The crown stayed on my head.
I should've taken it off. Thrown it. Burned it. But instead, I stood there, frozen in place, as if my body remembered a command from a time I couldn't recall.
His eyes never left me.
"You feel it, don't you?" the king whispered. His voice was rougher now, like he hadn't spoken in centuries. "The weight of the crown. The way it binds us."
I couldn't speak. The blood on the thorns was still warm against my skin. The memory of death was too close. My mind scrambled to understand what was happening. What had happened.
"You were always meant to wear it," he said, stepping closer. His breath brushed my neck. I could feel the heat of his body like a pull I couldn't resist. "From the moment you were born again, you were meant to be mine."
I didn't want to be his.
But there was something inside me—something that wasn't me—wanting to be.
I lifted my head and met his gaze. For the first time, I saw something flicker behind those dark eyes. Something… broken. Something that begged.
And it hit me.
He wasn't the one in control.
The curse was. The gods, the palace, the crown… they were all a part of something bigger. Something older.
"You don't want me," I said, voice shaking.
"I do," he answered. His hand brushed the side of my face, tracing a line from my jaw to my throat, just like he had done before. "But I'm not the one who made you forget me."
His fingers tightened around my wrist, pulling me toward him, but this time, I didn't resist. I felt something darker, something ancient stirring between us. A bond that had never truly been severed.
"You died for me," he said, his lips dangerously close to mine. "And in every life since, you've returned. But not as you were. Not as the goddess who cursed me. You come back as her—but not her."
"I don't remember," I breathed.
"No," he said, his voice low and thick. "You don't."
But I saw it in his eyes—the truth.
He was lying to me, but I wasn't sure about what. He wanted me to believe I was the one who cursed him. The one who'd bound him in eternal suffering. But if that was true—why didn't I remember any of it?
I pulled away, heart racing. "Then why bring me here?"
"You're my bride," he said simply, like the answer was obvious. "You're the one who can break the curse. The one who has the power to end this nightmare."
The way he said it—it sounded like a promise. But his eyes said something else. Something darker.
"You say that like I'm your salvation," I said, stepping back, "but you're wrong. I'm not."
"You are." His voice was firm now, like a man who had no doubts. "You always were."
I wanted to scream. To run. To break away from him, but the pull of the crown kept me in place. The moment I tried to move, the weight of it pressed down on me like a heavy hand, like it was keeping me locked to this place.
And him.
His eyes were on me again, like he was reading me in a way I didn't understand.
"You don't understand yet," he said, more to himself than to me. "But you will. All of this…" His hand waved around the room, the palace. "This is your prison. And I am its keeper."
My throat tightened. "You can't make me love you."
"No," he said, voice lowering to a dangerous growl. "But I can make you need me. As I've always needed you."
Before I could answer, the world around us shifted.
The walls seemed to breathe, the shadows growing longer, darker. And then—a sound. A low, distant growl that echoed through the halls like a warning.
The king stiffened, his eyes narrowing. The crown I wore pulsed on my head, a low hum vibrating through my skull.
"What is that?" I whispered.
He didn't answer. Instead, he moved toward the door, his steps quick and precise. "Stay here."
I didn't listen.
I followed.
Down the hallway, through the shadows that grew thicker with every step, until we reached a door I hadn't seen before. A door that had never been there.
And then, he turned toward me, his expression hardening. "Don't. Follow me."
But it was too late.
I pushed the door open.
Inside was darkness. And at the center of it, something stirred. Something alive. Something that wasn't human.
To be continued...