Chapter Seven: What Magic Takes, It Marks

They didn't speak of the kiss the next morning.

Not the way their hands had found each other without looking.

Not the way the bond had burned behind her ribs, deep, molten, and frighteningly tender.

Elion had dressed before the sun rose. Not quickly. Not like he was fleeing. But like he knew if he stayed, he wouldn't leave at all.

Seraphina let him go.

And the silence that followed was almost peaceful.

Almost.

---

The bond felt different now.

More… curious.

It didn't hurt. Didn't pull. But it watched.

Like something just behind her heartbeat, listening with quiet hunger.

Every flicker of emotion sparked a response, her pulse jumped, and the ring answered. Her magic stirred, and the bond leaned into it.

As if it were learning her.

She didn't realize where her feet were taking her until the scent of dust and candle wax filled her lungs.

The West Library.

Forbidden to most. But not to her anymore.

Apparently, being soul-bound to the Cursed Duke opened doors. Even the ones that shouldn't exist.

She moved between shelves of old grimoires and spellbooks with waxy spines. Her fingertips grazed the faded titles.

And then, one book sparked beneath her touch.

Literally.

It flared red for half a heartbeat, then settled into a soft gold glow.

Bound in cracked leather. Unmarked. Forgotten.

She opened it.

It wasn't a book.

It was a recording.

The page shimmered, rippled like water, and revealed a voice.

A woman's.

Familiar.

Sharp.

Warm.

"You're reading this because the bond chose you. That means you've already lost something, or you're about to."

The page shifted again.

"My name is Lysandra Vale. And I loved him, too."

Seraphina stared at the glowing script. Her heart thundered.

She sat on the nearest bench and turned the next page.

More light. More words.

"They said it was a curse. A soul tether formed by magic that should've never been written. But what they never tell you is what it gives you before it ruins you."

"The way he looks at you like you're the storm and the shelter. The way the ring burns when you lie. The way the dream comes, not from memory, but from fate."

Seraphina touched her ring.

It pulsed, one slow throb. Like agreement.

She turned another page.

"But there's a warning. Always a warning."

"The bond feeds on truth. If you lie to yourself, it will twist you. If you hide from it, it will expose you. And if you give it everything..."

The text flickered. Glitched.

"It might still leave you hollow."

---

Seraphina closed the book.

Her throat was dry. Her skin warm. She could still feel Lysandra's voice threading through her chest.

The woman hadn't just loved Elion.

She'd understood him.

And still…

She'd died with the ring on her finger.

She left the library more sure of one thing than ever before.

This wasn't just a curse.

It was a test.

And something, or someone, was watching to see how she would fail.

---

The Queen summoned her to court that afternoon.

Not the entire council, just a quiet meeting in the glass garden, private and polished, full of blooming nightlilies and humming enchantments.

The Queen stood at the far end, wearing black.

Not for mourning.

For formality.

"Seraphina," she said. "You've been dreaming again."

It wasn't a question.

"Yes," she replied.

"About Lysandra?"

"And something else."

The Queen turned, finally looking at her.

"I saw it too," she said softly. "Before she died. The bond changed. It began to show visions, memories that weren't hers, feelings that didn't belong to either of them."

Seraphina's breath caught. "Whose, then?"

"We never knew."

---

Back in her room, she found a mirror waiting.

Not one she'd seen before.

No frame. No stand. Just a perfect silver surface leaning against her dresser.

She approached it slowly.

And it moved.

Not her reflection.

But something behind it.

A shadow, a tall, humanoid shape, made of smoke and thorny magic. It tilted its head.

Then raised its hand.

On its palm: the ring.

Burning.

Spinning.

Seraphina reached forward...

And the glass shattered.

No cut. No pain. But she was marked.

A sigil burned into her collarbone, bright gold, shaped like two interlocking crescents and a sword through the middle.

The bond had named her.

---

Elion was already there when she turned to scream.

He caught her in silence.

Held her by the shoulders, eyes fierce.

"I felt it," he said. "The mark."

"You knew it would happen?"

"I suspected."

"Why didn't you warn me?"

"Because I didn't want it to be true."

---

Later, they sat together on the floor.

Not touching.

Just existing beside each other.

"I think Lysandra was trying to reach me," Seraphina whispered.

"She is."

"How do you know?"

"Because the mark on you... it's the same one she had. Just inverted."

Seraphina looked down at the glow beneath her collarbone.

"Inverted?"

"She gave herself to the bond," Elion said. "You're challenging it."

"And if I lose?"

Elion didn't answer.

Because they both already knew:

Lysandra had lost.

And Seraphina had more to lose than just her soul.