The moment Kaedan’s body arched off the bed, the ritual slammed violently into Ariaxa.
Her knees buckled.
Her breath tore from her lungs.
Her vision fractured.
She screamed—but no sound left her throat.
The world dissolved into molten light and shadow.
And suddenly—
She wasn’t in the healing chamber.
She was inside Kaedan.
His soul.
His memories.
His pain.
His fears.
His truth.
All of it poured into her like an ocean breaking a dam.
***
She saw the stone walls.
The chains.
The blood.
Kaedan’s wrists torn open as Elyndor’s priests carved runes into him.
His screams.
His begging.
His rage.
She felt it.
Every cut.
Every burn.
Every humiliation.
Her voice broke inside the vision.
“Kaedan—stop—it’s not real—it already happened—”
But the memory swallowed her whole.
***
Silk, scents, shadows.
Kaedan sat on his throne, eyes hollow, body rigid as slaves touched him, as nobles watched, as he forced himself to feel nothing.
Ariaxa felt his disgust.
His loneliness.
His suffocating emptiness.
His hatred of himself.
His hatred of the system he was trapped in.
His hatred of needing anyone at all.
Her heart cracked.
“You weren’t a monster,” she whispered inside the memory. “You were surviving.”
***
Ariaxa saw herself.
Dragged in chains, hair matted with dirt and blood.
Thrown at Kaedan’s feet.
The entire harem whispering, hissing, recoiling.
Kaedan stood from his throne.
And Ariaxa saw through his eyes.
She saw herself not as a prisoner—
But as a shattering.
Her eyes—defiant, terrified, furious—hit him like a blow.
He felt something he couldn’t name.
Recognition.
Rage.
Need.
Fear.
A spark.
A threat.
A salvation.
He whispered her name in his mind before he ever said it aloud.
Ariaxa.
Ariaxa’s breath trembled.
“You saw me,” she whispered. “You cared before you even understood why.”
Kaedan’s soul recoiled, twisting with pain.
***
The bond pulled them closer, deeper, too fast.
Ariaxa felt her life draining, funneling into him, becoming heat and strength inside his dying body.
Her limbs went cold.
Her fingers numbed.
The room around them faded.
Kaedan was confused, delirious, fighting the pain ravaging his body—and fighting the bond.
She felt him lash out, terrified.
It’s not real.
She’s not here.
This is a hallucination.
This is Elyndor’s torture.
Leave. Leave. Leave—
His voice echoed in her mind—broken, shaking.
Ariaxa?
Her heart seized.
“I’m here,” she whispered aloud, though she wasn’t sure the words escaped her lips. “I’m real.”
He didn’t believe it.
His soul twisted harder, panicked, clawing at the tether between them.
The pain hit her like a blade.
She screamed.
Her body convulsed.
Riven lunged forward. “Break it! Break the damn ritual—she’s dying!”
Mirel slammed a hand into his chest, stopping him.
“No! If you sever the bond now, they BOTH die!”
Riven’s face crumpled, torn with helpless rage.
“Then what do we do?” he shouted.
“Pray she survives,” the elderly healer answered.
***
The memories swirled faster, collapsing in on themselves—Kaedan’s childhood, his nightmares, the countless nights he lay awake hating himself, resisting the urge to tear down his own kingdom.
Ariaxa fought through the storm, reaching through the pain.
“Kaedan—listen to me—stop fighting—”
His mind thrashed.
Not her. She can’t be here. She can’t be real. She can’t…
She pushed deeper.
“Kaedan—STOP.”
A shockwave hit her.
Suddenly—
He heard her.
The bond snapped tight.
The world lurched.
And Ariaxa gasped, choking on air as the healing chamber rushed back into focus in a blur of color and sound.
Her hand was still pressed over his heart.
Her breath ragged.
Her vision darkening at the edges.
Kaedan’s chest heaved sharply.
Once.
Twice.
Then—
His eyes tore open.
Black.
Red.
Wild.
Terrified.
He sat upright so fast the healers stumbled backward.
He choked, gasping for air, grabbing at his throat like he’d risen from drowning.
“Ariaxa—!”
He wasn’t calling for help.
He was calling specifically for her.
Hands shaking.
Voice breaking.
Desperate.
“Ariaxa—where—where is she?!”