Chapter 40 The Truths We Bury #2
His breath stutters. His jaw tightens, torn between battle and surrender. Then his eyes soften, the fire in them turning tender.
“You know exactly how badly I want you,” he says quietly. He releases my hands, takes a small step back, and draws in a steadying breath.
I bristle, impatience and fear fueling my anger. “We both know the final Trial is dangerous. So let me give you what you need tonight.”
The anguish on his face nearly undoes me. “You want to sleep with me to say goodbye?”
He studies me for a long moment, pain and love warring behind his eyes. Then he moves forward, taking my hands in his.
“Listen to me, love,” he says. “You’re going to live. You’re going to win. Nothing—nothing—is going to stand in your way.”
“And what if I don’t—”
“You will.” His hands cup my cheeks, warm and steady. “I want you for my wife.”
“Wife?” I whisper, the word hollow and sacred all at once.
He presses my hand to his chest. “I want every part of you—not just your body. You already have my heart, Selene. Let that be enough for now. I don’t want one night. I want all your nights. I want you as my wife. My queen. My fire.”
Each word lands like a vow. The world stills around us, the fire crackling softly in the silence that follows.
“Is that a proposal?” I ask, arching a brow. “I thought you couldn’t officially propose until someone survives the final Trial.”
He smiles. And then he kneels.
“Selene Anne Fairchild,” he says, steady and sure, “will you marry me tomorrow, after you win the Trial and earn the right to be my wife—and queen of Abrellia?”
If I win, if I break the curse, he will be mine—and I, his.
He must see the storm behind my eyes, because he smiles faintly, brushing his thumb along my wrists. “You don’t have to answer now. I’m doing this to prove my faith in you.”
Tears spill over. Just as he begins to rise, I blurt, “Yes!”
I throw my arms around him and kiss him breathless.
“I love you,” he whispers against my mouth, guiding me gently toward the bed.
I hesitate.
“I just want to hold you,” he explains, his voice breaking.
My answer is a trembling nod.
He draws me into his arms, tucking me beneath his chin as if I’m something precious. “Sleep now,” he murmurs. “You’ll need every ounce of your strength tomorrow.”
Cradled against his chest, I listen to the steady rhythm of his heart, letting the warmth of his body—and the promise in his arms—carry me toward a fragile peace before dawn.
I awake in the night from yet another nightmare, skin damp, heart pounding. Keiren is sound asleep beside me, his arm draped across my waist. I slip from the bed, moving silently so as not to wake him.
The chamber is dim, every candle low, shadows flickering across the walls like restless ghosts. I stop before the hearth, drawn to its warmth. The flames dance around the coals, golden and crimson and alive.
Fire.
A nickname. A terror. And yet also warmth. Heat. Life. How something can both give life and end it in the same breath is beyond me.
I brace myself against the stone mantle, stretching against the ache in my spine.
The wall feels oddly hollow beneath my fingertips. My nail catches on something—a faint seam hidden within the carved ivy. Pulse quickening, I press gently, and a panel groans open to reveal a narrow niche in the stone.
Inside, a thick, leather-bound volume stamped with Keiren’s seal rests on a bed of dusty velvet.
My hands tremble as I lift it free and sink onto the hearth bench. The cover bears no title. I open the first page—and freeze.
Spring, 304 A.C.
The Bloodmoon hangs low, heavy with regret. The dragon brought me the girls who survived the flight. One was… different… than I am used to. Her voice is like bells, her laughter like sunrise. She listened to my story while I tended her wounds. She said her name is Talia.
304 A.C.
Talia is pure sunshine, all laughter and joy. We walked through the gardens after dinner, and she told me of her home and the family she left behind. The first Trial begins tomorrow night. I fear what she will face.
304 A.C.
Against all odds, she survived the first Trial.
We celebrated with a feast and dancing. I walked her to her room and kissed her cheek goodnight.
I awoke to the sound of her screaming. I held her all night as she wept and told me the horrors of what she’d seen.
I was a fool to think the Trial hadn’t scarred her.
I should never have left her side. I never will again.
Summer, 304 A.C.
Talia kissed me in the gardens tonight. She passed the second Trial yesterday, and I couldn’t be happier. It’s wonderful to finally, finally not be so alone. She dares to love the monster within. I believe, after all this time, she may finally break the curse.
Fall, 304 A.C.
If she survives the final Trial, I will ask her to marry me, curse or no curse. I love her.
304 A.C.
She did it! She won. Today, we wed.
304 A.C.
The dragon killed Talia today. For a time, I believed she might save me. Now I fear no one can. But why would he kill her? I cannot understand.
I skim onward, heart hammering.
Spring, 306 A.C.
No brides survived the Bloodmoon this year.
Spring, 418 A.C.
I know I haven’t written in a while, but it doesn’t matter. The dragon brought me four brides this time, each beautiful and unique, but I can only think of Talia. Arther says I must move on. I cannot.
Summer, 418 A.C.
Arther insists I spend one day with each bride before the third Trial. He says I need to reopen my heart. Perhaps he’s right.
Fall, 418 A.C.
The dragon killed all the brides in the third Trial.
Summer, 476 A.C.
The years blur together. The dragon still brings brides. Many are eager to please the cursed king. I rarely spend my nights alone anymore—one of the few benefits of this wretched curse.
