The scent of roses mixed with the bitter tang of smoke filled the night air, lingering like a ghost over the once-grand Everhart estate. Liana stood alone at the edge of the forest, her gown torn and stained with the ashes of a life she could never reclaim. Behind her, the ruins of her family's ancestral home crackled and smoldered, a cruel echo of betrayal.
She should have been preparing for her ascension—learning the duties of nobility, training in diplomacy and power. Instead, she had fled for her life, her name marked by scandal, her future stolen. The betrayal had come from within—the one place she had felt safe.
It was her cousin, Cedric. Trusted, beloved, a brother in all but blood. And he had orchestrated it all: the downfall of House Everhart, the public disgrace, the accusation of treason. Her father's execution had followed swiftly, her mother's quiet death not long after. Liana had escaped only because someone loyal had risked everything to get her out.
Now, a year later, the kingdom of Elrynd buzzed with the impending Mating Ceremony—a sacred event where the Fates would bind the souls of chosen shifters together. Liana, exiled and forgotten, had no reason to attend. But the mark on her wrist told a different story.
It had appeared days before—burning, twisting, a silvery crescent moon surrounded by three stars. A divine brand.
No one received the mark unless they were chosen.
She had ignored it at first, dismissing it as a cruel joke of the gods. But the pull was undeniable. Her dreams were filled with voices she did not recognize, and a warmth that traveled through her veins like lightning.
So she went.
Dressed in a borrowed cloak, hood drawn low, Liana joined the crowd at the sacred grounds of Tareth Vale. The valley shimmered with ethereal light, ancient runes glowing across the stone altar at the center. Noble families and powerful clans stood in solemn circles, whispering prayers and promises to the old gods.
Liana's heart pounded as the ceremony began.
The High Oracle, a woman with silver eyes and hair like starlight, raised her hands. "Let the threads of fate be revealed. Let the marked step forth."
One by one, the chosen emerged. Marks lit up on wrists and necks, casting eerie glows in the night. Gasps echoed as the names of soul-bonded pairs were called. Tears were shed. Bonds were formed. Hearts entwined in front of all.
And then, the Oracle stopped.
Her gaze lifted. "A rare thread has been woven tonight. A bond not of two, but of four. Step forward, daughter of ruin. Step forward, sons of war."
The crowd murmured.
Liana's breath caught.
Three tall figures stepped forward from the shadows, their eyes sharp and unyielding. They moved like predators—graceful, dangerous, assured.
Darian. Kieran. Riven Blackthorn.
The infamous triplets of the Blackthorn clan.
Warriors. Assassins. Enforcers of the Crown.
Liana had only heard whispers—rumors of their ruthlessness, their unmatched power, their refusal to be bound by anything or anyone.
And then the Oracle's voice rang out again.
"Liana Everhart."
The world tilted.
Gasps turned into roars. She heard her name like a curse thrown into a storm. Faces turned. Fingers pointed.
"The traitor's daughter?" someone hissed.
"She's been exiled!" another spat.
But the Oracle said nothing more. Her expression was serene, untouched by chaos. The mark on Liana's wrist blazed in response to the triplets' own, now visible on their arms—three stars wrapped in flame.
Fated.
Bound.
Liana stumbled forward, her limbs weak. She felt every eye on her, every ounce of loathing and disbelief.
She reached the altar, where the triplets stood like sentinels of doom. Their gazes bore into her, unreadable.
"What kind of joke is this?" Kieran muttered, his voice like thunder.
"This must be a mistake," Darian said coldly. "We would never be bound to—"
"To her," Riven finished, voice laced with venom.
But the mark pulsed again, searing bright white. The bond was sealed.
The Oracle nodded. "You are now one. Fated by the gods. Bound by destiny."
And just like that, Liana's world shifted again.
From exile to bondmate.
From disgrace to the most feared clan in the realm.
As the crowd erupted into chaos, the Oracle raised her hand once more.
"The bond will be tested. Secrets will rise. And fate… fate will not be kind."
---
They took her by force.
Not violently—but with a grip of authority that gave her no choice. She was escorted to a waiting carriage, flanked by the triplets who refused to speak a word.
The ride was silent.
