KIERAN'S POV:
"I look like a vampire or something.."
I'm staring at myself in the mirror, and I barely recognize the person looking back.
The costume is elaborate. Black and silver—because apparently those are the only colors that exist in Nocterra—with intricate embroidery that looks like shadows crawling across the fabric. A cape that somehow doesn't drag on the floor despite being way too long. And a mask.
Half my face is covered in black and silver filigree shaped like wings, making me look like some kind of gothic bird. Or a very fancy, very dramatic raccoon.
"You look perfect," Elara—Grandmother—says, fussing with the cape for the fifth time. "The Dark Consort should look mysterious and beautiful. You're both!"
"I look like I'm going to a Halloween party designed by someone who thinks 'subtle' is a dirty word."
"What's Halloween?"
"Never mind." I tug at the high collar. "Do I really have to wear this?"
"It's the Dark Festival, dear! Everyone wears masks!" She beams at me. "It's the most important celebration in Nocterra! Dancing, music, wine—" She winks. "Lots of wine. You'll have fun!"
"I doubt that."
"And you'll dance with Ravion!" She's practically glowing now. "The opening dance is always the King and his consort! So romantic!"
"That's not—we're not—ugh."
She pats my cheek fondly. "You're adorable when you're flustered. Now come, His Majesty is waiting!"
The ballroom is transformed.
I've been in here before—during that awkward tour where Ravion held my hand and I died internally—but it looked nothing like this.
The ceiling is covered in floating candles—actual floating candles, no strings, just magic—casting flickering shadows everywhere. Black silk drapes the walls. The floor is polished to a mirror shine. And at the far end, musicians play instruments I don't recognize, creating music that sounds like a soundtrack to a vampire movie.
The room is packed.
Nobles in elaborate costumes and masks. Some look like animals—wolves, ravens, serpents. Others look like creatures from nightmares—horned, winged, skeletal. Everyone is drinking & dancing. Ohh..It's chaos.
And standing at the top of the stairs, waiting for me, is Ravion.
He's dressed all in black—because of course he is—with silver accents that match mine. His mask is simpler than mine but more intimidating: black and silver shaped like a crown of thorns, covering the top half of his face.
But those blood-red eyes are unmistakable.
They find me immediately across the room.And heat.
"Your Majesty!" A herald announces in a booming voice. "The Dark Consort has arrived!"
Every head turns toward me. Every Single Head.
I'm going to die.
Of embarrassment.Right here...
Ravion descends the stairs with that fluid, predatory grace. Crosses the room. Stops in front of me.
Offers his hand.
"You look stunning," he says quietly.
"I look like a gothic pigeon."
His lips twitch. "A very attractive gothic pigeon."
"That's not better."
"Shall we?" He's still holding his hand out.
The entire room is watching.
Fuck.
I take his hand.
The opening dance is torture.
Not because it's difficult—Ravion leads, and the bond helps me follow without thinking.
But because everyone is watching.
And because Ravion won't stop looking at me like I'm the only person in the room.
And because his hand on my waist is possessive and gentle at the same time.
And because I'm enjoying this and I shouldn't be.
The music swells—dramatic, sweeping, the kind of music you hear in movies during Important Romantic Moments.
Ravion spins me. I stumble slightly. He catches me, pulls me closer.
"Relax," he murmurs. "You're doing fine."
"Everyone is staring."
"Let them." His hand tightens on my waist. "You're my consort. My husband. They should stare."
"Fake husband," I mutter.
"The bond says otherwise." He dips me—actually dips me like we're in a damn romance novel. "As does the way you're looking at me right now."
"I'm not—I don't—shut up."
He's smiling as he pulls me upright. "You're blushing."
"That's the lighting."
"Is it?"
"Yes."
"Liar."
The music shifts. Faster now & More dramatic.
Ravion spins me again. And again. I'm laughing despite myself, caught up in the movement, the music, the way he's looking at me like I'm something precious.
The song ends the room erupts in applause.
I'm breathing hard. Face flushed. Heart racing.
Ravion bows formally. I awkwardly bow back.
"See?" he says quietly. "Not so terrible."
"...Maybe not terrible," I admit.
His smile could light up the entire kingdom.
The rest of the festival is chaos.
