✨ Bound to the Empress — Story Three ✨ By E. Kane

 

The storm didn’t just arrive; it invaded the night.

Lightning carved the sky into jagged white scars, each crack illuminating the mountains in brief, violent flashes. Thunder rolled a second later, deep enough to tremble through the stone bones of the Dark Court. Rain slammed the roof in relentless sheets, each drop hissing against the enchanted tiles before spilling into the abyss below.

The entire realm felt restless.

Alive.
On edge.

Precisely like the male barreling toward her.

The Empress stood on her balcony, palms pressed to the cold obsidian railing. The chill seeped into her skin, grounding her as the wind whipped her hair around her shoulders. Rain misted across her face, sharp, cold, refreshing. Her shadows curled around her ankles, stirring at the storm’s energy like wolves scenting prey.

When Nyx entered the chamber behind her, the temperature changed.

The air thickened.
Warmth pulsed outward.
Her magic rose instinctively to meet his.

“Empress.”

His voice came low, almost swallowed by thunder, but she felt it as much as she heard it—like a vibration sliding down her spine.

She didn’t turn.
Not yet.

“Your shadows haven’t calmed.”

“They don’t calm,” he murmured, “unless you make them.”

Lightning flashed, and in the reflection of the rain-slick glass, she saw him.

Gods.

He was soaked from the storm, rain sliding in rivulets over his chest, clinging to the hard lines of muscle and tracing the tattoos of shadow magic etched along his ribs. His hair was slicked back, horns glistening, power leaking from him in waves strong enough to make the torches gutter.

He took a slow step closer.

The sound of water dripping from him echoed in the silence.
The warmth radiating from his body wrapped around her like a cloak.
The scent of rain, steel, and raw magic drifted through the air—sharp and intoxicating.

She finally turned toward him.

Up close, he looked carved from storm light and sin.

“You’re unraveling,” she said softly.

“Transforming,” he corrected, though his voice wavered—just enough to betray him.

His shadows writhed behind him, brushing the stone like restless tendrils, shifting between smoke and substance. Each flicker hummed with emotion—anger, fear, hunger, devotion. But the magic closest to his chest pulsed erratically, as if it couldn’t decide whether to cling to him or tear itself free.

She stepped closer.

Heat rolled off him, warming the air, contrasting sharply with the cold rain still dripping from his skin. She lifted her hand and placed it against his chest.

Gods.
His heartbeat thundered beneath her palm, fast, uneven, frantic.

Nyx inhaled sharply, breath catching as if her touch physically steadied him. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, lashes wet, lips parting with a quiet exhale.

“You’re too hot,” she murmured.
“Your magic is burning itself out.”

His eyes opened, glowing brighter, fierce and vulnerable at once.

“I fear losing control,” he said.
“But more than that… I fear losing you to my shadows.”

A breath hitched in her throat.

The wind whipped around them, carrying the scent of rain and electricity as it tangled her hair with his. His shadows reached for her instinctively, cool and warm at once, brushing her calves like hesitant fingers before pulling back.

“Nyx,” she whispered, “look at me.”

He did, and it broke her for a moment.
His pupils expanded, drinking her in.
Lightning reflected in his violet irises, turning them into a storm of their own.

“You chose to be bound to me,” she said. “Not by force. Not by oath. By will.”

The tension in his shoulders loosened, barely.

“And I will choose you again,” he said.
“Even if it destroys me.”

The rain intensified outside as if reacting to the confession, drumming along the balcony roof in a furious crescendo.

She leaned in until her breath warmed his cheek.

“Then let me hold the parts of you that frighten you.”

His jaw trembled.
His fingers flexed at his sides.
The shadows behind him stuttered.

“Then bind me,” he whispered, the words cracked open, desperate and reverent.

She lifted her hand, magic unfurling like warm smoke, black threaded with faint silver light. It coiled around his wrists like a soft tether, not restraining, just guiding.

Nyx shuddered.

Not from fear.
Not from pain.

From relief.

The storm raged as she led him deeper into the balcony alcove, where rain cooled the air, and the scent of wet stone rose from the floor. The walls hummed with her magic, torches flickering in response to her steady power.

She stopped beneath the carved archway.

“Here,” she said.
“Where the first Empress bound her king.”

The weight of history pressed into the air, thick and electric.

Nyx’s breath hitched.
And then, slowly, reverently, he sank to his knees.

The stone was cold, sharp against his skin, grounding him. Rain dripped from his hair onto his shoulders, sliding down his spine in cool trails. His shadows pooled around him, quieter now, waiting.

She stepped closer, her fingers threading into his damp hair. The texture of it, wet, heavy, soft at the ends, slipped between her fingers. He exhaled, breath warm against her stomach as he tilted his head back to look up at her.

“You kneel beautifully,” she murmured.

“For you,” he answered, “there is no other way.”

His voice vibrated through her palm.
Her heartbeat faltered.
Her magic pulsed outward in a slow, controlled wave.

She circled him once, shadows brushing his shoulders like a touch he leaned into. She stopped behind him and placed her hand on the back of his neck.

The heat of his skin burned into her palm.
His muscles tightened.
His breath stilled.

“Tell me,” she whispered, “what breaks you.”

He swallowed hard, throat bobbing beneath her fingers.

“Being powerful enough to destroy kingdoms,” he said.
“But wanting only to protect them.”

Her grip tightened, not possessive.
Protective.

“And?” she pressed.

His breath came out shaky.

“And wanting you more than I want control of my own power.”

The words struck her like a blow to the ribs.

She moved in front of him, kneeling down so their faces were level. The storm calmed slightly, thunder rolling like a low sigh.

She cupped his face in her hands.

“You think wanting me makes you weak?” she asked.

“No,” he breathed. “It makes me dangerous.”

Her magic flared, warming the air around them.

“You are bound to me,” she whispered, “because you crave the belonging that only I can give you.”

His eyes closed, lashes trembling from the force of it.

“Say it,” she commanded.

His voice cracked but didn’t break.
“My power is yours.”

She brushed her thumb across his cheekbone. Rain cooled her skin; his heat warmed it.

“And your shadows?”

“They obey you,” he whispered, breath fanning across her lips.

“And you, Nyx?”

His eyes opened, bright, raw, vulnerable—and he whispered:

“I am yours.”

The storm outside stilled.

Not gone,
just listening.

She rested her forehead against his, the stone floor cold beneath her knees, the air warm where their breaths mingled. His hands twitched, wanting to reach for her but held back by the soft magic around his wrists.

“You are bound to me,” she said. “And I am bound to you. Not by chains. By choice.”

His entire body softened, not weak, not submissive,
anchored.

Her shadows wrapped around them both, warm and alive, echoing the bond resonating between them.

No vow had ever felt this real.
No storm had ever felt this quiet.

Nyx wasn’t unraveling.
He was becoming.

And he was becoming hers.