Elara's POV
The carriage stops so suddenly I'm thrown against the seat.
We're here, Theron says, his voice flat. Last chance to run.
I look out the window and my breath stops.
The Citadel of Ash rises from the volcano like a black tooth. Flames lick at its walls. Smoke pours from towers that scrape the sky. Even from here, I can feel wrongness radiating from it like the building itself is alive and hungry.
Come on. Theron opens the door. The King doesn't like to be kept waiting.
The moment I step out, heat slams into me. Not normal heat magical heat that tries to burrow under my skin. But just like with Serafine's fire, my body swallows it. Makes it disappear.
I follow Theron through gates that drip with molten stone. Guards stand at attention, but they don't look at me. Don't look at anything. Their eyes are empty.
What's wrong with them? I whisper.
The curse, Theron says shortly. They've learned not to care. It's the only way to survive here.
We enter the citadel proper, and I've never seen anything like it. Everything is black and sharp and beautiful in a dangerous way. Torches burn with flames that are blue, green, silver colors fire shouldn't be.
Servants drift past us like ghosts. They don't speak. Don't make eye contact. Move like they're afraid breathing too loud will get them killed.
One girl drops a tray. She freezes, terror flooding her face.
Pick it up, Theron says quietly. Fast. Before the curse notices.
The girl scrambles to grab the broken pieces, her hands shaking so badly she cuts herself. Blood drips on the floor.
For a second, nothing happens.
Then the blood starts smoking. The girl gasps and staggers backward, clutching her hand. Dark veins spread up her arm.
Theron I start.
Don't, he snaps. Don't help. Don't care. The curse feeds on connection. The moment you care about someone here, it marks them for death.
I watch helplessly as another servant pulls the bleeding girl away. The dark veins are spreading faster now.
Will she die? I ask.
Probably. Unless the King decides to heal her. But he won't. He can't risk caring enough to bother. Theron's golden eyes fix on me. Remember this, Elara. In this place, caring is deadly. Don't touch anything. Don't look at anyone too long. And whatever you do, don't form attachments.
We walk through corridor after corridor. Each one feels worse than the last like the air itself is sick.
Then we pass through a doorway covered in symbols that hurt to look at.
The moment I cross the threshold, something slams into me.
Magic. Dark, hungry, vicious magic that tries to invade my body. It pushes at my skin, searching for cracks, trying to force its way inside and rip me apart from within.
I gasp and stumble.
Theron glances back but doesn't stop. That's the curse recognizing new prey. It'll fade in a moment. Just... try not to die.
But the magic doesn't fade. It keeps pushing, keeps searching
And then my body does what it always does with magic.
It opens up and swallows it whole.
The dark magic rushes into me like water down a drain. I feel it dissolve, transform, become something else. Something that doesn't hurt.
The attack stops.
I stand there, breathing hard, waiting for pain or death or something.
Nothing happens.
Theron hasn't noticed. He's already walking again, and I hurry to catch up.
We reach massive doors made of black stone. Theron stops and turns to me.
Last warning, he says. Through these doors is the Dragon King. He's not like regular people anymore. Three hundred years of isolation and curse magic have changed him. He's cold. Ruthless. Dangerous. Don't expect mercy or kindness. Don't expect him to care if you die. You're just another tribute to him another body to feed the curse for a little while.
I understand, I say, even though my heart is pounding so hard I can barely hear my own voice.
Theron knocks.
Enter. The voice from inside is deep and smooth and makes something in my chest vibrate.
The doors swing open.
The throne room is enormous. Floating balls of fire light the space. And sitting on a throne of black stone and dragon bones is
Him.
My breath stops.
He's the most beautiful and terrifying person I've ever seen. Tall, even sitting down. Broad shoulders wrapped in dark armor that looks like dragon scales. Black hair that falls to his shoulders. And eyes silver eyes that glow like molten metal.
Those eyes lock onto me, and I feel like I'm being x-rayed. Like he's seeing through my skin, reading every secret I've ever kept.
Another one, he says. His voice is cold. Empty. Like he stopped feeling things a long time ago. How long did the last tribute last, Theron?
Four hours, my King.
The Dragon King Kaelen doesn't look surprised. And this one? She looks fragile. I give her maybe two.
Anger flares in my chest. I'm standing right here.
His silver eyes snap to mine, and I see surprise flicker across his face. Like he's not used to tributes talking back.
