The cost of being chosen
The chambers Blake assigned to Lumi overlooked the deepest stretch of Noctyrrh—where the city dissolved into shadowed spires and the night seemed to pool rather than pass. There were no windows in the traditional sense. Instead, panes of dark crystal reflected the realm back at itself, endless and watching.
Lumi sat at the edge of the bed long after the doors closed behind her.
Her hands were still trembling.
At twenty-two, she had borne pain as a constant companion. Truth always demanded payment. But tonight the cost felt different—heavier. Not because of the court. Not because of Lady Vaelthorne's screams still echoing faintly in her memory.
Because she had been chosen.
A soft knock broke the silence.
"Enter," she said.
Blake stepped inside alone. The Dreadsword was absent, though the shadows still seemed to recognize him, shifting subtly at his approach. He looked… tired. Not the controlled exhaustion of court, but something deeper.
"I wanted to be certain you were well," he said.
Lumi laughed softly, without humor. "You marked a noble with living shadow tonight. Define well."
His mouth twitched faintly. "Alive. Standing. Still willing to speak to me."
She rose and crossed the chamber, stopping a careful distance away. "You didn't tell me what being your consort would cost."
"I didn't know," Blake replied honestly.
The truth stirred—quiet, confirming.
She studied him then. Blake Crowe, twenty-six, Dreadsword Prince of Noctyrrh. Feared. Obeyed. Alone in ways no throne could fill.
"They will keep coming," Lumi said. "The court won't challenge you directly, but they'll bleed me slowly. Questions. Traps. Demands for truth."
"I will stop them."
"You can't stop truth," she said gently. "You can only decide how much of it you're willing to let destroy someone."
Silence stretched between them.
Blake turned toward the crystal window. "When I was crowned," he said quietly, "they brought me the Dreadsword and told me it would obey me if I proved stronger than it."
Lumi listened.
"They said the blade feeds on fear. On blood. On devotion twisted into obedience." His voice lowered. "They were wrong. It feeds on isolation."
He looked back at her. "The night obeys me because I belong to it. Completely."
Something in his words ached with truth.
"And now?" Lumi asked.
"Now it hesitates," he said. "When you are near."
Her breath caught.
"That frightens you," she realized.
"Yes."
The honesty of it settled between them, raw and unguarded.
"You shouldn't be here," Blake said suddenly. "Not like this. You didn't ask to become a symbol."
"No," Lumi replied. "But I did choose to survive."
She stepped closer. The truth inside her remained strangely calm, as though approving.
"In Noctyrrh," she continued, "truth is power. You've bound me to yours. That makes me dangerous—but it also makes you vulnerable."
His gaze darkened. "I am already vulnerable."
She looked up at him. "Because of me?"
"Because I see you," Blake said. "And the night does too."
The space between them felt suddenly fragile.
Lumi reached out before she could stop herself, resting her hand lightly against his chest. His heart beat steady beneath her palm—human, unmistakably so.
The truth surged—but did not burn.
Instead, it settled.
Blake inhaled sharply. "If this lie becomes real," he said softly, "it will cost us both."
Lumi met his gaze. "It already has."
Outside, the shadows shifted restlessly, as if listening.
Neither of them stepped away.
And in the heart of the cursed realm, the night began to learn what it meant to hesitate.