The king’s bargain
921 Words
Chapter 7 — The King’s Bargain
The night was long in Nocturne.
Even when the moon climbed high above the towers, its light never reached the palace. Shadows stretched endlessly across the corridors, whispering in voices only the cursed could hear.
Elara couldn’t sleep. The echo of Lord Kael’s words haunted her.
Every queen of Nocturne carries the curse with her.
What did that mean?
And what did Lucien mean when he said the curse chose her?
She sat by the window, watching the storm roll over the distant peaks. The palace groaned faintly alive, restless. Sometimes, she swore it breathed with her.
A faint knock sounded at her door.
She turned, heart leaping. “Who is it?”
The door opened without waiting for her answer.
Lucien stood there, his black coat damp from the mist outside, silver embroidery catching the candlelight. His hair, dark as midnight ink, clung to his temples, and his eyes those piercing, endless eyes burned like eclipsed stars.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said softly.
“You didn’t,” she replied. “I wasn’t sleeping.”
He stepped into the room. “Good. Then you can listen.”
Elara frowned. “To what?”
Lucien’s gaze shifted toward the balcony. “To what the palace is telling us.”
She hesitated, then followed him out into the cold night air.
Below them, the gardens shimmered with ghostly dew, and the fountains whispered with silver water. But beneath the beauty was something deeper a pulse, faint and sorrowful, like a heartbeat buried under stone.
“The palace,” Lucien said, “is alive. It was born of my sin and bound by my blood. Every wall, every shadow, remembers.”
“Remembers what?”
“Everything I’ve done to keep this realm from dying.”
He looked at her then, eyes unreadable. “You asked why I brought you here. The truth is… because I have no choice.”
Elara’s breath clouded in the air. “What do you mean?”
Lucien’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “The curse feeds on emotion on sorrow, guilt, and longing. For centuries, I’ve given it everything I have. But it’s no longer enough.”
She took a small step back. “You’re saying it wants more.”
He nodded once. “It wants balance. Light. The one thing I cannot give it.”
Elara’s pulse quickened. “So you brought me here to feed it?”
“No.” His tone hardened. “I brought you here because it’s already bound to you. The moment you crossed the border into Nocturne, it marked you.”
She stared at him, her heart pounding. “Then what happens to me?”
Lucien’s expression softened — almost regretful. “That depends on what we do next.”
He took off one of his black gloves and extended his hand. A faint glow shimmered between his fingers a mark like molten gold, pulsing softly in the darkness.
“This is the curse’s seal,” he said. “The same one you bear on your wrist. It connects us.”
Elara looked down at her wrist the faint golden mark still glimmered beneath her skin, answering his.
“What do you want me to do?” she whispered.
Lucien stepped closer, until their breath mingled in the cold air. “Make a bargain with me.”
“A bargain?”
He nodded. “My blood for your light. My shadow for your soul. We share the curse together. It will stop feeding on your life, and it may keep Nocturne from falling.”
Her heart stuttered. “That sounds like a spell.”
“It is,” Lucien admitted quietly. “A forbidden one.”
She hesitated. “And if I refuse?”
He looked away. “Then you’ll burn from the inside out before the next moonrise.”
Elara’s throat tightened. “You’re saying I’ll die.”
“Yes,” he said simply.
She searched his face for cruelty — but there was none. Only exhaustion.
Only truth.
“Why help me, then?” she asked. “Why not let me die and free yourself?”
Lucien’s jaw clenched. “Because I tried once. Long ago. And the curse punished me for it.”
He turned his hand palm-up between them. “This isn’t mercy, Elara. It’s survival. For both of us.”
For a long moment, the only sound was the wind brushing through the marble arches.
Then she placed her hand in his.
The mark on her wrist blazed like fire, and gold light spilled between their joined fingers. The palace trembled — as if waking from a deep sleep — and shadows burst outward in a ring of black flame.
Lucien didn’t flinch. Neither did she.
The curse had bound them.
And something ancient and unseen whispered in the wind:
“The first seal has been broken.”
⸻
Hours later, when Elara awoke on the floor, the mark on her wrist had changed.
It was no longer gold it was half-black, half-light, swirling endlessly like a living eclipse.
And deep within the throne hall, Lucien stood before his mirror his reflection smiling back at him with eyes not his own.
“Ah,” the reflection murmured. “So you’ve chosen her after all.”
Lucien’s hand tightened on the edge of the glass. “Stay silent.”
But the reflection only laughed — a low, echoing sound that filled the chamber with frost.
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