Chapter 8

His words cut deep, slicing through the last shred of hope Alina clings to. Her stomach churns, bile rises in her throat, and her heart slams against her ribcage like it’s trying to escape.

“Why?” she whispers, her voice cracking, barely holding together. “Why would you do this? After everything…”

“Why?” Magnus echoes, tone flat and bored, as though the question isn’t worth the breath it takes to ask it. “Because it was necessary. Your family stood in the way, Alina. Too powerful, too arrogant. It was only a matter of time before someone brought them down. And who better to do it than me?”

“No…” Her head shakes slowly, desperately, as if motion alone could deny what she’s hearing. The walls seem to press in around her, her breath catching in her chest. “You’re lying. You have to be lying…”

“Lying?” Magnus steps forward, each stride a force pressing down on her chest. His presence suffocates, filling the space with cold certainty. “Do you think the men who stormed your gates tonight acted alone? That the fires, the screams, the blood in the halls were random chaos?” He scoffs, the sound dry and cruel. “It was all me, Alina. Every bit of it.”

Her heart slams like a war drum inside her chest. Every word hits like a lash.

“You’re… you’re a monster,” she says, her voice breaking, tears brimming in her eyes, heat burning behind them.

“Perhaps.” Magnus shrugs, indifferent. “But I’m also victorious. That’s what truly matters.”

She stares at him, searching for even a flicker of the man she once thought she loved—the one who once looked at her like she mattered. But all she sees now is someone hollow. Ruthless. A stranger wrapped in the face of someone she used to trust.

“You never loved me,” she says, voice barely a whisper now, the realization striking with numbing cold. “Not once.”

He smirks. The expression twists his features into something unrecognizable.

“Of course not,” he says. “Did you honestly believe I did?”

That smile. That single, cruel smile. It is the final blow.

The floor feels as though it’s tilting beneath her. Still, Alina forces herself to stay upright.

“You lied,” she breathes, the anger starting to rise, wrapping itself around the pain. “About everything.”

“Everything,” Magnus agrees, with a casual shrug that mocks the entire weight of her world collapsing. “The promises. The plans. The future I let you imagine—it was all part of the game. Manipulation, Alina. It’s an art. And you? You were my masterpiece.”

She bites the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to swallow the sobs rising in her throat. She will not cry. Not for him.

“Why?” she whispers again, though her voice is tighter this time, more blade than breath.

“Because you were easy,” he says, tone sharpened with disdain. “Your trust came too easily. Your loyalty was too predictable. You made it simple to slip through the cracks and get exactly what I needed.”

Before she can answer, a sharp sound cuts through the tension.

Heels. Clicking against stone.

Alina turns toward the noise, every muscle tightening as dread curls low in her stomach. The footsteps grow louder until a figure finally emerges into the glow of the torchlight.

Isalda.

Her so-called friend.

She steps forward, her dark blonde curls cascading in perfect waves over her shoulders. A golden and green gown hugs her form, pristine and regal—so unlike Alina’s torn, bloodstained clothes. There is no trace of battle on her, no ash, no sweat. Only poise. And poison.

Her lips curl into a self-satisfied smirk as she closes the distance between them, her emerald eyes glittering with cruel delight.

“Isalda?” Alina says, her voice weak with disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

Isalda doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she stops beside Magnus, her presence possessive. She slips her arm through his without hesitation, and just when Alina thinks it can’t get worse—

Isalda kisses him.

“No…” Alina shakes her head. Her breath catches, and the floor seems to fall away. She watches them—how naturally Magnus leans into the kiss, how tightly he grips Isalda’s waist, how perfectly their bodies fit. The intimacy is unbearable.

This can’t be real.

None of this can be real.

Isalda pulls away with a soft moan, her hands still resting on Magnus’s chest as she presses herself against him. Her eyes remain fixed on Alina.

“You’re watching, aren’t you?” she murmurs smugly. “Good.”

Alina’s eyes burn, her throat closing as she fights to keep the tears at bay. Still, she refuses to look away.

Then Isalda speaks again, her voice sweet with mockery. “Oh… it’s real.”

She turns to Magnus with a victorious smile, resting her cheek against his shoulder. He lets her.

Panic claws at Alina’s chest as her gaze shifts back and forth between them. Her hands tremble, her heart racing toward some impossible conclusion.

“What is this?” she manages to ask. “Isalda, you’re my friend. You—”

“Friend?” Isalda laughs, sharp and bitter. She steps back, finally letting go of Magnus, but his hand slides naturally around her waist.

“Oh, Alina,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You really are clueless.”

Alina’s breathing quickens. Her skin feels tight, her wounds forgotten as fury starts to creep in. “What are you talking about?”

“I was never your friend,” Isalda snaps, all pretense dropping from her voice. “Do you honestly think I could stomach pretending to like you all these years? It was exhausting.”

Alina flinches. “Why?” she asks, tears rising again. “What did I ever do to you?”

“You existed,” Isalda hisses. “You and your perfect little life. Your noble blood. Your name. The Xalverias—always so admired, so respected. Always next in line behind the royals like it was your birthright.”

The hatred in her voice is venomous.

“It wasn’t enough to have your precious family’s love,” she continues. “You had to take him too. You took everything. Or tried to.”

Isalda turns to Magnus, her hand brushing his shoulder, then his jaw.

“But unfortunately for you,” she says, “it was all fake. Magnus was never going to mark you. Because I am the one he’s meant to be with.”

Alina’s stomach drops. Her world tilts again, and this time it doesn’t stop spinning. She turns to Magnus slowly, voice barely a whisper.

“Magnus?”

But he says nothing.

Isalda smiles wider. Then, without hesitation, she presses her lips to his once again. The kiss deepens. Magnus responds.

And then—he sinks his teeth into her neck.

Alina’s breath catches as Isalda gasps, then moans loudly, clutching at him. The sounds echo through the empty hall like a death toll.

Their scents shift, merging.

By the time he pulls away, blood on his mouth and satisfaction in his eyes, Alina knows the truth.

They are mated.

It’s done.

Her knees almost buckle, but she stays standing. The pain in her chest isn’t just heartbreak anymore.

It’s fire.