They did not announce Princess Veyla Aurelion's confinement.
They did not need to.
By the time dawn crept through the narrow windows of the border citadel, everyone already knew.
Peace negotiations were suspended.
The alliance was "under review."
The offering was… unstable.
Veyla sat alone at the small stone table inside her chamber, hands folded neatly in her lap, posture flawless. The room was not a dungeon—no chains, no filth—but it was unmistakably a cage. Thick walls. One narrow window. A single guard posted outside the door at all times.
She had been a guest for less than an hour.
Now she was a variable.
She inhaled slowly.
The air here was stale, untouched by incense or ritual magic. Without the circle to contain it, her scent lingered more heavily, clinging to the room like a truth no one wanted to name.
Her stomach twisted.
Not nausea.
Absence.
Something inside her felt… stretched.
As if an invisible cord had been pulled taut and then abruptly cut.
She pressed a hand to her chest.
The ache was subtle, but persistent—a hollow pressure beneath her ribs that grew sharper each time she tried to ignore it. She had felt pain before. Physical pain was familiar, manageable.
This was different.
This was *distance*.
She did not yet have words for it, but her body did.
Across the citadel, Alpha Khorg Ironmaw slammed his fist into a stone wall.
The impact cracked the surface.
Dust rained down around his knuckles, skin split, blood seeping freely. He barely noticed.
The bond screamed.
It was quieter now—no longer the violent, sensory assault of proximity—but in its place was something worse. A gnawing emptiness, a restless pull that crawled beneath his skin and refused to be still.
His wolf paced inside him, agitated, hackles raised.
*Too far.*
The instinct was relentless.
His body no longer retched. His stomach had settled, the corrosive edge of her scent faded to a memory. By all logic, this should have been relief.
Instead, his chest felt tight.
Each breath felt wrong.
Like inhaling air stripped of oxygen.
Khorg dragged a hand down his face, smearing blood across his jaw.
"This is madness," he growled.
His wolf snapped back at him, furious.
*Mate.*
The word echoed again and again, hollow without resolution.
He turned away from the shattered wall and stalked toward the council chamber, boots heavy against the stone floor. Guards stiffened as he passed, giving him a wide berth.
They smelled his agitation.
They feared it.
Good.
Across the citadel, Vinculus Noctaryn stood before a tall mirror, staring at his own reflection with cold intensity.
He looked unchanged.
Perfect.
Pale skin unmarked. Crimson eyes steady. His dark robes immaculate, every fold precisely arranged.
Inside, his blood rebelled.
The ache had begun an hour after he left the chamber—an insidious instability, subtle enough that a lesser vampire might have missed it. Vinculus did not miss anything.
The absence of her presence gnawed at him.
It was not hunger.
It was imbalance.
His immortality curse—carefully managed for centuries through discipline and controlled feeding—had begun to vibrate beneath the surface, reacting to the sudden lack of Anchor proximity.
Annoyance flared.
*Unacceptable,* he thought.
He flexed his fingers slowly, testing for tremors.
None.
Good.
And yet—
His thoughts drifted back to the way her scent had clung to the air. Intrusive. Fermented. Offensive to every refined instinct he possessed.
And still—
It had *fit*.
Not pleasantly.
But precisely.
Like a key ground down to open a lock that should not exist.
Vinculus turned away from the mirror abruptly.
"This will not continue," he said to the empty room.
The echo did not answer.
Back in her chamber, Veyla rose from her seat and crossed the room slowly, careful not to rush, as if sudden movement might make the walls close in.
The ache sharpened with each step.
She stopped near the window, pressing her palm against the cool stone.
Outside, the citadel bustled with muted urgency. Messengers hurried. Guards shifted positions. Banners that had been raised in anticipation of alliance now hung limp and uncertain.
All because of her.
She closed her eyes.
The memory of the ritual surged back unbidden—Khorg's pained growl, Vinculus turning away with blood on his lips, the way the air itself had seemed to recoil.
She had not imagined the pull.
She knew that now.
Whatever had sparked between them had not died when they were separated.
It had merely… changed.
A soft knock came at the door.
Veyla straightened instantly.
"Yes?"
The door opened just enough for Madame Zora to slip inside, closing it behind her with a casual flick of the wrist.
"Well," the witch said lightly, surveying the room. "This is nicer than I expected. Points for hospitality."
Veyla stared at her. "You could have warned me."
Zora shrugged. "You wouldn't have believed me."
"That is not an answer."
Zora smiled thinly. "It's the only one you're getting."
She wandered the room, tapping the walls, peering out the window, humming softly under her breath. Veyla tracked her movements, tension coiling tighter with each step.
"My scent," Veyla said finally. "What is happening to them?"
Zora paused.
"Ah," she said. "Straight to the uncomfortable questions. I like you already."
Veyla did not smile.
Zora turned to face her fully.
"They're experiencing withdrawal," she said plainly. "The bond formed, but it can't stabilize in close proximity. So distance becomes its own kind of poison."
Veyla's breath caught. "I don't want to hurt them."
Zora's gaze softened—just a fraction.
"That," she said quietly, "is going to make this very difficult."
She stepped closer, lowering her voice.
"You need to understand something, Princess. This isn't about attraction. Or destiny. Or romance in the pretty, harmless sense."
She tapped Veyla's chest lightly.
"This is about balance. And balance always hurts before it holds."
Veyla swallowed. "Can it be undone?"
Zora's smile returned—sharp, deflecting.
"Rest," she said again. "Everyone asks that first."
She turned toward the door, then paused.
"Oh," she added over her shoulder, "both of them are currently pretending they're fine."
Veyla stiffened.
"They're not," Zora continued cheerfully. "And neither are you."
The door closed behind her.
Veyla stood alone again, the silence heavier now.
She pressed her hand to her chest once more.
The ache pulsed in answer.
Somewhere beyond these walls, two immortal beings were feeling the same pull—twisted, incomplete, and impossible to ignore.
And for the first time, Princess Veyla Aurelion understood that whatever bound them together was not waiting for permission.
It had already begun to take its price.