KAELEN'S POV
She's different.
I know it the moment she steps into my throne room. The moment she opens her mouth and says she's here to negotiate instead of begging for her life.
Every tribute I've seen in the last three hundred years has been the same. They cry. They plead. They offer me things I don't want—gold, power, their loyalty.
Then they die.
The curse takes them within days. Sometimes hours. Their life force drains away until there's nothing left but empty shells.
I don't kill them. The curse does.
But this girl... this human with fire in her eyes and fury in her voice... she's standing in front of me like she has every right to be here.
Like she's not afraid.
She should be afraid.
"Negotiate?" I repeat, circling her slowly. "You don't negotiate with death, mortal. You simply accept it."
"Then you'll find me an extremely difficult death to accept," she shoots back.
I stop. Actually stop walking.
When was the last time someone spoke to me like that? Like I was just a person instead of a monster?
I can't remember.
"Brave or stupid?" I ask.
"Desperate," she answers honestly. "And desperate people are dangerous."
A laugh escapes me. An actual laugh. The sound is so foreign I barely recognize it as my own.
She's magnificent.
And she's going to die.
The thought sends a familiar ache through my chest. The curse stirs, sensing fresh life nearby. It wants her. Wants to consume her the way it's consumed every other tribute.
I won't let it. Not this time.
But even as I think it, I know the truth. I can't stop the curse. I haven't been able to stop it for three centuries.
"What's your name?" I ask.
"Elara Thorne."
Thorne. The name tugs at something in my memory. Something from long ago, before the curse, before the massacre.
But I can't quite grasp it.
"Well, Elara Thorne, let me explain how this works." I move closer to her. "Every tribute your king sends dies. Not because I kill them. Because the curse that binds me makes it impossible for mortals to survive in my presence. The closer you are to me, the faster your life drains away."
Her eyes widen slightly. Good. Finally, some fear.
"Then why accept tributes at all if they only die?" she asks.
The question catches me off guard. It's too smart. Too perceptive.
"I don't accept them," I say quietly. "Your king sends them anyway, hoping eventually I'll retaliate. Then he can justify destroying what's left of my kingdom."
I see the exact moment she realizes I'm telling the truth. Her expression shifts from anger to something else. Something that looks almost like... understanding?
"That's horrible," she whispers.
"That's politics."
We stare at each other for a long moment.
She really is going to die. Probably within three days. And for some reason, the thought makes me furious.
I'm tired of watching people die.
I'm tired of being the monster everyone thinks I am.
I'm tired of being alone.
"If you insist on staying," I hear myself say, "we do this properly. The Old Way."
"What—"
I draw the dagger from my belt and cut my palm before she can finish. Blood wells up, black and smoking slightly. The curse has corrupted even that.
"What are you doing?" Elara backs up a step.
"The only thing that might save you." I reach for her hand.
She tries to pull away, but I'm faster. I cut her palm—carefully, not deep—and press our bleeding hands together.
The ancient words pour from my lips. Words in a language dead for centuries. Words that bind souls together, sharing burden and life force equally.
I've tried this before. With other tributes. Hoping that spreading the curse between two people might weaken it enough to let them survive.
It never worked. The magic always rejected the bond. The tributes died anyway.
But I have to try. With this girl who looks at me like I'm a person, I have to try.
Magic explodes between us.
Not the weak, sputtering magic from previous attempts.
Real magic. Pure and golden and so powerful it knocks us both to our knees.
The soul bond snaps into place like a chain wrapping around both our hearts.
And then—
Oh gods.
Her emotions flood into me like a tidal wave. Fear and determination and love so fierce it burns. Love for someone named Calla. Fury at the world for what it's taken from her. Grief for her lost family. And underneath it all, a strength that refuses to break no matter what life throws at her.
She's magnificent and broken and whole at the same time.
At the same moment, I feel her react to my emotions. Feel her stagger under the weight of three hundred years of grief, rage, loneliness, and self-loathing.
And buried beneath it all—the desperate hope I've tried to kill but can't.
When the flood finally stops, we're both on the floor, gasping for air.
"What did you do?" Elara demands, her voice shaking.
I stare at my hand. Then at her. Then at the golden thread of magic connecting us—visible only to those with magical sight.
"I bound your soul to mine," I say slowly. "It's the only way to slow the curse. To share the burden. But it's never worked before. The magic always rejected—"
I stop.
Because I'm looking at her now. Really looking.
And I see it.
The faint shimmer of ancient magic in her blood. Magic that shouldn't exist anymore. Magic that was wiped out three hundred years ago when—
"What are you?" I breathe.
"What do you mean what am I? I'm human!"
"No." I stand, pulling her up with me. The touch sends sparks through the bond. "No human could accept a soul bond with me. The magic would have killed you instantly. You're something else."
"I'm just Elara Thorne! I'm nobody special! I'm—"
She stops.
I feel it through the bond. The exact moment she feels my curse for the first time.
Her face goes pale. "Oh gods. You live with this every moment?"
The curse is like ice and poison, crawling through my veins, whispering that everyone dies, that I deserve this, that I should stop fighting and let the darkness win.
"Don't pity me," I say harshly.
"I don't pity you." Her voice is quiet but firm. "I'm just deciding whether I want to save someone who's already given up on himself."
The words hit me like a physical blow.
No one has ever—
No one has dared—
"You can't save me," I tell her. "No one can. The curse is permanent. I've tried everything."
"Have you tried believing you're worth saving?"
I have no answer for that.
Through the bond, I feel her exhaustion. Her fear. Her determination not to show either.
"Riven!" I call out.
My second-in-command appears from the shadows. "My lord?"
"Take Miss Thorne to the east wing chambers. Make sure she has everything she needs."
"Of course." Riven's eyes flick between us, and I know he senses the bond. His eyebrows rise in surprise.
As he leads Elara away, she looks back at me once.
Through the bond, I feel her thought as clearly as if she spoke it aloud:
I'm going to break your curse, get the cure for my kingdom, and go home. You can't stop me.
I watch her disappear down the corridor.
Then I sink onto my throne and press my hands to my face.
She has no idea what she's dealing with. The curse can't be broken. I've spent three centuries trying.
And even if it could be broken... the price would be her life.
I felt it the moment the bond formed. Felt the ancient magic stir and show me the truth.
To break my curse, Elara Thorne would have to die.
And I've jus
t tied her soul to mine, which means when she dies, I'll feel every second of it.
What have I done?