Aya did not see the Thorn King again that night.
After the declaration — you are already mine — the world did not shatter, the sky did not fall.
The guards simply bowed and led her away, footsteps echoing through corridors carved from obsidian and moonlight.
The palace was a labyrinth of shadow and cold beauty.
Tall windows revealed a night that never seemed to end.
The moon hung low too large as if watching.
It made the halls glow silver, like the whole palace was made of memory and frost.
Aya walked with her chin high.
She did not look back.
---
The servants waiting for her were silent.
Women wrapped in pale grey silk ,faces calm, eyes lowered.
They did not whisper.
They did not judge.
They only watched her the way one watches a flame, unsure if it will warm or destroy.
One of them stepped forward. She was older , hair streaked with silver, posture straight as a blade.
Her voice was soft, but it did not bend.
"I am Sera," she said.
"Keeper of the Brides' Wing. I will prepare you."
Aya's breath caught.
"Brides," she repeated, the word cutting sharper than any blade.
Sera did not hesitate.
She did not soften.
"Yes. There have been others."
The hallway felt colder.
The air felt heavier.
Aya forced her voice not to break.
"And are they still here?"
Sera paused.
A silence fell.
Heavy.
Grieving.
"No," she said quietly.
The word did not echo.
It hung.
Alive.
Final.
Undeniable.
Aya's heart did not race.
It descended.
Like sinking into deep water — too far to swim back up.
But she did not allow fear to show.
If she was a flame — she would burn.
---
Sera led her into a chamber of pale candlelight.
The ceiling was high, draped with silver fabric that moved like mist.
The bed was large, carved of black wood and lined with white sheets.
Something in-between.
"This is your room," Sera said.
"You may ask for anything. You may not leave without permission."
Aya turned slowly.
"What happened to the others?"
Sera's eyes were gentle ,unbearably so.
"They loved him," she said.
Aya swallowed.
"And?"
"They did not survive it."
The candles flickered — though no wind touched them.
---
When Sera left, the silence came back.
That humming silence.
The kind that watched.
Aya stood in the center of the room and let her breath settle.
She would not break.
Not because she was fearless.
But because breaking was defeat — and she had walked too far to kneel now.
She ran her fingers across the silk sheets.
They were cold.
Too cold.
Like something that had never felt the warmth of another body.
Like the King.
Silver eyes flashed again in her mind — quiet, aching, ancient.
She did not understand him.
But she felt him.
Something about him had been…
Lonely.
As though he ruled a kingdom of shadows, but had never been touched by light.
As though the world had crowned him with thorns and forgotten to give him skin thick enough to bear it.
Aya sat on the bed.
The silence listened.
Outside, the blue-flamed torches flickered in the wind.
Somewhere in the palace, the Thorn King was awake.
He did not sleep.
Not because he could not.
But because sleep meant dreaming.
And dreams were the only place he bled.
---
Aya lay down eyes open staring at the dark ceiling above.
Tomorrow, she would see him again.
And when she did…
She would find the truth that killed the brides before her.
And she would decide whether to run from it
Or to love it so deeply it devoured her whole.
Because some destinies are not chosen.
They are summoned.
And Aya had already stepped into the center of hers