CHAPTER THREE ___ BRUTAL FORCE
809 Words
CASSIAN POV
I should not be here.
The Radiant palace corridors glow even at night, sunlight trapped inside crystal sconces lining the walls. The air smells clean. Sacred. Wrong.
And yet I walk through it like a shadow bleeding into a wound.
The mark hasn’t stopped burning since the summit.
It started as a pulse.
Now it feels like something clawing beneath my ribs.
She is close.
I don’t know how I know. I just do.
The curse always knows.
I turn the final corner.
And there she is.
Alone on the terrace overlooking the city, hands gripping the marble railing, golden hair spilling down her back like a defiance of darkness itself.
She doesn’t hear me at first.
But her light does.
It flickers before I even step into view.
Her shoulders stiffen.
“Go away,” she says without turning.
My jaw tightens. “You assume I came for you.”
“You did.”
She turns now.
Moonlight catches her face. There’s exhaustion beneath her eyes. Confusion. And something far more dangerous.
Concern.
“For someone who warned me to run,” she says quietly, “you don’t seem very good at staying away.”
The mark pulses violently.
Pain slices through my chest so sharply I nearly stagger.
Her eyes widen.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re lying.”
Her light moves before she does—thin golden threads slipping toward me instinctively.
The moment they touch my skin—
The curse detonates.
Darkness erupts from my body in a violent surge, swallowing the terrace in seconds. The sconces shatter. The marble beneath our feet cracks.
She gasps but doesn’t scream.
Good.
I clamp down on the magic with brutal force, but it resists.
It wants her.
The darkness coils around her wrists—not harming, not crushing.
Claiming.
My breath comes ragged. “Stop.”
“I’m not doing anything!”
“You are existing!”
The words come out harsher than intended.
Her expression flinches.
And gods help me—I hate that.
The mark spreads heat like wildfire beneath my shirt. I rip the fabric open without thinking.
Her gaze drops.
The sigil carved into my chest is glowing black, veins of shadow branching outward further than they ever have before.
Her light responds instantly.
It flares.
Not attacking.
Not retreating.
Reaching.
“No,” I breathe.
She steps closer instead of away.
“What is that?” she whispers.
“A death sentence.”
“For who?”
“For you.”
The words hang between us.
But she doesn’t look afraid.
She looks… resolute.
“Then tell me why it reacted to me.”
“You think you’re special?”
“I think you’re terrified.”
The accusation slices cleaner than any blade.
I grab her wrist before I can stop myself.
The moment our skin touches—
Everything explodes.
Light and shadow collide not outward—but inward.
The world narrows to sensation.
Her breath stutters.
My vision fractures.
I see flashes—
Her as a child, laughing in sunlight.
Elira’s face, fading into ash.
My mother collapsing in my father’s arms.
Liora standing at the summit, light erupting toward me like she recognized something.
The curse isn’t just burning.
It’s merging.
Her knees buckle.
I catch her instinctively, pulling her against my chest.
Big mistake.
The mark flares so brightly it feels like my heart is being torn open.
She gasps and clutches my shirt.
And then—
Her light flows directly into the sigil.
Not consumed.
Absorbed.
The pain changes.
It’s still there.
But beneath it—
Relief.
The curse quiets.
For the first time in years—
It quiets.
My breath goes still.
She looks up at me slowly.
“What did you do?” she whispers.
“I didn’t—”
The mark pulses once more.
But this time it doesn’t burn.
It hums.
Soft.
Alive.
Her fingers are still against my chest.
And the curse… is not trying to kill her.
It’s stabilizing.
Horror floods me.
Because this is worse.
If the curse isn’t devouring her—
Then it’s evolving.
And if it evolves—
It won’t just take her life.
It will bind us in ways neither court will survive.
She sways again, dizzy.
I steady her automatically.
Her hand is still over the mark.
My hand is at her waist.
Too close.
Too dangerous.
Her voice is barely audible.
“It doesn’t feel like it wants to hurt me.”
My jaw tightens.
“That’s how it starts.”
But even as I say it—
I’m not sure I believe it anymore.
The darkness around us has gone still.
Watching.
Waiting.
And for the first time in five years—
I am not certain whether I am the monster in this story.
Or the one being claimed.
- Writer
