Oath in the Moonlight

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/40062075.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: F/M
Fandom: | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Relationship: Kim Namjoon | RM/Reader, Kim Namjoon | RM & Reader, Kim
Namjoon | RM/Original Female Character(s), Kim Namjoon | RM &
Original Female Character(s), Kim Namjoon | RM/You, Kim Namjoon |
RM & You
Character: Kim Namjoon | RM, Reader, Original Female Character(s)
Additional Tags: Fantasy, Romance, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Fairy Tale Retellings,
Strangers to Lovers, Soulmates, Blackmail, Fairy Tale Curses, Dark
Magic, Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, Betrayal, Manipulation,
Gaslighting, Fantasy Typical Violence, Blood and Injury, Minor
Character Death, Murder, Dom/sub, Dom Kim Namjoon | RM, sub
Reader, Virgin Reader, Kim Namjoon | RM Has a Big Dick, Size Kink,
Loss of Virginity, Teasing, Biting, Marking, Body Worship, Nipple Play,
Scratching, Hair-pulling, Begging, Crying, Cunnilingus, Vaginal
Fingering, Orgasm Control, Come Eating, Grinding, Dirty Talk, Hand
Jobs, Soft Passionate Sex, Cock Warming, Riding, Impregnation, belly
bulge, Manhandling, Pinning/Restraining, Cervix Penetration, Vaginal
Sex, Creampie, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Come Inflation,
excessive cum, Aftercare
Language: English
Series: Part 2 of Once Upon A Fantasy
Stats: Published: 2022-07-04 Words: 51899

Oath in the Moonlight

by jamaisjoons

Summary

Namjoon is running-from lots of things. From his parents, from his responsibilities as the
Sacred Moon of his Empire, from the ever looming requirement to choose a Blessed Moon
before his father’s advisors challenge his right to the throne. Namjoon is running, and he is
running directly to you-a maiden cursed to walk between the moonlight, a maiden cursed to
love only in the dark.

Further Story Details, Content and Smut Warnings within notes.

Notes

Hello!!!
 Did I plan for this to be as long as it is? Nope! I even purposely only planned for 4 scenes.

Am I surprised this is 50k? Not really, we all know when it comes to Namjoon, I cannot
help myself!

Did I hate myself as I wrote every word? Absolutely! I wanted nothing more than for it to
have ended at 20k!!

BUT!! Here we are!! 50k later and it's FINALLY done :D

So anyway,,,,, I hope you enjoy it!!!

See the end of the work for more notes

oath in the moonlight | knj

⟶ : ❝ Namjoon is running-from lots of things. From his parents, from his

responsibilities as the Sacred Moon of his Empire, from the ever looming requirement
to choose a Blessed Moon before his father’s advisors challenge his right to the throne.
Namjoon is running, and he is running directly to you-a maiden cursed to walk
between the moonlight, a maiden cursed to love only in the dark. ❞

❥ tropes:
fantasy romance. strangers to lovers. soulmates au. fairy tale au.
 ❥ pairing:
crown prince!namjoon x cursed maiden!reader
❥ genre:
angst ⋆ fluff ⋆ smut
❥ word count:
52k

➵ content warnings:
classism ┊ threats of assassination ┊ blackmail and retaliation ┊ curses ┊ dark magic ┊
mentions of arranged marriage ┊ mentions of forced marriage ┊ betrayal ┊ manipulation ┊
gaslighting ┊ entrapment ┊ magical torture ┊ fantasy typical violence ┊ mentions of blood
and wounds ┊ minor descriptions/depictions of injuries ┊ fantasy weapons (swords) ┊
mentions/depictions of death ┊ murder but its warranted
➵ smut warnings:
dom!namjoon ︱big cock!namjoon ︱sub!reader ︱virgin!reader ︱SIZE KINK SIZE KINK
SIZE KINK!!!!!! ︱first time sex ︱virgin sex ︱teasing ︱biting ︱marking ︱body
worship ︱breast/nipple worship ︱breast/nipple play ︱scratching ︱hair pulling ︱
begging ︱crying ︱pussy eating ︱pussy worship ︱tongue fucking mmm ︱face riding ︱
fingering ︱clit biting ︱slight hint of orgasm control ︱cum eating ︱grinding ︱praise ︱
dirty talk ︱handjob ︱soft passionate sex ︱unprotected sex ︱loss of virginity ︱
cockwarming ︱riding ︱impregnation kink ︱belly bulge ︱manhandling ︱
pinning/restraining ︱cervix penetration ︱creampie ︱multiple orgasms ︱clit
stimulation/play ︱overstimulation ︱cum inflation ︱excessive cum ︱aftercare

Once upon a time, in the land of Far Far Away, existed the Empire of Lunaerius, a place well
known for magic; its lands rife with all types of power: mana, aura, sorcery and any type of magic
in between. In fact, magic was so abundant, that even those of the commoners and the gentry
utilised it every day in some form. Every home was fitted with Mana Stones to provide fire and
electricity, knights imbued their weapons with their innate Aura to strengthen themselves, and
sages used Sorcery to transform ordinary healing herbs and plants into potions, salves, and balms
that could remedy most ailments and maladies. There was not a single corner of Lunaerius that did
not benefit, or thrive, from the use of magic.

However, not all those who could wield magic used it for good. There were some, a next to a
minuscule percentage of the population, who exploited it for its...more nefarious uses. Those that
lived in secluded parts of Lunaerius—far away from the general, respectable populace. Those who
called themselves warlocks.

And it had been one of those very warlocks—one you’d had the infelicitous misfortune to cross—
who had cursed you.

Within the Selenic Palace’s dining room, at the far end of the table, the Sacred Moon, Crown
Prince Namjoon sits opposite his parents. Idly, he picks at his food, his nonchalant gaze fixated on
the tall, arched windows across from him.

As the evening draws near, the lambent rays of day slowly begin to dissipate. Faint shafts of
sunlight trickle through large glass planes, reflecting off baroque stone walls and spilling over
lacquered wooden floors. Though the remnant beams of sunshine scarcely illuminate the chamber,
the dining area is flooded with light. Elaborate chandeliers hang from high ceilings and ornate
candelabra stand in adumbral corners, mana stones enclosed within their crystal lamps fulgurating
with rich incandescence that bathes the dining room.

The room is quiet, save for the soft clinking of silver against porcelain. Servants mutedly flitter in
and out of the chamber: maids clearing empty dishes and cup bearers replenishing empty goblets
with wine. The two sounds mingle together, the usually subdued noises glaringly loud within the
stark silence that enshrouds the atmosphere. Despite the reticence, however, the ambience is
comfortably amicable; the Imperial Family dining quietly in a picturesque scene of dignified
conduct.

Now focusing on his meal, Namjoon cuts a sliver of his Marsh-Boar steak—the thick cut of meat
slathered in a delicate, yet flavourful, wild herb sauce—before picking up one of the pepper-
crusted potatoes accompanying his meal. Just as he moves to place the morsel into his mouth, his
father, the Heavenly Moon, Emperor Caliban addresses him.

“Prince,” his father calls out.

“Father?” Namjoon quirks an eyebrow before looking up from his plate. The Emperor gracefully
places his fork and knife onto the table and picks up his serviette, gently tapping his mouth as he
wipes off the remnant oils of his meal.

“I’ve received a formal request from Duke Graffias today. It seems he would like to arrange a
betrothal between you and his last-born daughter, Lady Irena,” his father says whilst raising an
eyebrow.

Namjoon dismissively hums in thought.

“Darling…” his mother, the Divine Moon, Empress Eirene softly intones, her gentle warning
causing his father to look at her pointedly.

“Well… You can inform Duke Graffias that I formally decline his request,” Namjoon responds
without batting an eyelid.

“You wish to decline?” his father confirms.

“Yes,” Namjoon affirms laconically before taking another bite of his meal.

“Prince,” the Emperor chides, tacit warning heavy in his tone.

“Father,” comes Namjoon’s sardonic return. Emperor Caliban huffs, the corner of his jaw flexing
—a sign of his irritation, one inherited by his very son.

“Duke Graffias will not stand for this. He will accuse the Imperial family of insulting his daughter
by defiling her and then refusing the betrothal offer of his house,” the Emperor points out.
Namjoon scoffs at his father’s words.

“Defile her? She came to me already defiled, as the Duke so eloquently put it,” Namjoon replies
sardonically. Foreseeing the impending argument, Empress Eirene furtively but swiftly dismisses
the servants.

Namjoon would never understand the nobles of the Aristocratic Faction.

As a more free-thinking domain within Far Far Away, the Empire of Lunaerius had long since
changed its archaic rules within high society. Women were equal to men and as such, they had the
same rights as men. They were allowed to court whomever they chose to and should they wish to
sleep with them—without the burden of a lifelong commitment—they were free to do so. It had
been many centuries since women were required to remain chaste and virginal before marriage, lest
they find themselves scorned by society. However, in spite of this, some forms of misogyny were
still prevalent, and there were still men who believed in anachronistic patriarchy. Thus, here was
Duke Graffias—a member of a long-standing and ancient family—employing those very primitive
rules in order to manipulate a betrothal between his daughter and the Sacred Moon himself.

A betrothal, that quite frankly, Namjoon wanted nothing to do with.

“Besides, if he truly believes that it is an insult, perhaps he should arrange a marriage between
Lady Irena and her guardian knight, Baron Fawaris,” Namjoon continues before taking another bite
of his meal. Then, lips curling into a derisive sneer, “Ah. But that’s not possible, is it? After all, her
knight is a Baron, and marrying off one of his daughters to a mere Baron would hardly lift his
position in society,” he adds as an afterthought.

The Emperor exhales heavily. “Did you have to sleep with her?”

“I did not sleep with her,” Namjoon hisses. Then, after a short pause—his lips forming a thin line
—he continues, his voice quieter this time. “Not this time, at least.”

“So you did sleep with her?” Emperor Caliban persists, clearly growing frustrated with his son.

“Not this time,” Namjoon emphasises with a roll of his eyes.

“But you have?” his Father clarifies. Namjoon shrugs.

“One time. Three years ago. At your birthday celebration,” Namjoon truthfully admits. The
Empress quirks an eyebrow at that.

“If I remember correctly, you escorted Lady Irena that night?” his mother ponders out loud.
Namjoon nods. “And you still meet with her? That’s unlike you,” the Empress points out.

“We simply agreed to help each other out as a favour. As the Sacred Moon, and one of the highest-
ranked ladies in society, we both needed a partner and she offered. No strings attached. We’re just
friends now. We haven’t slept together since,” Namjoon states, a hint of ire tinging his voice.

The relationship between him and Irena had been a great source of contention within society.

As the Sacred Moon, and future Heavenly Moon, to the illustrious Lunaerius Empire, Namjoon
was undoubtedly the most eligible bachelor within the domain, and noblewomen from all the
imperial territories often sought him out. Though, their reasoning for his attention all varied. Some
wanted him simply because their families urged them to—noble houses wanting to increase their
social standings through their connection to him. Some wanted him as a means to ward off
undesired attention or unwanted betrothals—after all, what foolish man would pursue the Crown
Prince’s lover? Some, wanted him simply because they suffered delusions of grandeur—because
they were convinced he would fall in love with them after a passionate night and make them his
Blessed Moon, the Crown Princess.

Some, however, wanted him simply for their own carnal pleasure—a means for them to satisfy
their baser needs without any fear or promise of commitment.

Thankfully, Irena fell within the very extreme of that category.

When Namjoon had first met Irena—three years ago at the Vernal Celebration—he had not known
much about her, other than the fact that she was Duke Graffias’ daughter, the last of four. Thus,
when she had first approached him—strictly under the guise of societal etiquette—to introduce
herself, he had no reason to dismiss her. The second time he had met her—a few months later, at
the Empress’ ball—he had similarly accepted her presence, even going as far as having an
amicable conversation with her before leaving her to socialise with the other noble ladies. The
third, fourth and fifth times—nameless parties hosted by various noble houses—followed in suit.
Though, with each meeting, their conversations lasted a little longer, and became a little more
flirtatious.

Until it reached a culmination by the seventh time. The Emperor’s birthday celebration.

Emboldened by the attention he’d given her, Irena had requested him to escort her to the ball as
well as spend the night together. Naturally, he’d been curious. It wasn’t the first time a
noblewoman had made such a request of him; his night-time trysts were known to most of society.
Moreover, Irena didn’t strike him as the type to approach him under her family’s request, nor did
she seem like the type who was under the irrational belief that he would fall in love with her and
declare her the Blessed Moon after one night. Nonetheless, he’d still made it abundantly clear that
he did not wish to court her, nor would he become her betrothed.

Immediately, Irena had assured him that she knew that and that while she had no intentions of
pursuing him, as a Duke’s daughter and as the Sacred Moon, they both had certain reputations and
obligations to uphold—people of their status did not attend Imperial events without a partner; it
was considered poor etiquette; a surviving principle from an antiquated era long gone. Though, as
Irena mentioned, it was merely a standard for the upper echelon, namely those with marquess and
marchioness titles and above. Happy that she was within the category of women who simply
wanted him for pleasure, Namjoon had accepted her offer.

After all, he’d much rather spend the night with someone who was well aware of his intentions—or
lack thereof—rather than someone who believed one meaningless night of lustful pleasure would
equate to a lifetime of commitment.

Though, that hadn’t stopped him from panicking the moment he’d found Irena still in his bed the
next morning.

Fortunately, once he’d woken her up and reiterated himself—he was in no way in love with her,
nor would he marry her—Irena had laughed at him. Swiftly, she’d let him know that she had no ill
will behind her continued presence in his bed, just that she’d been tired and slept longer than
anticipated. Her declaration had set his mind at ease, and afterwards, the two parted ways.

Well, at least for a few months.

Due to their positions within society, Namjoon would consistently run into Irena at various events,
and as a result, the two had formed an unexpected friendship. With a particular emphasis on friend.
To Namjoon, the night with Irena was nothing but a fervent tryst that was never to be repeated
again. Even now, after getting to know her better, he had no substantial feelings for her other than
friendship.

He wasn’t in love with her, nor did he suddenly want to marry her.

So, why was their strictly platonic relationship such a source of contention?

Well, for no reason other than the fact that Irena Graffias was the only woman consistent in his
life. Other than his mother, of course.

Most people knew that he and Irena had spent the night together. After all, his father’s birthday
celebration was a grand event, and almost everyone had not only seen him escort Irena, but also
leave the celebration with her. Well, everyone except for his own father it seemed, who, if he was
being honest, probably spent the entire night besotted with his wife. And thanks to those two
reasons, paired with the fact that she was the daughter of a Duke, meant that rumours were rampant
within the social circles—everyone believed that Irena would inevitably become the Blessed
Moon.

All baseless gossip that her father was now attempting to take advantage of.

“How many times must I tell you, if you continue this way, the nobles will riot. With the way
you’re proceeding, it’ll be easier to count the noble ladies you haven’t bedded, rather than the ones
that you have. They will not continue allowing you to insult their daughters like this,” the Emperor
berates, tearing him out of his thoughts.

“And on what basis will they riot? Their daughters were the ones who approached me. All I did
was accept their offers!” Namjoon argues.

Empress Eirene clears her throat, narrowing her eyes at the callous, embittered intonation in her
son’s voice. Nonetheless, understanding Namjoon’s frustrations, she says nothing else.

“Yes! With the assumption that they would be crowned as the Blessed Moon and eventually the
Divine Moon!” his father backfires. At that, Namjoon throws his cutlery onto the table. The silver
lands on the table with much more force than he’d intended, and the unexpectedly loud clattering
startles his mother.

“Prince,” Empress Eirene quietly, but firmly, admonishes, regarding him with a pointed look.
Nonetheless, far too vexed, Namjoon ignores his mother’s reproach.

“Father, not once did I promise them marriage, nor did I ever even remotely suggest that if we were
to sleep together, they’d become the Blessed Moon. In fact, I made it abundantly clear to Lady
Irena that I would not be marrying her, even if we slept together,” Namjoon explodes. His outburst
causes his father’s lips to thin into a grim line; his mother sighs as she takes a sip of her wine.
“Something—by the way—she was happy to agree with,” Namjoon elucidates.

“And as with Lady Irena, I made it clear to every other lady I slept with that under no
circumstances would I marry them. I have no intention of marrying someone who only sees me as
a means to heighten their status, nor do I have any intentions of marrying someone who has
deluded themselves into loving their fancied idea of who I am, but who knows nothing about, nor
cares for, me,” Namjoon finally finishes with a hiss.

Understanding his son’s plight, the Emperor looks at him sympathetically. “Son, I understand.
However, that does not change the fact that the nobility are displeased over the treatment of their
daughters. Eventually, they will riot and protest your right to the throne. Some have already
expressed their displeasure to the Imperial Court,” his father attempts to reason.

