If Seraphina had hoped that a cursed engagement would buy her time, she was very much mistaken.
By dawn, her name had been whispered in every salon, inked in every noble gossip scroll, and spelled into the tealeaves of half the kingdom. A girl with no title, no allies, and no shame had become the woman who bonded herself to Elion Thorne, and survived…
…Technically.
She was summoned to the Morning Court before she could even change out of last night's gown. The bodice still smelled faintly of shattered crystal and sweat. Her hair, once braided in perfect loops, now coiled like ivy around her shoulders in soft defiance.
The throne room of Lunaris was bathed in cold light. White stone floors. Silverveined pillars. And nobles perched like judgmental birds on raised tiers around the King's seat.
They didn't look at her. Not directly. But she felt their eyes all the same.
Especially his.
Elion stood across the chamber, draped in more black than should be legal at a sunrise audience. His hair was still wet, as though he'd bathed without a care for time or propriety. He looked clean, powerful, and vaguely annoyed to exist.
Their eyes met for a fraction of a breath.
The ring warmed.
Gods...
King Odran looked as though someone had poured vinegar into his morning wine.
He was not an old man, but age clung to him like an enchantment in decay, something fading but too stubborn to die. His eyes were sharp, his cheekbones sharper.
"You have complicated things," he said, voice echoing across the marble.
"Which part?" Seraphina asked. "The bond, the chandelier, or the dress code?"
Someone coughed to hide a laugh. She didn't bother looking to see who.
Odran leaned forward. "That ring was not sanctioned. The bond was not authorized. We cannot unbind what's been made, but we can control what it becomes."
"So… we're not allowed to fall in love?" she asked sweetly.
Odran scowled. "You will be observed. If the bond becomes volatile, the council will intervene. If it grows dangerous…"
"Then what?" Elion's voice cut through the court like cold steel.
The room silenced.
Odran did not blink. "Then I expect you to end it."
"Kill her, you mean."
Seraphina's breath caught.
The King did not deny it.
---
The session ended without a formal decree, but the message was clear: Behave, or burn.
A carriage waited to take her back to her guest quarters, thankfully upgraded from yesterday's stone box. She stepped in, expecting silence.
Instead, Elion followed.
Uninvited. Unapologetic.
"You're brooding again," she said as the doors closed.
"I'm breathing."
"Same difference, in your case."
They sat in tense quiet for a moment as the carriage rattled through cobbled lanes.
"I don't kill women," he said suddenly.
"Good. I don't sleep with men who do."
He glanced at her, one brow lifting. "But you do sleep with men?"
"Occasionally. Though rarely the cursed ones who scowl like they lost a kingdom and found a diary."
That earned her a breath of a smile. Barely.
Progress.
"I didn't choose this," she said after a pause.
"I know."
"But I'm not sorry, either."
He studied her. "You should be."
"Why? Because you're dangerous?"
"Because I'm doomed. And now, so are you."
---
Back in her chambers, Seraphina found a letter waiting.
No wax seal. No name. Just a folded card in thick parchment, laced with the faintest shimmer of scrying ink.
She unfolded it.
> Come to the Mirror Garden at midnight. Bring no guards. Come alone. ...A Friend of the Crown
Which, of course, meant an enemy of the King.
She stared at it for a long moment.
Then she smiled.
Because what better way to start a cursed love story than with a secret meeting… under moonlight… and under watch?