Bound by Magic And Blood

The desert air had cooled, but the warmth of the flickering campfire still cast a golden glow around their camp. The ruins loomed in the distance, shrouded in shadow beneath the night sky. Maya and Jack had already retreated into their tents, their steady breathing lost beneath the rustling wind.

Ezekeil remained outside, keeping watch. He sat near the fire, sharpening his sword with slow, methodical movements, his gaze flicking toward the horizon every now and then.

Mekeala, unable to sleep, stepped out of her tent and walked toward him.

"You're still up," Ezekeil noted without looking at her.

She nodded, settling down beside him. "Couldn't sleep."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before she spoke again. "Ezekeil… I've been having this dream since I was seven."

His hand froze mid-motion, blade pausing against the whetstone.

Mekeala hesitated. "At first, I thought it was just a strange nightmare, but it never stopped. I keep seeing the same thing over and over." She exhaled, tracing invisible patterns on the sand. "I'm standing in a dark chamber, watching a boy and a baby at the center of a ritual. The boy looks so vulnerable, and every time I see him, I feel this... tightening in my chest, like I know him—like I should know him."

Ezekeil didn't move. Didn't speak.

Encouraged by his silence, she continued.

"The dream always ends the same way. A woman appears—an elf. She whispers something to the boy, then takes the baby and vanishes."

Ezekeil clenched his jaw, the firelight casting sharp shadows over his face.

She turned to him, studying his expression. "Ezekeil?"

His grip on the hilt of his sword tightened before he finally muttered, almost to himself, "That dream… it used to haunt me." His golden eyes flickered with something unreadable. "But now, I realize—I haven't had it since…" He trailed off, staring at the flames.

Mekeala tilted her head. "Since when?"

A long pause.

"Since I decided to protect you."

Her breath caught in her throat.

The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken truths. Then, slowly, she ran her finger over the faint mark on her ring finger. The old, barely visible scar-like marking had always been there—something she never thought much of. But when Ezekeil first arrived in their village, she had noticed he had the same mark.

"I wanted to ask about this before," she said, voice quiet, "but I never did."

Ezekeil's eyes flickered to his own hand, then away. He didn't answer.

That silence told her everything.

"You knew, didn't you?" she whispered.

His jaw tightened. After a long moment, he exhaled. "It wouldn't have changed anything."

Mekeala felt something inside her twist.

"Why do we have the same mark?" she pressed.

He looked at her then, something heavy in his gaze. "Because you are a princess, Mekeala. And not just any princess—you are the last pure royal blood of Caelithar."

The words hit like a thunderclap.

Mekeala's mind reeled. Her breath turned shallow as she instinctively reached up, grabbing a strand of her silver-platinum hair, staring at it as if seeing herself for the first time.

"No… that can't be right."

But deep down, something in her already knew.

Ezekeil's voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. "Esme and the elves kept you sheltered, so you never learned the truth. But Mekeala, only pure royal blood bears that hair. Only pure royal blood has those silvery-gold eyes."

She clenched her fists. "But—there are other royals. King Caesar, Prince Blake—"

"There were only ever three true royal bloods left," Ezekeil interrupted. "Caesar. Blake. And you."

Her stomach twisted.

She was royal.

And if she was pure royal blood… that meant—

Ezekeil's next words confirmed the thought forming in her mind.

"Your father—King Caesar—made a pact with my father, Cedric, for power."

A sharp gasp escaped her lips.

No.

No, it couldn't be.

Ezekeil's gaze darkened. "To protect you from him, Esme took you away. She and the elves kept you hidden, but Caesar never stopped searching. He nearly found you—multiple times. But the elves protected you well."

Mekeala struggled to process everything. Her hands curled into the fabric of her cloak.

All these years. All this time. She had lived in the Elven village, believing she was safe, believing she belonged—but in truth, she had been hidden. Protected.

Because she was something more.

Someone dangerous men sought to control.

A heavy silence hung between them.

Mekeala clenched her hands, swallowing down the whirlwind of emotions rising in her chest.

Finally, she looked up at Ezekeil and whispered, "What was the pact?"

His eyes met hers, filled with something that looked almost like regret.

"The pact was you."

A sharp chill ran down her spine.

Her father had promised her to Cedric's bloodline.

Her fingers instinctively traced over the mark on her ring finger again, the weight of that truth settling over her like an unshakable chain.

Everything she had ever known… had been a lie.