“Treatment of their daughters?” Namjoon seethes. “They act as though I have promised their
daughters more than I have. Before I even consider taking them to my bed, I make my intentions
clear. If their daughters wish to continue after that, and their fathers are insulted, I cannot be held
responsible for that. Especially when this is a clear ploy to further their rank as the Father of the
Blessed Moon,” Namjoon voices bitterly. Emperor Caliban opens his mouth to argue. However,
having grown tired of the never-ending argument, the Empress places a hand on the back of his
father’s, her one, simple gesture effectively silencing the most powerful man in the Empire.

“Is there not a single woman you would consider marrying?” his mother finally speaks up. Her
gentle voice rings through the air and the soft comfort of her dulcet tenor washes over him,
immediately mollifying his irritation. Sighing, Namjoon runs his hand through his hair.

“No, Mother,” Namjoon replies. The Empress hums.

“Out of all the women you have bedded, you have truly not fallen for even a single one? Not even
Lady Irena?” his mother clarifies.

“I have not loved a single one,” Namjoon asserts unhesitatingly. He looks at his parents, his eyes
shining with determination. “And I will not be forced into a loveless marriage for the sake of the
nobility,” he declares. The Empress’ features soften.

“My sweet prince, no one can force you into a loveless marriage. Not I. Nor your father, the
Heavenly Moon. And especially not the nobles,” his mother agrees as she levels her husband with a
pointed glare. Satisfaction ripples through him when his father cowers under his mother’s sharp
regard.

The Emperor may be the sovereign ruler of the Lunaerius Empires, but it was clear that he was
under the thumb of his wife.

“Now, darling, since our Prince has made his feelings clear, perhaps we should table this
discussion for another time?” Empress Eirene suggests. Namjoon eagerly nods, more than content
to change the conversation.

However, at the sheepish expression of guilt marring the Emperor’s visage, Namjoon’s stomach
wrenches; his hope quickly squashed.

“Sadly, that’s not possible. As I mentioned, some nobles have voiced their displeasure. My office
has already been inundated with formal betrothal requests from irate fathers of the women you’ve
slept with. Though I’m sure this was their scheme all along, I fear I cannot hold them off for much
longer. You will have to announce the Blessed Moon at the upcoming festival of Esris’ Rise,”
Emperor Caliban informs.

Namjoon freezes, the blood draining from his face.

“Caliban!” his mother hisses, glaring at her husband through narrow eyelids.

“Father! You cannot be serious?” Namjoon blurts, searching his father’s eyes for any sign of
falsehood.

“I’m sorry, Son. My hands are tied,” his father replies apologetically.

“Your hands are tied?! You’re the Heavenly Moon. How can you allow the nobles to act like this?”
Namjoon vociferates. The Emperor swiftly bristles.

“You know the weight of the responsibility the Imperial Family holds, Sacred Moon. Our title is
not an empty one, it comes with a heavy burden. As the Heavenly Moon, I shoulder the weight of
this entire kingdom and its people. Just as you will when you inevitably succeed me,” his father
declares.

“Yes, Father, I know that but—” Namjoon attempts to interject. Nevertheless, before he can
continue, his father raises his hand, effectively cutting him off.

“And whether you like it or not, one of those responsibilities is listening to the nobles of this land.
Of course, we have Sovereign Power. However, without the support of the nobility, we are
nothing; merely powerless puppets sitting on an empty throne,” the Emperor begins chastising.

“If it wasn’t for the nobles supporting us, our family would have toppled as the Imperial Ruler
decades, if not centuries, ago. Even with their limited power, they can easily oppose and undermine
our authority—regardless of whether we are the Sacred Moon or the Heavenly Moon. You cannot
rule without them. You will do well to remember that,” his father firmly warns.

Namjoon clenches his fists, so tight that his fingernails dig into the flesh of his palm, his knuckles
turning white. “But is there any reason I need to pick a Blessed Moon by then? That’s in less than a
week!”

“Surely, he can simply pick a few Blessed Moon candidates and court them? Must it be an official
betrothal by then? There are laws against forced marriage and betrothal for a reason. Surely, they
cannot manipulate the Sacred Moon into either,” the Empress disputes. Emperor Caliban hums in
thought.

“As usual, you are brilliant, my love. That will work. I will inform the nobles of this compromise,”
Emperor Caliban swiftly acquiesces as he sagely nods his head. “But, either way, whether you
choose one now or in the future, this is inevitable, son. You will ultimately be engaged,” his father
continues with a final warning. Then, with a softer tone, “So start looking for the one you love,” he
gently intones.

“Yes, Father,” Namjoon grudgingly accepts.

“It’s such a shame about Lady _____,” the Empress says, her wistful tone abruptly breaking the
conversation. Namjoon halts, his body stiffening.

In the six years since the tragedy that was the disappearance of Lady _____, any mention of the
missing heir had become a complete taboo. Mostly for fear of incurring the Grand Duke’s wrath—
both he and the Grand Duchess avoiding the topic. Naturally, with how close his mother was to the
Grand Duchess, both of his parents also avoided bringing her up out of respect. And as such, the
rest of the society had followed suit.

Thus, his mother bringing her up was a complete surprise.

“Lady _____?” Namjoon asks, his head cocking to the side.

“Grand Duke and Grand Duchess Revati’s daughter,” Emperor Caliban supplies.

“She disappeared a few weeks before her societal debut. It’s been almost six years since. The
Grand Duke has had no choice but to unwillingly pronounce her deceased,” his mother replies.

“Yes, I’m aware of that,” Namjoon says as his eyebrows knit together.

The Grand Duchy of Revati was the most powerful house in the Empire, succeeded only by the
Imperial House of Lunaerius itself. Moreover, considering the Grand Duke’s close relationship
with the Imperial Family—the Order of Revati being the Empire’s strongest legion of knights,
tasked with the protection of the Empire—it was unthinkable that he wouldn’t have heard of Lady
_____. Especially considering the fact that she would be the highest-ranked Lady, falling just
under the Empress and the Grand Duchess.

Though, he didn’t know why she was being brought up.

His mother gives him a mournful smile before her eyes glaze over, a distant glassiness
overshadowing the usually warm, bright depths.
“I would see her often. Whenever I visited the Grand Duke’s residence in order to speak to the
Grand Duchess. She was a lovely child. I remember her when she was six years old, she used to
love fairytales. Every time she saw me she asked if I could make her a Princess,” his mother
recollects, fondness heavy in her voice. “I would always tell her that I could, but that she’d need to
marry you to become one. And every time I said it, she’d wrinkle her nose and tell me boys were
repulsive,” Empress Eirene laughs. The sound is hollow, and a little jaded—a stark contrast to the
usual airy tinkle of her laughter.

“I can’t deny that she was my choice for the Blessed Moon. She was just so sweet, you couldn’t
help but love her. Though, she grew up to be quite brash, and reckless. But so beautiful too. I
always told myself that once she made her official debut, I would introduce the two of you. But,
the last time I saw her was at sixteen. She disappeared a year later.” His mother’s voice cracks, her
eyes misting with tears as her features smear with an expression of grief.

“I can’t even begin to imagine the pain Grand Duchess Revati had to bear with the loss of her only
child. Parents should not outlive their children. Nor should they have to bury an empty coffin, or
constantly have to wonder whether their child is truly lost to them. It’s a heartbreak most
unbearable,” she finishes with a sniffle. Beside her, his father reaches out and intertwines his
fingers with that of his wife before squeezing her hand in comfort.

“As you know, it’s very rare for a member of the Imperial Family to pass the age of twenty-five
without a betrothed. You’re already twenty-six—and unwed—something almost unheard of in our
ancestry. That is because as the only heir and daughter to the Grand Duke, Lady _____ was to be
your intended. Sadly, that never came to be,” the Emperor explains in place of his wife.

“You never told me that. You never told me you already had someone chosen to be my Blessed
Moon,” Namjoon says, betrayal underlying his voice. His mother looks at him sympathetically.

“That is because we never wanted you to feel like you were being forced into it. Ultimately, the
choice in who you marry is yours. Not mine, nor your father’s. I would have loved to introduce the
two of you, and I would have, had Lady _____ not disappeared. However, I would not have told
you until you officially met—I did not want to sway your decision or make it seem as though you
had to choose her to make me happy,” the Empress explains.

Namjoon stares at his parents in surprise. He’d always assumed that his parents had broken
tradition with him and had allowed him to make the choice himself. Not that his parents would
ever force him into a marriage of their will—it didn’t typically work like that. Typically, the
Emperor and Empress would choose a betrothal candidate for their heir, and once both had come of
age and debuted into society, they were introduced to one another.

The course of their relationship from then on would be dependent on how they felt about one
another.

Some would fall in love—just as his parents had done—and would end up in a happy marriage.
Others would end up hating each other, or simply remain acquaintances or friends, and decide to
break off the betrothal, choosing to go their separate ways and marry someone else. A select few
would continue the relationship—despite their personal feelings—purely out of obligation. But
either way, the choice was ultimately left up to the parties involved. Or, at least, it had been for the
past few centuries—ever since the Imperial Family had enlisted a law against forced marriages.

Thus, Namjoon knows that the choice would ultimately be left to him. His mother had outright
claimed that it would be. Yet, given the fact that he soon would be forced into courting women he
didn’t want to, he can’t help the irritation that wells up inside of him.
“Right. So, now I have to pick a Blessed Moon, in less than a week no less,” Namjoon bitterly
grumbles.

“I’m sorry, Son,” his father earnestly apologises.

Namjoon simply nods his head. Logically, he knows it’s not his father’s fault. The blame
ultimately lies at the feet of the nobles attempting to pressure him into a betrothal with their
daughters.

Letting out a sigh, Namjoon takes his serviette and wipes his mouth before placing it on the table.
“I wish to retire for the night. If you’ll excuse me,” he dismisses himself as he stands up from his
seat.

With a bow, “Lunar Blessings upon the Heavenly Moon and Divine Moon of the Empire. May
Esris shine her eternal glory upon your Imperial Majesties,” he greets. Then, Namjoon exits the
dining room.

Once he’s safely in the hallway, he heaves in frustration and runs his fingers through his hair.
“Wonderful,” he mutters to himself.

Between dinner, and the following discussion, dusk had fallen over the Empire of Lunaerius.
Walking through the long corridors of the castle, Namjoon mindlessly navigates toward his
bedroom—the path engraved into the muscle memory of his feet from the years he’d spent
traversing the Selenic Palace. As he returns to his chambers, he loses himself in his thoughts.

It wasn’t as though he had a particular aversion to marriage.

In fact, it was the complete opposite.

Namjoon had been around love all his life; witnessed its purest form within the people surrounding
him.

He’d seen it in his best friend Hoseok, the Crown Prince of Aetherys, and his love Zoisé, the
Sunray Sparrow—in the way they looked at one another, their affectionate gazes instinctively,
effortlessly, finding the other within a crowded room—as though they saw no one else. He’d seen it
in his grandparents—in the way they held one another, their arms the only repose for each other
after a long, arduous day—the comfort of their embrace laying their troubles to rest. He’d seen it in
his parents—in the way their devotion to one another was undying, that even now, three decades
later, their love burned just as—if not more—bright as when they first met, that there was no one
else they’d rather be with.

And as he grows older, Namjoon finds himself craving that kind of love. The kind of love started
as an electric spark, a live wire to his heart, that ignited into an incandescent inferno, an everlasting
wildfire in his soul.

Yet, in his twenty-six years, Namjoon had not felt that. He’d never set his eyes upon someone and
thought her, she is the one.

Not in the way his father had described meeting his mother for the first time. Not in the way
Hoseok had described first setting eyes upon Zoisé.

Moreover, with his status as Crown Prince, he’d had more than his fair share of women who only
approached him with ulterior motives: their families had urged them to, they simply wanted to
become the Crown Princess, they had fallen in love with the idea of him. Namjoon felt nothing for
those women, he wanted nothing to do with those women. Naturally, there were some who didn’t
much care about his status, those who were sole heirs of their fiefs and house titles, those who
would eventually become the matriarchs of their families. Yet, even of those that he’d met, he’d
felt nothing for.

However many women he’d met, he’d never found someone he truly felt a spark for, or someone
he felt a true connection with.

And contrary to the people’s beliefs, it wasn’t that Namjoon had any particular aversion to
marriage.

He simply had not yet found the one.

Though, considering it’s been twenty-six years, perhaps the one didn’t exist.

Perhaps it was time for him to resign himself to a marriage of convenience, and give up on the
notion of true love at first sight.

Weariness settles into his bones at the thought, and intermingling with the restlessness from the
conversation with his father, the two emotions war inside him—Namjoon realising that sleep
would not easily claim him today.

A frown mars his face. Namjoon stops in his tracks and turning his body, he looks out the large,
vaulted windows of the corridor’s walls. Situated right beside the Gloaming Forest, the Imperial
Castle was bordered by a dense area of woodland that had remained untouched for centuries. The
forest was sacrosanct, magic found at its purest within the wildwoods, and an area that very few
would traverse—the risk of getting lost within the winding thickets putting off even the bravest of
adventurers. Yet, as a member of the Imperial Family, Namjoon had grown up near the boundary
of the woods, and as such, he’d spent a lot of his youth playing within them—under the watchful
eye of his guards.

Seeing the Gloaming Forest, Namjoon momentarily pauses as he considers taking his horse out for
a ride. It had been a week since he’d met with Zoisé E’mhede, the Sunray Sparrow having sought
amnesty from the Empire of Aetherys.

When Zoisé first fled her Empire a month ago, Namjoon had been shocked. For as long as he’d
known the Crown Prince of Aetherys, Hoseok had not only been in love with the Sunray Sparrow,
but he’d also been unwaveringly adamant that he would marry her. Yet, here she was, seeking
refuge in the Empire of Lunaerius, as Hoseok had decided to marry High Princess M’hinara, the
heir to Yndara instead.

As an ally to his Empire, news from Aetherys spread quite quickly towards Lunaerius, and when
Namjoon had first heard of Crown Prince Hoseok insulting the High Princess in favour of his love,
the Sunray Sparrow, he had been joyous—more than happy that his lifelong friend would finally
be with the woman he truly loved. Yet, just a few days later, when news spread about Hoseok and
M’hinara’s engagement, Namjoon had been equally as shocked—unable to fathom his best friends’
actions. And when Zoisé had entered his imperial court—claiming amnesty no less—he’d been sat
in complete disbelief—incapable of comprehending what had occurred between the two, once
seemingly inseparable, lovers.

Immediately, Namjoon had wanted to grant Zoisé her request—a need burning within him to
protect his friends’ lover of over a decade. Nevertheless, since Hoseok was now to be wed to
M’hinara, the Empire of Lunaerius would not be able to grant Zoisé refuge—not when Hoseok had
slighted the High Princess for the Sunray Sparrow. However, unable to turn Zoisé away, Namjoon
had snuck her into the Gloaming Forest, and with the help of an Incantor sworn to secrecy, he’d
granted her a small cottage to live within for as long as she needed.

However, on the cusp of spring, the wintry chill clings to the air, and despite the warmth of the
castle walls, he feels its sharpness sting at his skin. Frown deepening, Namjoon considers checking
in on Zoisé. After all, the Empire of Aetherys was one of constant sun and warmth. The Sunray
Sparrow would not be accustomed to the cooler ambient temperatures of Lunaerius. More than
that, in the month Zoisé had spent hidden in Lunaerius, Namjoon had come to befriend her—the
Sunray Sparrow’s company swiftly becoming a source of companionship.

Nevertheless just as he turns on his heels, something catches his eye.

Out of the blue, a large bird bursts through the thick canopy, its bright silhouette prominent against
the cover of dusk. Namjoon startles at the sight, his eyes narrowing in incredulity. Birds were
commonplace within the forest, and Namjoon wouldn’t ordinarily bat an eyelid at the sudden
emergence of the creature.

Yet, this particular bird was unlike one he’d ever seen before.

Its frame is elongated, from the elegant, swan-like neck to the trailing, gossamer tail feathers that
flutter as it glides on the air currents. In the muted colours of dusk, its silvery feathers are
emphasised, shining with an iridescent glimmer against the darkness that surrounds it—the
plumage radiant with the moon’s effulgence.

Unable to tear his eyes away, Namjoon watches as it gracefully soars over the forest, the cadenced
beat of its wings hypnotic. And just as suddenly as it appeared, it disappears—the bird delicately
drifting down to a large clearing. The moment it vanishes from his sight, a sense of loss overtakes
him.

He doesn’t know why, but something about the bird calls to him and, completely mesmerised by its
beauty, he decides that he must find it again, even if only to gaze upon its ethereal beauty once
more.

With his decision made, Namjoon swiftly turns on his heels and heads to the exit of the castle and
towards the stables.

He has to follow it into the Gloaming Forest.