So you are. He stands and walks down from his throne. Each step echoes in the huge room. What's your name, tribute?
Elara Thornwood.
He stops in front of me. Up close, he's even more overwhelming taller, broader, radiating power that makes my knees want to buckle.
You don't look like much, Elara Thornwood, he says. No visible magic. Weak body. Frightened eyes. Why did you volunteer? Do you have a death wish?
No, I say, forcing my voice to stay steady. I have a village to save.
Noble. His smile is sharp and cruel. Nobility dies fast here. You'll last maybe until morning. Then the curse will take you. Your skin will go pale, your breath will stop, and you'll die screaming. I've watched it happen dozens of times.
Then I'll scream, I say. But I'm not afraid of you.
The words are out before I can stop them.
Kaelen goes completely still. The whole room seems to hold its breath.
What did you say? he asks quietly.
I said I'm not afraid of you. I lift my chin, refusing to back down. I've been afraid my whole life. Afraid of my stepmother's fists. Afraid of my sister's magic. Afraid of being nothing. But death? I laugh, and it sounds slightly hysterical even to me. Death would be a relief.
Kaelen stares at me like I've grown a second head.
Then he does something that makes my heart stop.
He reaches out and touches my face.
His fingers brush my cheek gentle, curious, like he's testing something.
The moment his skin touches mine, I feel it.
The curse activates.
A massive wave of dark magic explodes from him, trying to invade my body. Trying to poison my blood and stop my heart.
Theron shouts something. I hear footsteps running toward us.
But I don't move. Don't flinch.
Because my body is already doing what it does.
Absorbing. Swallowing. Transforming.
The curse magic rushes into me like a flood, and my body drinks it down. Makes it disappear.
Kaelen jerks his hand back like I've burned him.
He stares at his fingers, then at me, then back at his fingers.
Impossible, he whispers.
Theron has frozen halfway across the room, his mouth open in shock.
What are you? Kaelen asks. His voice has changed no longer cold and empty. Now it's alive with something that might be hope or might be fear.
I don't know, I admit.
Kaelen circles me slowly, like I'm a puzzle he's trying to solve. The curse should have killed you. It activated I felt it activate. But you're still standing. Still breathing. He stops in front of me again. Show me your arm.
I hold out my arm.
He pushes up my sleeve, examining my skin. No dark veins. No signs of curse poisoning. Nothing. His silver eyes meet mine, and for the first time, I see past the cold mask to the desperate, lonely man underneath. You absorbed it. Somehow, you absorbed the curse magic.
I absorb all magic, I say quietly. I always have. I just didn't know it until three days ago.
Kaelen's hands are shaking. Actually shaking.
Do you understand what this means? he asks. I've been alone for three hundred years. Three hundred years of watching everyone I touch die. Everyone I care about withering away because the curse punishes connection. And you
He reaches out again, slower this time. His hand cups my face.
The curse activates again. Stronger this time, like it's angry.
But I absorb it just as easily.
Kaelen's breath comes out in a rush. You can touch me. You can actually touch me without dying.
Apparently, I say.
And then the Dragon King the monster who's killed thousands, who's been alone for three centuries, who everyone fears does something that breaks my heart.
He drops to his knees in front of me.
Stay, he says, and his voice is raw with need. Not as a tribute. As a guest. Help me understand this. Help me understand you. His silver eyes are pleading. Because you're the first person in three hundred years I can touch without killing. And I'm so tired of being alone.
I stare down at him. At this powerful, terrifying king on his knees, begging.
And I realize Corvus was wrong about one thing.
Kaelen isn't a monster wearing a man's face.
He's a man who's been forced to become a monster to survive.
I'll stay, I whisper.
Relief floods his face.
But then the torches around the room flicker and die.
In the sudden darkness, I hear a woman's laugh cold, cruel, familiar.
How sweet, Morganna's voice echoes through the throne room. The King has finally found someone who can touch him. What a shame she won't survive the night.
Light blazes back, but Morganna isn't here. Just her voice, coming from everywhere and nowhere.
Tick tock, granddaughter, she purrs. The curse is just getting started. And this time, I'm not letting my prize escape.
The curse magic explodes.
Not just from Kaelen from the walls, the floor, the air itself.
It slams into me from all directions, a hundred times stronger than before.
And for the first time since my magic woke up, I feel pain.