Oath And Honor Book Review Novels & Stories

And every night, sitting alone in the north study with her pages spread across my father's desk, I feel something I have not felt since the morning I stood at Lorenzo's grave in Palermo and swore an oath I meant with my whole body. I feel watched. Not by her. By the version of myself that swore the oath. The version that believed, without reservation, that loyalty runs in one direction and one direction only, that blood answers blood and debt answers debt, that a man who has been given everything by his family owes everything in return. That version of me would read her transcriptions and see only evidence. A translator who knows too much. A witness who has identified Giovanni Randazzo's nam

On the day of my coming-of-age ceremony, the two men who cherish me above all else are absent. One is Vittorio Luciano, the only son of the Luciano family from the east, while the other is Carlos Gambino, the heir to the Gambino family from the south. This is a matter that could easily be settled with a few words, yet they try to think up all sorts of excuses to brush me off. "Anna, a gunfight has broken out at the port to the north, so I really can't step away." "I have to hold a family meeting with the elders. I can't skip it." However, the two men have barely hung up on me when I see them appear beside my adopted younger sister, Liliana Siciliano, at her coming-of-age ceremony. The

Lady Senna and the armored man flanked him like twin pillars of judgment, their expressions carved from ice. “This is your final trial,” Lady Senna said. Her voice carried through the hollow space, echoing strangely off the stripped walls. It wasn’t loud — it didn’t need to be. It was heavy, each word falling like a stone into my gut. “It is not a test of skill. Or courage. Or power. It is a binding.” My mouth tasted like ash. I tried to swallow, but it stuck in my throat. “You will each step forward,” she went on, her eyes sweeping over us. “You will place your hand upon the book and speak your vow of loyalty. Of service. Of self. And this book will take your words and make them truth.”

“You’re the one who killed Mr. Nichols. This morning, you personally told me that you wanted Shannon to help you with dispensing the medication, and you told me not to get in the way. When I refused, you held a grudge against me, so you secretly swapped the cephalosporin for penicillin. After administering the IV drip and realizing Mr. Nichols was allergic, you hid the epinephrine and delayed treatment. And when something went wrong, you decided to dump the blame on me!” Then, I turned toward the pale-faced Dr. Hamilton, my voice suddenly rising. “Dr. Hamilton, you’re respected throughout the hospital. How could you give false testimony over something like this? When you stamped that forged

This time, something new had been scrawled at the bottom in black ink: My offer still stands. You know the cost of pride. Her hands trembled. But her jaw set. “Bastard,” she whispered. — Kieran sat in his penthouse, watching the city bleed gold through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He swirled a glass of red wine slowly, eyes fixed on the tablet in his hand. A live feed. Neera, sitting on the edge of her table, reading the contract. He admired her restraint. Most people would’ve signed the moment their brother was in cuffs. But not her. She was fire in a silk sheath.

The priest opened his book, then lifted his gaze. His voice was calm. Deep. Echoing throughout the room. “Mr. Adrian… do you take Miss Livia as your wife,” he said slowly, “to live together in the sacred bond of marriage—to love her, to protect her, to honor her, in joy and in sorrow, in sickness and in health, and to remain faithful to her until death do you part?” A brief silence followed. All eyes were on Adrian. Without hesitation. Without pause. “Yes, I do.”

Students backed away as I approached, eyes wide, whispers sharp. Elias’s smirk widened. “Here he is. The beast himself.” My fists clenched at my sides. “Say it again.” His eyes gleamed. “She’s not worthy. You’re not worthy. You’re blinded by an omega’s scent, and it’s going to destroy you.” My wolf snarled. My chest burned. The crowd waited, breathless, phones lifted. And then I spoke. “Blood Oath.” Gasps exploded around us. The words were old. Ancient. A vow written in the bones of wolves. Not spoken for decades.

"Nothing to expose. No leverage to pull. There is only the oath… the house that guards it… and your child, who is named by it." I didn’t move. "Every oath begins somewhere," I said. My voice was steady. It had to be. "You told me yourself here, in this room that Morrigane’s oath came after a scandal no one speaks of anymore." I leaned forward slightly, fingers brushing the cold edge of the desk. "An oath isn’t a law of nature, Seraphina. It’s a choice. Someone made it. For a reason. At a specific moment in time." I held her gaze.

"Always." The Binding Oath was an ancient rite, almost lost to time. It was once the ceremony used to anoint leaders not by blood or ambition, but by spirit. When Arthur and Isabella stepped into the circle, the torches dimmed, and a low hum filled the air—as if the cathedral itself remembered. Michael raised the Book of Declarations and began to chant, his voice steady, each word resonating like thunder. "Let this bond be sealed not by name or house, but by sacrifice. Let the blood spilled and the hearts broken be the foundation of the world to come."

Her knees nearly gave out, but she locked them hard. Not here, not in front of them. Edric began the vow. “I enter by blood.” Virelle forced air into her lungs. “I enter by blood.” The words were barely out before the basin pulsed beneath her hand. “I bind myself to the laws of Blood Oath Academy.” “I bind myself to the laws of Blood Oath Academy.” The silver glow deepened. “I will not betray the oath without consequence.” “I will not betray the oath without consequence.” The mark on her skin burned hotter, and a strange pressure built behind her ribs, like a second heartbeat waking up beneath her own. Edric’s gaze sharpened.