Tessy_vibez

He was a king born from war. She was a girl fate never meant to survive.
Yet somehow, they were bound.

Freya was supposed to be a sacrifice. Instead, she ended up in the very heart of the enemy's castle — held not by chains, but by the command of a cold, calculating king who claims she has no place in his world. Still, he won’t let her leave.

Sebastian, the newly crowned king with eyes like stormy skies and a temper sharper than any blade, is feared across the kingdom. But Freya is... different. Quiet, clever, and stubborn. She doesn’t bow. She questions. And despite his best efforts to ignore her — he can’t.

But nothing in this kingdom is what it seems.
Not the silence.
Not the strange pull between them.
Not even the curse whispered through bloodlines and shadows.

As tensions rise and buried truths claw their way to the surface, Freya begins to wonder… what if leaving isn't an option anymore?
And Sebastian starts to ask himself… what if she’s the key to everything?

Some bonds are chosen. Others are cursed.
Welcome to the curse that binds them.

The Curse That Binds Us

The wind howled behind them as Sebastian dragged Freya through the narrow path between the trees, away from the witches and the flames. Twigs cracked beneath their feet, the forest alive with whispers and eerie silence. Neither of them spoke. There was too much unsaid, and too much burning between them.

Freya finally pulled her wrist from his grip, stopping beneath an arching tree whose dead leaves rustled like murmured warnings.

"You can let go of me now," she snapped, her breath coming in short gasps.

Sebastian didn't answer right away. His back was to her, shoulders rising and falling as he tried to calm the chaos raging inside him. The beast—the part of him that had stirred since the moment they met—was closer to the surface than ever before.

"You think I saved you for your sake?" His voice was low, almost a growl. "You don't understand what they were about to do. You don't even know what you are."

Freya narrowed her eyes. "And you do?"

He turned around slowly. His dark eyes, still tinged with the inky remnants of his beast, locked onto hers. "No," he admitted. "But I know enough to realize they're scared of you. And if witches are scared of something… it's either a threat—or a weapon."

The words settled over her like frost. A weapon? She didn't feel like one. She felt like a girl barely holding herself together—haunted, uncertain, and now hunted.

"They weren't going to sacrifice me," she said quietly. "They were going to awaken something."

Sebastian tilted his head slightly. "You saw it?"

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Freya wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly aware of how cold it had become. The kind of cold that didn't come from the weather—but from something older, deeper, buried.

"I don't trust them," she said. "And I don't trust you either."

"You don't have to." His voice was rough. "But if you want to survive whatever this is, you need to come with me. Back to the castle."

Freya blinked. "Back to the place where people flinch when I walk past? Where even the servants believe I bring bad luck?"

"You'd rather stay out here and risk another ritual?" Sebastian stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "Let them finish what they started?"

Her jaw tightened. She didn't want to admit it, but he was right. Something about tonight had changed the game. This wasn't just about being different anymore—it was about being hunted for something she didn't even understand.

"You're bleeding," he said suddenly, his gaze dropping to her hand.

She looked down. A small nick from the dagger—barely visible, but it burned.

But Sebastian didn't look convinced. He stepped forward and gently took her hand, inspecting the wound. The moment his fingers touched her skin, she felt it—that strange warmth again, the pull between them.

"You shouldn't be able to touch me," she whispered. "Not like this."

They were too close now, breath mingling in the cold night air. His hand still held hers, and neither of them moved.

But before anything else could be said, a loud rustling echoed behind them—someone was coming.

Sebastian's posture shifted instantly. Protective. Sharp. Dangerous.

"Let's move," he said, voice clipped. "We'll talk later."

Freya hesitated for just a heartbeat, then nodded.

Together, they slipped into the night, unaware that the cut on her hand had already begun to glow faintly beneath the skin—like an old curse waking up.

Chapter 13: Whispers of the Marked