Chapter 8: The Curse of the Crown

The king’s roar shook the stone walls of the healing chamber. Aric’s chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged breaths, his skin still tinged grey beneath the flickering candlelight. Dorian stood over us, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his face a mask of barely-contained fury.

“You should not have touched him,” Dorian snarled, his voice low and dangerous. “You should not have *seen*.”

I rose from my knees, my blood-caked fingers trembling. The silver thread I’d used to draw the poison from Aric’s veins still glowed faintly in my palm—a forbidden magic I’d inherited from a mother I never knew. “He was dying, Your Majesty. Or did you plan to let him?”

Dorian’s jaw tightened. He took a step toward me, and for a moment, I saw something flicker behind his golden eyes. Fear. Not of me—but of what I now knew. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”

“Then tell me.”

The words hung between us, heavy as a crown. Dorian’s gaze dropped to Aric, and something raw cracked through his regal composure. He looked younger then. Broken.

“Sit down,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “And I’ll tell you why I chose a contract wife.”

I didn’t sit. My legs wouldn’t obey. But I stayed still as he moved to the window, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the pale moonlight.

“Every Alpha King of this bloodline carries a curse,” he began, his voice hollow. “Passed down from the first king who betrayed his fated mate for power. The Moon Goddess saw his treachery and bound our line: any true mate we claim will die by our hands within a year of the bond’s completion.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. I shook my head. “That’s why you chose me. Because I’m not your fated mate.”

“You were meant to be a shield, Lyra.” He turned to face me, and I saw the torment etched into every line of his face. “A warm body to produce heirs, a queen to silence the court’s questions about my bachelorhood. Someone I could never love—and never kill.”

My heart hammered against my ribs. “But you kissed me.”

The memory of that kiss—the desperate, hungry press of his lips against mine in the garden—flooded back. I’d thought it was passion. Now I saw it for what it was: goodbye.

“A moment of weakness,” Dorian admitted. “You were about to die, and I—” He broke off, running a hand through his dark hair. “I couldn’t bear it. But I can’t bear the alternative either, Lyra. If I let myself love you, truly love you, the curse will consume us both.”

I took a step toward him. “So you’ll push me away instead? Use me like a pawn and pretend you feel nothing?”

“Yes.” His voice cracked. “That’s exactly what I’ll do.”

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. Aric groaned on the bed behind me, still lost to the poison’s sleep. I could feel the pull of the bond we shared—a contract bond, not a mate bond, but growing stronger with every day I spent in this castle. Every smile. Every stolen glance.

“You’re a coward, Dorian,” I said softly.

His eyes flared. “You think I haven’t tried to break it? I’ve consulted every seer, every witch, every scholar from the Northern reaches to the Southern seas. There is no cure for a curse sworn by the Moon Goddess herself.”

“Maybe not.” I lifted my chin, defiance burning in my chest. “But I wasn’t chosen by fate, remember? I was chosen by contract. That means I have nothing to lose.”

Dorian’s expression shifted—confusion warring with dread. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m not leaving.” I crossed the room and stopped before him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. “You chose me to be your shield, Your Majesty. So let me be exactly that. I’ll stand beside you, bear your children, rule your kingdom—and I’ll find a way to break this curse before it ever has the chance to claim me.”

“You can’t—” he started.

“I can.” My voice was steel now. “I’ve already done the impossible tonight. I saved Aric from a poison no healer could touch. I carry magic older than your kingdom. And I’ll be damned before I let some ancient ghost dictate who I love.”

Dorian’s hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, his grip bruising. “You don’t know what you’re asking for. If I lose you, Lyra—if the curse takes you—I won’t survive it. I’ll burn this entire kingdom to ash.”

“Then don’t lose me.”

I pulled my wrist free and turned my back on him, moving to Aric’s bedside. My brother’s brow furrowed in his sleep, and I smoothed a damp cloth across his forehead. When I spoke again, my voice was quiet but resolute.

“I’m going to find the poisoner first. Whoever did this to Aric wanted him dead—and they wanted me blamed. That means they know something about this curse. Something they don’t want us to uncover.”

Behind me, Dorian let out a ragged breath. “You’re even more stubborn than I thought.”

“You’ll learn to live with it.”

A long pause. Then, so softly I almost missed it: “I hope I get the chance to.”

I turned to face him, but the king had already vanished into the shadows of the corridor. Only the echo of his words remained, hanging in the air like a promise—or a threat.

And then Aric’s eyes snapped open.

“Lyra,” he rasped, gripping my arm with terrifying strength. “The poison wasn’t meant for me.”

I froze. “What do you mean?”

Aric’s gaze was wild, feverish. “Dorian drinks the same wine every night before bed. I switched the glasses. I did it so they wouldn’t kill him.”

The blood drained from my face. “Then you knew.”

“I knew someone was planning to kill the king.” Aric’s voice broke. “And I knew you were the only one who could save him. I just didn’t think—I didn’t realize they’d—Lyra, they wanted the queen dead too.”

The words hung in the air like a death sentence. And somewhere deep in my chest, the contract bond pulsed once—hot and angry—before going cold.

Someone was hunting us both.