Yena had performed many rituals in her short life. She had guided wandering spirits, cleansed haunted rooms, even whispered prayers over dying soldiers on the battlefield border.
But nothing.....nothing...had prepared her for this.
She stood barefoot in the Crown Prince's inner chamber, now sealed with protective wards. Chalk lines circled them both, etched with shamanic sigils. A shallow bowl of black water trembled between them, its surface reflecting the flickering flame of the single lantern they'd dared light.
Joon sat cross-legged, shirtless again, eyes closed.
The marks on his body pulsed softly....like they were breathing.
"You still want this?" she asked, voice low.
"Yes."
Yena reached into her pouch and drew out a needle carved from deer bone. She didn't look at him as she said, "Once I begin, you can't move. If you do..."
"I die. I know."
She inhaled deeply.
Then she began.
Her chants were low, layered with ancient syllables that didn't belong to any courtly tongue. As she traced the sigils around each scar, the ink glowed faintly. The air thickened.
Suddenly, Joon's body jerked.
The shadows around him twisted.....and for the first time, Yena saw it.
Something was inside the marks.
A shape. No, a presence. Watching her through his skin.
She recoiled. Her voice faltered.
Joon's eyes snapped open.
"Don't stop," he hissed.
Yena gritted her teeth. "There's a second presence inside the curse. It's sentient."
He didn't flinch. "Then speak to it."
She shuddered. "It's not... human."
Still, she pressed her palm against the largest scar and whispered a question in the old tongue.
The shadows stilled.
Then a voice.
Why do you wake us, little witch?
Yena's throat clenched. The voice wasn't spoken. It echoed from beneath her skin, cold and ancient.
"I seek the binding's purpose," she whispered.
He was marked to be protected. But protection becomes prison when twisted by fear.
Yena glanced at Joon. He was still, eyes fixed on her.
One of royal blood cursed the line. Out of love. Out of desperation.
Yena felt the pieces begin to fall together. "The curse isn't punishment," she breathed. "It's containment."
It was never meant for you to break. But you may yet unweave the threads.....if you choose the right price.
The bowl of black water cracked with a sharp pop. The spell broke.
Yena fell back, breath ragged. The voice was gone.
Joon stood slowly, eyes narrowed. "What did it say?"
"That someone cursed your bloodline to protect you… but it was twisted."
His face darkened. "Then I was right."
"Right about what?"
"That someone in this court would rather see me trapped than dead. Because dead heirs don't follow orders."
Outside, the moon was high. The palace, silent.
But far above, in the forbidden tower sealed for decades, a candle had been lit.
And behind the lattice window, a woman with silver in her hair watched the darkness with knowing eyes.