"Who told you to burst in here looking like that?"

He released Iliya. No concern for my wounds. Just irritation that I'd ruined his moment.

I stared at him, feeling the warmth drain from my body degree by degree.

I'd been bitten clean through by a demon dragon to retrieve his precious herb. Venom was still burning through my veins. And his first words weren't "Are you alright?" but "You're making me look bad."

"You promised..." My voice came out raw. "You said if I brought back the Soulspire Bloom, you'd give me the mark. So even when that dragon tore into me, I—"

"Enough, Yvette!"

He cut me off, his voice sharp. Then he smiled—cold and cruel.

"I sent you to the abyss specifically so you'd miss this ceremony. Dragon venom should've kept you down for at least a week. Why couldn't you just stay away and let everyone save face?"

The words hit me like a physical blow.

He'd sent me to die. Not because he needed the herb. Because he wanted me gone while he bound himself to someone else.

"Save face?" I couldn't stop shaking. My eyes locked on the fading golden light at his fingertips. "Othlan, I've torn my wolf soul apart seven times in five years to absorb your curse. Seven times! My wolf is barely holding together, and you're talking about saving face? What gives you the right to give her the one thing that could heal me?"

Behind him, Iliya flinched. Tears instantly welled in her eyes.

"Your Grace, please—this is all my fault..." Her voice trembled as she clung to his arm. "If I hadn't injured myself saving you from that fire, you wouldn't need to sustain me with your mark. Give it back to Yvette. I'll be fine, truly..."

"You saved him?" I barked out a laugh, bitter and sharp. "I'm the one who got half her skin burned off dragging him out of those flames! How dare you—"

"I said enough!"

Othlan's shout echoed through the chamber. He pulled Iliya closer, shielding her. When he looked at me, his expression was arctic.

"How long are you going to keep spreading these lies out of jealousy? Iliya wouldn't hurt a fly. She'd never steal credit for your actions." His lip curled.

"Just look at yourself. Your wolf soul is shattered. Your body's falling apart. No one in this realm would touch a broken thing like you except me." He paused, letting that sink in. "Without me, where exactly do you think you'd go?"

In a world where pure bloodlines meant everything, he knew I had nowhere to run. A wolf with a fractured soul wasn't worth the air she breathed.

Seeing me frozen, he softened his voice—as if he were being generous.

"The Moonrise Gala is in three days. I'll formally wed Iliya then." He waved a hand dismissively. "You can stay in my chambers. As my mistress. Just keep your head down, stop antagonizing Iliya, and nothing has to change for you."

Broken thing. Mistress.

I bit down hard on my lip until I tasted copper.

Five years of bleeding for him. Five years of shattering my soul to keep him alive. And this was what I got. Insults and table scraps.

"Broken thing..." I repeated softly, my voice hollow. "Mistress."

No screaming. The rage that had been boiling in my chest just... died.

"Othlan." I met his eyes one last time. "I told you once—if you ever betrayed me, I'd leave. I meant it."

His expression darkened. "Leave? And go where?" He laughed, sharp and mocking. "Don't test me, Yvette. You're in no position to throw tantrums."

I didn't answer. Slowly, I opened my left hand.

In my palm lay an ancient black stone, now pulsing with my blood.

A dragon had given me this three years ago when I'd gone to the abyss searching for medicine—for Othlan. The old wyrm had called it a blood pact stone. Crush it, and my body would burn to ash while my fractured soul fled to the dragon lands, beyond anyone's reach.

Back then, I'd been so stupidly devoted I thought I'd never need an escape route.

Now, holding it felt like the only sane thing I'd ever done.

A cold voice whispered through my mind—the dragon's will reaching across the void.

"Blood pact established. In three days, when the twin moons converge, abyssal fire will consume your vessel and carry your soul to freedom. Do you accept?"

I didn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Pact sealed. In three days, you will vanish from this place entirely."

The voice cut off. I opened my right hand and let the Soulspire Bloom—the thing I'd nearly died for—drop into the pool of my own blood.

Then I turned and walked toward the doors, boots leaving crimson prints on white marble.

Behind me, Othlan's voice rang out, sharp with warning:

"Fine! Walk away, Yvette. I'll give you three days to come to your senses. But once you leave, you're nothing. Just another war pet. And when you come crawling back on your knees, begging for healing potions—I won't make it easy for you."

I kept walking. Spine straight. Eyes forward.

He thought I'd come crawling back in three days.

He had no idea that in three days, there wouldn't be anything left of me to find.