After the opening dance, everyone else floods the floor. The music gets louder. The wine flows freely. Nobles spin past in elaborate costumes, some dancing elegantly, others just stumbling drunk.
It's like the world's fanciest, darkest Halloween party.
And I'm... having fun?
Elara keeps appearing with more wine. "Drink, dear! It's festival!"
I drink.Maybe too much.
The room gets warmer. The music gets louder. Everything blurs into candlelight and laughter and movement.
Ravion stays close—always within reach, always watching, always there when someone gets too friendly or I need steadying.
"Having fun?" he asks during a break in the music.
"Maybe," I admit. "Don't let it go to your head."
"Too late."
A noble—Lord something-or-other—approaches. "Your Majesty! A toast! To you and your beautiful consort!"
Everyone nearby raises glasses.
"TO THE DARK KING AND HIS CONSORT!"
I drink because everyone else is drinking and it would be weird not to.
The wine is strong.
"You okay?" Ravion asks, steadying me.
"Fine! I'm fine! Everything is great!"
"You're drunk."
"I'm tipsy. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Yes! Drunk is when—when things spinny. Tipsy is when things..." I gesture vaguely. "...floaty."
"Very scientific."
"I'm very scientific!" I poke his chest. "Did you know in my time we have computers? They're like... magic boxes that know everything!"
"You've mentioned this."
"But did I mention GOOGLE?"
"Several times."
"It's AMAZING!" I'm gesturing wildly now. Some wine sloshes out of my glass. "You just ask it things and it ANSWERS! Like magic but SCIENCE!"
Ravion is definitely trying not to laugh. "Perhaps you should sit down."
"I don't wanna sit! I wanna DANCE!" I grab his hand. "Come on! Dance with me!"
"We already danced."
"That was formal dancing! Now we do fun dancing!"
"I don't think—"
But I'm already pulling him back to the floor, and the music is loud, and I'm drunk—tipsy—and for once I'm not thinking about prophecies or bonds or being trapped.
I'm just... here.
Dancing badly with the Dark King at a festival that feels like a fever dream.
It's during the third—or maybe fifth?—dance that I notice.
The guards.they're... relaxed.
Half of them are drinking. Others are dancing. A few are actually asleep in corners, wine glasses still in hand.
The exits are barely watched.
The chaos is perfect.
And suddenly, through the wine-haze, a thought crystallizes:
This is my chance.
Everyone is drunk, distracted, celebrating. Ravion is occupied playing host. The guards are useless.
If I'm ever going to escape, it's tonight.
The realization sobers me instantly.
I look around more carefully now. Mapping exits. Counting guards. Watching patterns.
The main doors— Too many people.
But there's a servant's entrance behind the musicians. Barely guarded. Opens to the kitchens, which connect to the back corridors, which lead to the gardens.
From the gardens, I could reach the outer walls.
"Kieran?" Ravion's voice cuts through my planning. "You alright? You went quiet."
I paste on a smile. "Just tired! All the dancing!"
"Do you want to sit?"
"Actually..." I pretend to stumble slightly. "Maybe I should go lie down? The wine..."
Concern flashes across his face. "I'll escort you—"
"NO!" Too loud. I force myself to calm down. "I mean—you can't leave your own festival! You're the king! Everyone wants to talk to you!" I gesture at the nobles hovering nearby, clearly waiting for his attention. "I'll just go rest for a bit. Come back later."
He hesitates.
"I'll be fine," I insist. "It's just down the hall. And I'll take a guard if it makes you feel better."
"The bond—"
"Will be fine for an hour! I'm not going far!" I squeeze his hand. Give him my best reassuring smile. "Go be the Dark King. Do your hosting thing. I'll see you soon."
He still looks uncertain.
But a noble calls his name, pulling his attention.
"Go," I say. "I'm fine."
He cups my face. Presses a kiss to my forehead. "Come back soon."
"I will."
Liar.
He lets me go.
I weave through the crowd, pretending to be drunker than I am, stumbling toward the exit.
A guard moves to follow.
"I'm just going to my chambers!" I call over the music. "His Majesty said I could rest!"
The guard hesitates. Looks back at Ravion—who's now surrounded by nobles, distracted.
