Elara's POV
The Dark King is begging me for help.
The most powerful man in the kingdom—the immortal tyrant who's ruled for three hundred years—is gripping my wrist with a shaking hand, his black eyes filled with something I never expected to see.
Fear.
"Please," he whispers again. "I don't want to die like this."
My mouth goes dry. Every story I've ever heard about King Asheron painted him as a monster. Cruel. Heartless. A man who kills without mercy and feels nothing.
But the person in front of me isn't a monster. He's a man in agony, and he's terrified.
"I—" My voice cracks. "I'll try. But you have to let go of my wrist."
He looks down like he's just realized he's holding me. His grip loosens immediately. "Sorry. I'm sorry, I just—" He stops, breathing hard. "The pain makes it hard to think. Hard to control myself."
I stare at him. Did the Dark King just apologize to me?
"Where does it hurt the most?" I ask.
He touches his chest, where black veins spread like cracks in glass. "Here. It started from the assassin's blade but now it's everywhere. Inside. Eating me from the inside out."
I kneel beside the bed, my chains clinking. "I need my hands free to heal you."
"Kieran!" Asheron shouts.
The doors burst open instantly. Kieran must have been standing right outside. He takes one look at me still alive and his eyes widen slightly.
"Remove her chains," Asheron orders.
"Your Majesty, that's not—"
"NOW!"
Kieran moves fast, unlocking the magic-suppressing chains. The moment they fall away, my power floods back. It feels like taking a full breath after nearly drowning.
"Everyone out," Asheron says, quieter this time. "Close the doors. Don't come back unless I call."
Kieran hesitates, looking at me with something like concern. Then he leaves.
The doors close. We're alone.
I flex my fingers, feeling my magic tingle beneath my skin. Both kinds—the dark healing magic I'm allowed to have, and the forbidden light magic that could get me executed.
"I need you to lie still," I tell him. "This might hurt."
"Nothing could hurt worse than what I'm already feeling." His laugh is bitter. "Do what you need to do."
I place my hands on his chest, right over the worst of the black veins.
The moment I touch him, his curse slams into me.
It's like being hit by a tidal wave of darkness. Cold, hungry, vicious darkness that wants to consume everything. I gasp, nearly pulling away.
But underneath the curse, I feel something else.
His life force. His soul. And it's dying.
The curse isn't just poison. It's parasitic. It's been slowly eating away at him for years—maybe decades—and the assassination accelerated it. Now it's devouring what little remains of his humanity.
Without thinking, I let my light magic rise.
Golden light erupts from my palms, pouring into him. I watch it chase the darkness, pushing it back from his heart, giving him room to breathe.
Asheron's whole body goes rigid. His back arches off the bed. For a terrifying second, I think I've killed him.
Then he exhales—a long, shuddering breath that sounds like relief.
"Don't stop," he gasps. "Whatever you're doing, don't stop."
I pour more light into him, using my dark magic to stabilize the damaged tissue while the light fights back the curse. It's delicate work, like trying to sew together torn fabric while someone's still wearing it.
Sweat drips down my face. My arms shake with effort. But slowly—so slowly—the black veins begin to fade. His skin cools from burning hot to merely warm. His breathing steadies.
After what feels like hours but is probably only minutes, I pull back. I'm exhausted, barely able to keep my eyes open.
Asheron sits up slowly, staring at his chest. The black veins are still there but they're lighter now, less angry. He touches the spot where the wound was worst.
"It doesn't hurt," he says, wonder in his voice. "For the first time in days, it doesn't hurt."
Then he looks at me.
Really looks at me.
His eyes aren't completely black anymore. I can see flickers of silver-blue underneath, like stars trying to shine through storm clouds.
"You used light magic," he says quietly.
My blood turns to ice. I just showed him my forbidden power. The power that's supposed to get me executed.
"I—I had to," I stammer. "The curse was too strong. Nothing else would have worked."
"I know." He's still staring at me with those strange eyes. "How is that possible? How do you have both shadow and light?"
"I don't know. I was born this way."
"And you've been hiding it." It's not a question.
I nod, waiting for him to call the guards, to order my execution.
Instead, he does something completely unexpected.
He smiles.
It's a small smile, tired and sad, but real. "I can't remember the last time someone touched me without flinching. Without fear." He pauses. "What's your name? Your real name."
"Elara. Elara Veylan."
