Our eyes meet. Time halts.
I spin away, heart pounding.
The water ripples behind me. I hear the splash as he steps into the spring. For several long moments, we say nothing. Justbreathe. Just exist. Bare in ways that have nothing to do with skin.
I stare at the shimmering cavern walls, lit by soft, golden veins that pulse with ancient heat.
Then I turn.
And see him.
Keiren stands waist-deep in the water, his back to me. Scars cross his skin like lightning—some old, faded with time; others cruel and recent, still angry and raised. My breath catches before I can stop it.
“I thought we said no peeking,” he says dryly.
A startled laugh breaks from my lips. “I… I’m sorry.”
Keiren chuckles, low and quiet. “It’s alright, Fire. No need to apologize for liking what you see.”
The heat in my cheeks spreads faster than the steam rising around us.
“It really is true,” I scoff. “Royals are so vain.”
We both laugh, soft and strained, clearly needing the distraction.
I draw in a breath. “Can I… Can I ask about your scars?”
“The tale isn’t a happy one, I’m afraid,” he says. His voice is careful, weighted. He turns just enough for me to see the edge of his profile, shadowed and still.
I hesitate, then softly ask, “What happened?”
He’s quiet for a long time. The steam curls between us like smoke from a fire neither of us started.
“My father,” he says at last. “When I disobeyed him. When I asked too many questions. When I was… too much like my mother.”
Something twists inside my chest. Not pity. Something deeper. A soul-deep ache that echoes mine.
“She used to bring me here,” he says, trailing his fingers through the water, his back still turned. “She said the spring held old magic, the kind that healed more than physical wounds.”
I wait, watching as his hand skims the surface of the water, breaking it into ripples.
“When she died, I begged him to let me bring her here. I thought that maybe… maybe this place could bring her back. But he refused. He said I should just be grateful that such weakness would no longer plague our bloodline.” After a reverent silence, he adds, more quietly, “Not long after that, he was slain, too. And the curse began.”
A thousand things rise in me. Words that don’t feel strong enough. I think of the weight he’s carried, the cruelty etched into his skin. And I see him—not as a king or a beast or a legend—but as a boy who once believed a spring could bring his mother back.
Then he looks at me. “What about you? Your burn… What’s the story behind it?”
He was vulnerable with me; now it’s my turn. It’s only fair.
“It was a fire,” I whisper. “When I was sixteen, my cousin was chosen as a Bloodmoon Bride. I followed her through the mist, thinking I could stop it. I didn’t know what would happen, but I knew that if I didn’t bring her back, I’d never see her again.”
I pause, drawing in a slow, shaky breath. He doesn’t interrupt.
“I watched the dragon burn her,” I say, my throat thick. “Then it came for me. I ran. I made it back through the mist, but not before it left its mark on me.” My hand drifts to my back, a phantom ache blooming beneath the water. “I think a part of me always knew this would be my fate. The Trials. The fire. I deserve it.”
“No. You don’t,” he says sharply.
“Yes, I do. Because that’s all I am. Future ash and bone.”