The Blackthorn estate loomed ahead like a fortress carved from shadow and steel. The gates opened without a sound, and the carriage passed through a forest of black pines into the heart of their domain.
Inside, the halls were cold, the servants quiet, the tension suffocating.
Liana was taken to a chamber—lavish, but bare. A cage in silk and stone.
She stood facing the three brothers, her chin raised despite the fear churning inside her.
"You don't want me here," she said.
"No," Darian replied. "We don't."
"Then reject the bond."
Riven laughed bitterly. "If it were that easy, don't you think we would've done it the second your name was called?"
Kieran stepped forward, his eyes narrowed. "The gods must be playing some sick game. You're the traitor's daughter. What power could you possibly hold that would tie you to us?"
"I didn't ask for this," Liana snapped.
"Neither did we."
Silence fell between them.
But deep inside, something stirred. A flicker of connection. A whisper of shared pain.
Liana turned away, gripping the edge of the window frame. "I don't care what you think. But I won't be your prisoner."
"You already are," Darian said, voice low.
"But don't worry," Riven added. "We'll make sure you regret it."
---
Later that night, Liana couldn't sleep. She sat by the window, watching the moon trace its path across the dark sky. Her hand rested over the mark on her wrist, still faintly glowing. The connection to the brothers pulsed—subtle, strange, constant.
A knock came at her door. She tensed, expecting a servant.
But it was Kieran.
He stepped inside without a word, closing the door behind him. His black tunic clung to his frame, his eyes unreadable.
"I don't trust you," he said.
Liana arched a brow. "That makes two of us."
He crossed the room slowly, stopping a few feet from her. "But I do believe something bigger is at play here. The Oracle doesn't make mistakes. And neither do the gods."
"Then maybe it's time the gods explained themselves."
Kieran almost smiled. "They don't. But we're bound now, and there's no running from that."
Liana looked into his eyes and saw something beneath the hard exterior—pain, maybe. Loneliness. A past just as haunted as hers.
"You're not what I expected," he said softly.
"Neither are you."
He turned to leave, then paused. "Don't trust anyone here. Especially not Riven."
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving her heart pounding.
The night pressed in closer.
And somewhere deep within her soul, the bond whispered again.
This was only the beginning.
Liana Everhart was once the proud daughter of House Everhart, a noble bloodline known for its unwavering honor, ancestral magic, and unshakable loyalty to the crown. Her world had been filled with soft silks, crystal goblets, and evenings bathed in golden candlelight. A world where she was cherished, respected, and promised to greatness. But the gilded walls of her youth had long since crumbled.
The night her life changed was etched in her mind like a wound that never fully healed.
Her father had been accused of treason.
And without trial, without mercy, the Everhart name was dragged through mud and ash, their estate burned to the ground as nobles who once praised her now turned their backs. Liana watched her parents be torn from their bed, her younger brother beaten in the streets, her legacy ripped away with each jeering scream of the crowd.
Exiled and disgraced, she had spent the last four years living in the shadows of the kingdom, surviving off scraps and fear. She no longer walked with the grace of a noble. She moved like a hunted animal, head down, heart guarded. The world she once knew had betrayed her, and she had vowed never to trust it again.
Until tonight.
The moon was blood-red. A rare celestial event that marked the sacred Mating Ceremony—the night where fate's will bound shifters and fae alike to their destined mates. A night most awaited with joy.
Not Liana.
She had no interest in being bound to anyone, especially not by a magical force she couldn't control. Yet here she stood, veiled in a simple ivory gown that whispered of purity and fate, on the outskirts of the ancient ceremonial grounds. Her fingers curled at her sides, nails biting into her palms.
"You shouldn't be here," hissed a voice beside her. It was Mira, a friend she had made during her years of hiding, one of the few who hadn't abandoned her.
"I know," Liana murmured. "But something pulled me here. Like a string I couldn't cut."
Mira's brows creased. "The Mating Ceremony isn't for the broken. That's what they believe, Liana. They'll never welcome you."
Liana exhaled shakily, her gaze drawn to the massive obsidian stones that circled the ceremonial ground. Already, figures began appearing—men and women cloaked in moonlight and magic, the air buzzing with power.