A brisk wind flutters through the air, carrying the dry chill of the evening breeze on its tail. As it
envelops you, you gently stir from your slumber. Frigidness bites your skin and you shudder,
nestling your face further into the warmth of your feathered frame—an effort to curl into your own
inherent body heat and sink back into your sleep. Nonetheless, try as you might, you simply can’t
ignore the cold air, the temperature steadily dropping with each passing minute. With a frustrated
huff, you finally lift your head from under the groove of your furled wing and peek an eye open.

Bleary eyed—sleep still fogging your mind—you peer at your surroundings. You expect to see the
brightly lit alcove you had hidden in for the day, not the obscure darkness that meets you. Picking
yourself up from the makeshift nest of leaves and twigs you’d made yourself, you poke your head
out of the small cave and look up at the sky—only for your heart to race at the sight that greets
you.

It’s almost night.

Swiftly, you scurry out of the den and into the open forest. Taking a deep breath, you voluntarily
shudder, the movement ruffling your feathers as you shake the sleep from your muscles. Wide
awake, you stretch out your wing to the entirety of their span and begin flapping them. Once. Then
twice. On the third time, your body lifts off of the ground.

Higher and higher, you ascend in the air—the susurrus flutter of your wings pronounced in the
tranquillity of the forest—until you break through the umbrage and into the night.

As you fly to your destination, the landscape blurs past you, the trees seemingly minuscule from
your altitude, a stark comparison to their typically ginormous size. Up in the clouds, the air is
colder, bearing a gelid burn that scratches your skin as the wind ruffles through your feathers.
Every now and then you spot small gaps in the otherwise dense canopy of the tree cover, signalling
the various glades and lakes that make their home in the Gloaming Forest. Eventually, however,
you spot a much larger opening—all the way at the edge of the forest, where the earth gives way to
a large basin of water.

Loch L’Lune.

Dusk wanes languorously, the sun having long since set as day succumbs to night. Over the skyline
of Loch L’Lune, Seris slowly rises, the moon climbing higher and higher into the inky welkin
until, finally, it reaches its crest. Elegantly, it hovers in the sky, the silver-hued refulgence a
pearlescent river of silk cascading over both the lake and the forest. Vibrant hues dye the sky—
shades of rose deepening into a mellow lilac and then vivid indigo—while cirrus clouds of violet
streak across the variegated firmament. Within the nebulous night, stars scintillate with an opaline
glint, the incandescent mottle a sprinkle of glitter across the otherwise obscure, stygian expanse.

With Seris at its zenith—its ethereal lustre bathing the earth below—you descend over the lake.
Soaring towards the ground, your wings glide on the air currents and you gently float down. Hoary
moonbeams wash over you, the skin under your plumage tingling. Slowly, the sensation
intensifies, morphing from a faint prickle into a searing burn. Clenching your jaw, you bear the
brunt of your curse—taking care not to plummet into the deep of the lake in your pain as you focus
on your careful descent.

Though, that is easier said than done—your affliction tearing through your bloodstream as it’s
purified by Seris’ light.

As the hex is purged from your being, your body begins to shift. Your bones transform: some—
such as your legs—elongate, others—like those of your wings—shorten, while few—your beak and
talons—morph into a whole other structure. Feathers molt from your skin, drifting towards the
lake’s surface in an alabaster shower of gossamer plumes. The warmth afforded by your down ebbs
away, goosebumps rippling over your flesh as the frosty air gnaws your skin. Just as your
metamorphosis completes, your bare feet touch the ground, and with the balletic grace of years of
practice, you smoothly recover your balance, your soles firmly planting onto the earth.

Instantly, your teeth chatter and you hiss, the cold of the night enveloping your naked figure,
causing your flesh to sting. Breathing deeply, you mutter a spell under your breath and your
dormant magic flares to life. Power bursts from your core, your body encapsulated in a lustrous
aura as the incantation begins working. A twinkling trail of periwinkle sparkles spiral around your
frame, garments manifesting out of nothingness as your nude physique is soon concealed from the
harsh elements of the weather. Fully clothed, you sigh softly as warmth settles into your skin.

Momentarily, you examine yourself.

Your garments are similar to what you used to wear—back when you were still Lady Revati, the
heir to the Grand Duchy, and not just a cursed maiden. A white dress clothes your body, a winter
cloak wrapped around your shoulders for added warmth. The gown’s bodice—embroidered with
silver detailing and pearl beads—clings to your torso before flaring out at your hips—the skirt
made up of multiple layers of soft, diaphanous fabric. The brocade cloak is a muted shade of
cornflower, the edges embellished in white stitching and the collar decorated in a thick lining of
feathers. Simple down-lined, leather boots and gloves complete your outfit.

All in all, your ensemble is pretty put together. Especially considering your poor Incantation skills.

As the only heir to the Revati Grand Duchy, you had been schooled in magic from a young age.
Though, your speciality tended to be more Aura—utilising your inherent magic power to
strengthen yourself—rather than Incantations—using spells and charms to create out of
nothingness. Naturally, in your education, you’d been taught Incantations, but you had never truly
heeded the instructions nor lessons of your tutor. Of course, your instructors had lectured you on
the importance of at least knowing the basics of each school. Nevertheless, you’d just brushed off
their words.

As the future Grand Duchess, you would lead the Order of Revati, and as such, Aura would be
your most dominant form of magic. You would not need Incantations.

A train of thought you had quickly come to regret in the wake of your hex.

Returning to the edge of the lake, you lower yourself onto the grass and pull your knees to your
chest.

Just a few weeks before your eighteenth birthday, at the tender age of seventeen, you’d been
stricken with your curse.

[Start]

“My lady, please stay close to us,” a knight of your guard calls out to you.

You roll your eyes playfully.

“Perhaps you should keep up with me then,” you teasingly respond, a grin on your face. Below
you, your horse—Oberon—snorts loudly, the sound causing you to snicker.

“Yes, yes, I know. Not many can keep up with you,” you gently coax while petting his mane.

Oberon huffs, the sound almost arrogant.

It wasn’t an exaggeration. Not many could keep up with Oberon. After all, he was no ordinary
horse. No, Oberon was a very special type of horse—a Lumian to be specific.

Lumians were a rare breed, with only a few existing within the continent of Lunaerius. In fact, they
were so rare, that only a select few people were permitted to own them: Heavenly Moon Caliban—
the Emperor, Sacred Moon Namjoon—the Crown Prince, Grand Duke Izar—your father, and
commander of the Order of Revati, and, of course, you—the heir to the Grand Duchy. The reason
for this was simple—Lumians were no typical animal. Rather, they were mystical creatures
containing a magic core—one that made their power, speed and dexterity unmatched by any other
species of horse.

However, their power came at a price—they were proud, incredibly intelligent beings, and not just
anyone could tame them. No, it took a certain skill to safely subdue and train a Lumian, and only
those who were High Masters of Aura were entitled to owning them. Your mastery of Aura, and
elevation to High Master, had come a year previously, just after you’d turned sixteen; your father
gifting you a Lumian in celebration of your accomplishment.

It wasn’t easy to tame Oberon. As a stallion, he was prouder than most other horses, self-assured of
his own strength and skill, and arrogant to boot. Some would argue that horses weren’t sentient
enough to be arrogant, but you knew better. Oberon was haughty, and egotistical, and he had a
holier-than-thou attitude, and training him had been a nightmare—the steed refusing to heed any of
your commands at first. In fact, taming Oberon was probably the hardest thing you had ever had to
accomplish—much harder than when you’d trained to become a High Master.

However, once you had tamed him, Oberon finally accepting you as his owner, he had become
your most loyal horse. There was no other you could depend on to watch your back as much as you
depended on Oberon. And ever since then, Oberon had become your most trusted, and only steed.
A position he was incredibly possessive and protective of—the stallion refusing to even allow
another horse within your vicinity.

Not that you ever would have another horse. Oberon was the only one for you.

Entangling your fingers in Oberon’s mane, you take a moment to behold him in all his glory.

Simply looking at his stature, you could tell he was a cut above the rest, the horses of your guard
paling in comparison. He stands over a head taller than the rest, his head held high as he navigates
the rough terrain of the forest. In the light of day, his alabaster coat glistens with an irised sheen,
the ivory hide juxtaposed by the vibrant hues of his long mane—the hairs glimmering in hues of
mazarine and hyacinth. Corded muscles bulge under his skin, the defined sinew rippling with each
trot, your body lightly bouncing under the movements.

“My lady! Hold on!” One of your guards calls, Oberon coming to an abrupt standstill. The jarring
motion drags you out of your reverie, and eyebrows narrowing, you look ahead. As you and
Oberon halt, the rest of your guard catches up to you—their smaller horses finally bridging the gap
between Oberon’s naturally quicker gait and their much shorter strides.

“Is that…?” you breathe out as you spot the wild animal in front of you. A large boar stands in
front of you, its giant frame almost dwarfing even that of your gigantic horse.

“What is a Marsh Boar doing here? They’re not typically found in our boundary of the Gloaming
Forest,” a knight quietly mutters—so as not to startle the beast.

“My lady, we should head back. I believe we are close to the edge of the Imperial Grounds,”
another knight suggests.

You quirk your eyebrow at that.

Ordinarily, no one would be foolish enough to hunt within the winding thicket of trees. After all,
not only was the majority of the forest considered sacred due to the potent magic it radiated, but it
was also under the domain of the Imperial Family—anyone who crossed the lands was considered
a trespasser on the Imperial Grounds.

Nonetheless, the Gloaming Forest was a large expanse of wildwoods, one that enveloped the
Capital of Lunaerius in a vast crescent shape, and while one edge was occupied by the Imperial
Grounds, the opposite end was occupied by the Revati Estate. Thus, the adjoining land of the
Gloaming Forest was under the protection of your own family, a privilege afforded to the Revati
Grand Duchy due to being a founding member of the Empire. And so, other than the Imperial
Family, members of your own were the only ones permitted to wander the forest.
As such, you had spent much of your youth exploring the forest surrounding your estate, and as far
as you were aware, you’re nowhere near the border.

“No. These are still our grounds. I think it has just wandered from the Imperial Grounds to the
Revati Estate. We should be fine to hunt it,” you respond, your voice calm and quiet. At your
words, your knights nod.

“Yes, my lady,” comes their chorus of agreement.

“No one make a sound,” you lowly command.

Letting go of Oberon’s reins, you carefully reach for your bow—one of your knights promptly
handing you the weapon. Then, pulling out a sharpened arrow from the quiver on your back, you
draw the string. Your gaze hones in on the Marsh Boar, and as you concentrate on the beast, the
rest of the world fades away. The white of your pauldron glints, the burnished surface reflecting
the ianthine light that filters through the thick canopy of the forest. You inhale deeply, the crisp air
flooding your lungs and invigorating your being as you summon your Aura.

Naturally, your magic reacts—your innate power flaring from the depths of your core. Taking in
another deep breath, you will it to your hands—mentally picturing a steady, controlled stream
pouring out of your fingertips and into your weapon. Again, your magic reacts instinctively and
you feel it flow through your fingertips and into your bow. Within moments, it encapsulates your
weapon and the dianthium arrow glows with an iridescent sheen, the bolt strengthened by your
Aura. Just as you release the projectile, however, a Crested Deer enters the clearing.

The sudden appearance of the animal breaks your concentration, and immediately, the arrowhead
flies through the air—a high pitched whistling echoing in the silence of the forest before it strikes
the tree trunk just beside the boar’s head. Instantly, the wild animal roars. The screeching sound
pierces your eardrums and your hands move to cover your ears—a futile effort to drown out the
shrill sound. You watch as the Marsh Boar suddenly takes off, barrelling recklessly through the
forest as it attempts to flee.

“After it!” you scream while slinging your bow around your back. Swiftly gripping Oberon’s reins,
you gently kick his side—your horse rapidly moving to chase after the wild beast.

“My lady! Please slow down,” your knights cry, their reactions much slower than yours, their
horses struggling to catch up to Oberon’s speed.

Nonetheless, with your eyes firmly fixated on the boar, you refuse to heed their words—the
thundering of Oberon’s gallop resonant through the quiet forest, the rumbling sound dampening the
susurrus rustle of the leaves and the idle chirping of the birds. Oberon tears through the terrain of
the woods, just as fearless as the Marsh Boar, your grip on his reins tight, your back bent parallel to
his, and your thighs firm around his saddle.

The landscape blurs past you, and as you chase after the animal, the concerned cries of your guards
grow further and further away—Oberon’s speed unmatched by any of their horses. Moreover,
between the forest’s overgrowth and the serpentine woods, the knights assigned to your protection
swiftly lag behind—none of their steeds as equipped, or skilled, to handle the harsh terrain as your
own. Too caught up in the hunt, you don’t notice the growing distance between you and your
knights, nor do you notice crossing the threshold of the boundary between the Revati Estate and
the Imperial Grounds.

At least, not until it’s too late.

Within a blink of an eye, the Marsh Boar you’re pursuing vaporises—a plume of rubescent smoke
left in its wake. Grabbing Oberon’s reins, you harshly pull on them, your stallion swiftly coming to
a grinding halt—his hooves dragging against the ground. The sudden stop causes your body to jolt,
the force of the action sending you flinging off of Oberon’s back before you hurtle into the ground.
Your horse watches as you fly through the air, his body standing on his hind legs as he neighs in
worry. Thankfully, you barely feel the brunt of your fall between your fully-fitted armour and your
Aura instinctively erupting to protect you. Swiftly, you pick yourself up, your hand moving to grip
the hilt of your sword as you look around.

Your eyes widen at the dissipating mist. Realising the creature was simply the machinations of a
Conjuration, your instincts flare—adrenaline coursing through your veins and your hair standing on
edge as a sense of foreboding anchors itself within your stomach. You draw your sword, the sharp
hiss of the metal resonating through the air. Breath laboured, you inhale deeply—willing yourself
to calm down. It would do you no good to panic, you needed to keep your head if you wanted to
get out of here relatively unarmed. Moreover, trained as a knight and as the future commander of
the Order of Revati, there were few emergencies you weren’t equipped to handle—being lost in the
Gloaming Forest was the last of your worries.

Cautiously, you approach Oberon, your eyes scanning your surroundings. A lucent fog billows
through the woods, lambent fireflies aimlessly fluttering through the haze. Ginormous trees loom
around you, the everpresent, crepuscular hues of amber, amaranth and amethyst percolating
through the lush canopy as the gloaming radiance dapples the ground. At a first glance, nothing
truly seems amiss.

However, that’s when you notice it.

The utter silence that envelops you.

The typical sounds of the forest are nowhere to be found. The tinkling of the leaves. The warble of
the birds. The hum of magic. None of it.

Nothing but the eerie, deafening silence.

“Oberon. Get ready to run,” you murmur to your horse.

As you speak, one hand tightens around the hilt of your sword, the other reaching for his reins.
Your tongue flicks out, the muscle swiping over your cracked, lower lip. The taste of metal tinges
your tastebuds—dried blood marring the edge of your mouth from when you’d fallen off your
horse.

“Now, now. I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Princess,” a voice calls out.

Your body freezes, a prickle racing up your spine at the sound. Snapping your head to its general
area, you watch as a man slinks out from behind the cover of a tree. Behind you, Oberon huffs
aggressively, his hooves clopping against the ground in a warning.

Cocking your head to the side, you look at him warily. He’s dressed in a hooded cloak, the large
covering obscuring any identifiable features. Any except for the wisps of shadows lazily dancing
around his hands.

“What is a warlock doing on sacred ground?” you question.

The newcomer scoffs.

“You’re remarkably bold for a woman lost in the woods. Where are your knights, Princess?” he
gibes. The taunt has you bristling, your jaw clenching. Raising your sword, you point it towards
him menacingly.

“It’s not Princess. It’s Lady Revati. And if you do not wish to find yourself at the end of my
blade, I would suggest you explain why you’ve trespassed onto Imperial Grounds,” you hiss in a
warning. Nevertheless, the man just laughs while holding his hands up. Instantly, the wispy
shadows are absorbed into his palms.

“Woah, woah. Sorry, Lady Revati. I did not come here to fight,” the warlock responds. You quirk
your eyebrow at him. “Besides, despite being the Grand Duke’s heir, we both know you’re merely
a seventeen-year-old girl. You have no real power here. Nor, are you in any way threatening,” he
continues blithely. An inkling of anger ripples through you, your lips turning into a scowl.

“I am a High Master of Aura,” you sneer.

“A High Master in name only. You have yet to inherit any title or responsibility,” he retorts
knowingly.

“What do you want?” you snap, your patience wearing thin.

The man smirks, your body tensing as you watch his shadowed features twist. Across from you, he
moves, the nebulous wisps dissipating into nothingness as his hands lift to lower his hood. You
watch as his face comes into view, the pale pallor of his complexion a stark contrast against the
dark of his clothing. Glacial eyes, almost devoid of colour, regard you mirthfully, the onyx of his
pupils highlighted by the icy blue of his irises. His grin widens, his teeth flashing from thin,
shapeless lips.

“Well, you see… I was entrusted with the task to… eliminate you,” he admits nonchalantly.

