Daevan's POV
The assassin struck during breakfast.
Daevan barely had time to register the blade aimed at his throat before his dragon instincts kicked in. He rolled sideways, felt the knife whistle past his ear, and came up with crimson scales already covering his arms.
The hooded figure didn't wait. They dove through the window in an explosion of glass, disappearing into the morning streets below.
"Your Highness!" Captain Rhen burst into the room with six guards.
Daevan ignored them. He walked to the shattered window and looked down at the street three stories below. No body. No blood. Just a single black feather lying on the cobblestones.
The same kind of feather he'd found at the Sanctum the night Lyra attacked Veyra.
His chest tightened. Was she sending him a message? A warning?
"Sir, we need to get you to safety—"
"It's Mira's wedding day," Daevan interrupted. "I'm not hiding." He turned to face Rhen. "Double the guards at the ceremony venue. Search every guest. No one gets near the main table without being checked twice."
Because if someone was trying to kill him, they might try to hurt Lyra too.
The thought made his dragon roar inside his mind.
"Yes, Your Highness." Rhen bowed and hurried out.
Daevan looked at his hands. The scales were still showing, golden-red and sharp. He couldn't seem to make them disappear. His dragon had been restless for two weeks, ever since Lyra declared war on Veyra. Ever since he'd changed the seating chart and condemned himself to sitting beside her for an entire ceremony.
Today. She'd be here today.
His heart hammered against his ribs.
The wedding venue was beautiful. White flowers covered everything. Musicians played soft music. Guests filled the chairs in their fancy clothes, whispering and laughing.
Daevan saw none of it.
He stood near the main table, scanning the crowd. Looking for her. His bond-fragments hummed under his skin like live wires, searching, reaching, desperate for any sign of—
There.
The world seemed to stop.
Lyra stood at the entrance, and Daevan forgot how to breathe.
She wore a simple green dress that made her dark hair look even darker. No jewelry. No fancy makeup. But she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and three years apart hadn't changed that at all.
Then their eyes met across the crowded room.
Her expression went cold. Completely, absolutely cold.
She looked at him like he was a stranger. No—worse than a stranger. She looked at him like he was something unpleasant she'd stepped in.
It hurt worse than any blade.
Daevan took a step toward her. "Lyra—"
She turned away and walked to her table.
Table Seven.
His stomach dropped. She hadn't seen the seating chart yet. Didn't know he'd moved her seat. Didn't know that in a few minutes, someone would tell her she was supposed to sit beside him for the entire ceremony.
This was going to be a disaster.
A wedding coordinator rushed over to Lyra, speaking quickly and gesturing toward the main table. Daevan watched Lyra's face go from confused to shocked to absolutely furious in the space of three heartbeats.
Her eyes snapped to his.
The look she gave him could have melted steel.
Daevan tried to appear calm, even though his heart was trying to break out of his chest. He'd known she'd be angry. Had prepared himself for her hatred.
But actually seeing it—actually watching her walk toward him with murder in her eyes—was so much worse than he'd imagined.
Lyra reached the main table and sat down in the chair beside his without saying a single word.
"Lyra," he tried again. "I know you're angry—"
"Don't talk to me."
Her voice was quiet. Deadly quiet.
"I just wanted to explain—"
"I said don't talk to me." She stared straight ahead. "You manipulated the seating chart. You forced me here. You're exactly the same controlling person you always were."
"I did it to protect you. Veyra is still hunting—"
"I don't need your protection." Lyra finally looked at him, and her eyes were full of ice. "I don't need anything from you. The only reason I'm sitting here is because making a scene would ruin Mira's wedding. So I'm going to sit through this ceremony in silence, and then I'm going to leave, and you're never going to contact me or my family again. Understand?"
Every word was a knife.
"Lyra, please—"
"We're done, Daevan." She turned away again. "We've been done for three years. Accept it."
The ceremony started before he could respond.
Mira walked down the aisle looking radiant and happy. Her soon-to-be husband waited at the altar with tears in his eyes. It should have been beautiful.
But all Daevan could focus on was Lyra sitting rigid beside him, so close he could smell her familiar scent of herbs and magic, yet completely unreachable.
The officiant began speaking about love and commitment and choosing each other every day.
Daevan's bond-fragments ached.
Then Mira and her husband began their vows.
"I promise to love you," Mira said, her voice strong and clear. "Even when it's hard. Even when the world tries to tear us apart. I promise to choose you, today and every day, for the rest of my life."
Beside him, Lyra went completely still.
Daevan felt it then—a pulse of pain through the bond-fragments. Sharp and sudden and devastating.
Lyra's hand flew to her chest, pressing against the place where their bond-mark used to burn.
"Lyra?" Daevan whispered.
Her face had gone white. She was breathing too fast, shallow gasps that sounded painful.
"I promise to never give up on us," Mira's husband said at the altar. "To fight for you when things get difficult. To prove every day that you're worth everything."
Another pulse. Stronger this time.
Lyra made a small sound of pain.
Daevan reached for her. "Lyra, what's wrong—"
She jerked away from his touch like it burned. "Don't."
But something was clearly wrong. The bond-fragments were doing something they'd never done before, pulsing in rhythm with Mira's vows, like they were trying to—
No.
That was impossible.
Bond-fragments couldn't reconnect. Once severed, the bond was gone forever. That's what every book said. Every expert agreed.
"By the power of the eternal flame," the officiant intoned, "I now pronounce you bonded for life."
Mira and her husband kissed.
And Lyra gasped like someone had stabbed her.
She stood up so fast her chair fell backward.
Every eye in the venue turned to stare.
"Lyra?" Mira called from the altar, worried.
But Lyra wasn't looking at her sister. She was looking at Daevan with something like terror in her eyes. Her hand still pressed against her chest, and under her fingers—
Daevan's breath caught.
There was a glow. Faint but unmistakable. Red light showing through her dress, exactly where their bond-mark used to be.
"No," Lyra whispered. "No, no, no—"
She turned and ran.
Daevan was on his feet instantly. "Lyra, wait!"
But she was already gone, pushing through the crowd of shocked guests, one hand clutching her chest like she was trying to hold something inside.
Daevan started to follow—then stopped.
Because his own chest was burning.
He looked down and his heart stopped completely.
There, glowing through his shirt, was his bond-mark.
The one that had been dead and dark for three years.
It was burning bright red again.
Alive.
Impossible.
Captain Rhen appeared at his elbow. "Your Highness, what's happening—"
Daevan couldn't answer. Couldn't think. Couldn't process what he was seeing.
Their bond was reconnecting.
But that was impossible. Lyra had severed it with blood magic from the Obsidian Chasm. The ritual was permanent. Unbreakable. Final.
Unless—
His eyes widened.
Unless it had never been fully severed in the first place.
Unless they'd had a natural bond all along—exactly the kind the Council had spent a thousand years trying to eliminate.
The kind that couldn't be broken.
Only suppressed.
And Mira's wedding vows, filled with promises of eternal love and choosing each other, had somehow triggered the bond to wake up again.
"Your Highness!" Rhen grabbed his arm. "Sir, you're glowing—"
The bond-mark flared brighter.
And through it, for the first time in three years, Daevan felt Lyra.
Her fear. Her panic. Her desperate need to run.
And underneath it all—buried so deep she probably didn't even know it was there—a tiny spark of the love she used to feel for him.
Still there.
Still alive.
Still fighting to survive despite everything.
The main doors burst open.
Grand Matriarch Veyra stood in the entrance, her ancient eyes locked on Daevan's glowing chest.
She smiled, cold and terrible.
"Well," she said softly. "Isn't this interesting."