My stomach turns as I flip forward, scanning jagged handwriting fractured by decades of silence.
Spring, 500 A.C.
I have become the thing I feared most—a beast bound to fire and blood.
Each bride I take brings new hope of release.
Yet in five hundred years, none have pierced the curse, not even Talia.
I have watched the dragon burn homes and carry off the innocent.
I believed mercy lay in swift destruction.
Yet tonight, I smile as I greet another batch of women who are to be used and discarded as the beast sees fit.
Fall, 502 A.C.
Tonight, I watched the dragon burn Mary, a Grathmoor bride I greatly admired.
No matter what I tried, she refused every advance—the first to do so in centuries.
Fierce, wild, untamable. I was certain she’d survive the final Trial.
But as I watched the flames consume her, her eyes held no malice—only pity. She reminded me of Talia.
I stare at the page, numb. The dragon he described can’t be the same one who asked me to read him stories, who carried me to see my sister.
I keep reading, this time more urgently.
502 A.C.
From now on, I will do everything I can to help the brides succeed. I will find loopholes to help them escape the dragon. There’s no hope for me, but they don’t have to suffer. The next woman to share my bed will be my wife. I swear it.
The next pages blur together—records of names, lands, and small mercies.
Spring, 598 A.C.
Fire.
My breath catches. I turn the page.
The girl from the garden. Even from all the way across the room, I could see it—the sharpness in her gaze, the defiance in her jaw.
Strong. Beautiful. I could feel the dragon stir, its hunger sharpening into something dangerous.
Possessive. Her crimson hair is like molten lava, her posture straight, chin tilted high.
Not weak. Not meek. She’s a predator among prey.
This girl is fire.
Heat rises to my cheeks. I read on.
I know this feeling. I’ve felt it once before.
This ache. This hunger. But I promised never to take advantage of another bride, no matter how much I desire her.
How can one woman make a man feel so much with one look?
The way we danced… She was flame incarnate.
Mine. The dragon wants her, and so do I.
598 A.C.
In six hundred years, I’ve never met a more infuriating woman. Fire indeed.
A small laugh escapes me before I can stop it. I glance at the bed, but Keiren is still fast asleep.
598 A.C.
She survived—no, won—the first Trial. No one has done that in a very long time. But instead of bringing her back to the castle, the portal took her to the lake in the Forest of Monsters. I had to send the dragon to retrieve her.
Summer, 598 A.C.
I nearly lost her again tonight. I had no choice but to bring her to my chambers and put her in the healing pool. My heart broke as she shivered against me while the fireroot did its worst. I can’t lose her. I need her. I am in love with her.
Tears blur the ink. I glance at him again—his face peaceful in sleep. My heart swells. Then my eyes catch the next entry.
Fall, 598 A.C.
She’s taken Cassy’s death hard. I can’t protect her if she refuses to train. The beast within grows stronger. And although I know the dragon is as in love with her as I am, if this curse isn’t broken before the next Bloodmoon… I cannot bear to even think what will become of us.
598 A.C.
She gave her name to the dragon. Not me. And now it’s all I can hear. Selene. Selene. Selene. I want to whisper it into her hair, into her skin, into the fire of her soul. But I can’t. Because I don’t deserve it. Not yet.
The dragon told him my name. Even though he promised he wouldn’t.
598 A.C.
Tonight, I took her to see her sister.
My breath catches. I took her? Surely, he means the dragon. I flip the page.
598 A.C.
It took everything in me not to burn that house to ash, even with her sister inside. After the final Trial—after we are wed—the first thing I will do is burn that city and everyone who ever hurt her.
I will burn them all.
The ink blurs as my vision swims. I slam the book shut, breath ragged.
Those words—I will burn them all.
A low rumble behind me makes me gasp. I turn sharply.
“Selene?”
Keiren’s steps into the firelight, eyes heavy with worry.
“Don’t,” I breathe, lifting the journal like a blade.
He freezes, gaze flicking to the book. “Please—let me explain.”
“Are you the dragon?” The words tear from my mouth.
His brow furrows. “Selene, please—”
“Answer me!” My voice cracks, echoing off the stone walls.
The truth crashes over me like a tidal wave. His eyes shifting from blue to gold. The way he always knew where I was, the searing heat of his skin. The reason he could never go beyond the kingswood—at least, not in human form.
Oh, stars—the dragon advising me to reconcile with him. Was any of it real? Or just a masterful manipulation to ensure I survive long enough to fall for him and break the curse?
I’m going to be sick.
He hesitates, guilt and agony warring in his gaze. “I think you already know the answer.”
My knees give out. “You—”
He steps toward me, arms outstretched, but I stumble back, hitting the floor hard.
“Don’t,” I whisper.
“Selene—”
“Don’t touch me!” I cry, scrambling to my feet. My pulse thunders in my ears as I turn and run for the door.
“Selene, please—for your safety, don’t leave—”
“I don’t care!” My voice breaks.
Desperation flickers in his eyes, the gold in them burning brighter. “You can’t leave! If you do, I won’t be able to control him!”
But the words barely reach me. I’m already gone, sprinting down the corridor, the echo of his plea chasing me into the darkness.