A sudden dizziness washes over you and the grip on your sword slackens, your blood freezing in
your veins.

You’re to be eighteen in a few weeks, and as such, you had yet to debut within high society.
Accordingly, you had yet to leave the Revati Estate, your entire life so far spent on your familial
grounds, surrounded by either your parents or the workers who lived on your property. And while
people may know that you existed—being the heir to the Revati Grand Duchy and all—barely
anyone within society truly knew who you were, or what you looked like. The only outsiders who
knew you were the Emperor and Empress, and considering their close relationship with your
family, you highly doubted they wanted you dead.

Moreover, the last person they’d send would be a warlock—humans who had corrupted the purity
of magic, using dark powers such as curses and hexes to do their bidding.

“Who—” you begin. Nevertheless, the man waves his hand dismissively.

“I obviously cannot say, so there’s no point in asking,” he responds matter-of-factly.

If you were in any other situation, you would have found his indifference almost comical. The
warlock takes a few steps forward, closing the distance between the two of you. Until the only
space that separates you is the length of your sword.

“However... I have to admit, I didn’t expect you to be this... beautiful. I fear I’m quite taken with
you so how about a proposition?” he continues, flashing a—what you believe to be—devilish
smirk. You blink owlishly.
“What?” you deadpan. Is this man sane? Surely, he isn’t. Dark magic had clearly altered his
rationality.

“You see... I’m an illegitimate child of a prominent noble family, and as such, I cannot inherit my
title,” the man begins. As he speaks, he circles you, your feet shuffling as you keep your eyes—and
your sword—trained on him. “But... what would happen if I were to marry the heir to the Revati
Grand Duchy? A primordial house? One as old as the Empire? The only house to stand equal to the
Imperial Family?” he questions.

“No one would be able to look down upon you based on your illegitimacy,” you whisper,
realisation dawning upon you. A fiendish grin paints across his lips.

“Correct. Aren’t you very clever?” he praises.

“Do not insult my intelligence,” you bite impetuously. The warlock only laughs.

“So, how about a deal, my lady?” he uses your title almost mockingly. “If you agree to be my
bride, I will spare you,” he offers.

Again, you blink.

Disbelief colours your features, your eyes narrowing in incredulity. Did he really believe that you
would agree to his proposition—especially after he’d already threatened you? Yeah. He’s
definitely insane.

“I’m afraid I have to politely decline,” you sneer.

“I endeavour you to rethink your decision, my lady. You will come to regret it otherwise,” the
warlock warns. You scoff at him.

“Believe me, I have no intentions to reconsider. I would rather live a lonely existence than one with
you,” you haughtily respond. Turning to your horse, you move to grip his reins again, one of your
feet lifting to rest upon the stirrup. “Come on, Oberon,” you say.

“Very well. So be it. You shall have your lonely existence,” the warlock states forebodingly. “A
curse on you, _____ Revati. I confine you to a lonely existence. One that can only be broken
should you agree to be my wife, or by the purest of magic,” the warlock chants, his voice dropping
a couple of decibels.

Just as you move to turn around, a shadowy projectile shoots through the air. And before you can
react, or even attempt to draw your sword, the wispy bolt strikes your body.

Above you, Oberon roars. He rises to his hind legs in panic, his front legs kicking outward as he
watches you fall to the ground. Nevertheless, it’s too late—the warlock’s curse already taking a
hold of you. Dark magic pillages your core, your body twisting and contorting as you morph into
something else. Through your pain, you watch as the warlock disappears in a haze of shadows,
your hand weakly reaching out to your sword.

However, rather than a hand, a feathered wing touches the ornate hilt.

[End]

The first few weeks after you’d been cursed, you wandered the Gloaming Forest while looking for
the warlock—Oberon refusing to leave your side the entire time. It was then, when you found
yourself on the edge of Loch L’Lune, on a night when Seris was as its full, that you had first
transformed back into a human. Similar to when you’d been cursed, your body had writhed and
bent, and after a few painful moments, you returned to your natural form. Happiness had burst
inside of you, Oberon affectionately nuzzling your cheek as you hugged your steed.

Believing to be cured of your ailment, you’d swiftly mounted your stallion and ridden back towards
the Revati Estate. However, the moment you’d entered the Gloaming Forest, you’d transformed
back into your cursed form.

And that was when you had learned the cruel truth of your affliction.

You could only return to your human form under unobstructed moonlight—its pure magic purging
the dark hex from your being.

Dejectedly, you had returned to the clearing. Only for a sudden sense of hope to flitter through you.
If moonlight could purge the curse from your body—even if temporarily—then maybe there was a
way to undo the magic cast upon you.

So, for the first few weeks, you had attempted to do just that. However, you knew nothing about
dark magic or curses, and as such, all your attempts had failed. As the weeks passed, knights from
the Order of Revati scoured the woods of the Gloaming Forest—tenaciously looking for any sign
of you, and initially, you’d considered returning home and seeking the help of your family. The
Grand Duchy was vastly influential and money was not a concern—you knew you could use its
resources to find a way to cure the curse

Nonetheless, you knew returning would be pointless. The warlock had been clear in his conditions
—either your married him, or you had to find the purest of magic.

Naturally, neither option was viable.

Marrying him was unthinkable—you could never agree to be his wife, not after he, quite literally,
cursed you. You could attempt to find the purest of magic, but, you had no idea what that meant to
even begin looking for it. The only clue you had was that moonlight was considered ‘pure magic’.
Yet, it wasn’t the purest of magic–hence why it simply negated the effects, rather than breaking it
completely.

So, considering both options being unfeasible, you had settled on your only other plan.

To continue attempting to break the curse yourself, believing that, eventually, you would be able to
do so. After all, you were a High Master of Aura, a little curse should have been easy to undo. And
you had more than enough faith in yourself to be able to overcome the dark magic that afflicted
you.

You only had two problems. Firstly, your magic was inaccessible in your cursed state—the dark
hex having tainted your core, preventing you from utilising any form of Aura, Incantation or even
minor Enchantment. Secondly, you could only turn human if there was enough moonlight to fight
off the hex inhabiting your body. Anything other than a full moon would leave you in a state
between human and bird; the degree of your transformation dependent entirely on how much of
Seris’ light washed over you.

Still, in spite of your obstacles, with renewed vigour, you began routinely returning to Loch
L’Lune, and on the nights you returned to your human form, you would tirelessly attempt to
cleanse yourself of your affliction.

Months passed like this, time seeming inconsequential whilst in your bird-like form. And before
you knew it, it had already been an entire year.

Having made no progress in your pursuit, you had decided to have Oberon return home—your
horse having stubbornly stuck by your side the entire time. Realistically, you know you should
have sent him back to the Revati Estate earlier than you had. Nevertheless, isolated in the forest,
and practically imprisoned in your accursed form, Oberon had been your only source of
companionship—one you had a hard time letting go off.

However, after a year of your futile endeavour, you knew it was time for him to return.

Thus, with a dull ache in your chest, you had removed the necklace your father had gifted you—the
one passed to every heir of the Grand Duchy—and placed it within the safety of Oberon’s saddle
pocket. Then, you’d instructed him to return to the Revati Estate. Stubborn as he was, Oberon
rejected your order—your loyal stallion refusing to leave your side. But, you knew he had to return.
If only to let your parents know that you were somewhat alright.

Eventually, reluctantly, Oberon had heeded your instructions. Your horse was proud, arrogant, and
egotistical. But he was also intelligent, loyal, and the only steed you would ever be able to trust.
You both knew that you wouldn’t have sent him away unless you had no other choice but to.

To your surprise, however, even after you’d sent Oberon back, the Revati Knights had continued
looking for you—their search more desperate and frantic. It seemed that Oberon’s return had only
panicked them more. And that was when you realised something important.

Your necklace.

Initially, you returned your necklace as a sign of your safety. However, instead of believing you
were safe, it seemed your parents had taken it as a sign that something unthinkable had occurred to
you, that there was a possibility you were truly lost to them.

Unable to do anything to allay their worries, you watched helplessly as the Revati Knights scoured
every inch of the forest—only for the search to result in failure each time. They could not find
hide, nor hair, of you.

Not in your human form, at least.

For a while, the search for you continued with an unyielding vigour—your family refusing to give
up on you. Eventually, however, as even more time passed by, the search parties grew less and less
frequent, spanning from daily searches to weekly, from weekly to monthly.

Until finally, they stopped entirely. Your family accepting that you were not returning to them.

Now, it’s been five years since. Five years of wandering the Gloaming Forest listlessly
—solitarily—while longing for your home.

Letting out a sigh, you stare off into the distance.

Even-Elders border the lakeside, the orphic trees indigenous solely to the Gloaming Forest. Trunks
of tanzanite rise out of the ground to graze the sky, and ametrine foliage of blends into a lush
canopy that casts flickering, violet shadows. Crystalline petals of nacre speckle the tree crowns,
and as light reflects off of them, the flowers coruscate iridescent, not unlike that of the stars within
the twilight. Seris’ silvery radiance trickles through the dense tree cover, and as it dapples the
succulent, mossy ground, the shafts of argent moonlight are stained with the crepuscular dyes of
the Even-Elders. As the colours coalesce, the forest glows lambent with a dusky hue, a luminous
haze that idly glides through the woods.
A gentle squall sails through the air, its wispy fingers carding through your hair and pressing
against the nape of your neck. The wintry chill stings your eyes, drying them out. Your eyelids slip
shut and, taking a deep breath, you inhale the gelid breeze, causing it to bite at the warm velvet of
your throat. Curling further into yourself, your head ducks to press into the groove of your bent
knees before you open your eyes once again—only to come face to face with a moonrose. Under
the light of Seris, the petals glimmer, the irised lustre prominent against its dark verdure.

As you admire the moonrose, a wistful smile curls on your lips.

In your six years of seclusion, the idyllic scenery of Loch L’Lune had become both your only
solace as well as your prison. Cursed to only walk under the moonlight, and hidden under the
umbrage of the Gloaming Forest, it had been far too long since you’d felt the warmth of the sun;
the heated kiss of its gilded radiance incomparable to humid summer nights, or the warmness of
your feathers.

The rustle of a branch breaks through your reminiscence, the sound causing you to freeze.

Your stomach roils, a shudder running down your spine. For a moment, you wonder if the warlock
—Devin Gray, as you’d learned in the years of your curse—had returned. There were a few times
over the course of your imprisonment in the Gloaming Forest when Devin had tracked you down
and offered to lift your curse in exchange for your hand in marriage. The first time he had visited,
you had attempted to attack him, more than ready to threaten him into curing you. Nonetheless, as
you had pinned him to the ground with your sword pressed to his neck—the man clearly
underestimating both your title as a High Master, and the strength and skill of your Aura—Devin
had swiftly warned you that if he died, you would be cursed forever.

That curses like the one he afflicted upon you could only be broken in one of two ways, magic of
the purest form, or by the warlock who had cast them.

Ever since, Devin had occasionally returned to taunt you, each occasion his offer of marriage the
only ultimatum to your cursed form. And each time, you had rebuked him, openly stating that you
would accept the loneliness, the isolation, and the melancholia over a life with him. Though, you
would be remiss if you didn’t admit that you had thought about it. Solitude was bitter, and after six
years, it had all but worn you down. You missed your parents and the warm comfort of their arms.
You missed the knights of your guard and the way they would chase after you while gently
admonishing you. You missed your Lady-in-Waiting and the way she would idly gossip about the
comings and goings of high society.

You simply missed people.

To the point that sometimes, just sometimes, you wouldn’t completely despise Devin’s visits. Even
if you despised him with every fibre of your being. After all, some interaction with another human
being was better than none.

The soft sound of heavy footfalls against grass filters through the air, the rustling of the shrubbery
growing louder and louder. Trained eyes scour the area, your vision scanning over the forest’s edge
as you look for the source of the sound. Until, finally, you spot it—the movement of the bushes
just diagonally opposite you. Squaring your shoulders—your muscles instinctively tensing as you
prepare for whatever is on the other end of the bushes—you summon your Aura. A mellow,
ianthine glow radiates around your palm, your sword manifesting out of thin air.

You may not be able to threaten or kill Devin Gray. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t vent your
frustrations out on the warlock. After all, his corrupted magic was strong enough to fend off your
attacks.
Nevertheless, to your utter surprise, it’s not Devin that emerges through the ametrine brush, but
rather someone completely unknown to you. Swiftly, with your concentration broken by your
shock, your Aura dissipates and your sword disappears. Visage twisting into an expression of
bewilderment, you watch as the man surfaces through the unkempt bushes and, as he steps into the
clearing of Loch L’Lune, his entire frame comes into view.

Moonlight dances over his skin, the pale, argent radiance a rich juxtaposition against the warm,
aurulent lustre of his complexion. Dark hair, as deep blue as the night, falls in soft wisps around his
head, the dark of the tresses only emphasised by the crown of moonbeams that crest his head. Eyes
of opal gleam with a nacre sheen, as though they carry the very moon itself within them. You trace
over his features: the soft slope of his nose, the voluptuous folds of his lips, the defined angle of
his jaw, and with each detail you track, you can’t help but find your breath stolen.

Burnished in Seris’ effulgence, he’s resplendent.

However, in spite of his ethereal beauty, your ensorcellment doesn’t last long.

Midnight hair and opaline eyes.

You would know those traits anywhere. Anyone in the Lunaerius Empire would.

They were the indicatory characteristics of the Imperial Family—the bloodline having been blessed
by Esris, the Goddess of the Moon during the founding era.

Whoever this man is, he’s a member of the Imperial Family.

Though, from his age, it isn’t too hard to guess which member he is. He’s obviously the Sacred
Moon—Crown Prince Namjoon Lunaerius.

Within moments, your eyes lock on each other and astonishment colours Namjoon’s pearlescent
irises. His eyes rove over you, his plush lips parting in the shape of a perfect ‘o’. For a few brief
seconds, neither of you moves; both of you simply stare at each other. You, because you can’t
fathom that someone else had ventured this deep into the forest, nor that someone other than Devin
was standing across you; Namjoon, because he had not expected to find anyone this late in the
Gloaming Forest, or anyone at all.

Out of the two of you, however, Namjoon is the first to recover. Standing up straight, he moves to
approach you. Though, the minute he takes a step forward, you snap out of your own stupor. His
movement causes you to flinch, a sense of both fear and uncertainty settling deep within the
abdomen before sinking into your bones.

In the first year of your curse, you had pridefully attempted to break it yourself. At the tender age
of eighteen, having seen little of the world outside of the Revati Estate, you had arrogantly believed
in your own capability—even though you knew nothing about the workings of dark magic, or how
warlocks managed to use such twisted, impure power in the forms of curses or hexes.

In the second year, you had earnestly, and endlessly, prayed to Esris—prayed for the Goddess of
the Moon, in all her benevolence and adoration, to save you from the infernal curse and deliver you
from your intense solitude. Nevertheless, no matter how hard you prayed, no matter how much you
begged, or pleaded, she never answered your prayers.

And eventually, you had given up praying for salvation.

And after years had passed, you had begun wishing that no one would find you.
Because you could no longer bear to face your parents.

Because within the second year of your curse, after the patrols of the Revati Knights had
diminished, you would intermittently return to the Revati Estate and visit your parents. And as you
watched them from amidst the cover of the trees, you watched them fall apart in your absence.

You watched as your mother aimlessly wandered the empty, darkened corridors of your wing of
the estate, her face gaunt and her eyes listless as she stared at the vacant spaces you used to occupy.
You watched your father, haggard from the organised searches and endless patrols, enter your
room after a sleepless night, only to sit at the edge of your bed and clutch the necklace he had
gifted you—the one worn by every heir of the Grand Duchy—and silently sob. You watched your
parents sit in the dining room, not a single word uttered between them, their dinner forgotten and
their faces strained as they stare at your abandoned seat; the sombre affair a complete juxtaposition
to the chatter-filled meals you used to share with your parents

And on the day your father had officially declared you dead, three years and a half years after you
disappeared, you watched as your mother—a woman you looked up to your entire childhood, a
woman once so elegant and dignified you believed nothing would rattle her—broke down in the
middle of her husband’s office—her heart-wrenching, broken cries so loud, they echoed in the back
of your conscious even now.

You watched as your father—the man you had admired all your life, a man so strong and brave you
were sure he was indestructible—look utterly helpless in the face of his wife’s despair, his own
eyes rife with a turbulent storm of torment and failure, a powerless look that continued to haunt
your mind’s eye.

You watched as your father silently embraced your mother’s trembling body, his lips pressed to the
crown of her head as they wordlessly consoled each other—neither able to form any words of
comfort, because really, what could they say to each other? What words could alleviate their
agony?

Ever since, you had tried to avoid the Revati Estate, unable to withstand the utter devastation and
sorrow left behind in the wake of your youthful arrogance and foolishness.

