I should have been asleep.
But sleep didn't come easily in a bed that felt like it was judging me.
The silk sheets were too cold, the pillows too fluffy, and the air too quiet. Back home, I used to fall asleep to the sound of palm fronds tapping the roof and my sisters laughing down the hallway. Now, all I had were whispers that didn't belong to the living.
"She has returned."
"Moon-born. Thunder-marked."
"He is not ready…"
---
A Strange Awakening
The fire in the hearth flickered unnaturally. One moment it was orange, the next a deep violet, like it was remembering something older than flame itself.
I got up.
Barefoot, heart pounding, I followed the pull in my chest—the way someone might follow the scent of pepper soup from three streets away.
It led me down a narrow hallway into a room that wasn't on the map the steward gave me. A forgotten chapel. Ivy snaked through cracks in the ceiling. Candles lit themselves when I stepped inside.
There, in the center, stood Marcus.
Shirtless.
Because of course he was.
His back was turned, muscles flexing like tension lived in his bones. Strange marks shimmered faintly across his skin—symbols that moved when you blinked.
"This isn't your part of the castle," he said, not turning around.
"Neither is it yours. Unless brooding shirtless in a haunted chapel is a royal hobby."
He turned then.
And oh.
If he looked intimidating in public, he was downright devastating in shadows.
"The curse awakens when we're close," he said softly.
" Is this your way of saying I turn you on and summon demons?"
He stepped forward. Slowly. Like a predator testing boundaries.
"When I touch someone," he murmured, "I see pieces of their soul. It's why I don't… touch."
I raised an eyebrow. "How tragic. I, on the other hand, enjoy touching very much."
He stopped, suddenly breathless.
"You shouldn't tempt me."
"You shouldn't warn me."
The tension between us thickened, sharp as a blade but soft around the edges. I saw it in his eyes: that war between duty and desire, control and surrender.
He lifted his hand.
Paused.
And then—his fingers brushed my cheek.
Visions slammed into my skull like thunder.
---
The Vision
I was no longer in the chapel.
I was standing in a field lit by three moons.
I wore armor. Gold and storm-dark.
My name wasn't Yetunde, not entirely.
I was Ariyike the Bound Flame, warrior-priestess of Ile-Ife, last bride of the Moonblood pact.
Beside me stood Marcus—but he wasn't Marcus.
He was Kael of Valeria, a cursed prince who betrayed the gods to save a kingdom.
We kissed.
Then I stabbed him.
And then I died.
---
Back to the Present
I gasped, stumbling backward. Marcus caught me, arms firm around my waist.
We were both trembling. Eyes wide. Breathing hard.
"You saw it too," he said.
"The war. The oath. The blood moon."
"We've done this before," I whispered.
"We were lovers. Enemies. Sacrifices."
He leaned in, voice rough with something ancient and aching.
"You're not just my bride. You're the only one who can break it."
"The curse?"
"The entire bloodline is tied to you."
Our foreheads touched. The heat between us surged, no longer cold and cautious, but desperate, magnetic.
He didn't kiss me.
Not yet.
But his lips hovered over mine, a heartbeat away.
"Tell me to stop," he whispered.
"Why would I do that?" I replied.
And the moment cracked like thunder. His mouth found mine—hungry, reverent, a storm made flesh.
For a moment, there was no curse.
No kingdom.
Just a man and a woman reborn through fire and fate.
---
Later
We lay in silence on the chapel floor, the candle flames dancing wildly.
"So…" I murmured against his chest, "does this count as a blessing or curse?"
"Both," he said, running a hand through my braids. "But I'd die happy."
I laughed softly.
But deep in my chest, something stirred.
A voice not mine. A power not yet fully awake.
"He will burn for you."
"But you must first survive the awakening."
The kiss lingered.
Not just on my lips—but in my blood.
Since that night in the chapel, everything felt… more alive. The air whispered in colors. My dreams cracked open. And Marcus?
Let's just say "brooding prince" was quickly evolving into "devoted, dangerously attractive problem."
But peace has a curfew in Valerian Castle. And ours just ran out.
---
At dawn, I was awoken by three crows perched on my windowsill.
Not regular crows.
These had silver eyes and spoke in a language older than dust.
"You are summoned," they cawed in eerie harmony.
"To the Market. Bring nothing but your blood name."
I blinked sleep from my eyes, still tangled in Marcus's scent and dreams of moonlit battles.
"The Market?" I asked.
"What is that, a farmers' square for ghosts?"
The eldest crow blinked. Then grinned.
I did not know crows could grin.
---
Marcus insisted on coming with me.
"It's dangerous," he said. "Even for you."
"Especially for me," I corrected. "Which is why I have to go."
He didn't argue. Instead, he dressed me in Lioran black leather—soft as sin, stitched with protective runes. I slipped twin ivory daggers into my boots. They hummed like old friends.
We rode out after nightfall, cloaked and silent, across a frozen lake to a forest where trees leaned too closely, whispering secrets in tongues that tasted of mildew and prophecy.
At the edge, a gate stood. Invisible—until I stepped forward and whispered my blood name.
"Yetunde, daughter of Abebi and Ademola the second."
The trees shivered. The gate opened.
---
The Market
The Night Market wasn't a place.
It was a heartbeat between worlds.
