Cassian was the first to pretend nothing was wrong.
He laughed when his hands shook. He brushed off the way he tired easily, how walking the palace stairs left him breathless. When I asked, he kissed my forehead and told me I worried too much.
But I saw it.
The way his skin lost its warmth.
The way sleep clung to him like a sickness.
The way the marks spread—dark veins of magic creeping across his chest and down his ribs.
One night, he collapsed.
I caught him before he hit the floor, his weight heavy in my arms.
"Elara," he whispered, forcing a smile even then. "Guess I should've listened to you."
I pressed my forehead to his. "I won't lose you," I said, though my voice broke.
The curse had claimed him.
And this time, it was slow.