But even then, even as guilt gnawed at your insides, slowly tearing you apart as it consumed you,
you couldn’t help returning occasionally, when the weight of your grief and loneliness outweighed
that of your regret and shame; when the isolation was so burdensome that it left your bones weary
and your heart jaded—if only to see your parents from afar.

And over the years, you watched as they slowly mended themselves from the loss of their only
child.

You watched as your mother lethargically came back to life, though, forever changed—her eyes
which once held an intangible, alluring liveliness, a little dull, a little detached. You watched your
father sluggishly return to the man he once was, though equally as changed—a man who once
bared the entire responsibility of the ‘Grand Duke’ title on his shoulders as though the weight were
insignificant now looking a little exhausted, a little worn. And eventually, after years of mourning
and sorrow, the inertia your parents had found themselves in the wake of your supposed death
slowly ebbed away until they were somewhat alive again, somewhat happy—even if they grieved
you secretly.

So you had stopped praying for salvation.

And you had started praying that no one would find you.
So, why now? Why now of all times had Esris answered your prayers?

How could you possibly return now?

How could you, after having seen the pain you’d put them through, after seeing the way they had
mourned your supposed death, return?

How could you tell them that you were alive, that their years of grief were needless and
unwarranted, that you had put them through that simply because you had been cursed, a
consequence of your own foolishness?

Because how could you explain that you were alive all this time? How could you ever look your
parents in their eyes, knowing the pain you had caused them?

Would any explanation even be enough? Could any explanation be enough?

You didn’t think so.

Thus, even as the bitter isolation crushed your soul, even as it left you bereft of happiness and
devoid of affection, you had prayed that no one would find you.

Yet, now, after all this time, someone had found you.

And not just anyone. But the Sacred Moon of the Empire himself.

Someone who was close to your parents. Someone who would be able to inform them of your
whereabouts.

And now, all of a sudden, you’re faced with the repercussions of the rash decision you’d made as a
mere teenager.

Seeing the way you cower, Namjoon halts once again.

“Ah. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologises with a slight bow.

You watch him warily, your hesitant gaze never leaving his figure. Internally, you can feel the
chaos your Aura rages within your magical core and it takes every ounce of your self-restraint to
reign it in, to prevent it from bursting out the seams of your being—your magic instinctively
attempting to protect you from the non-existent threat and allay your anxiousness.

At your silence, Namjoon turns a little sheepish, and despite the darkness that surrounds you, you
watch a slight blush tinge the supple swells of his cheeks. Raising his hand, he gently runs his
fingers through his hair. In spite of your wariness, you find yourself drawn by the action;
mesmerised by the way his slightly calloused, delicate fingers thread through his silken locks.

“I-” he begins, only to pause. He looks around carefully, his eyebrows knitting in confusion. “I was
chasing a bird. One more beautiful than I had ever seen. It flew here and I was only trying to find
it,” he attempts to explain.

If you had not been sequestered in the forest for more than half a decade, if you were still a part of
high society, you would find the situation comical. As a member of the Imperial Family, all of
Lunaerius belonged to Namjoon. He would one day ascend to the Heavenly Moon who ruled this
land. There was no need for him to explain why he was here. If anyone had the right to be here, it
would be him, not you. Yet, here he was, abashedly attempting to justify his presence in the
boundary of the forest that belonged to his family; in the boundary that you were trespassing in.
“But as I got to Loch L’Lune, I saw you by yourself. I’m only trying to help. Are you lost? Do you
know the way out?” Namjoon continues, looking at you in concern. The worry in his eyes causes
your stomach to flip, butterflies blooming within the darkest recesses of your abdomen.

How long had it been since you’d felt someone’s consideration? How long had it been since
someone had shown you care? How long had it been since anyone looked at you the way he was
right now?

Lips parting slightly, you open your mouth to respond. However, you can’t seem to form any
words. Instead, your tongue darts out and you lick your lips. Taking a moment, you breathe deeply
and brace yourself.

“I’m okay. I’m not lost,” you reply hoarsely, the sound straining within your throat.

How long had it been since you’d spoken to someone?

“Can I approach you?” Namjoon asks cautiously.

Momentarily, you freeze before internally considering his question. You know you should say no.
You know you should turn and run away. There was too much at risk here, too much to lose. If
Namjoon found out who you were, if he told your parents where you are, you would lose too
much. There was no way that your parents wouldn’t begin looking for you again. But knowing of
your existence, knowing that you were alive, would give them too much hope—hope you couldn’t
afford in your current, cursed state.

However, no matter how much you try to rationalise it, you can’t seem to turn away. Because how
long had it been since you’d had human interaction?

Against your will, you nod, and as he steps closer, you find yourself swallowing thickly.

The sound of his footsteps echoes through the air, the muted pads intermingling with the tinkling
of the Elven-Elders, the orphic trees humming a soft melody as the wind rustles their leaves. Step
by step he closes the distance, until, suddenly, he’s standing in front of you. Automatically, your
chin angles up, your neck straining to look up at him.

He stands tall above you, the top of your head just barely reaching the bottom of his chin. Closer to
you now, you can see him clearer, his ethereally handsome features causing your throat to tighten.
His breath fans over your face, your eyes fluttering at the sensation—the warmth of it a vast
juxtaposition to the cool night air. Unable to help himself, completely enchanted by you, Namjoon
finds himself lifting his hand to cup your face. His palm rests against your jaw, his thumb
delicately brushing your cheek in indolent strokes. Instantly, your eyes flutter shut, the warmth of
his hand, paired with the indurated touch of his fingers, causing you to let out a shaky breath.

For as long as you’d known, you’d been told that you would be the future Blessed Moon—that a
lady of your standing deserved no less than the Sacred Moon of the Empire.

You know who Namjoon is.

You know who he was supposed to be.

You know who he is meant to be to you.

You know that, had you not been cursed, he would have most likely been your betrothed. That the
two of you would have met on your 18th birthday, at your debutante ball, and that you would begin
courting each other with the expectancy of an engagement.
You know that if your life had gone any other way, the two of you would have known each other
intimately and completely by now.

And as you feel his tender touch, you can’t help but think of an opportunity missed.

You had only just met the man, and yet, you could feel an instant connection. You could feel
something within you tethering your being to his, something that made you suddenly feel whole—
in a way that you didn’t even know a part of you was missing before, but that you do know now.

“I have never met anyone as beautiful as you,” he murmurs, the tender affection of his voice
causing your heart to flutter.

Nonetheless, the feeling is fleeting.

“Who are you?” Namjoon suddenly asks. His voice is still soft, the dulcet baritone unchanged. Yet,
the question has your blood curdling, a sense of panic enveloping you. Nevertheless, before you
can react, he continues. “Why am I so enchanted by you? Why do I feel like I have just found a
missing piece of me?” he questions. His words have you pulling the inner flesh of your cheeks
between your teeth, and chewing the flesh nervously, you contemplate your answer.

What do you say?

What could you say?

“I have only just met you and yet I am completely enamoured with you,” he softly admits. You
remain quiet, your silence prompting him to continue. “Tell me I am crazy. Tell me you don’t feel
this too.” In spite of his words, you continue to hold your tongue, and this time, Namjoon leans his
face closer to yours, leaning in until his nose brushes against yours, his lips grazing your own.
“Please… say something. Anything,” he all but begs.

The inkling of desperation in his voice causes you to swallow thickly. Biting the inner flesh of your
cheek harder, you open your mouth to respond.

And that’s when you feel it. The telltale burn of the curse.

Except, it’s somehow worse this time.

All of a sudden, that intangible, yet wholly palpable, connect that tethered you to Namjoon forcibly
snaps, and something within your soul aches—a pain so acute you feel it crush your entire chest.

Eyes snapping open, your watch in despair as the colours of the sky begin to change, the deep hues
of the night morphing into the vibrant shades of dawn. Seris is low in the sky, its mystical light
waning as it begins to sink into the skyline. As the moonlight dissipates, you feel your bones begin
to twist, your skin prickling as feathers threaten to emerge from within. Then, without any warning,
your wings burst from your shoulder blades, a sharp cry spilling from your lips.

The sound causes Namjoon to open his eyes, shock immediately colouring his opalescent irises as
he takes you in—your figure caught halfway between that of a human and a bird.

“W-What?” he stutters, unable to comprehend the sight in front of him.

Despair washes over you and feeling an overwhelming sense of fear grip you, you push him away
with your all strength. A burst of Aura tears through you, and paired with your gesture, you
manage to catch Namjoon off guard—the Crown Prince staggering backwards, his own Aura
instinctively protecting him from any real damage.
“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper. Then, spinning on your heel, you run away from him. Namjoon’s eyes
widen.

“Wait- Come back,” he calls out to you, one of his hands reaching to grab you. Nonetheless, it’s too
late. Just as his fingertips graze your wrist, your wings lift you into the air and into the sky, your
transformation almost complete.

Namjoon watches in disbelief as you’re transformed into the bird he’d seen earlier in the evening,
and once again, unable to take his eyes off of you, he watches you fly away.

For a few nights after, you avoid Loch L’Lune.

Though, each night, you perch on the edge of a branch and stare off into the direction of the lake,
wondering whether you should return.

Tonight is no different.

Talons wrapped securely around a strong bough, you arc your long swan-like neck and peer off
into the distance.

Seris has long since risen, the opalescent satellite high in the sky, its radiant deluge spilling over
the Gloaming Forest. Moonlight reflects off of the Even-Elders, causing the ametrine foliage to
glimmer in a vibrant sea of amber and lilac. Nonetheless, the magical scenery is one you have
witnessed multiple times and for once, its enchanting landscape fails to captivate you. Instead, you
stare at a far away clearing, where you know Loch L’Lune resides.

In the six years that you had been cursed, you had never failed to visit Loch L’Lune—especially at
night, while Seris’ was out in its full glory. However, for the first time in years, you had broken
your tradition, and chosen to remain trapped in your bird-like form on a moonlit night. Currently,
within its waning gibbous phase, Seris is no longer at a full moon, and as such, even under its pure
luminance, you wouldn’t fully transform into a human. No, rather, you’d be caught in a state
between the two—a human with the wings of a bird.

But that was not why you hadn’t returned to the lake.

No, the reason you chose not to return had nothing to do with your incomplete state of
transformation, and everything to do with Namjoon.

You were worried that if you returned, you would find him by the lakeside, waiting for you. Yet, at
the same time, you were worried that should you return, he would not be there.

You can’t deny the connection you had felt yesterday.

Something deep within you, something intrinsic and wholly visceral, that tethered his soul to yours
in a way that was utterly unfathomable. In a way you could barely comprehend. Yet, in a way you
knew, knew with every cell of your body, and every fibre of your being, that the two of you were
destined for each other. In a way you knew that he was the one for you, that it was him and no one
else.

In a way that felt like the purest of magic.

And that terrified you.

Because now, after six years, you have hope. Hope that the connection you felt, the way both your
magic cores were bound together, was what the ‘purest of magic’ could mean. Hope that he could
break your curse. Hope that you could return to your life.

And after all these years of solitude, that very hope could utterly break you.

Because after all the solitariness, after all the desolation, and forlornness, and guilt, and yearning
for home, if you hoped that this nightmare, this curse, could end, only for it to prevail, something
inside of you would break.

And you don’t think you’d be able to live this lonesome existence anymore.

But, even with that fear, you can’t help wanting to go back. You can’t help but want to hope, that
maybe, just maybe you could break the curse.

Turning to the sky, you stare at Seris—the smaller of the two moons that orbit the Lunaerius
Empire.

Seris was the minor remnant of Esris, the Moon Goddess, the celestial body an ever-present
symbol of the connection between Esris and the Lunaerius Empire. Nonetheless, it wasn’t Esris
herself. No, Esris only ascended to the sky once every few years, to shine her blessings onto the
Empire, and revitalise the magic that was imbued within the land, before returning to her slumber.
Yet, as you stare up at Seris, the only other connection to the Goddess, you make a prayer for the
first time in over a year.

‘Please…. Please, just let this curse end,’ you internally beseech.

With that you gather every ounce of your courage and flapping your wings, you soar towards Loch
L’Lune.

As the brisk wind ruffles through your feathers, the gentle currents sailing under your wings, your
thoughts turn back to Namjoon. Unease settles in your stomach, your abdomen knotting with
tension as you get closer and closer towards the lake.

You wonder if Namjoon is at the lake, waiting for you. You wonder if the feeling inside of you,
that inherent sense of completion, was something akin to the purest of magic. It certainly felt like
it.

You wonder if he is there, what will he say when he sees you. He admitted that he felt the same
connection you had, felt the same visceral bond that tethered your souls together. But what would
he say now? Now that he had seen you in your cursed form. Would he feel the same? Could he still
feel that knowing that you aren’t fully human… but an accursed creature.

But you also wonder if he isn’t there.

What if he no longer feels the same after what he’s seen?

What if, the forcible break you’d felt as you were transforming, was permanent?

Just as the thought crosses your mind, you enter the clearing of Loch L’Lune.

At its apogee, Seris’ nacreous lustre washes over you and descending over the lake, you glide
towards the ground. Beams of pearl cascade over you, the familiar tingle overtaking your skin.
Tightening your jaw, you grind your teeth as your body transforms once again. You’ve felt the pain
of your metamorphosis countless times, yet no matter how many times you’d felt it, it never got
easier—the pure magic of the moonlight raging against the dark magic contained within you, the
opposing forces pillaging your core as they fight each other. Managing to endure it, however, the
pain dissipates.

Landing on the ground, your bare feet touch the soft cover of the grass and you let out a sigh of
relief. Autonomously muttering a spell, a trail of periwinkle sparkles circle your frame, until you’re
clothed once again. The moment you’re dressed, you look around the clearing, your heart racing
within your chest, the beating so loud it thunders within your eardrums, as you search for any sign
of Namjoon. However, there isn’t any.

He’s not here.

Instantly, the bud of hope sowed in your chest withers.

Your heart shrinks within the confines of your ribcage, a sudden heaviness overtaking your body,
one that leaves your bones jaded. Knees buckling, you sink to the ground. Tears mist your eyes,
your vision blurring as you stare at the verdant grass that blankets the bank of the lake. Fingers
digging into the ground, you grip the blades, a stifled sob involuntarily emanating from your lips.

“No,” comes your croaked sob, the sound straining against the constricting muscles of your
oesophagus.

He’s not here.

Inhaling shakily, you let out a broken, bitter laugh. The hollow sound fills the quiet night,
intermingling with those of your choked cries.

“Cruel… This is cruel” you mumble.

“This is cruel and you know it,” you sob. Lifting your head, you glare at the sky, your blurry, tear-
filled gaze honing on Seris. “Why? Why would you send him to me? Why would you put him—
someone blessed by you—in my path and fill me with hope, only to take it away?” Frustration and
despair colour your intonation.

“Why?” you heave, and lifting your hands, you press the balls of your wrists to your eyes, hot tears
uncontrollably spilling from your eyes.

For a few moments, you simply lay on the ground, your chest wracked with sobs as you weep
hopelessly. Until, finally, the tears dry up. Unable to cry anymore, your weeps finally stifled, you
grit your teeth and pick yourself up off of the ground. Angrily, you wipe the remnant tears from
your eyes before breathing deeply. Just as you manage to collect yourself, however, you hear a
faint rustling.

Your body stiffens, every one of your muscles freezing at the noise. Angling your head to the side,
your heart picks up in your chest, the muscle hammering against your rib cage. The sound resounds
from the exact place Namjoon had emerged from a few nights ago. You pull your lip between your
teeth and, chewing it harshly, you stare at the brushes—internally hoping, praying that it is him.

You don’t have to wait long though, because soon, Namjoon appears from the shrubs.

The moment he sees you, he stops, his eyes widening.

The scene is reminiscent of a few nights back, of the time you had first met, in this very clearing.

And just as the night before, he is equally as enchanting.

Delicate shafts of moonbeams sway around him, the silver radiance scintillating in a way that was
almost sentient. It spills over him, as though drawn to his being by something transcending the
laws of nature and, dancing across his aureate skin, it shrouds him in its immaculate luminescence
—as though the divine light of Seris belonged solely to him. Sheathed in its celestial embrace, he
glimmers vermeil, the rich or of his complexion coalescing with that of the moon’s pale argent.
Seris glows lucent in the darkened sky behind him, and as its rays filter through his midnight hair
—emphasising the deep, indigo hues of his silken tresses—it coronates him in a crown of
moonlight.

Surprise colours his opaline irises as he looks at you, along with a mix of something else—
something you can’t seem to place. Though, if you had to hazard a guess, you would say it was
almost a cross between relief and joy. At the sight of him, uncertainty clouds your being, hesitance
and trepidation overtaking your previous defeat; the sensation mixing with that of happiness and
reprieve. Unsure of how to react, you stare at him—waiting for him to make the first move.

However, nothing could prepare you for his words.

“Lady _____ Revati,” Namjoon breathes out.

