The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond-Chapter 21: When Loyalty Fractures

The stone corridor outside Rhett’s private chambers was quiet, but it didn’t feel still. It pulsed with tension, vibrating just under the surface like the estate itself had begun to anticipate war.

Beckett stood at the threshold, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

"You didn’t call me," he said.

Rhett, seated behind his desk, didn’t look up. He scrawled something across a parchment, sealed it with wax, and handed it to a courier standing nearby.

"Deliver that to West Hollow within the hour," Rhett said. "Go through the old pass. And don’t stop. Not for anything."

The courier nodded and vanished.

Only then did Rhett meet Beckett’s eyes.

"I was handling it."

"She collapsed."

"I saw."

"On the floor. Alone. Face down. Her heart nearly stopped."

"I was there."

"You were late," Beckett snapped.

Rhett stood.

The desk no longer separated them.

"I’m not having this conversation with you."

"You don’t have a choice."

The air between them tightened. Two dominant forces, equal in rank, different in nature one built to lead, the other to challenge.

Beckett stepped closer. "You’ve been lying to all of us. About how far this thing has gone. About what it’s doing to her."

"I haven’t lied."

"You haven’t told the truth either."

Rhett’s voice dropped. "If I’d told the truth, she’d be in a holding cell right now. Or worse exiled."

"So instead you hid her in your private quarters?"

"She needed protection."

"She needed answers."

"She needed rest," Rhett growled. "She almost died, Beckett. Her pulse stopped. Her palm mark bled through two layers of cloth. Her wolf still hasn’t re-emerged."

Beckett narrowed his eyes. "And you think keeping her locked in this wing, surrounded by guards who answer only to you, is protecting her?"

"I think it’s buying us time."

"For what?"

"For me to figure out what she’s becoming."

Beckett exhaled sharply, pacing away. His boots echoed across the stone, each step ringing louder than the last.

"You’re falling for her again," he said finally.

Rhett’s silence was answer enough.

"Damn it," Beckett muttered. "You think this is about love?"

"I know it isn’t."

"Then what?"

Rhett leaned against the edge of his desk, bracing his hands as though they were holding the weight of the entire kingdom.

"She’s part of something ancient," he said. "It’s not just a bond mutation. It’s inheritance. Camille was the gate. Magnolia... Magnolia is the lock. If they break her if they sever that power we won’t just lose her. We’ll lose the entire seal."

Beckett’s lips parted.

"You think she’s holding Ashriel’s remains?"

"Not all of him. But something left behind. A shadow. A thread. It’s in her now, twisted into the bond."

Beckett closed his eyes.

"Have you told her?"

"No."

"You think she doesn’t know?"

"She knows. She just hasn’t said it aloud."

A long silence followed.

Then Beckett said, "What happens when the rest of the council figures it out?"

"They’ll try to contain her."

"And if that fails?"

"They’ll execute her."

Magnolia stood just beyond the door.

She hadn’t meant to listen.

Again.

But something in her had drawn her here. A need. Not to spy. Not to accuse. Just to know.

She stepped into the room.

Both men turned.

"Do it," she said.

Beckett looked at her. "What?"

"Ask the question."

He hesitated.

Then, "Is it already too late?"

Magnolia’s throat felt tight. "I think so."

Beckett ran a hand through his hair. "We need a plan."

"No," Rhett said. "We need time."

"You don’t have time," Magnolia said. "Not if the mark completes its cycle."

Beckett’s brow furrowed. "You think it’s a countdown?"

"I think it’s a lock. And the more it completes... the closer it comes to opening whatever’s inside me."

Rhett approached her slowly.

"Then we break the cycle," he said.

She met his eyes. "How?"

"We don’t let you face it alone."

Camille hadn’t spoken since the mirror cracked.

Three days. Not a word.

Not even when Elara sat at her bedside. Not when Ivy pressed for answers. Not when the night guards whispered of lights in her room even though her lanterns were unlit.

She just sat there.

By the window.

Watching.

The wind moved through the frost-laced trees like it was hunting something, and Camille moved only when it did. Head tilting. Fingers flexing. Like the wind had something to say that the rest of them were too slow to hear.

Magnolia stood outside the threshold now, just beyond the veil of the ward. She hadn’t entered since Camille’s last dream because she wasn’t sure if she’d be welcomed... or recognized.

Isolde had warned her.

"She may start bleeding memory. Bits and pieces. Not just hers. The bond can act like a conduit especially with twins."

"She was never supposed to be the gate," Magnolia had whispered.

"No. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t leave residue."

Magnolia stepped in slowly.

The door creaked like it hated the decision.

Camille didn’t look at her.

Not right away.

Her hair was unbraided now, hanging long down her back. Her gown was grey, thin, almost translucent against the pale light streaming in from the overcast sky. She looked... fragile.

But her aura?

Heavy.

Like a storm hadn’t left her body yet.

Magnolia stepped closer.

Camille finally turned her head.

Her voice was soft, but cold. "Did you see the stars last night?"

Magnolia blinked. "No."

"I did," Camille said. "They moved."

"Moved how?"

"Shifted. Like teeth grinding in the sky."

Magnolia sat across from her. "Camille, are you dreaming again?"

Camille shook her head. "No. Not dreaming. Remembering."

She touched her temple gently. "It’s not all mine. But it feels like me."

Magnolia leaned forward. "Do you know who it belongs to?"

Camille smiled faintly.

Then said a name Magnolia hadn’t spoken in weeks.

"Ashriel."

Magnolia’s blood ran cold.

"He’s still there," Camille said. "Not whole. Just... threads. They move through the dark when I sleep. They stitch things together."

"What things?"

"Images. Wolves with empty eyes. Gates made of bone. A river of stars. And..." she paused, eyes narrowing.

Magnolia waited.

"I see myself," Camille whispered. "But older. And not alive."

Silence settled thick between them.

Magnolia reached for her sister’s hand.

Camille let her take it.

Her skin was freezing.

"You’re not possessed," Magnolia said quietly. "You’re not broken."

"I don’t feel broken."

"You feel what?"

"Open."

That night, Camille didn’t sleep in her bed.

She stood by the mirror again.

This one hadn’t cracked yet.

But it would.

She could feel the tension in the glass like a scream just beneath the surface.

She stared at herself.

The reflection didn’t move wrong.

It moved... slower.

Like it was remembering who it used to be.

Camille raised her hand.

Her reflection followed but a heartbeat too late.

The wind outside howled.

The mark on her neck once faded glowed faintly again.

Not the same mark Magnolia bore.

Different.

Angular.

Sharper.

She touched it.

"Who are you?" she whispered to the glass.

Her reflection smiled.

She didn’t.

Then the glass blurred fogging from the inside.

A vision spread across it:

A battlefield. Wolves in armor. Fire raining from the stars. And at the center

Two women.

One with a blade of bone.

One with a crown of ash.

Camille fell to her knees.

Her head split with pain.

The mark pulsed once.

Then the mirror shattered.

This time without sound.

Magnolia raced down the corridor when she heard the scream.

By the time she reached the room, Elara was already inside.

Camille sat in the middle of the glass blood at her brow, hands limp at her sides.

"I saw something," she murmured.

Elara crouched. "What did you see?"

"Not what. When."

The healer frowned.

Camille looked up slowly.

"The end."?