Karina

Karina woke to the taste of winter on her tongue.

The fire in her heart had long since turned to embers, but the cold that crept beneath her skin wasn't natural. It was sharp, spectral-a chill that curled into her lungs with every breath. Her body trembled, not from fear, but from something stranger. Deeper.

She sat up slowly, rubbing her arms, then stilled as a dull ache bloomed across her collarbone. She pulled the neckline of her nightgown aside.

The mark was glowing.

What had once been a faint, silver brand-a delicate crescent crowned with ancient runes-now pulsed with icy-blue light, as if frost bloomed beneath her skin. The lines twisted faintly, almost breathing. She stared, heart pounding.

What in the gods' names was happening to her?

Karina stumbled toward the mirror, half-expecting it to be some illusion of shadow and moonlight. But the glow remained, steady and soft, casting pale light across her clavicle. Her fingers hovered above it, but the moment she touched the skin, pain lanced through her chest-sharp and cold, like a dagger of ice.

She hissed and staggered back. Her reflection blurred as the mirror's surface frosted over before her eyes.

A whisper rode the silence.

Low. Female. Fractured by grief.

"You wear what we wore. The tether binds anew."

Karina's breath caught.

She spun.

The chamber was empty. The shadows near the balcony doors stirred with the breeze, but nothing more. Still, the voice had been real. Too clear to be a dream.

She stepped toward the sound, the icy stone floor cold beneath her bare feet. The mark on her skin flared again, brighter this time-responding, she realized, to something. Or someone.

Another whisper.

Closer. "He does not know he remembers. But the blood remembers everything."

"Who are you?" Karina called softly, voice trembling. "What do you mean?"

She felt rather than heard the answer.

A presence, just behind her. Cold breath against her neck.

She spun again-and this time, she saw her.

A woman stood at the edge of the room, barefoot, dressed in a gown of pale silk stained with ash. Her skin was translucent, lips blue, hair black as pitch. A symbol burned on her collarbone. the same mark Karina bore.

Karina froze, heart hammering in her ribs.

The woman tilted her head.

"I was the first."

The words were mournful.

Karina stepped toward her. "The first what?"

The woman's expression twisted in sorrow. "The first bride. The first blade."

A crack of sound in the corridor-a footstep.

The ghost's head snapped toward the door, eyes going wide.

"No-he mustn't see me-"

"Wait!" Karina called, reaching out. "Please, I need to know-"

But the ghost maiden backed into the shadows-and vanished as though she had never been there at all.

The room fell silent again, the mark on Karina's skin dimming slightly but still glowing like embers beneath frost. She collapsed into the nearest chair, breathing hard, mind racing.

The first bride.

She didn't know what that meant, not fully. But it wasn't just a title. It was a warning.

And a curse.

An hour passed before she felt strong enough to rise.

Wrapped in her cloak, she stepped into the corridor outside her chambers, only to halt.

The Beast King was there.

He stood a few paces away, tall and still, his back to her, cloaked in shadow. As if he had been waiting. Watching. Her mark pulsed the moment her gaze landed on him.

He turned slowly, the faintest glint of gold in his eyes as they dropped to her collarbone.

"You feel it too," she said, barely more than a whisper.

His eyes met hers. He didn't speak. But the silence between them was different now-charged. Heavy with something unspoken.

He stepped forward. She didn't flinch.

As he drew near, the cold receded. Her breath no longer misted. The mark on her skin cooled beneath his gaze, as though soothed by his nearness. The ache in her bones dulled.

He raised a hand, gloved fingers hesitating inches from her skin.

"Do you know what it is?" she asked.

A long pause.

Then, at last, he spoke-**one word**, deep and quiet, wrapped in regret.

"...Bonded."

The word slammed into her like thunder.

Before she could ask more, he turned and walked away-his cloak a whisper of fur and silence.

Later that night, Karina couldn't sleep.

She sat on the window ledge, wrapped in furs, staring at the glowing mark on her skin. She thought of the ghost bride. Of the word he had spoken.

Bonded.

What kind of bond flared like fire and ice at once?

Why her?

She closed her eyes-and the whisper came again.

A man's voice this time. Low. Familiar. Too familiar.

"She's stronger than we expected. But no matter. When the moon is full, the tether will snap."

A second voice. The high priest's.

"The girl thinks she's chosen. Let her believe it. All that matters is the blood. The mark will do its work."

Karina's eyes flew open.

Betrayal.

The mark on her skin now blazed red-not silver. Not blue. Red like a wound. Like war.

And outside her window, far below in the snow-choked courtyard, a single raven fluttered down from the eaves-its wings broken, its eyes gone.

Karina clutched her cloak tighter.

Something was coming.

She wasn't sure she'd survive it.