A sudden chill expands within your core and you’re overtaken by a sense of vertigo—your
surroundings beginning to spin.

How?

How did he figure it out?

When did he figure it out?

Body suddenly numb, your mind goes blank.

What do you say? How do you explain yourself?

Moments pass excruciatingly slow and when you remain silent, Namjoon slowly approaches you.
Throat dry—words struggling to form at the tip of your tongue—you watch as he cautiously nears.
Each step causes your heart to speed up, the sound of his footsteps muffled by that of your
thundering heartbeat—the erratic, panicked rhythm so loud that it overwhelms your senses. That is,
until he is right in front of you.

For the second time since you’ve met him, you find yourself face to face with him; so close that,
once again, you feel the warmth of his breath fan across your lips.

“Is it really you?” he asks tenderly. His voice is purposely soft, almost as though he’s afraid that if
he were any louder, you would disappear.

Mouth filled with ash, and cotton coating your throat, you can’t seem to utter a single word.
Instead, you pull your lower lip between your teeth and, biting down harshly, you nod your head.
Awe instantly crosses Namjoon’s face, his eyes twinkling with wonder. Raising his arm, he moves
to cup your face. The gesture is unanticipated, and reflexively, you flinch. Your reaction causes
Namjoon to pause, an inkling of hurt colouring the opals of his eyes.

“Why is it every time I move you flinch? Do you fear me?” he questions. The tenor of despair in
his voice causes your heart to wilt, something deep within you calling out for him. Swiftly, you
shake your head.

You swallow thickly.

“I do not,” you answer, your words cracking slightly. Unaccustomed to speaking, and after years of
silence, your voice sounds foreign to you.

Relief paints Namjoon’s face, and this time, when he lifts his arm, you do not cower. Rather, when
his palm presses to your cheek, you nuzzle your nose into its side. Namjoon’s features soften.

“Are you really Lady ______?” he presses in disbelief. Nodding, you open your mouth to explain
yourself. However, before you can say anything, Namjoon’s lips descend upon yours.

Soft lips instantly find purchase upon yours, the sensation wholly intoxicating, the plushness of his
folds not unlike that of crushed velvet. For a fleeting moment, not having expected his action, your
eyes widen in surprise. Nonetheless, it’s only for a brief, transitory second. And before long, you
find your lids slipping shut as you sink into his lips’ embrace.

Tenderly gripping your chin, Namjoon angles it upwards before his tongue brushes against the
seam of your lips. A gasp of surprise falls from your mouth, and seizing the opportunity, Namjoon
tentatively presses his tongue between your teeth. Feeling the silken muscle brush against your
own, your gasp morphs into a sigh of contentment. The taste of something sweet coats your palate,
the faint saccharinity inebriating you and causing you to lose yourself in him. Muscles relaxing,
you feel your anxiety fade away—panic distorting to pleasure.

Your response has Namjoon pressing his mouth harder into yours, the shapely folds slotting
seamlessly against your own—as though they were two pieces of a puzzle perfectly coming
together. Reflexively, your hands move to curl around his shoulders, your fingers threading into the
silken tresses at the nape of his neck. For a second time, a soft moan emanates from your throat
and, emboldened by the sound, Namjoon’s tongue presses harder against yours.

As his velvet appendage strokes against yours, your kiss turns a little desperate—a sense of need
overtaking the previous softness. Urgently, his tongue caresses yours—the two muscles feverishly
dancing against each other. Heat prickles your skin, goosebumps flaring across your flesh at the
euphoric high that vacillates through you. Your lungs burn with the need for oxygen, however,
completely submerged in the feeling of each other’s lips, you both ignore it—until it ignites into an
inescapable blaze.

Lips parting, the two of you heave heavily. Your breaths circulate between you, its fused warmth
fanning across your faces. Namjoon’s hand moves and, thumb brushing against your lower lip, he
gently caresses the slightly tumescent fold.

“To think it was really you. Is this what they call fate?” he wonders out loud. His words cause your
eyebrows to furrow and as you look at him in confusion, Namjoon smiles.

“I have spent my entire adult life looking for the ‘one’, and not once, have I found her…” he
confesses. Your eyebrow quirks. “That is until I found you,” he continues. His admission has your
heart fluttering, a fuzzy warmth settling within your stomach. “I can’t believe it’s been you the
entire time—the very woman who was promised to me. The very woman who was supposed to be
mine,” he breathes out. As he speaks, his eyes wander over your face, his expression one of awe
and amazement while he takes you in.

Then, his eyes lock on yours.

Instantaneously, you find yourself mesmerised. Opaline eyes, like that of moonstone, capture your
darkened ones and, drawing you into the iridescent pools, you find yourself drowning within their
tumultuous tide.
“Why have you been here all this time?” he asks. It’s a simple question, one he asks completely
innocently.

Yet, all of a sudden, you find yourself crashing down to reality.

Arms turning slack, they fall from their perch upon his shoulders, and instead, dangle listlessly at
your side. Shoulders tensing, you turn away from him and stare at a tree in the far distance—
unable to look at him anymore. Still, Namjoon steps closer to you, his chest brushing against the
back of your wings. Tentatively, his hands move to rest on your hips before his face dips to nuzzle
at your neck.

“What’s wrong, my love?” he asks.

Visage contorting into an expression of distress, your eyes screw shut and your chest caves in.

“Why?” you whisper. An air of perplexity surrounds Namjoon, and somehow, though you cannot
see him, you feel the tumult that surrounds him.

“Why what?” he urges as he presses a kiss to your shoulder, his fingers soothingly stroking the
covered flesh of your hips.

The muscles of your throat constrict, your body quivering under his touch.

“Why do you act as though you love me? We have only just met. We do not know each other. We
are nothing to each other,” you respond. Yet, even as you utter the words, the sentiment feels
foreign to you—as if every cell of your body revolts against it; as if your magic itself denounces
your false claim.

Namjoon breathes heavily.

The hands resting on your hip move to curl around your waist before he pulls you nearer to his
chest— even as your wings prevent him from getting too close. His motion is almost desperate, the
pads of his fingers squeezing into your flesh.

“That is not true. You know it isn’t,” Namjoon urges.

You let out a shaky breath and wring your hands together.

“I know you felt it the day we met for the first time; the way magic bound our souls together,”
Namjoon continues.

With a numb heart, you feel your limbs go weak. You’re sure that if it weren’t for Namjoon’s hold,
you would have crumbled under your own weight.

When you don’t say anything, he continues. “How do you think I found you tonight? Your magic,
your soul, calls to me, my love. It beckons me to you, in a way that I cannot, no matter how hard I
try to, escape,” he gently intones. A slight tremor mars the dulcet baritone of his voice, faint
desperation tainting his otherwise spellbinding tenor.

“It took you days to find me,” you attempt to argue. Nevertheless. conviction lacks in your voice,
and both of you know that your resolve is swiftly dissolving.

“Only because I couldn’t find you. When you fled the other day… I felt our connection break.
Something forcibly severed the tie between our souls,” Namjoon responds.
“Dark magic,” you breathe out.

Behind you, Namjoon stiffens. You feel the way his muscles stiffen, his fingers almost painfully
digging into your hips as their grip tightens.

“What?” A dangerous edge undercuts his voice, the sound sending a shiver up your spine. “What
do you mean?” he challenges.

“You know what I mean,” you protest.

Sucking in a shallow breath, you gather all your courage. Then, stepping away from his embrace—
Namjoon calmly releasing his hold—you turn to face him. Looking up at him, you lock your eyes
together.

“If you feel my soul; if you feel my magic, then you will feel the darkness that taints it,” you argue.
“More than that, I know you saw it that day. I know you saw the accursed form I am plagued by.
And though you have not mentioned them, I know you see these,” you hiss.

Immediately, your wings unfurl.

A loud flapping noise echoes through the night as the feathered appendages stretch to their full
span. The sudden movement causes a squall of wind to pick up and breezing past him, it ruffles
Namjoon’s hair.

For the first time that night, his gaze settles upon your wings.

Pristine feathers glimmer with an irised sheen under the moonlight and, as Seris’ effulgence
reflects off of them, they glow lustrous. Delicately, the nacre plumes flutter in the wind, the
movement causing their shimmer to become more prominent against the cobalt welkin, each of
them catching the moon’s radiance. For a few seconds, Namjoon’s eyes simply rove over them, his
stringent observance examining them in their entirety—from the way they surreptitiously flit in the
cool of the night, to the way the large wingspan almost dwarfs your body.

“They are beautiful,” he murmurs, his eyes darting back to yours.

“They are a curse,” you almost cry in dispute, your voice cracking.

“Maybe. But that doesn’t make them any less beautiful. It does not make you any less beautiful,”
comes Namjoon’s immediate response.

“They are a curse,” you repeat with a whisper. Defeat laces your voice and, shoulders slumping,
your eyes turn downcast. Tears sting at your eyes, your vision turning blurry as you attempt to fight
them off.

Namjoon approaches you once again, the soft pad of his footsteps on the grass resonating through
the air. Once he’s in front of you, he gently grips your chin with his thumb and forefinger before
lifting your face up.

“Is that why you ran away from me that day?” he asks.

Your features crumple.

“How could I not? How could I stay beside you, knowing our magic had bound us together forever,
yet feeling that very connection forcibly broken, all because I was cursed? All because I was
foolishly arrogant in my youth?” you sob, the tears finally falling freely.
Namjoon’s heart wrenches at the sight of your melancholy, and unable to stop himself, he presses a
tender kiss to the corner of your eye.

“Do you know who I am?” he asks.

“I do… Your Highness,” you tentatively respond. Namjoon hums before pressing another kiss to
your eye.

“Hearing you address me formally feels like you are distancing yourself from me. Call me by my
name,” he prompts.

“How could I dare to call the Sacred Moon of the Empire by his name?” you respond. Just because
you had been away from society for years did not mean you had forgotten its etiquette.

“How could you not? You are my soulmate, the one bound to my by magic. The one chosen for me
by Esris herself,” comes Namjoon immediate response. Gently, he presses his forehead to yours,
his nose softly nuzzling against the tip of your own.

“You are the Sacred Moon,” you oppose. Barely a hairs breadth away from him, the movement of
your lips causes them to brush against his, each word lavishing inadvertent kisses upon the delicate
folds of his mouth.

“And you my Blessed Moon, the only one equal to me,” Namjoon disputes.

A pained expression clouds your countenance, eyes hazing with calamity. You cannot help but
wish to be his Blessed Moon, to ascend as his Divine Moon and spend your time by his side for the
rest of your lives. Nevertheless, no matter how much you wish for it, no matter how much your
soul yearns for it, you know it to be impossible.

“I cannot ascend by your side. My magic has been corrupted. The Empire will not allow it. Esris
will not allow it,” you attempt to reason. Despite your words, Namjoon simply smiles adoringly.
One of his hands moves to track down the side of your arm, and when it reaches the end, he
intertwines your fingers together before lifting your hand up.

“My love, she already has. Our souls have been bound by magic, bound by Esris herself. Even as
you are now,” he murmurs. His words cause your resolve to falter. Though, you still attempt to
object.

“But it is a tainted bond. I know you feel it, Your Highness. For as long as I am cursed, our souls
will only be partly tethered,” you refute.

“Then return to the Palace with me. I will employ every mage in the kingdom to find a way to
break this curse,” Namjoon implores, his eyes pleadingly staring into your own.

You shake your head and look at him remorsefully. “I cannot,” you rebuke.

Namjoon opens his mouth to argue, but you cut him off. “You’ve seen what happens to me when
the moonlight fades. I cannot live as a human anywhere except under moonlight.” Then, you
purposely flutter your wings—Namjoon’s gaze immediately honing onto the captivating sight of
them. “And unless it is a full moon, I am caught in a state between,” you continue.

Then, smiling ruefully, “Besides, I already know how to break the curse,” you admit.

Namjoon perks up and, looking at you expectantly, he waits for you to expound.
“I either agree to marry the warlock, or I find the purest of magic,” you reiterate Devin’s
sentiments. “Whatever ‘purest of magic’ means,” you mutter, more to yourself than anything.

A part of you wanted to disclose your previous assumptions—that the visceral tether you’d felt to
Namjoon, the way your souls had joined together, could have been the pure magic you were
searching for. Nonetheless, as you stood in front of him right now, with that inherent feeling of
wholeness connecting the two of you, you were still cursed.

Namjoon grits his teeth, the corner muscle of his jaw flexing.

“Who? Who was it that did this to you?” he presses with a low growl. A sinister undertow weaves
through his usually warm timbre, goosebumps prickling the nape of your neck at the sound.

“I-” you hesitate, unsure of whether you should confess to Namjoon. It’s been six years since
you’ve been cursed; six years since you’ve relied on anyone else, or even confided in anyone.

As though sensing your trepidation, Namjoon’s thumb brushes your cheek as he smiles in
encouragement. “You can tell me, my love,” he soothingly compels.

Those words are all you need, apparently, because all of a sudden, you find yourself confessing
everything to him. You tell him of how you had met Devin Gray at the cusp of eighteen, when the
warlock had set a trap for you, and you’d foolishly fallen for it. You tell him of your encounter, of
how Devin was hired to assassinate you, but how he had ‘fallen’ for you and proposed to you
instead, wanting to inherit his own title using your power. You tell him of how you’d refused, only
to be cursed, and how you’d lived solitarily in the confines of the Gloaming Forest.

Through it all, Namjoon simply listens, his eyes hardening with every admission. And when you
finally finish, he breathes heavily.

“So, you’ve spent six years like this?” he hisses through gritted teeth. You nod your head, unsure
of what else to say.

“Your parents think you're dead, _____,” Namjoon gently informs. A dull ache resonates through
your chest.

Biting your lip, “I know,” you reveal.

“They mourned you,” he continues.

“I know,” you respond again.

“They still mourn you,” Namjoon presses.

“I know. I have watched them from afar for six years. I know,” you cry in frustration.

“Then return to the Empire with me,” Namjoon begs.

“You know why I cannot,” you reply, distress colouring your voice.

“Please. I cannot bear to be apart from you. My magic feels incomplete with you. My soul cannot
rest if you are not by my side. I can find a way to break this curse. I will find a way to break this
curse,” Namjoon vows.

For a moment, you find yourself hesitating, the conviction in his voice almost convincing you to
return with him. Nevertheless, you find yourself rebuking him once again.
“Even if I did… How could I return now? My parents have mourned me for six years, Namjoon.
How could I return and explain that all their grief was for nothing?” you question. Guilt weighs
heavy on your conscious and, unable to look at him, your eyes turn downcast.

Namjoon smiles above you. “You called me by my name,” he points out.

You bite your lip in nervousness.

“I did not mean to,” you mutter under your breath.

“I wish you would mean to,” Namjoon responds. When you still refuse to look at him, Namjoon
exhales softly.

Strong arms wind around your body and, curling around your waist, they pull you flush into a
hardened chest. The scent of the night sky, vetiver and myrrh coalesce together, the notes
amalgamating into a fragrance that smells wholly, and uniquely, of Namjoon. Unable to help
yourself, you breathe in deeply, allowing his intoxicating essence to douse your senses and calm
your being.

“_____, I assure you, even with all the sorrow they have felt, they would rather have you return to
them than grieve you anymore,” Namjoon softly coaxes you. Your hands move to curl into his
shirt as you press your face further into his chest.

“Do you really think so?” you murmur, the sound muffled by the broad expanse of Namjoon’s
pecs.

“I do,” he assures. Inclining his head down, Namjoon presses a kiss to the top of your skull. “Will
you return with me?” he questions. Pulling away from him, you shake your head before smiling at
him regretfully.

“Not tonight. The moon has already begun to set,” you inform, already beginning to feel the curse
fester and intensify in your magical core. Namjoon’s eyes widen before he looks toward the sky.
Sure enough, Seris has begun its descent towards the skyline, the darkened hues of the night fading
into the brighter shades of dawn.

“Then return tonight,” he attempts to persuade.

“It’s not a full moon—” you try to argue. Nevertheless, Namjoon cuts you off.

“It is. We’re celebrating the festival of Esris’ Rise at the Selenic Palace,” Namjoon informs. You
gawk at him in wide-eyed disbelief.

“Esris is rising from her slumber? Are you sure?” you ask. Namjoon inclines his head in a nod.
Desperately, you search his eyes for any semblance of a lie. Yet, you find none—nothing but clear
honesty sparkling within his nacreous eyes.

For a moment, you feel a sense of hope bubble within you. The last time Esris rose was two years
before you were cursed—when you were sixteen. Thus, the entire time of your curse, you had not
felt the grace of her magic. But, if she was rising tomorrow, then perhaps there was hope.

After all, could there be any purer form of magic than that of the Moon Goddess herself?

“Will you come?” Namjoon asks.

“I-” you hesitate. Nonetheless, shaking off your reluctance, you nod your head. “I will be there,”
you promise.

