Seraphine's POV
I run.
My bare feet slap against cold stone as I race through the dark corridors, Daemon's words chasing me like flames. The one thing that could save me, or destroy everything.
What does that mean? What am I?
I burst into my room and slam the door, pressing my back against it. My heart pounds so hard it hurts. My hands shake. The place where Daemon touched me still burns—not with pain, but with heat that seems to have soaked into my bones.
Why didn't his curse hurt me?
A soft knock makes me jump. My lady? Ryn's voice. Are you alright? I heard running
I'm fine, I lie, my voice cracking. Just tired.
Silence. Then her footsteps fade away.
I slide down the door until I'm sitting on the floor, pulling my knees to my chest. Everything is wrong. The poison is gone. Daemon knows I came to kill him. And somehow, impossibly, I'm still alive.
I should be relieved. Instead, I'm terrified.
Because tomorrow night, I have to go back.
Sleep doesn't come. I lie in bed watching shadows move across the ceiling, replaying every moment in Daemon's chambers. The way he threw the poison away without hesitation. The shock in his eyes when he realized his touch didn't burn me. The fear in his voice when he told me to leave.
The Blood King was afraid. Of me.
Why?
Morning arrives gray and cold. Mara brings breakfast but won't meet my eyes.
Is something wrong? I ask.
She sets down the tray with shaking hands. The whole fortress is talking, my lady. You spent time in the king's chambers last night and emerged alive. That's... that's never happened before.
What happened to the others?
Her face goes pale. Best not to ask, child. Just be grateful you survived. She hurries toward the door, then pauses. He's asked to see you. In the library. Now.
My stomach drops. He wants to see me during the day?
Apparently. Mara's expression is unreadable. Whatever you did last night, you've caught his interest. I'm not sure if that's a blessing or a curse.
She leaves me alone with those ominous words.
The library is in the fortress's east wing. Guards lead me through corridors I haven't seen before, past rooms filled with weapons and training soldiers. They stop at massive wooden doors carved with strange symbols.
The king is inside, one guard says. He's ordered that you not be disturbed.
He pushes open the door and practically shoves me through.
The library takes my breath away. Books line every wall from floor to ceiling, more books than I've ever seen in my life. Sunlight streams through tall windows, making dust motes dance in the air. Tables are covered with maps and scrolls and journals filled with handwriting.
And in the center of it all, sitting at a desk with a book open in front of him, is Daemon.
He's not wearing armor. Just simple clothes, dark shirt, dark pants, his hair tied back. Without the glowing eyes and battle scars on full display, he looks almost normal. Almost human.
He glances up as I enter. Close the door.
I obey, my pulse racing.
Come here, he says, gesturing to a chair across from him. Sit.
I cross the room on shaking legs and sit. Up close, I can see dark circles under his eyes. He looks exhausted, like he didn't sleep either.
You're probably wondering why I summoned you, he says.
Yes.
He closes the book and pushes it toward me. The title is in a language I don't recognize, but there's an illustration on the open page—a woman with glowing hands touching a man covered in darkness.
This is a history of the Storm Keepers, Daemon says quietly. An ancient bloodline that could bond with magical beings. They were hunted to extinction thirty years ago by the Northern Council.
My mouth goes dry. Why are you showing me this?
Because you're descended from them. His red eyes bore into mine. That's why my curse doesn't burn you. That's why you can touch me when no one else can. You carry their blood.
The room spins. That's impossible. I'm nobody. Just a bastard
Your mother. He leans forward. Who was she?
A seamstress. She died when I was born. I never knew her.
What was her name?
I don't know. My father never spoke of her.
Daemon's jaw tightens. Of course he didn't. Because if anyone discovered what she was, the council would have killed her. Killed you. He stands and begins pacing. Don't you see? This is why they sent you to me. Chancellor Mordain knew what you were. He's been searching for Storm Keeper descendants for years.
But why? Why send me here?
He stops pacing and looks at me with an expression I can't read. Because Storm Keepers can do two things. They can bond with cursed beings— He holds up one finger. —which means you could suppress my curse, keep me controlled, make me weak.
My blood runs cold. And the second thing?
They can break curses completely. His smile is bitter. By giving their life force to anchor the cursed person's humanity. It's the ultimate sacrifice. You die. I live. Free.
Horror floods through me. You think the council sent me to
To get close to me. To make me trust you. Then to either keep me weak through your presence, or to sacrifice yourself and break my curse, which would leave the South vulnerable without their monster king to protect them. He laughs, a cold, terrible sound. It's actually brilliant. Either way, the North wins.
I stand on shaking legs. I didn't know. I swear, I didn't know about any of this
I believe you. His voice softens slightly. You're a pawn, little bride. Just like me. The council has been playing us both since the beginning.
So what do we do?
He moves closer, and I force myself not to back away. This close, I can see the black veins pulsing beneath his skin, fighting to spread further.
We have a choice, he says quietly. I can send you back to the North. Tell them you failed. Let you live whatever life you can salvage.
Or?
Or you stay. His hand rises, hovering near my face but not quite touching. You help me figure out how to use your Storm Keeper blood to fight this curse. Not to break it by dying—I won't ask that of you. But to control it. To give me time to find another way.
And if we can't find another way?
His expression darkens. Then in five years, maybe less, I'll transform completely into the monster everyone believes I am. And I'll burn this world to ash.
The weight of his words settles over me like a shroud. He's offering me a choice—run and save myself, or stay and possibly save him.
I think of Elise's cruelty. Of my father's indifference. Of a kingdom that never wanted me.
Then I think of Daemon defending me from his own guard. Of him throwing away my poison instead of killing me for bringing it. Of the exhaustion in his eyes as he fights a curse he never asked for.
I'll stay, I hear myself say.
His eyes widen. You don't know what you're agreeing to.
I know enough. I meet his burning gaze. You said you wanted honesty. Here's mine—I have nothing to go back to. No family who wants me. No home that ever felt like home. But here... I take a breath. Here, someone actually sees me. Actually cares if I live or die. That's more than I've ever had.
Something shifts in his expression—surprise, maybe, or something deeper.
Then we have an agreement. He holds out his hand. Partners in survival. You help me fight this curse. I teach you how to stay alive in this fortress.
I take his hand. His burning touch wraps around mine, and this time I feel it—not just heat, but something else. A connection, like invisible threads weaving between us.
Daemon feels it too. His eyes widen, and he starts to pull back, but I hold on.
What is that? I whisper.
The bond. His voice is rough. It's already forming. Your Storm Keeper blood recognizing the curse in mine. He stares at our joined hands. This is dangerous, Seraphine. Once a bond forms fully, it can't be broken. You'll be tied to me. To my fate. To my curse.
Then we'd better make sure you survive, I say, trying to sound braver than I feel.
He laughs—a real laugh, surprised and almost warm. You're either the bravest person I've ever met or the most foolish.
Probably both.
We stand there, hands joined, connected by something neither of us fully understands. For the first time since arriving at this fortress, I don't feel completely alone.
Then Daemon's expression changes. His grip on my hand tightens almost painfully.
What's wrong? I ask.
Someone's coming. His red eyes flare brighter. Someone who knows what you are. Someone who wants you dead.
The library door slams open.
General Theron stands in the doorway, and in his hand is a gleaming silver blade.
Forgive the intrusion, my lord, he says with a cold smile. But I'm afraid your new bride won't be staying after all.