Lorian's hand hit her back, not soft, not sweet. Just firm. Solid. An anchor.
His other hand was already up, slicing violet light across the hallway. It tore through the shadows and shoved them back like they were something physical. Like they had weight. Like they could be forced away.
He didn't say anything.
He didn't have to.
Sylvera knew it in her bones.
Don't stop. Don't shake. Don't fall.
The silence between them felt heavy. It wasn't peaceful. It was full. Packed with everything she couldn't say. Everything he hadn't said either.
The whispers. The truth. The thing in her cell. The way the darkness had slid into her head and made itself comfortable there.
It had hollowed her out. She could feel it. Like she was walking around with less of herself inside.
Lorian's face shifted under the torchlight. For a second, his usual cold look slipped. Not gone, but… thinner. Cracked.
He stepped closer, controlled and careful, like he was holding himself back.
Sylvera didn't flinch when his hands came down on her shoulders.
They weren't gentle.
They weren't comforting.
They were hard.
Hard enough to stop her from swaying. Hard enough to force her body to obey even if her mind wanted to fold.
"Pay attention," he snapped.
His violet eyes cut straight into hers. Sharp. No softness in that tone.
"The shadows aren't waiting for you to catch up. Move." His jaw tightened. "Things are worse than I let on. The shadows, the voices… they're not just in your head."
He swallowed, fast, like it tasted bitter.
"They're in the walls. In the air. And they're getting stronger."
Sylvera stared at him.
Because his eyes—his unreadable, cruel, dead king eyes—flickered.
Just once.
With something raw.
Something she didn't expect.
Fear.
It hit her strange, like her brain didn't want to accept it.
Lorian was afraid.
The undead king. The monster in silk. The ruler of stitched corpses.
Afraid.
Not of her.
Not of betrayal.
Not of rebellion.
Of something else.
"Stay close," he said, voice rougher now. "Keep up. Or the castle will get you before I do."
His mouth twisted.
"And I don't trust you not to run."
A laugh broke out of her before she could stop it.
Not real laughter. Not even close.
It came out cracked. Dry. Ugly.
"Where would I even go?" she rasped. Her throat hurt. Her voice snapped like paper.
Her body swayed. She hated that. Hated how weak she felt. Hated how her legs couldn't decide if they wanted to hold her up or just give up completely.
But she stayed standing.
Barely.
Lorian exhaled sharply. The breath caught in his throat, like he was fighting something inside himself.
His hands tightened slightly. His thumbs pressed into the curve of her collarbones. Not kind. Not cruel. Just… there. A reminder.
"I'm holding you."
Then he leaned in, eyes hard.
"Try running again," he said. "They'll enjoy you far more than I would."
His voice dropped lower.
"Don't test it."
Sylvera's breath caught.
The hallway felt colder suddenly. Not normal cold. Not torch-cold.
A deeper cold.
The kind that makes your skin tighten.
Her eyes flicked to the corners.
Nothing.
Just shadows.
Still… she knew.
Something was there. Something was listening.
"They're hunting you now," Lorian said, bitterness cutting through his words. "Because you touched the book. Because you heard it."
Her stomach dropped.
The memory hit her hard.
The book pulsing.
That feeling—something ancient brushing her mind, sliding inside it, like it had always had permission.
Her legs trembled again. She leaned back against the wall without meaning to. It was the only thing stopping her from collapsing.
"So here's the choice," Lorian murmured.
He leaned closer. Too close. Close enough that she felt his breath on her cheek. Warm. Real. Wrongly human for someone like him.
His voice lowered even more. Quiet. Private. Dangerous.
"You stay by my side, and I keep you alive." His eyes didn't blink. "Or you run… and I let the castle have you."
Silence.
A long beat.
Then his voice softened.
Not by much.
But enough to scare her.
"Stay close," he said, almost a whisper. "Or the castle will enjoy a new meal… and I won't be there to save you."
Sylvera stared at him. Really stared. Not just at his face.
At him.
The grief behind the rage.
The fear behind the threat.
And for the first time…
She believed him.
Not because she wanted to.
Because it sounded real.
Because there was no pride in it.
No performance.
Just truth.
She didn't nod. She didn't say yes.
Her body felt too heavy. Her tongue felt too thick. She couldn't make words work.
But when Lorian reached for her hand…
She didn't pull away.
His fingers were cool. Strong. A little rough.
He tugged her hand once.
Small.
Firm.
And her feet started to move.
One step.
Then another.
Together, they crossed the cell threshold.
As soon as they stepped into the corridor, a deep groan rolled through the stone halls behind them.
The castle.
Angry.
Furious.
Like something had been robbed.
Sylvera's heart pounded hard. That sound chased them. It felt like a beast dragging itself after them on broken legs, still snarling.
She didn't look back.
Every hallway felt tighter now. Narrower. Like the castle was trying to squeeze her. The shadows clung to the walls thick, stubborn. The torchlight barely touched them. It flickered. Shrunk. Trembled.
Even the floor felt wrong under her feet.
Too warm in some places.
Too cold in others.
Breathing.
Alive.
The castle would never forget this.
She knew it.
She had been marked.
Not by Lorian.
Not by his magic.
By them.
Whatever lived inside the stone.
Whatever watched. Whatever listened. Whatever ate.
Her free hand pressed to her chest, trying to calm her heartbeat, trying to hold herself together. Breath shallow. Too shallow.
But she didn't stop.
She couldn't.
Lorian didn't speak as they walked. His grip on her hand was the only real thing she had.
And somehow…
It was enough.
He led her somewhere, but she didn't ask where. The question felt useless.
Anywhere was better than the cell.
Anywhere was better than being alone with the shadows again.
