She awoke gasping, the taste of iron still sharp on her tongue. The fire had burned low, embers glowing sullenly in the hearth.
Maris pulled her knees to her chest, shivering, and stared into the dark until morning.
-Kael-
Kael stood alone in the gallery overlooking the hall, long after the feast had ended.
Below him, servants cleared the tables, wiping away the spilled wine, gathering bones and broken glass, restoring order to the chaos left behind by the courtiers.
He felt their eyes on him, even in silence those nobles who had stayed too long, pretending to linger in conversation while really studying him, wondering why a King of Nythra would bring a mortal into their fortress of nightmares.
He could feel their suspicion. Their hunger.
Good.
Let them wonder. Let them fear.
Kael exhaled sharply, as if the tension itself had been choking him. His mind returned to Maris, the slip of a girl in the borrowed black gown, her delicate green eyes rimmed with that unearthly silver, meeting his gaze with quiet terror.
Something about her unraveled him.
He did not like it.
His blood was nightbound, old as the curse itself, steeped in power and prophecy. He had ruled Nythra for centuries without faltering, surviving poisons, blades, betrayals that would have ended lesser men.
And yet she, a seamstress with tragedy hanging around her like funeral cloth, had undone every one of his walls in a single look.
Kael clenched a hand around the iron railing, knuckles whitening.
Fool,he told himself.She is a tool. Nothing more.
But something inside hissed that he lied, that a spark of something he barely dared name had ignited the moment he caught her scent: lavender and smoke and the faint glimmer of magic so subtle he still wasn’t sure it was real.
He needed to know what she was.
Why did the threads lead me to you, Maris of Eryndor?
He could see her even now, curled in the too-large bed.Trying to survive.
He would not let the court rip her apart. If they wanted a weakness, they would have to dig deeper. He would give them no leverage, no chance. She is mine, he repeated to himself. Mine to protect. Mine to command.
Chapter three
Blood and Bloom
-Maris-
Maris did not sleep, not really. When the pale dawn light crept through the tall, barred windows, she felt like she’d been chased all night.
Maris couldn’t decide what was more absurd, the cold stone palace she now called home, the cursed king who watched her like she was a riddle he needed to unravel, or the fact that she was expected to learn their ways.
Her? A seamstress? A human?
He hadn’t explained much, not really. No long-winded speeches or heartfelt warnings. Just: You are chosen. You must learn to our customs. You belong to the prince now.
It was laughable, if it weren’t so terrifying.
She’d spent most of her life mending sleeves and taking measurements, not swinging weapons or dodging enchanted creatures in onyx halls.
