The dungeon smelled of old blood and silver.
Selene's breathing came thin and ragged, her body curled against the bitter chill of the stone floor. Each breath felt like a blade drawing through her ribs, the wound on her side pulsing with every heartbeat. Blood had dried along her clothes, gloomy and flaking, clinging to her skin like regret.
She shifted slowly, a hiss slipping through her clenched teeth as pain shot through her side. Her fingers dug into the stone for balance. Though her wrists were no longer bound, but the marks left by the silver cuffs still ached, angry and red against her ashen skin. She studied them in the dim light, willing her body to heal, but the magic in the walls clawed at her strength, eating at her core.
There was silver laced through the stones. She could feel it. Not enough to kill her, but just enough to keep her from rising or healing. Just enough to make her feel helpless.
A cage dressed as mercy.
Still, she refused to let herself give in.
Not in front of them.
Not in front of him.
Her mind drifted back to the throne room. To the chaos, the judgment, the cold accusations thrown like knives. But above all, it was him she remembered.
Kael.
The prince of the High Bloods. Royal-born. Feared. Revered. He had stood above her like a storm held barely at bay, his gaze piercing through her armor as if he saw everything. And when their skin touched—just a brush of fingers—it had ignited something ancient and terrible.
A bond.
Not imagined. Not one-sided. Real. Alive.
Selene had heard whispers of such things—sacred threads spun by the gods, binding souls across lifetimes. But the elders always warned: when fate tangled with royalty, it became a curse.
And yet, the truth of it thrummed beneath her skin, undeniable. It sang in her blood, an attachment pulling her toward something she couldn't name.
He hates me.
He wants me.
And he doesn't know what to do with either truth.
The iron door creaked open.
Selene shot upright, a snarl curling her lips, though her limbs trembled with the effort. Her back hit the wall as she rose, she groaned in pain, one hand pressed to her side.
Her vision blurred, pain blooming behind her eyes like black flowers.
Three gloomy figures entered. Two guards in dark steel, faces obscured by helms. Between them, a hooded figure—smaller, more gentle, with a satchel clutched tightly to her side. Her steps were hesitant, each one measured with caution.
"You're not here to kill me?" Selene asked, voice shattering, threaded with sarcasm.
No answer.
The guards took up positions near the door, watching her with silent scorn. The hooded figure stepped forward, kneeling beside Selene. Slender fingers reached for the torn fabric at her side.
"This will sting," the woman whispered, her voice subtle, almost human.
The cloth touched her wound. Selene didn't flinch.
She watched the woman work, noting every movement, every tremble. The healer's hands were practiced, but her eyes betrayed her fear.
Then Selene saw it. A flicker of silver at her collar, no, not silver. A pendant, shaped like a crescent moon, half-hidden by the folds of her robe.
Moonborn.
Selene's heartbeat quickened.
Sympathizers, even here?
"Why help me?" she asked, keeping her voice low.
The woman paused. Her gaze darted to the guards, then returned to Selene. "Not all of us believe the Forsaken deserve extinction," she said softly. "Some of us still remember."
Selene's breath caught.
Remember what?
But there was no time to ask. Heavy footsteps echoed from the corridor, a steady rhythm that made the guards stiffen.
The healer hurriedly moved back, bowing so low her forehead touched the floor.
Prince Kael entered without ceremony. No crown. No guards. Just a black cloak that matched the storm in his eyes.
His gaze found Selene instantly.
And tarried.
She stood slowly, pushing through the pain, forcing herself upright. Her spine straightened. Her chin lifted.
"Here to chain me up again, Your Highness?" she asked, voice cold.
He didn't smile. "I gave an order for your wounds to be treated."
"How generous," she murmured. "First a dungeon, now a bandage. What's next? Flowers?"
His expression didn't change, but a flicker passed through his eyes. "You're a threat," he said simply. "Don't mistake kindness for weakness."
"You think I'm a threat," she said, taking a slow step forward, "because you felt it too. The bond. Unsettling, isn't it?"
Kael's eyes darkened.
"Don't speak of it."
"Why not?" she pressed, voice lowering. "Because your court might panic? Or because you're afraid of what that makes you?"
Lightning crackled outside, distant but sharp.
He didn't move, but the air shifted. Thicker. Heavier. The kind of silence that came before a storm.
"You don't know what you've got yourself into," he said, his voice like distant thunder. "This bond—it's not just forbidden. It's cursed."
Selene stilled. "Cursed?"
Kael looked at her then, really looked, and something odd flickered in his gaze.
"Every ruler touched by the Moonbond has fallen," he said. "Some went mad. Some killed their mates. Some were destroyed by them."
A chill crawled down her spine.
That… was not in the stories.
"Then why keep me alive?" she asked, quiet now.
Kael stepped closer, his voice dropping low. "Because I want to know why the moon chose you."
Selene's heart pounded. "You think I have the answer?"
"I think you will."
He was close now. Too close. She could feel his power—restrained but vast, like standing on the edge of a cliff with a hurricane beneath.
"And until then," he said, "I'm not letting you out of my sight."
She stared at him, breath quickening. "Then I hope you like being haunted."
For a heartbeat, something shifted. The corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but the ghost of one.
Then it was gone.
He turned to the guards. "She stays here. More guards should watch the door. No one enters unless I say so."
The healer and guards bowed. Kael paused in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder.
"And Selene...."
She looked up.
"Try anything," he said softly, "and I will stop pretending to be merciful."
The door slammed shut.
Selene stood in the dark, trembling, but not from fear.
From fire.
Because she had seen it. In his eyes. Beneath the layers of duty and distrust.
Not fear.
Not fury.
Fascination.
She sank slowly to the ground, leaning her head against the wall, breath slowly evening.
He didn't understand it yet.
But he would.
And when he did…
She would be ready.
Not just for him.
But for the truth buried beneath the moon.
To be continued....