CHAPTER 17 Aug 13, 2025 We walked in silence. His steps were steady, controlled. Mine were slower-more uncertain. I didn't know where he was leading me, only that I followed. Then, without looking at me, he said, "It's time I explain what you saw in the East Wing." I didn't flinch. "They say you're cursed." He didn't laugh. Didn't deny it. His jaw tensed, and his eyes flashed-not anger, not fear, something older. Something sad. "I thought you should know what they mean," he said. "What I mean." I stared back. "Then show me." "Come with me," he said. No guards. No crown. No mask. Just him-and me-descending into the underbelly of the palace, where even the chandeliers seemed afraid to shine. I followed. Down marble steps colder than moonlight, through halls I'd never seen, past doors locked with runes I couldn't read. The deeper we went, the more the air changed. Heavy. Sacred. Tainted. He stopped before a door I wasn't supposed to know existed. A place I wasn't supposed to survive. "The chamber beneath the palace," he said. "Only the Queen and a few guards dare enter." My fingers curled into fists. "Why bring me here?" He looked at me-not with softness, not with pity. With truth. "Because I want you to see for yourself," he said. "Then decide if you'll still look at me the same." My stomach twisted. "What if I don't?" "Then I'll know," he said simply. Inside, the walls glowed faintly, etched in silver runes that pulsed with breathless power. The floor hummed like it remembered pain. Chains lay coiled in the corner. He stepped into the center. The magic stirred. The air thickened like storm clouds forming around us. His hand trembled as he bared his arm. The skin shimmered-then cracked. Not blood. Not bone. Something else. Scales. Black-gold. Iridescent. Ancient. They slithered across his forearm like living armor, catching the light, devouring it. His fingertips curled into claws. A breath caught in my throat. Not a monster. A prince carved from legend and sorrow. He looked at me like he wished I'd run. "I fight it," he breathed. "Every night. Every full moon. Every time someone flinches when I enter a room. But I don't know how much longer I'll win." "You're stronger than it," I said. "Stronger than you think." His mouth twisted. "You don't know what it asks of me. What I become when I let go." I took a shaky step forward. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might choke me. My palms were cold, my chest too tight-but I moved anyway. "And if you lose?" I asked, barely above a whisper. He didn't look at me right away. His shoulders rose and fell in one slow, shaky breath. "Then pray you're not near me." His voice was rough. Tired. He turned his head just enough for me to see it-the shame. The fear. "I've hurt people, Marianne. Not enemies. People I loved. They didn't come back after." I felt that, sharp in my chest. The way he said loved . Past tense. He expected me to walk away, too. "I was afraid," I admitted. "When I saw you like that. I didn't know what I was looking at." He flinched slightly. "But I'm still here," I said, stepping closer. His eyes lifted to mine-wider now, stunned, like that possibility had never occurred to him. "You'd stay," he said, voice frayed. "Even now?" I nodded. "You chose to let me see the truth. Let me choose you back." He exhaled slowly, like he'd been holding that breath for years. "I don't know what this is," he said. "But I think about you. Constantly. Even when I try not to. Especially then." The words hit deeper than I expected. I couldn't speak. Then he asked quietly, "Who is Riven?" The question shouldn't have stung. But it did. I blinked. "Riven?" I hesitated too long. "Just... a boy from my town." The lie came out smooth. Too smooth. And I felt awful the second I said it. Not because it was entirely untrue. But because it wasn't the whole truth. And he deserved better than that.