Night bled over the kingdom.
Kael paced the length of his chamber like a caged beast. His wounds had closed—but wrong. Veins darkened beneath his skin. His breath turned uneven.
Ysolde watched him, her back to the wall.
"What's happening to you?"
Kael stopped abruptly. His pupils had narrowed into slits.
"It's starting again."
He grit his teeth, muscles bunching beneath his skin, as though something inside him was trying to claw its way out.
Ysolde stepped forward despite every instinct shrieking to run. "What do I do?"
His voice came out as a snarl.
"Stay back."
But when she didn't move—
He lurched, dropping to one knee.
Not in submission.
In agony.
His claws punched through his fingertips. His spine arched unnaturally. Breath turned ragged.
The curse was tearing him apart.
And some reckless part of Ysolde moved anyway—she grabbed his arm.
The reaction was instant.
His body snapped still.
A shudder ran through him—violent, then soft.
The darkness under his skin eased, just enough for him to breathe.
He lifted his head.
His eyes weren't gold anymore.
They were silver—haunted, stunned.
"Why does your touch silence it?" he whispered.
Ysolde felt his heat through her hands, burning like a live ember.
"I don't know."
"You're lying."
She stiffened. "I don't even know what the curse is—"
Kael surged upward, towering over her again.
But not with anger.
With revelation.
"You should not exist," he said quietly. "Humans are not born with old blood."
Old blood.
The words pricked something inside her—something almost remembered.
A knock shattered the moment.
The doors exploded open, and a guard burst inside, eyes wide.
"Your Majesty—your enemies have learned of the girl. They're coming for her."
Kael's head snapped toward Ysolde.
The curse still simmered beneath his skin.
The enemy was closing in.
And the King's Vow bound them together.
His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.
"Then they'll learn what happens," he said, "when someone tries to take what's mine."