His expression changes instantly. The smile vanishes. "Veylan. As in—"
"Lady Catherine Veylan. She was my mother." I meet his eyes, fury bubbling up inside me. "You executed her five years ago for treason. For using forbidden magic. For trying to heal you."
The silence that follows is deafening.
Asheron's face goes completely blank. "Your mother was Catherine Veylan."
"Yes."
"The healer who discovered something about my curse. Who tried to warn me." His voice is hollow. "They told me she was conspiring with my enemies. That she was trying to assassinate me."
"She was trying to save you!" I'm shaking now, years of grief and rage pouring out. "Just like I'm doing now! And they killed her for it!"
"I didn't order her execution."
I freeze. "What?"
"I was unconscious. The curse had taken control, driven me into a coma for three weeks. When I woke up, Lady Catherine was already dead. They told me she'd confessed to treason. That the evidence was clear." He looks at his hands. "I never questioned it. I never thought—"
He stops, his jaw clenching.
"Someone lied to me," he says, his voice dropping to something dangerous. "Someone murdered your mother and made it look like justice."
"Who?"
"I don't know. But I'm going to find out." He looks at me again, and this time his eyes are full of something fierce. "Your mother tried to save me and was killed for it. You just saved me when you could have let me die. When you had every reason to want me dead."
"I thought about it," I admit.
"But you didn't." He stands up, moving like a predator despite his obvious weakness. "Why?"
"Because..." I hesitate. "Because you asked me to help you. And you said please. Monsters don't say please."
Something in his expression softens. "I'm not a good man, Elara. I've done terrible things. Killed people. Made choices that haunt me every single day. But I swear to you—I didn't know about your mother. And I will find who's responsible."
"Why should I believe you?"
"Because I'm going to give you something no one else can." He steps closer. "The truth. Access to the palace archives. Every record of your mother's case. Everything that was hidden from me."
My heart pounds. "You'd do that?"
"Yes. But there's a condition." His eyes lock on mine. "You have to stay. What you did just now—that only bought me time. Days, maybe a week. The curse will come back. I need you to keep healing me until we find a permanent cure."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then I die. The kingdom falls into chaos. And you'll never know who really killed your mother or why." He pauses. "But I won't force you. I won't threaten you. This has to be your choice."
I stare at him, my mind spinning. This is the man everyone fears. The tyrant. The monster.
But he's giving me a choice. He's offering me answers. And somewhere underneath all the darkness, I sense something I never expected to find.
Humanity.
"I'll stay," I hear myself say. "But I have conditions too."
"Name them."
"I want my father found. Lord Caius Veylan. He disappeared the same night my mother died. I want to know if he's alive."
Asheron nods immediately. "Done. What else?"
"I want protection. If someone killed my mother for helping you, they'll come after me too."
"You'll have it. You'll stay in the royal wing, under constant guard. Anything else?"
I take a deep breath. "When this is over—when you're healed—I want my freedom. No strings. No debts. I walk away and no one hunts me for having light magic."
He's quiet for a long moment. Then: "Agreed."
He offers his hand.
I stare at it, knowing that shaking hands with the Dark King is probably the most dangerous thing I've ever done.
But I take it anyway.
His grip is warm, firm, and surprisingly gentle.
"Thank you," he says quietly. "For saving my life."
Before I can respond, the doors burst open.
A beautiful woman in an expensive dress sweeps in, her face a mask of concern. Behind her, Kieran looks tense.
"Your Majesty!" the woman gasps. "I came as soon as I heard you were awake! Thank the gods you're—"
She stops dead when she sees me.
Her eyes widen. Her face goes white.
And I recognize her instantly.
Seraphine. My childhood friend. The girl who braided flowers in my hair before my family fell.
The last time I saw her was at my mother's execution. She was standing with the nobles, watching. Not crying. Not protesting.
Just watching.
"You," she whispers, staring at me like I'm a ghost.
Asheron looks between us. "You two know each other?"
"We were friends," I say coldly. "Before she abandoned my family when we needed her most."
Seraphine's face hardens. "Lady Elara. How... unexpected to see you here."
The way she says my name makes my skin crawl. It's a threat wrapped in silk.
And in that moment, looking at her perfect smile and cold eyes, I realize something that makes my blood run cold.
She's not surprised I'm alive.
She's surprised I'm here. In the palace. With the king.
Which means she knew I was hiding in the Outer Districts all along.
And did nothing to help me.