The castle hissed behind them.
Hungry.
But it couldn't touch her.
Not while he held her hand.
And for now…
That had to be enough.
Sylvera was exhausted.
Not normal tired.
The kind of tired that sits behind your eyes and makes everything feel far away. Her body ached from the inside. Her thoughts felt frayed, thin, like parchment torn too many times.
She slumped against the cold wall and Lorian caught her weight without a word.
Her own hands caught her attention though.
They were trembling.
Badly now.
She lifted them slowly, unsure, then reached toward her collarbone.
Where the shadow had touched her.
Her fingers brushed the skin and she jerked slightly.
Icy.
Not fear-cold.
Not air-cold.
Wrong-cold.
She pulled the collar of her dress aside.
Her breath stopped.
Under her skin, her veins had turned black.
Not bruised.
Not purple.
Black.
Like ink spilled beneath flesh.
And they were spreading.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Creeping toward her heart.
"It's inside me," she whispered. Her voice sounded empty. Like it didn't belong to her.
Her breathing sped up. Too fast. Out of control.
Lorian turned immediately. His eyes narrowed.
He took her face in his hands, steadying her.
His thumbs pressed her jaw. His grip was firm. No softness.
"Look at me," he said low.
Command.
Steel.
She obeyed.
Her eyes locked on his.
"That mark isn't just a bruise," he said slowly. "It's a claim."
A claim.
The word hit her like a slap.
Her pulse hammered so hard she could feel it in her throat.
"Whose?" she whispered.
Even though some part of her already knew the answer and didn't want it.
Before Lorian could reply…
The castle answered.
Not as a normal voice.
Not in her ears.
It came through the walls.
Through the stone.
A breath sliding down her spine, cold as bone.
The torches flickered hard. Flames shook. Shadows jumped.
Lorian stepped back, face tight.
"It was him," he said finally. Quiet. Like he didn't want the castle hearing him say it out loud. "The one before me. The cursed ruler. The one whose madness built these walls."
Sylvera swayed. That cold from the mark felt deeper now.
Lorian caught her again.
"The shadow you saw…" he continued, guiding her toward a bench. Old wood. Rough. "That wasn't just a spirit. It was a fragment. A remnant of what he became."
The stone under them thrummed faintly.
The castle waking again.
"He was the first to make a pact with old magic," Lorian said. "And it hollowed him out. Left him more shadow than man. His soul is tied here."
His mouth tightened.
"And now he's hungry."
Sylvera stared at her chest. At the black veins pulsing.
Her skin was numb around them. Not dead. Worse. Like something was claiming it.
"The hunger…" she whispered. "It feeds on people?"
Lorian nodded. Grim.
"He whispers to those who can hear. Pulls them in. Marks them."
His eyes flicked to her mark.
"Then he devours their will until they belong to him."
Her hands shook harder.
"And the others before you…" Lorian said, voice darker now. "They didn't just go mad. They were consumed."
Sylvera swallowed.
Her throat hurt.
"And if it reaches my heart?" she asked.
Lorian didn't answer right away.
His silence was the answer.
Then he said it anyway.
"You won't be you anymore." His voice was flat. Cruel in its honesty. "You'll be a vessel. A puppet."
Another servant.
Another part of the castle.
The silence after that felt thick. Suffocating.
Sylvera pressed her palm over the mark, desperate, as if her hand could hold it back.
"That's why I couldn't let you read the book," Lorian said. Tight voice. Confession forced out. "The Grimoire calls to him. It opens the door between us and what's left of his soul."
He leaned closer, violet light flickering at his fingertips. He hovered it over her chest with precision. Not comfort.
Control.
Work.
"Can you remove it?" she whispered.
For the first time…
Something flickered in Lorian's face.
Uncertainty.
The king who ruled the dead.
The monster who never hesitated.
Looked unsure.
He swallowed.
"I can try."
Sylvera nodded once. Small.
She was too tired to fight.
If he could save her, she would let him.
Lorian rose. Violet light flared from his hands again. He held them over her chest.
"This will hurt," he said. "And I don't know if it'll work. But you need to stay awake."
His eyes pinned hers.
"Stay here. Don't let the shadows pull you away."
She nodded again.
Then the pain hit.
It wasn't burn pain.
Not stab pain.
It felt like something was being ripped off her soul.
Peeled.
Dragged out.
She screamed.
The sound tore down the hallway, raw and ugly.
Dark tendrils burst from her veins, writhing in the air like worms. They hissed. They moved like they had minds.
Lorian's magic struck them.
Violet light slammed into them and they shrieked.
Yes. Shrieked.
The torches exploded into sparks.
The floor shook.
The castle roared.
Not sound-roar.
Pressure-roar.
A crushing force that slammed into them like a tide.
Sylvera's body convulsed.
For a moment everything went black.
Then—
She gasped.
The pain stopped.
She blinked. Vision swimming.
Lorian was still there, panting. Sweat running down his face. His magic flickered weakly, unstable.
He looked at her chest.
The black veins had stopped spreading.
But they were still there.
"I slowed it," he said, voice rough. "But it's still there."
He swallowed.
"And it will come back."
Sylvera sagged forward and grabbed his arms.
"What do we do now?" she whispered.
Lorian looked past her, into the hallway where the castle's breath still hung thick in the air.
"Now," he said quietly, "we find the truth. The real truth. Before it takes you completely."
Sylvera nodded. Barely able to hold herself up.
The whisper returned.
Soft.
Pleased.
"She is ours."
Sylvera raised her head.
Her eyes burned.
Pain. Fear. Exhaustion.
And under it…
Defiance.
She wasn't his.
Not yet.