When morning came, the sun did not rise.
A pale gray light hovered over Nocturne, weak and unsure, as though afraid to touch the palace's cursed stones. Elara woke to silence so complete she thought the world had stopped breathing. The fire in her hearth had long died, leaving behind a faint scent of smoke and iron.
She sat up slowly, her fingers tracing the faint sigil burned into her wrist.
The mark pulsed once, as if answering her thoughts.
"You don't belong here," she murmured to herself. "But neither does he."
A soft knock came at the door.
When she opened it, a servant stood eyes downcast, movements precise. The servants of the palace rarely spoke; they were like ghosts wearing flesh.
"The King requests your presence in the lower halls," the servant said, bowing. "He commands that you come alone."
The words lingered, heavy and strange. Alone.
The corridors grew darker as she descended. The light from the crystal sconces dimmed, replaced by flickering torches that burned blue instead of gold. The walls changed too from smooth marble to rough stone veined with black veins that pulsed faintly like a heartbeat.
The palace was alive. She could feel it watching her.
When she reached the last stair, she found Lucien waiting.
He stood before a massive door carved from obsidian, marked with ancient runes that shimmered faintly red. The shadows curled around him like smoke, drawn to him, yearning for his touch.
"You came," he said softly, his voice echoing in the still air.
"You summoned me," she replied, lifting her chin. "What is this place?"
Lucien's gaze lingered on her face, unreadable. "The heart of the curse. The palace's soul."
Her pulse quickened. "And you're bringing me here because…?"
"Because it's waking," he said, turning to the door. "And it's calling for you."
Before she could ask, he pressed his hand to the runes. The stone glowed, then shuddered open with a groan that sounded almost… alive.
Cold air rushed out sharp, metallic, filled with the scent of old blood and rain.
Beyond lay a vast chamber, circular and endless. In the center, suspended by chains of light and shadow, was a black throne empty, yet humming with power. The walls were covered in strange murals: battles between gods and monsters, the sun bleeding into night.
Elara stepped closer, drawn as though by invisible strings. "This is what you guard."
Lucien's jaw tightened. "No. This is what binds me."
He moved beside her, his voice low. "Every king of Nocturne bears the crown of shadows. But the curse began long before me. The throne hungers it feeds on sorrow, rage, and desire. Every death in this palace strengthens it."
Her breath trembled. "And the tributes?"
His gaze darkened. "Offerings to silence it. But it has never been sated."
Elara turned to him sharply. "So they die for nothing?"
Lucien flinched, barely visible. "For a long time, I believed it was mercy. Better to be devoured here than torn apart by what lives beyond these walls."
"What lives beyond?" she asked quietly.
He met her eyes. "The god I betrayed."
As they stood before the throne, a faint hum filled the air soft at first, then rising. The runes on the floor began to glow beneath Elara's feet, reacting to her presence.
Lucien froze. "No… it's sensing you."
The chains on the throne rattled violently. A pulse of dark light burst from the center, throwing both of them back. Elara landed hard against the cold stone, gasping for air. The mark on her wrist blazed white-hot, flooding the room with blinding light.
"Stop!" Lucien shouted, shadows bursting from his hands to shield her. "It will kill you"
But she couldn't move. The light seared through her, not in pain, but recognition. In the glow, she saw flashes visions the same throne, centuries ago. A woman with eyes of sunlight sitting upon it, her body breaking apart as she whispered a single name.
Lucien.
Then everything went dark.
When she woke, she was in Lucien's chamber.
The world was quieter here the air heavy with his scent of iron and frost. Shadows flickered lazily across the ceiling, responding to his breathing.
Lucien sat at her bedside, gloves discarded, his bare hands pressed together in thought.
"You're awake," he said softly, without looking at her.
"What happened?" she whispered.
"You touched the throne," he said. "It remembered you."
She frowned. "Remembered me?"
He rose, pacing to the window where the endless storm brewed. "The throne hasn't reacted to anyone in a century. It feeds on despair, but when you touched it, it recoiled as if your light burned it."
Elara watched him carefully. "You said it's bound to you."
"It is," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "It feeds on me too. My life. My strength. My soul. I am its prisoner."
He turned, and for a moment the mask of the king slipped away leaving only a man who looked unbearably tired.
"Then why keep the tributes coming?" she asked quietly.
Lucien's expression hardened again. "Because without them, the palace will collapse… and everything within it, including you, will be consumed."
Elara stood, her bare feet touching the cold marble. "Then we break it. The curse, the throne whatever binds you."
His eyes flared crimson. "You think I haven't tried?"
The air thickened. The shadows in the room stirred violently, swirling around them.
Elara met his gaze, refusing to flinch. "Maybe you failed because you were alone."
The darkness stilled.
Lucien's expression flickered pain, surprise, something else she couldn't name.
For a heartbeat, neither moved.
Then he turned away, voice low. "You don't understand what you're offering, Elara. This curse… it does not break. It devours."
She took a slow step closer. "Then let it devour me too."
He froze.
The room fell into silence the kind that pressed against the ribs, heavy and fragile.
When he finally spoke, his voice trembled, just barely. "You have no idea what those words mean."
Elara's mark pulsed once more, glowing faintly between them light and shadow beating in the same rhythm.
"No," she said softly. "But maybe I'm meant to find out."
Lucien looked at her then, truly looked and in his eyes, for the first time, there was not just darkness. There was fear… and something dangerously close to hope.