The next night, Namjoon finds himself in the Lunaire Ballroom within the Selenic Palace. The
festival of Esris’ Rise is in full swing, the majority of the noblesse filling up the grand chamber.
Seated at the front of the room, Namjoon lackadaisically lounges on his throne, one leg casually
crossed over the other. Left elbow perched on the armrest, he props his temple on the back of his
knuckles whilst overlooking the stately hall.

Vaulted, ceiling-high windows surround the ballroom, some embellished in stained-glass that
illustrates the Heavenly Moons of the Lunaerius Empire through time, from the very first—Selene
Lunaerius—to the current—Caliban Lunaerius, his father. There was no doubt that once he
ascended from the Sacred Moon to the Heavenly Moon, Namjoon would join his ancestors in the
regal display. Moonlight percolates through the coloured panes, the shafts of silver light —stained
in hues of smalt, beryl and tanzanite—dancing across the moonstone floors. Corinthian columns
loom in between each arch, each pillar artfully crafted from ivory and adorned in a gold lantern that
coruscates amber.

A large moondial sits embedded in to the middle of the floor, the centrepiece of the opulent
Lunaire Ballroom. Flawless opals are delicately set into the elegant framework, each gem
depicting the different phases of the lunar cycle. The horological clock consists of two rings—the
innermost one, depicting Seris’ lunar cycle while the outmost one details the years in which Esris
will rise. A large skylight looms directly over the dial, the opening in the ceiling showcasing the
night sky. Seris indolently hangs in the star-mottled firmament, and as its light filters through the
oculus, the beams are refracted directly over the moondial and onto the opal depicting the third
quarter.

Soft music resonates through the air, the dulcet melody of the violins weaving with the
symphonious resonance of the cellos, the ariose concord of the violas and the mellifluous tune of
the harps. Expertly, the instruments’ songs weave together, the individual rhythms coalescing into
a harmonious euphony that resounds through the ballroom. Some of the nobility populate the
chamber’s dance floor—each paired with another as they gracefully glide and twirl around the
ballroom—while others congregate around the edge—each sipping their wine while conversing
with one another.

All in all, it’s a picturesque scene of a merry festival.

Yet, in spite of the revelry, Namjoon finds himself disinterested. Rather, his attention is solely
focused on one of the windows. Or more specifically, the large celestial body that just barely peeks
over the horizon—Esris languorously ascending into the inky welkin.

Staring at the Moon Goddess’ heavenly form, Namjoon’s mind races with thoughts of you. He
wonders where you are, and whether you are safe. He wonders if there was enough moonlight to
purge the curse from you yet. Though, from the way the soul bond still feels disconnected, he
doesn’t think so. At least, not yet. Namjoon wonders how much longer he will have to wait to be
reunited with you.

All of a sudden, the music immediately dies and the silence draws Namjoon out of his reverie.
Turning his attention back to the ballroom, he quirks his eyebrow as Duke Graffias approaches the
dais upon where he and his parents are seated. Briefly, his gaze flickers behind the Duke, where
Irena gracefully follows after her father. Once the pair are directly in front of the throne’s platform,
they stop, only to bow their heads graciously. Their appearance causes a tinge of annoyance to
flitter through Namjoon, his foot impatiently tapping against the floor. Beside him, his mother
narrows her eyes at the two.
“Lunar Blessings upon the Heavenly Moon, the Divine Moon, and the Sacred Moon of the Empire.
May Esris shine her eternal glory upon your Imperial Majesties,” Duke Graffias proclaims while
genuflecting. Behind him, Irena curtseys in tandem.

“You may rise,” Emperor Caliban states while raising his hand. The Emperor sneaks a glance to
his son, nonetheless, Namjoon’s face remains passive. Thus, turning his attention back to the two,
“What have you come for, Duke Graffias. Surely, nothing could be so important that you would
halt the celebration,” the Emperor continues. Rising from his bow, Duke Graffias looks at the
Emperor solemnly.

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, I have merely come for you to fulfil your promise,” comes
Duke Graffias’ brazen answer.

Namjoon grits his teeth, the corner of his jaw flexing when the Duke turns to face him.

“Your Highness, your father has stated that you will choose candidates to be your Blessed Moon
today. I am here to present my daughter, Lady Irena Graffias, as one said candidate,” the Duke
continues. His words ring through the atmosphere, whispers stirring through the crowds as they
watch the interaction between the Imperial Family and the Duke.

Prompted by the Duke, a few of the other nobility swiftly move to join him, until they gather in a
horizontal line across the ballroom. Namjoon’s gaze flicks over each of them, and mentally, he
counts six different candidate proposals. Although, he also notes that though there are only six, all
of them come from prominent families—only those of the Count or Countess standing and higher.
Clearly, the lower ranks of the nobles were smart enough to not join them.

“I take it that each of you would like to present your daughters as a candidate for the Blessed
Moon?” the Emperor questions.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” comes their chorus of replies. The Emperor opens his mouth to respond,
however, the Empress cuts him off.

“As you stand before us, am I correct to assume that you are all familiar with the laws of the
Empire?” she inquires, her dignified observance sweeping over the group.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” comes their reiterated response.

“Then, you are aware that one can no longer be forced into an unwanted marriage, yes? Especially,
not the Sacred Moon of this Empire?” the Empress emphasises. Immediately, she is met with a
cacophony of protests.

“Your Majesty—the Sacred Moon has sowed enough of his wild oats. It is time for him to settle
down and do right by my daughter,” Duke Graffias dissents.

Unable to keep quiet anymore, Namjoon’s countenance twists into a derisive sneer.

“Do right by your daughter? If you really mean that, then surely that applies to every daughter I
have supposedly wronged? Then, very well, then I will do right by them all. I will take them all as
my concubines,” he sibilates mockingly.

The moment the words leave his lips, a riot of objections resonate through the air, each head
sputtering as they balk at his suggest. Nevertheless, Namjoon simply revels in their indignation
and anger.

“Your Highness, that is an insult—” Duke Graffias vocalises.

“How could you even suggest such a disgraceful—” Count Intercrus begins.

“To even utter such an ignominious sentiment—” Marchioness Rotanev admonishes.

Nonetheless, before they can finish, Emperor Caliban raises his hand, effectively, and promptly,
silencing them all.

“Son,” the Emperor chastises while glaring pointedly at Namjoon. Namjoon rolls his eyes in
response, but bites his tongue nevertheless. Next to him, the Empress reaches out her arm and
comfortingly pats her son on the knee.

“Regardless of the Sacred Moon’s previous actions… The law of the Empire is absolute. Citizens
of Lunaerius cannot, and will not, be coerced into a nonconsensual marriage. Even I do not have
the power to oppose that law,” the Emperor states.

Once again, the nobles open their mouths to protest. However, a swift look of warning from
Emperor Caliban subdues them.

“However, I would also be remiss if I were to ignore the concerns of the noblesse. Thus, so as long
as the candidates themselves present their pledges, of their own accord, we will accept them as a
Blessed Moon candidate,” the Emperor continues.

Though Namjoon was aware of this outcome, he can’t help but fume internally. For a fleeting
moment, he considers announcing the fact that he has already found his soulmate; that his magic
has already been bound to another by Esris herself—meaning that unless they wanted to incur the
wrath of the Goddess, no one could oppose his decision. However, something malicious in him
holds him back. If the nobles truly wanted to continue through this performance, he would let
them. Then, when they were finally done, he would break the news to them.

And hopefully, it would utterly crush them.

After all, he had made it more than abundantly clear to everyone lined up here to not expect
anything more than one night of passion. Yet, here they were, attempting to force him into a
marriage he did not want.

Therefore, rather than admitting the truth of his soul bond, Namjoon simply decides to remain
quiet.

A murmur of excitement flitters through the crowd at the Emperor’s announcement, the nobility
looking between themselves as they consider the opportunity afforded by the Emperor.

“I would also like to make one thing clear. Once you make your pledge, be aware that you are
merely a candidate. You will not ascend as a the Blessed Moon unless the Sacred Moon wishes for
it,” the Empress interjects.

Her addition causes a few of the excited whisper to die down, the nobles realising that regardless
of whether their daughter becomes a candidate or not, becoming the Blessed Moon was not a
guaranteed promise—not unless the Crown Prince himself deemed it so.

“Do you agree to this, son?” the Emperor asks, angling his head to look at Namjoon.

Namjoon merely waves his hand dismissively, a bored expression colouring his countenance once
again. The Crown Prince’s less than enthusiastic reaction only affirms the nobles’ realisation that
there wouldn’t be a Blessed Moon ascension anytime soon.
“Very well. You may begin your pledges,” the Emperor declares.

With that, the first candidate steps forward.

“Lunar Blessings upon the Heavenly Moon, the Divine Moon, and the Sacred Moon of the Empire.
May Esris shine her eternal glory upon your Imperial Majesties,” the woman curtseys. “I am
Helene of House Intercrus. I would like the present my pledge as a candidate for the Blessed Moon
as…” Helene begins. As she speaks, Namjoon’s attention fades, and instead, his gaze wanders back
to the window.

He watches Esris in the distance, the Goddess’ moon having risen a little further over the horizon.
Nevertheless, her celestial form still has yet to fully peak—which only met that you still wouldn’t
be able to fully transform into a human. Staring out the window, Namjoon silently prays for Esris
to rise sooner, so that he may be meet you once again.

Lost in the Goddess’ ascent, Namjoon detaches from reality, the world fading to black and the
articulation of the candidate’s speech morphing into an incoherent, senseless droning. He has no
idea how long he peers through the window, time seeming to pass agonisingly slowly. However,
before long, he’s suddenly broken out of his daydream—one of the candidates’ voices managing to
catch his attention.

“Lunar Blessings upon the Heavenly Moon, the Divine Moon, and the Sacred Moon of the Empire.
May Esris shine her eternal glory upon your Imperial Majesties. I am Irena of House Graffias and I
would like to present my pledge as a candidate for the Blessed Moon,” Irena says as she curtseys.

Disbelief mars Namjoon’s features as he stares at the woman he’d considered his friend all these
years. Out of the six families that had lined up in front of the dais, only three of the daughters had
chosen to make pledges so far, the other two choosing to rescind their proposal—much to the
displeasure of their parents. However, out of the same six, the last person Namjoon had anticipated
making a pledge was Irena. After all, throughout their friendship, he’s always been clear that they
were merely friends, and that he felt no romantic feelings toward her. Something, Irena had
supposedly reciprocated in likeness.

So why was she here now, presenting her pledge for the Crown Princess candidate?

“As the highest-ranking woman of the Empire, and the only one the Sacred Moon has consistently
courted throughout these years, I believe that I should be considered the sole candidate,” Irena
proclaims. Instantly, her words incite a furore of excitement, a few of the nobility nodding along
with her declaration.

Namjoon’s spine straightens, and uncrossing his leg, he sits upright. Both of his arms fall onto the
armrest, his hands clutching the intricately carved, gold edge.

“Courted?” he hisses, his eyes flashing dangerously as he glowers at Irena.

“Yes, Your Highness. These past years, I am the only woman you have consistently spent time
with,” comes Irena’s audacious response.

Fingernails digging into the edge of the armrest, Namjoon grits his teeth. Beside him, the Emperor
finds himself dumbfounded, his eyes glancing between his son and the woman in front of the dais.
Meanwhile, the Empress skilfully retains her mask of indifference, though, from the icy chill of her
gaze, anyone could tell she was less than pleased.

“My son claims that he has never once officially courted you. That you are merely friends and that
you have no feelings for each other,” the Empress states, levelling her frigid scrutiny upon the
woman. To her credit, in spite of the Empress’ gaze, Irena stands unfazed.

“Yes, I cannot deny that was the pretence of our relationship. However, that’s all it was…
pretence.”

Momentarily, Irena chances a glance at Namjoon, Namjoon merely scoffing at her. Then, returning
her gaze to the Empress, “Your Majesty, I have been in love with your son for years. All these
years, I have hoped that perhaps, in the time we’ve spent together, he would reciprocate my
feelings,” Irena professes.

Namjoon’s forearms twitch from his fierce grip on the armrest, the muscles growing taut. Lips
pursing into a thin, grim line, he hones his intense, cold gaze onto Irena as he contemplates his next
move. Mind casting back along the years, he thinks of all the times he’d spent with Irena, the times
he had confided in her, the times he had enjoyed her comfortable company, the times he had
considered her one of his only friends. And with each recollection, adrenaline rushes through his
body and he breathes heavily, his throat turning dry. Anger clouds his vision as betrayal claws its
way up—from the pit of his abdomen to the top of his chest—until he can feel a sudden, sweltering
heat surge through his lungs.

As though sensing his turmoil, his mother turns to him, a worried expression on her face. “My
Prince,” she gently calls to him.

“Son,” comes his father’s equally worried intonation.

Incapable of containing himself anymore, an abrupt flux of Aura bursts out of him, the magic
causing him to crush the galvanised gold of his armrest. A loud shattering sound resonates through
the air, the noise causing a few people to scream as they cower. Namjoon watches as alarm crosses
Irena’s face, her eyes tinging with fear for a brief period, the sight causing him to internally
celebrate. Nevertheless, it only lasts a brief moment, before the look of defiance once again colours
her glacial eyes.

“I have never once courted you. You are very aware of this,” he seethed, the sound coming out
more as a hiss than articulate words. “More than that, I have never, nor will I ever love you,” he
loudly proclaims.

Satisfaction bubbles inside of him when he sees the look of indignation on Duke Graffias’s face, as
well as the slight hurt that flicks through Irena’s eyes. Sensing that things will no longer work in
his favour, the Duke steps in front of his daughter.

“Your Highness, with all due respect, as the highest ranking lady of the Empire, my daughter
should be your first option—” the Duke attempts to reason.

However, Namjoon cuts him off. Drawing to his full height, Namjoon steps towards the front of
the dais. Raw power emanates off of Namjoon—his Aura encasing him in a domineering corona of
pulsing, nacreous light—and with each stride forward, the candidates take a cautious step back. All
but Duke Graffias and Irena. Once Namjoon positions himself in the middle, he raises his chin and
glowers down at the two.

“As the Sacred Moon, my option is my choice. And I choose none of the candidates,” Namjoon
pronounces. Duke Graffias’ eyes widen.

“Y-Your Highness, t-that is u-unacceptable,” the Duke sputters. Then, clearing his throat, he
regains his composure. “The Heavenly Moon himself has given us his word that a Blessed Moon
candidate will be chosen today. Even as the Sacred Moon, you cannot overrule the sovereignty of
the Heavenly—” the Duke dissents. Namjoon’s power suddenly spikes, the crown of argent light
around him intensifying, until it’s as though the nobles were looking at Esris herself.

“I do not need to choose a candidate, as I already know who will ascend as the Blessed Moon
beside me,” Namjoon proclaims, immediately cutting the Duke off.

A frenzy of heated whispers and frantic mumbles echo through the room, each of the nobility
wondering who had managed to claim the title of Blessed Moon—especially if it wasn’t Irena as
everyone had assumed.

“W-What?” Irena mutters, looking at him in shock. Ignoring her, Namjoon looks at the crowd, his
posture dignified and his frame statuesque as he address the nobility.

“As you all know, in rare cases, magic deems two individuals perfectly compatible for one another
and bonds them together. As of now, I have found my soulmate and thus, I am incapable of
marrying, or loving, anyone else,” Namjoon declares.

“This is preposterous. How are we supposed to believe that? The bond between two souls is
seldom heard of, especially as it is one that cannot be broke. This could simply be a ploy by Your
Highness to delay the selection of a Blessed Moon,” Duke Graffias argues.

“Duke Graffias, know your place,” the Emperor thunders, his sonorant voice echoing across the
Lunaire Ballroom.

“You dare to question me?” Namjoon accuses. Instantly, Duke Graffias bows.

“No, Your Highness. How could I dare to challenge the Sacred Moon of the Empire?” Duke
Graffias reluctantly redresses.

“Indeed,” Namjoon responds, his callous gaze roving over the Duke. From the corner of his eye,
he watches as Irena desperately stares at him—in a bid to draw his attention. Nonetheless,
purposely, Namjoon overlooks her. “However, I admit I understand your misgivings. All of them
due to my own actions and behaviour since my coronation. Therefore, in order to allay your…
concerns, I will introduce her once Esris has risen, and with the Goddess as my witness, I will
make my Sacred Oath to her,” Namjoon states.

All of a sudden, the nobility erupt—disbelief and bewilderment rife in their murmuration. The
corners of Namjoon’s lips twitch at their hysteria. The Sacred Oath was a ceremony that very few
undertook—mostly as it was a vow that could not be broken, neither by the parties involved, nor
by any outsider. In essence, the Sacred Oath was a solemn declaration made in front of Esris, a
promise that the words spoken were true and would never, or could never, be broken. Thus, it was
an oath that could not be made on a whim, or indecisively. Only those who were completely certain
of their vow, completely resolute in it, could undertake the Sacred Oath.

“Son, are you sure?” the Emperor questions.