"I'll be fine!" I insist. "It's like fifty feet away!"
The guard nods, staying at his post.
I slip out of the ballroom.
The hallway is blessedly quiet after the chaos inside. Cool air on my flushed face. Silence except for muffled music and laughter.
I don't go toward my chambers.
I turn the opposite direction.
Toward the servant's entrance I noticed earlier.
My heart is pounding.
This is my chance.
The bond tugs in my chest—already unhappy about the distance from Ravion.
I ignore it.
I reach the servant's entrance. Peer through.
The kitchens beyond are abandoned—everyone's either serving at the festival or celebrating themselves.
I slip through.
Move quickly through the kitchens. Out the back door. Into the corridor.
The bond is pulling harder now. Starting to hurt.
I ignore it.
Down the corridor. Left turn. Another door—
Outside.
The gardens.
Cool night air. Stars overhead. The sound of the festival distant now.
Freedom is so close.
I just need to reach the outer wall. Find a way over. Or through. Or—
"Going somewhere?"
I freeze.
Turn slowly.
Ravion stands in the doorway behind me. Still in his festival costume. Mask pushed up. Those red eyes glowing in the darkness.
Not angry.
Just... sad.
"You weren't resting," he says quietly.
"I—I can explain—"
"You were running." Not a question.
I can't lie. Can't even try.
"Yes."
He's quiet for a long moment.
Then: "Why?"
"Because I'm trapped!" The words burst out. "Because I didn't choose this! Because no matter how nice you are or how good the baths are or how much fun the stupid festival is, I'm still a prisoner!" My voice cracks. "I just want to go home."
"Home doesn't exist anymore," Ravion says.. "The portal is closed. Your world is two hundred years away. There is no home to go back to."
"Then I'll find somewhere else!" I'm crying now. "Anywhere. Somewhere I chose. Somewhere I'm not bound by magic I didn't ask for!"
"And you think you'd survive out there?" He gestures beyond the walls. "Alone? In a world you don't understand? With no money, no protection, no—"
"I'd rather try than stay in a cage!"
"This isn't a cage!"
"ISN'T IT?!"
We're both shouting now.
The bond is screaming between us—pain from the distance, fury from the emotions, breaking from the conflict.
"I gave you space," Ravion says, voice strained. "I tried to be patient. To let you adjust. To make this bearable. What more do you want?"
"I want a CHOICE!" I'm sobbing now. "I want to choose this! Not be forced! Not be bound! I want—" My legs give out.
Ravion catches me before I hit the ground.
Pulls me against his chest.
Holds me while I break.
"I know," he whispers. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Let me go," I beg. "Please. Just let me go."
"I can't." His arms tighten. "The bond won't let me. Even if I wanted to—and gods help me, part of me does want to, just to see you happy—the magic won't allow it. We're bound, Kieran. Permanently."
"I hate you."
"I know."
"I hate this."
"I know that too."
We sit there in the garden—me crying, him holding me, both of us broken by a bond neither of us chose.
"Come inside," Ravion finally says. "Please. Before you get sick from the cold."
"I don't want to."
"I know. But do it anyway."
He lifts me—carries me like I weigh nothing—back through the corridors. Past the kitchens. Through the servants' entrance.
We pass the ballroom. The music still plays. The celebration continues.
No one notices we're gone.
He carries me all the way to our chambers. Sets me on the bed. Removes my mask, my cape, my too-elaborate costume.
Dresses me in sleep clothes.
Tucks me in like a child.
"I'm sorry," he says again. "For all of it."
"Sorry doesn't fix it."
"I know."
He turns to leave.
"Stay," I whisper.
He stops. "What?"
"I hate you. And I hate this. But the bond—" My voice cracks. "It hurts when you're far away. And I'm so tired of hurting."
He's quiet for a long moment.
Then he climbs into bed beside me. Pulls me against him. Lets me cry into his chest until there's nothing left.
"I would let you go if I could," he whispers into my hair. "I need you to know that."
"But you can't."
"No."
"So we're both trapped."
"Yes."
I close my eyes.
"I still hate you," I mumble.
"I know," Ravion says softly. "But maybe someday you won't."
I don't answer.
Because maybe he's right.
And that scares me more than anything...