Karina

"I should hate you."

I said it without thinking. It slipped out like breath, quiet, uninvited.

Rhydan didn't flinch. He stood at the edge of the broken greenhouse, eyes on the dead roses, snow clinging to the tips of his gloves. I couldn't see his expression, but the silence between us folded into something tight. Fragile.

"I wouldn't blame you," he said at last.

We hadn't spoken since the garden. Since the door. Since Elira.

I'd dreamed of her voice all night. Her veil. Her finger pointing. Rhydan's name on her tongue, held like a wound she'd never healed from.

And now, I wasn't thinking of her.

I was watching him. The man I'd been forced to marry. The creature I'd been taught to fear. The cursed king who watched me like I was something precious and dangerous at the same time.

"I keep trying to find the lie," I said.

He looked at me now, his eyes still gold in the morning gloom. Not glowing. Just quietly alive.

"What lie?"

"That you care."

He didn't move.

I took a slow step forward. "You saved me from the door. Warned me about the mark. Watched me like you expect me to vanish. But then you turn around and lock yourself behind silence like you're made of stone."

His jaw tightened, but his voice was soft. "You want something I can't give."

"What is that?"

He met my eyes.

"Peace."

My throat closed.

He turned away again, head bowed, like even saying the word hurt. "There's no peace in this place. Not for me. Not for you. I've made sure of that."

"You didn't choose this," I said.

He laughed, bitter. "Didn't I?"

"You were cursed."

He turned back sharply. "And what am I now, Karina? The monster they warned you about? Or the man you think you can fix?"

"I don't want to fix you."

That stopped him.

"I want to understand you," I said.

A pause.

Then: "Why?"

"Because I see you," I said. "Even when you try to disappear behind teeth and claws and cold words. I see the way your hand shakes when you reach for the door. The way you look at me like you're terrified of wanting anything at all."

I stepped closer.

He didn't move away.

"You asked me once why I came back to the door," I said. "It's because I felt it call to me. But when I stood there-really stood there-I didn't hear it calling my name."

I looked up at him.

"I heard yours."

The silence that followed wasn't cold.

It was heavy. Slow. Tense like a thread pulled between us.

Then Rhydan exhaled, ragged and low.

"I remember the night I changed," he said.

My breath caught.

"I was seventeen," he continued. "And I was in love with someone who believed she could rewrite fate with just her hands and a heartbeat."

"Elira."

He nodded once.

"She tried to burn the curse out of me. She thought love was enough. She didn't realize the castle doesn't care about love. It only answers to blood."

"What happened to her?" I whispered.

He looked away.

"I couldn't save her," he said. "But I wanted to. Gods, I wanted to."

He was shaking now. Not from rage. From memory.

From grief.

"She didn't die," I said.

"No. That's worse."

I stepped closer. My hand brushed his.

He didn't pull away.

His voice dropped. "You remind me of her."

"That's not fair," I said.

"No," he agreed. "It isn't."

"I'm not her."

"I know."

"Then look at me like me."

And finally, he did.

The gold in his eyes wasn't sharp now. It was soft. Flickering, like flame behind glass. He studied my face like he was memorizing it. Like it was the only map left in a world that had burned down.

"I thought I stopped feeling," he said.

"You didn't."

"Karina," he said. "If I let myself want you..."

His voice broke.

"Then want me."

It was like something in him cracked open. His hand lifted, unsure, trembling, and cupped my cheek. Rough glove. Warm touch.

I leaned into it.

"I don't want to lose you," he said.

"Then don't."

His forehead touched mine. His breath ghosted my lips.

I could feel the heat in him-banked like coals, steady and aching. The part of him that was beast. The part that was man. The part that had forgotten what it meant to be wanted.

And I wanted him.

Not despite the curse.

Because of how hard he fought it.

"Tell me what you feel," I whispered.

"I feel you," he said. "And it scares me."

I kissed him.

It wasn't gentle.

It was fire on ice. It was breath stolen in a place with no mercy. It was need and ache and something deeper-something that said I see you. I choose you. Still.

His arms wrapped around me, pulling me close like he didn't trust the moment to last.

"I can't lose another," he murmured into my neck. "I won't."

"You haven't lost me," I said.

"Not yet."

"Not ever."

He pulled back just enough to look at me, and something changed in his expression.

Softness. Real, unguarded softness.

He lifted my hand, brushing his thumb over the wedding mark on my wrist.

"It's changing," he said.

I looked.

He was right.

The mark had shifted. Just slightly. The lines thinner, the symbol deeper. Like it had sunk into my skin.

"What does it mean?" I asked.

He didn't answer.

But I saw the fear in his eyes.

And the hope.

That night, I didn't lock my door.

He didn't sleep, but he sat beside the fire in my room until the candles burned down.

Watching the flames like they were old memories, and I was the only thing that made him want to remember at all.

We didn't speak.

Some bonds don't need words.

Some curses don't fear love.

But I knew one thing, as I lay awake long past midnight, my hand warm where he'd held it.

If I was going to survive this place...

It wouldn't be because I ran, it would be because he and I. The thorn and the flame stood together.

And dared to want more.