The kingdom welcomed me back like a lamb led to slaughter.
No songs.
No cheers.
Only silence — thick, heavy, crawling over my skin like chains.
Lucian carried me into the throne room, his grip unyielding, his breath hot against my spine.
He dropped me onto the black marble floor at the foot of his throne — the seat carved from bone and iron, soaked in centuries of bloodshed.
"You wanted freedom," Lucian said, his voice low and terrible. "Now you'll learn the cost."
I scrambled to my feet, rage twisting through me, but before I could move, two guards seized my arms.
They forced me down, baring my throat to the cold air.
A ceremonial dagger — ancient, jagged, cursed — was placed in Lucian's hand.
My heart hammered.
I knew the rites of the rogues.
The ancient vows.
The blood binding.
And I knew — I knew — that if he marked me tonight, there would be no escape.
No undoing.
I would be his until death.
Lucian stepped forward, the dagger gleaming.
"Seraphina of the Silverblood line," he said, voice echoing in the hollow silence. "You are called to stand beside the cursed king. Will you kneel?"
I bared my teeth, my wolf snarling beneath my skin.
"No."
A collective gasp.
The guards tightened their grip until I whimpered.
Lucian smiled — a slow, deadly curve of his lips.
"Good," he murmured.
Then he grabbed me by the hair, wrenching my head back, forcing me to look into his burning gold eyes.
"I don't want a queen who bows," Lucian whispered. "I want a queen who fights until she bleeds."
The dagger kissed my throat — not deep enough to kill, but enough to mark.
A single drop of blood rolled down my skin.
Lucian caught it with his thumb, smearing it across my lips.
"Taste your rebellion," he said darkly. "Taste what it costs."
I trembled — not from fear.
From the sick, twisted bond growing deeper with every heartbeat.
He pressed the dagger into my palm.
"Choose," Lucian ordered. "Stab me and run. Or cut yourself — and be mine."
The room spun.
The bond between us writhed and screamed, desperate for completion.
I looked at him — this brutal king, this damned wolf who had broken me open and filled my soul with fire.
I hated him.
I wanted him.
I was already ruined.
My hand shook.
Lucian waited — patient, brutal, endless.
The dagger sliced across my palm before I even realized I'd made my choice.
Lucian's eyes darkened — a golden, shattered hunger.
He seized my bleeding hand and pressed it to his chest — right over his heart.
The blood sizzled against his skin, magic roaring between us.
The room trembled.
The wolves howled.
The bond snapped into place — final, eternal, damned.
Lucian crushed my mouth in a brutal kiss — no tenderness, no gentleness — only possession, only rageful devotion.
The guards dropped to their knees, heads bowed.
Lucian lifted me into his arms, carrying me to the throne like a conquering king with his war prize.
He sat with me straddling him, my crimson blood staining his black clothes.
"You belong to me now," Lucian whispered against my throat. "Body. Blood. Soul."
Tears slid down my cheeks.
He licked them away — slow, deliberate, obscene.
And as the kingdom howled for their dark queen,
I realized something far more terrifying than hatred.
I was falling.
Not into love.
Into ruin.
Into him.
And there was no coming back.