She shouldn't be here.
But it was too late.
The moment her feet crossed the border of the sacred stones, a surge of energy blasted through her chest. Liana gasped and dropped to her knees. Fire raced through her veins. The sky spun. She felt her soul split—and then, violently, snap into alignment with something... no, someone.
No. Three.
Her vision blurred, but she saw them. Three tall figures at the opposite end of the stone circle, standing like shadows carved from storm clouds. Darian. Kieran. Riven.
The Blackthorn triplets.
Notorious, merciless, the whispered nightmares of many. Each a power of his own. Darian—the eldest—was cold and strategic, his mind sharper than any blade. Kieran—the middle—was wild and unpredictable, his fury infamous. And Riven—the youngest—was quiet, almost ghost-like, his presence chilling.
Liana's mouth went dry.
She felt it—deep in her soul. The bond.
Not to one.
But all three.
"Liana Everhart," the ceremonial Seer's voice echoed, her ancient eyes widening in shock. "Fated... to the Blackthorn heirs."
The crowd murmured, scandal thick in the air.
Liana's heart thundered.
This couldn't be happening.
She wanted to run, to scream, to deny the bond clawing into her essence. But her body would not obey. Her legs were lead, her voice stolen. The triplets began walking toward her in synchronized steps, their eyes unreadable.
Darian's voice was the first to cut through the silence. "Fate has a twisted sense of humor."
Kieran sneered. "This must be a mistake. We don't share."
Riven said nothing, his eyes locked on hers like a predator memorizing prey.
The Seer's voice was steady. "It is no mistake. The bond is sealed. You are bound."
Liana felt the world collapse around her.
---
The castle they brought her to was nothing like her childhood home. Blackthorn Keep was carved from onyx and shadow. It stood tall and cold, nestled against jagged cliffs that overlooked a never-ending ocean. Lightning often danced across its towers, and storms seemed to favor the skies above it.
Liana stood in a vast chamber lined with cold stone, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. Darian stood near the hearth, arms crossed.
"You will follow our rules," he said without looking at her. "You may be fated to us, but you are not wanted."
Kieran, lounging in a chair, scoffed. "Unless you find a way to unbind the bond, you're a leash around our necks."
Riven leaned against the wall, silent as ever.
Liana swallowed the lump in her throat. "I didn't choose this either."
"Good," Darian snapped, eyes finally meeting hers. "Then we're all on the same page."
They assigned her chambers far from theirs, made it clear she was not to wander, not to speak unless spoken to, not to expect kindness. Still, fate's mark pulsed between them, a constant reminder of what linked them.
Each night, dreams came. Dreams of fire, war, and three hearts tied to hers by threads of gold and crimson. She awoke breathless, trembling, her mark glowing faintly on her wrist.
Days passed. Then weeks.
And slowly, the facade began to crack.
---
It started with Riven.
One night, she found him in the garden during a storm, unmoved by the rain. He stared at the sky, and when she approached, he didn't retreat.
"You should be inside," he murmured.
"So should you."
His eyes, silver like moonlight, flicked to her. "Do you dream of the bond?"
Liana hesitated. "Yes. Do you?"
"Always."
Something passed between them then. Not warmth. Not affection. But understanding.
Then came Kieran. She found him bleeding after a sparring session gone wrong. He growled at her to leave, but she pressed a cloth to his wound anyway.
"You're stubborn," he muttered.
"So I've been told."
He looked at her, truly looked, for the first time. And said nothing more.
And then Darian. Cold, perfect Darian. He caught her studying a map in the war room, her fingers tracing battle lines.
"You understand strategy?"
"I was trained for it. Before…"
He didn't mock her. Instead, he asked, "What would you do if you were me?"
She offered an answer. He listened.
It wasn't love.
But it was a beginning.
Yet even as small cracks formed in their icy walls, Liana felt something darker stirring in the shadows of the Keep. Doors whispered when no wind blew. Servants vanished without trace. A name lingered in the corners of her mind—one she couldn't remember, but feared all the same.
Someone else wanted the bond broken.
Someone would kill to make it happen.
And Liana would have to decide who to trust before time ran out.