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 hot 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 SangoBlood 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.
---