His Eternal Bond Was Never Mine

I didn’t sleep.

After Livia returned to the Prince’s Chambers, Darius went up with her.

“Her soul is still unstable,” was the only explanation he gave.

I sat in our empty suite, the feeling of their soul-merge replaying in my mind.

The fracture in our soul-link ached, a constant, painful reminder.

Then I remembered.

Three weeks ago.

That night.

Darius had said he was heading out to deal with a border skirmish with the Hunters. He didn't come back until the next morning.

I was so relieved when he finally returned.

His clothes carried the faint, ritualistic scent of myrrh, ancient wood, and consecrated earth—the unmistakable scent of a blood-oath rite.

I’d even asked him, “Were you at the sanctuary?”

He said, “Just passing by.”

I never imagined he would betray me. Betray our eternity.

Now I understood.

He had forged the Eternal Bond with Livia that night.

And I, like a fool, had been sitting here worried sick about him.

At dawn, my encrypted comm buzzed.

A message from Vienna.

“Dear Miss Isolde, we formally invite you to join our research project on primal blood magic. It is the highest honor for a blood-healer and the perfect place for your talents. Should you be interested, we hope for a reply within the week.”

I stared at the screen.

It was the opportunity I had dreamed of for centuries.

And it was my only way out.

When Darius walked in, I was packing my alchemy instruments.

“What are you doing?”

“Packing my things,” I said without looking up. “Since the Prince’s Chambers have a new occupant, I don’t want to be in the way.”

“Isolde, listen to me—”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” I stood up and met his gaze. “The blood-oath ceremony,” I stated, my voice dangerously calm, “is cancelled.”

The color drained from Darius’s face.

“You can’t do that.”

“I can,” I said, turning back to my packing. “I won’t be bound to a Prince who’s already given his Eternal Bond to another.”

“I told you, it’s temporary!” he roared, grabbing my arm. “I’ll break it in a year!”

“And then what?” I shook him off. “You think I’ll ever trust you again?”

A flicker of pain crossed Darius’s eyes. “Her life source is failing, Isolde. I can’t just watch her die.”

“Why?” I demanded. “Because you owe her? Owe her for what?”

Darius fell silent, his lips a hard, thin line.

“If you won’t tell me, then we have nothing to talk about.” I started for the door.

“Wait!” Darius stumbled after me, and his tall frame sank to one knee before me. “I swear to you, in one year, I will give you the grandest ceremony this continent has ever seen. All the ancient houses will be there to witness it.”

I looked at him, standing there.

I felt no pity. Only a bitter, absurd sense of injustice.

Were our five hundred years together, our fated bond, really going to end over a lie?

Was I really going to give up this easily?

In that moment of hesitation, the elevator doors opened.

Livia stepped out.

Seeing Darius, a fleeting, triumphant smirk crossed her lips.

She walked right up to me and deliberately pulled open the collar of her robe.

“Isolde,” she said softly, her voice full of fake concern, “I know you’re a blood-healer, too. Darius’s princely power is so strong. I’ve felt so much better since we forged the bond, but… it left this brand on me. Can you tell me if it looks right? As a healer, you would know.”

I followed her finger.

To Darius’s chest.

There, where a sacred sigil meant for me should have been, was an unholy mark.

It was more than a mark; it was a soul-brand, glowing with a faint light that repulsed me on instinct.

The center of the ancient family sigil, which should have been blank, waiting for my name to be inscribed during our ceremony…

Now had a name tattooed in arcane ink:

Livia.

A mark like that would take at least three weeks to settle.

I looked up, my eyes ice-cold, and threw a betrothal token I had made for him at his feet.

“Congratulations,” my voice was glacially cold. “It seems this ‘mark’ was made long before your ‘temporary bond.’”

Then, without a second glance at his shocked and questioning face, I walked back to my room.

I looked at the calendar, at the bright red circle around the date of our blood-oath ceremony.

Now, it was my departure date.

Thirteen days until my escape.

I opened the parchment message from Vienna and hit reply.

“I accept your offer.”