The Binding Rite was never meant for girls like me.
It was a ritual of legacy. A ceremony for the noble-born, where magic chose its rightful heir by blood and bond. But I didn't have a noble name. I didn't even have a real crest. Just a stolen sigil burned into my skin and a half-forged identity.
Still, I stood at the edge of the ritual circle, pretending my heart wasn't trying to claw its way out of my throat.
Thirty students surrounded the dais, each standing behind a flickering house crest. The ceremonial floor below us pulsed with runes—old, gold, and whispering with power. Above us, the dome ceiling stretched high and enchanted, stars swirling across it like a captured sky.
We were supposed to wait until our names were called.
Let fate do the choosing.
But fate never liked to follow rules.
And neither did I.
I kept my head down, fingers twitching behind my back, repeating the fake lineage I'd memorized a hundred times. Lira of House Virelin. Third-blood. Legal ward of High Scribe Telra.
It was a lie.
A very good one.
But still a lie.
My mark was stolen. My power borrowed. My place here, forged through signatures and forged favors.
If anyone found out…
If anyone looked too closely…
The Rite would become my execution.
The circle hummed louder.
An instructor called the next name.
"Kael Nightshade."
The air shifted.
Everything—everyone—stilled.
Even I knew who that was. The eldest son of House Nightshade. Cold-blooded heir of the most feared bloodline in the realm. The academy's strongest legacy student in a generation. Untouchable. Unbothered. Unreachable.
He stepped forward with the precision of a blade—shoulders squared, black coat billowing behind him, silver embroidery catching the light like moonlit knives.
He didn't look at anyone.
He didn't need to.
The room bent around him.
Every girl watched him.
Every instructor watched me.
Because the moment Kael stepped into the circle—
the Binding Mark on my chest burned.
Hard.
Hot.
Alive.
I gripped the front of my uniform, gasping.
The burn wasn't metaphorical. It was searing through the crest inked into my skin, flaring through layers of runes and spellweaves. It pulsed with a deep, golden light—nothing like the red crest of the Virelin House I was faking.
Wrong color.
Wrong reaction.
Wrong everything.
I stumbled back—but the circle pulled me forward.
Eyes turned.
Voices whispered.
And Kael finally looked at me.
Our eyes met.
And the bond chose.
A sound cracked through the dome like lightning.
The floor beneath us lit in a brilliant split—a golden line arcing from my feet to his, coiling between us like a brand new rune carving itself into stone.
The Binding Mark on my chest flared completely—twelve lines, full and whole, as if it had already decided where this was going.
Someone screamed.
The instructor tried to intervene.
But the bond had locked.
I was bound.
To him.
To Kael Nightshade.
He didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't break eye contact.
But the power in the room spiked like an unsheathed sword.
Kael's voice cut through the gasps. "This isn't my match."
I flinched.
The instructor stumbled toward the edge of the platform, muttering counterspells under his breath. "This isn't possible—her file, she's not… she's not even—"
Kael turned to him slowly.
"She's not in my House. She's not even in my tier. Remove the bond."
The magic didn't budge.
The instructor paled. "It won't break."
Kael stepped closer to me.
Not fast. Not aggressive. Just deliberate.
He stopped an arm's length away.
"You forged your way into the Rite," he said quietly.
I didn't respond.
He tilted his head.
"Who are you really?"
I forced my spine straight. "Lira Vale."
"Lie again," he said, "and I'll cut the Mark from your skin myself."
My pulse roared.
"I didn't ask for this," I whispered.
Kael's eyes flicked to the golden bond spiraling between us. "Neither did I."
The rite was ended early.
Guards tried to separate us.
They couldn't.
The bond wouldn't allow it.
We were escorted from the hall under layered silencing spells, but not before every other student had seen it—the impossible mark connecting an heir of Nightshade to a nobody with no crest, no name, no right to stand on that floor.
By the time we reached the isolation chamber, Kael still hadn't spoken.
But he watched me.
Unblinking.
Like I was a puzzle he didn't know if he wanted to solve or destroy.
The room was cold. Ward-cast stone and mirrored enchantments, no furniture. We stood at opposite sides, the golden bond flickering faintly between us.
"You shouldn't exist," he said.
"Thanks."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
Kael stepped forward again. "You've faked everything. Your name. Your House. Your sigil. How did you get past the veil screen?"
"I didn't."
He narrowed his eyes.
"It let me through."
The moment I said it, I knew it was the wrong thing to admit.
His expression sharpened.
"No one passes veil screening without a bloodline match," he said.
"I'm aware."
Kael's eyes dropped briefly to the Mark glowing just beneath the edge of my collarbone.
"You're not Virelin."
"No."
"And you're not marked by accident."
"No," I said again.
He stepped closer.
My magic reacted. Just slightly. A flicker of heat across my fingertips.
He noticed.
"So what are you, Lira Vale?"
I met his gaze.
And for a second—just a second—he looked afraid.
Before he could speak again, the door opened.
Headmaster Calren stepped inside. Behind him, four crestbearers—all high bloodline enforcers—moved into position.
"Remove her," Calren said.
Kael turned to him. "The bond is complete."
"Then we'll break it."
"You can't."
Calren's eyes narrowed. "Watch me."
Lira stepped back as one of the enforcers raised a hand toward her.
Kael moved instantly.
Fast.
Too fast.
His shadows snapped out like whips, coiling around the enforcer's arm, dragging it back with a crack of shattering spellglass.
"She's mine," Kael said coldly.
The room dropped ten degrees.
Even Calren hesitated.
And I realized something important—
Kael hated the bond.
But he hated them touching it more.