Lanterns floated in the air, held up by whispers. Merchants wore masks made of mirrors. Stalls offered wares not meant for the sane: bottled memories, regret pearls, hands that granted wishes (for a price).
A small demon tried to sell me a basket of second chances.
"Only slightly cursed!" it said cheerfully.
"Tempting," I replied. "But I'll pass."
Marcus walked beside me like a shadow made flesh, eyes scanning every corner.
"They're watching you," he said. "They can smell who you were."
"Let them watch. I'm done being hidden."
We made our way toward the Heart Tent, where the oldest truths were sold. It stood in the center of the market, stitched together with golden sinew and what looked suspiciously like braided hair.
A woman greeted us. Half of her face was human. The other half? Smoke.
"Ah. The thunder bride," she said, voice echoing twice.
"You've come to remember."
---
The Truth Revealed
Inside the Heart Tent, I was offered a cup. Bone-white. Filled with a liquid that pulsed.
"Drink this," the woman said. "And you'll remember why you died."
Marcus grabbed my hand.
"You don't have to do this."
"But I do, Marcus. Because if we don't know who I was—who we were—we'll never survive who we're becoming."
I drank.
The world melted.
---
The Past Life – Fully Awakened
I stood beneath a blood moon.
Armor gleaming. Hands stained with gold and ash.
I was Ariyike, daughter of the Sky Oracle, of Ile-Ife. The woman who made the Valerian Pact—a forbidden love sealed with blood and sealed again with betrayal.
I loved Kael—Marcus's past self.
But I also killed him.
Because the gods demanded it. Because only his blood could stop the Red Harvest. And because I swore an oath I never forgave myself for.
But Kael didn't hate me.
He died whispering my name.
"In another life… I will find you again."
---
Back to Now
I collapsed.
Marcus caught me, shaking.
"What did you see?"
"Us. The truth." I gripped his shirt, breathless. "We were cursed because we loved each other more than the gods allowed."
"I was a sacrificial bride to Sango, but I fell in love with you"
His face changed—eyes burning with fury and something softer.
"Then we'll finish what they started."
He kissed me.
Not out of passion alone—but out of promise.
And when our lips met, something ancient shattered.
---
Something Has Awakened
The market went silent.
Every creature, every ghost, every whisper froze.
The woman with the smoke-face bowed.
"It has begun," she said.
"The Bride of Thunder has returned."
"And the gods are afraid."
---
We returned from the Night Market just before sunrise.
Marcus looked like a man who'd fought shadows and won. I felt like a woman who had just fallen in love—twice. With the man before me… and the warrior I used to be.
"So," I said as we reached the castle steps, "do all your arranged marriages come with ancient curses and magical trauma bonding?"
"Only the ones I enjoy."
Cheeky devil.
---
Queen Isolde waited in the throne hall.
Tall. Cold. Ethereal like an ice sculpture with opinions.
Her gaze swept over me like I was an insect on her favorite gown.
"You took the bride to the Night Market?" she hissed.
"You risked awakening the blood oath?"
"She needed the truth," Marcus said. "And she's not a child."
"She's a danger."
I stepped forward, voice cool but firm.
"I'm the solution to your curse. Not a threat."
"You're a foreigner," the queen snapped, "with a name that stirs storms and a mouth that offends decorum."
"And yet here I am. Married. Breathing. And hotter than your heir."
Even Marcus choked back a laugh.
She stormed out, muttering about "insubordination" and "witch brides." I waved politely.
---
Later that night, Marcus came to my room.
His shirt was unbuttoned. Again. At this point, I suspected the buttons were just decoration.
He sat beside me, handed me a small box.
"What's this?" I asked.
"A crown," he said. "Bone from the gods' battlefield. Forged for the Valerian Bride."
Inside was a delicate circlet of pale ivory. It pulsed faintly in my palm.
"Put it on, and your power will stabilize. But it comes at a cost."
"What kind of cost?"
"It will bind your magic to mine. Our lives… tied. Our fates... sealed. And our bedroom… permanently spicy."
I raised an eyebrow. "So a magical marriage contract, but with excellent fringe benefits?"
"Exactly."
"And if I don't wear it?"
"You'll still burn bright—but you might burn alone."
We stared at each other, the air thick with heat and unspoken wants.
"Say it, Marcus."
"Say what?"
"That you want me. That this is more than duty."
He moved closer, until his breath danced against my lips.
"I want you. Not because of a curse. Not because of prophecy. But because you challenge me. Because you set me on fire."
"Then crown me."
He placed it gently on my head.
The moment the crown touched my hair, fire rushed through my veins—cool and hot all at once.
A mark flared on my shoulder. His name in ancient runes.
Marcus gasped.
"It's done," he said, eyes wild.
"You're mine now."
"In power. In passion. In fate."
"Good," I whispered, yanking him down to me.
"Then claim me."
And he did.
Fiercely. Reverently.
As if the gods could wait their turn.
---
Later
We lay tangled in sheets and spells.
My skin still sparkled with leftover magic.
"What now?" I asked.
"Now," Marcus said, brushing a curl from my forehead, "we survive the next test."
"Which is?"
"Your coronation."
"Lovely. Will there be cake?"
"Yes. And assassination attempts."
"So… spicy cake."
We laughed.
But outside our door, far across the castle grounds, something ancient stirred.
The crown on my head warmed.
A whisper crawled through the air.
"The bride has returned. And with it… the reckoning."