The South Wing was colder than she remembered. Stone walls whispered with drafts of memories long buried. Elira sat at her writing table, the black envelope still open before her, its crimson seal cracked like a wound that refused to close.
He wakes.
And he remembers you.
She hadn't dared to think of that name in years. Even now, it ghosted across her lips like a forbidden prayer.
Lucien sat by the hearth, watching the flames as though they too might offer answers. "Are you going to tell me who he is?"
She turned slightly, the candlelight gilding her cheekbones. "His name is Cael Dorneth. He was my first—everything. The one I should have saved."
Lucien's brows lifted, but he said nothing.
"We grew up together, before the curse. He was a knight-in-training, fiercely loyal, foolishly brave. When my father discovered our bond, he... erased him."
"You mean killed?"
"No," she said. "Worse. He stripped Cael of his memories, his identity. Banished him to the edges of the kingdom with a new name, new blood oath, and no recollection of me. I was made to watch."
Lucien's jaw tightened. "So you sacrificed your love to protect him."
"I thought I was sparing him. I didn't know he would awaken again… and remember."
A knock interrupted them.
Another note had arrived.
This time, no wax seal. Just ink, messy and urgent.
He is in the Lower East Quarters. Waiting.
Elira rose. "I have to see him."
Lucien's voice was quiet. "And if he hates you for what happened?"
"Then I will bear it. As I bore everything else."
The Lower East Quarters were no place for nobility. Broken walls, crooked lanterns, the scent of ash and oil. Elira entered a crumbling tavern guided by shadows and instinct. In the far booth, a figure sat alone, head lowered beneath a hood.
Her breath caught.
Even in dimness, she knew his presence.
She approached slowly. "Cael?"
He looked up.
His eyes were gray now—once deep ocean blue. His hair was shorter, scarred at the temple. But the face was his.
Recognition flared. Pain followed.
"Elira," he said. "So it wasn't a dream."
Tears welled in her eyes. "You remember?"
"I remember dying. Then waking up with nothing. Then flashes. Your voice. Your laugh. The binding spell."
"I was forced to—"
He stood. "Don't explain. Just tell me… why didn't you come back for me?"
She couldn't speak.
Lucien appeared behind her. Cael's gaze shifted.
"This him?" he asked.
"Yes," Elira said. "Lucien has stood by me through everything."
"And yet you remember me only now."
"I never forgot you."
"Then prove it."
He pulled back his cloak. A brand blazed on his chest—the Virelle curse, inverted and corrupted.
"You were not the only one cursed, Elira."
She stepped back, horror dawning.
"They used my love for you to bind me to your bloodline," Cael said bitterly. "And now it calls me back… to kill or to serve. I haven't decided."
Lucien moved forward. "You'll do neither."
Cael laughed. "Oh? The loyal protector speaks. Tell me, do you know what she gave up to protect you? Or how many memories she buried to keep you safe?"
Elira shook her head. "Stop. Please. I didn't come here to pick between you."
"No," Cael said. "You came here to face what you left behind."
He turned and walked out into the street, cloak trailing smoke.
Lucien took Elira's arm. "Are you all right?"
"No. But I needed to see him."
As they stepped out, the wind carried a whisper—Cael's voice:
"We are bound, Elira. You can't choose just one of us. Not when the curse is written on both our souls."
She trembled.
Two men. One future. One fate.
And the curse had just begun to burn anew.