“Have you thought this through, My Prince? If you later change your mind, you will not be able to
undo this,” the Empress says. Namjoon nods unwaveringly.

“Your Highness, I implore you to reconsider your decision,” Duke Graffias urges. Namjoon cocks
his eyebrow at the man.

“What do I have to reconsider?” Namjoon challenges.

“W-What if she is unworthy of you, Your Highness. The title of Blessed Moon cannot be bestowed
upon anyone,” the Duke attempts to reason. Namjoon scoffs mirthfully.

“Are you willing to incur the wrath of the Goddess of the Moon, Duke Graffias?” Namjoon
blithely asks.

“O-Of course not,” the Duke immediately responds.

“Then who are you to judge her unworthiness? Esris herself has deemed us soulmates. Do you
think you are anyone to oppose our union?” Namjoon continues.

“No, Your Highness,” Duke Graffias responds grudgingly.

“Exactly. Besides, our magic has already bonded us together. What difference does it make
whether I make my Sacred Oath to her or not? Either way, we will be bound for life,” Namjoon
asserts.

“Yes, Your Highness,” the Duke agrees. Namjoon smirks at the man.

“Then, I assume now that my Blessed Moon has been chosen, we can put this to rest and continue
with the festivities?” Namjoon suggests.

“Yes, Your Highness,” the Duke repeats.

“Very well,” Namjoon nods. Then, turning his attention to the rest of the candidates, “You’re all
dismissed,” he continues.

“Lunar Blessings upon the Heavenly Moon, the Divine Moon, and the Sacred Moon of the Empire.
May Esris shine her eternal glory upon your Imperial Majesties,” comes the chorus of greetings
from the candidates. Then, with a bow, they disperse.

Namjoon returns to his seat, and lounging on his throne once again, he watches curiously as both
Irena and Duke Graffias quickly scurry out of the Lunaire Ballroom.

A few hours later, after the commotion has mostly settled, Namjoon continues looking out the
window. Esris has almost fully risen over the horizon, and that only meant that—hopefully—your
arrival was imminent.

Just as the thought crosses his mind, the doors to the Lunaire Ballroom open.

Hope blooms within his chest, and turning his attention to the entrance, he watches with bated
breath, only to be disappointed when an old, haggard man enters. The man cautiously descends the
stairs, his knees wobbling with each step, and once he reaches the floor of the grand chamber, he
weakly approaches the dais. Before he can reach the throne’s platform, however, a knight
intercepts him.

“State your name, and the business you have with the Emperor,” the knight states. Meekly, the old
man raises his hands.

“My name is Devair Rothbart. I am simply here to present my charge to the Sacred Moon of the
Empire,” the man introduces. The knight looks at Namjoon curiously, Namjoon shrugging in
response.

“Allow him to approach,” Namjoon replies, his own intrigue piqued.

“Your Highness, I am here to present _____ Revati to you,” the man informs. Without missing a
beat, the Emperor and Empress rise from their seat, their features contorting in shock.

“Impossible, she is dead” the Emperor states, looking at his wife in worry.

“Namjoon, what is he talking about? Who is this man?” the Empress asks. Namjoon graces his
parents with a comforting smile.

“Mother, Father… She’s not dead. I have found her,” Namjoon quietly informs. Empress Eirene
falters, a pained look crossing her eyes.

“Son… Are you sure? If the Grand Duke hears about this and it’s false…” Emperor Caliban trails
off.

“I am sure, Father,” Namjoon responds resolutely. Then, turning back to the man, “Where is she?”
Namjoon questions.

“I present to you, Lady _____ Revati,” the man says, before gesturing to the entrance.

Once again, the doors to the Lunaire Ballroom open, and this time, Namjoon freezes, his heart
pounding in his chest as you walk in.

Standing from his throne, he watches you, his breath caught in his throat. Delicately, your gloved
hand holds onto the ornate, gold railing as you descend gracefully down the red carpet of the
Grand Staircase. Whispers flitter through the room, the noblesse sneaking furtive glances at her
before muttering to themselves. Bewilderment is thick in the atmosphere, everyone watching the
woman who looks uncannily similar to the Grand Duke and Grand Duchess approach the dais.

“It cannot be,” the Empress gasps. Her knees buckle, her wide eyes focused solely on you. Beside
her, the Emperor reaches out for his wife, his hand wrapping around her waist as he steadies her,
the Empress instinctively leaning into his side.

“Lunar Blessings upon the Heavenly Moon, the Divine Moon, and the Sacred Moon of the Empire.
May Esris shine her eternal glory upon your Imperial Majesties,” you greet whilst bowing.

“What is going on here?” the Emperor demands.

“Lady Revati… is it really you?” the Empress whispers.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” you respond.

“You’ve been missing for six years. Your father has proclaimed you dead. Where have you been
this entire time?” the Emperor prompts.

“I—” you begin, only to pause. “On the day I went missing, I found myself separated from my
guard and was attacked by a Marsh-Boar. However, it was too strong for me to fend off and after
one of its attacks, I was left unconscious,” you explain.

“Oh, my dear child,” the Empress murmurs.

“Thankfully, Sir Devair found me and nursed me back to health,” you continue, smiling at the old
man. “However, when I finally came to, I did not remember who I was, or anything about my past.
As such, I have been living with Sir Devair these past few years,” you expound.

From his position, Namjoon looks at you in confusion. That certainly wasn’t the story you had told
him. However, instead of contradicting you, he remains quiet. Perhaps you didn’t want anyone to
know of your curse, or perhaps you’d thought that having the excuse of amnesia would make it
easier to explain your disappearance to your parents, and why you had been missing for so long.

“You’ve had amnesia these past few years?” the Emperor reiterates, causing you to nod. “Then,
what made you return now? Has your memory returned?” the Emperor asks. Once again, you
smile.

“Ah, that is because of His Highness,” you shyly answer. Heat stains your cheek as you coyly look
away.

Namjoon’s eyes narrow slightly at your reaction.

Something, deep within him, feels wrong—something about you feels wrong. Yet, try as he might,
he cannot seem to place it. Everything about you calls to him, his entire being captivated by you,
just the same as every other time he had met you.

However, you feel different.

Your soul feels different.

Yet, it still beckons you to his, it still entices his—in the same way it always has.

But something feels wrong.

And then Namjoon places it. It’s the dark magic that taints you. The very same corruption he had
always felt marring your magic, the very same magic that would forcibly break your connection
every time your curse overcame you. Somehow, it’s stronger than before, its tainted essence
befouling you in a way it hadn’t before.

Despite the sense of warning, he stifles his gut instincts.

It is you. It had to be you.

No one else could attract his soul the way you did.

Thus, chalking the feeling to the fact that Seris was in its third quarter, which would only result in
the curse that plagued you being stronger, he smiles at you.

“Because of Namjoon?” the Empress asks, looking at her son in question.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I was wandering the edge of the Gloaming Forest when His Highness
stumbled across me. Immediately, I felt our souls bond together and that magic helped me recollect
my memories,” you reveal.

“You’re Namjoon’s soulmate?” the Empress gasps, her voice laced with a mixture of happiness,
disbelief, and uncertainty.

“Son, is this true?” the Emperor prompts, turning to look at Namjoon. Stepping down the dais,
Namjoon positions himself beside you.

“Yes, Father,” he affirms. Turning to you, his eyes soften, an affectionate smile painting across his
voluptuous lips. “Lady _____ is my soulmate. She is the one Esris has bound to me by magic,” he
announces.

The Emperor and Empress look at each other, then, delight crossing their features, they turn and
smile at their son.

“Oh, this is wonderful news. We will have to inform the Grand Duke and Grand Duchess soon,”
the Empress gushes, the initial shock morphing into elation.

“Indeed. Now that you have returned to us, perhaps they will make an appearance in society once
again. I have not seen my dear friend in years,” the Emperor adds. With a bright smile, he raises his
wine glass before addressing the nobility.

“Lady _____ Revati, the heir to the Grand Duchy, has returned to us after years. And not only that,
but she is also the soulmate of my son. This calls for an even larger celebration. To the Sacred
Moon, and his future Blessed Moon. May Esris shine her grace and light on the two of you,” the
Emperor congratulates. His words prompt a chorus of cheers and applause, the nobility celebrating
the news.

“Why don’t you take Lady _____ for a dance?” the Empress suggests. Namjoon smiles before
offering you his hand.

“Do you remember how to dance?” Namjoon asks. You laugh airily as you place your hand in his.

“Some things are hard to forget. Though, I may not be the best,” you respond. Namjoon laughs.

“Do not worry, my love. I will guide you,” he promises.

With that, he guides you onto the dance floor.

Directing you to the middle, right on top of the moondial, Namjoon wraps one of his arms around
your waist, while the other takes your hand into his. Smiling up at him, you curl one of your arms
around his neck. The string orchestra begins again, and as the mellifluent rhythm picks up,
Namjoon leads you around the dance floor. His grip on your waist tightens, and pulling you closer,
he moves to rest his chin onto the top of your head. However, the moment it meets the top of your
skull, he pauses.

Something feels wrong.

Did you somehow grow taller? Was that even remotely possible?

The last time he had held you like this, he’d had to bend down slightly—the top of your head just
barely reaching the bottom of his chin. However, today, rather than bending down, he had to angle
his head slightly up. Flicking his gaze to your dress, he watches as the hem billows across the floor,
the swatches of expensive fabric hiding your feet from him.

Perhaps you were simply wearing heels.

Eyes roving over you, he takes a moment to bask in your radiance.

“You look beautiful,” he compliments, his voice dropping to a low husk. The corners of your lips
twist into a bashful smile.

But something feels wrong.

Each time you had smiled at him today felt wrong. It felt out of place.

Though, that could be because he had yet to see you smile—each meeting thus far plagued by a
sense of sorrow.
Looking over your head, he scrutinises Devair Rothbarth, the old man occupying a darkened,
shadowy corner of the room. For a second time that night, he feels a sense of warning flare in his
gut—especially when he notices the intense way Devair stares at the two of you dancing.

“You’ve never mentioned Sir Devair. You told me you were alone all this time,” Namjoon says.
You look up at him, hurt evident in your eyes. The sight of your pain causes his heart to ache.

“Are you doubting me?” you whisper while avoiding his gaze. Panic bubbles within him and he
quickly shakes his head.

“No! No, my love. Not at all. I’m just curious as to why you’ve not mentioned him before,” he
frantically responds while trying to mollify your sadness. “I could never doubt you, _____,” he
softly intones. Annoyance flashes in your eyes, the brief inkling of irritation startling him.
However, as quick as it comes, it goes.

“I didn’t have a chance to. He helped me every now and then,” you respond, almost evasively.
Namjoon’s eyebrows furrow at your answer and once again, he can’t help the thought that
something is different about you. Composing yourself, you smile up at him—the same smile that
feels out of place on your face. “Did you really think I could survive in the forest on my own?” you
laugh. The sound is foreign on your lips, especially the lighthearted intonation in your voice while
referencing your time in the Gloaming Forest.

The moment doubt seeps into his mind, despair consumes him.

Because he does not want to doubt you. Not when his entire soul screams for you.

“Is something wrong?” you ask.

Namjoon hesitates.

“Your Highness?” you call to him.

Shaking off his nerves, he nods his head, “No, it isn’t.”

Of course things feel wrong. You were still cursed.

Dipping forward, he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Everything is fine,” he responds.

The song comes to an end, signalling the end of the dance. A round of applause resonates through
the air as both you and Namjoon bow to each other.

“Your Highness, can we go somewhere private? There is something I need to confess…” you
murmur. Curiosity piquing, Namjoon nods his head. Taking your hand in his, he leads you out of
the Lunaire Ballroom and into the courtyard situated just outside the grand chamber.

The firmament, once obscured by night’s shroud, now shines bright—Esris’ practically dwarfing
the sky, her celestial body several times larger than Seris. Her holy radiance cascades over the
courtyard, bathing the entirety of the landscape in a silvery hue. Statues glint alabaster—each one
sculpted from marble, moonroses bloom in full—their lush foliage a vibrant shade of viridian, and
fountains glimmer lustrous—the gently trickle of their water filling the quiet air. In the far
distance, Even-Elders loom, and as the wind billows, it gently rustles the canopy, the orphic hum
of the trees resonating through the night.

Leading you to the middle of the courtyard, Namjoon faces you, interest evident in his eyes.
“What is it, my love?” Namjoon gently urges.

“It’s about the curse…” you respond. Back straightened, Namjoon nods. “I think I know how to
break it,” you continue. Namjoon’s eyes widen.

“You do? Did you figure something out?” Namjoon questions, his eyes frantically searching yours.

“Yes… I think the answer is true love,” you answer. Namjoon looks at you blankly, as though he
doesn’t understand what you’re saying.

“Is our love not true enough?” he asks.

“I think it needs to be more… I think we need to make a Sacred Oath,” you suggest.

“Is that what you think constitutes the ‘purest of magic’?” he queries, his eyebrows knitting
together in confusion. Momentarily, a look of panic crosses your face. Nevertheless, it’s incredibly
fleeting, so fleeting that he wonders if he imagined it.

“Do you feel my soul?” you suddenly inquire. Namjoon stiffens. He does feel it, but somehow, it
doesn’t feel right.

“Yes,” he hesitantly replies.

“Does it feel wrong to you?” you ask. A look of guilt crosses Namjoon’s face, and turning away, he
avoids your gaze.

“Yes,” he whispers. Your hands move to cup his face, and angling his head to look at you, you
stare into his eyes.

“Look at me, Your Highness. I am the one you love. I am the one Esris chose for you. Even if it
feels wrong, you have to know that is true,” you plead. Lifting his hand, Namjoon places it on the
back of your hand.

“I do, my love. I do. But… something feels wrong,” Namjoon finally admits. Despite his
confession, you merely smile.

“That is the dark magic that corrupts my magic, that prevents our souls from fully bonding. And
because of that, even though this is true love, we cannot break this curse,” you elucidate.

“So we need to make a Sacred Oath?” Namjoon clarifies. You nod your head.

“If we make this oath, we will be bound to each other with Esris’ blessings. And in doing so, I
believe we can break this curse,” you explain.

Namjoon opens his mouth to agree. However, try as he might, he cannot seem to formulate any
words. It was almost as if something had left him tongue-tied, something intangible preventing him
from responding.

As though sensing his trepidation, you let go of his face, a look of distress colouring your features.
“Do you… not wish to make it? Do you not wish to be with me forever?” you whisper. Instantly,
Namjoon wraps his arms around you.

“No! That isn’t it. That could never be it. I was ready to make it, I told the entirety of the noblesse
that I would make it,” Namjoon professes.

“Yes! So what has changed?” you snap, frustration lacing your voice. Namjoon takes a step back at
your unexpected outburst, your reaction completely surprising him.

Eyes-widening, you look at him in panic. “I’m sorry… I just… wish to be rid of this curse,” comes
your feeble excuse.

For a third time that night, Namjoon is filled with a sense of unease as he looks at you.

Sucking in a shaky breath, you look at him once again. Unshed tears glisten within your eyes as
you gaze imploringly at him. “Please,” you plead.

Helpless against you, Namjoon’s throat constricts and he nods.

“Okay. Let’s make the Sacred Oath,” he manages to choke out, the muscles of his oesophagus
fighting the words even as he utters them. Perking up, you grin at him.

“For as long as I live, you will know no sorrow,” you begin your vow, your hand reaching out for
his.

“For as long as I breathe, you will have a home,” Namjoon continues. Deep within his soul,
something begins to ache, a dull, inexpressible throb that he can’t seem to shake off.

Namjoon wonders if his pain is a product of the curse that maligns your magical core.

“For as long as my soul endures, it will yearn only for you,” you vow, your fingers lacing with his.

“For as long as my heart beats, it will beat only for you,” Namjoon professes. The dull ache
intensifies, morphing from a faint numbness into an inescapable burn—as though something within
him was tearing apart; as though his soul itself was ripping at its seams.

He wonders if the sense of warning he’d felt before was more than just the dark magic that plagued
you.

“Till death do us part, I vow to love only you,” you murmur.

“Till death do us part, I vow to love only you,” Namjoon reiterates

Instantly, the burn intensifies—igniting into an unbearable inferno. Gasping for air, Namjoon feels
his magical core grow volatile, his entire being violently revolting within him. His chest constricts,
his ribcage suddenly feeling entirely too small—like they were squeezing around his lungs.

He wonders if the Sacred Oath should be this agonising.

“With Esris as my witness, I make this Sacred Oath,” you finish. Gritting his teeth, Namjoon sucks
in shallow breaths. Nevertheless, try as he might, he can’t seem to reign in his magic, both his
magic and soul embroiled in strife and tumult.

He wonders if this is wrong.

Fighting through the pain, “W-With Esris a-as my w-w-witness,” Namjoon struggles to repeat.
With each word, the pain deepens, his magical core wailing as his soul is wrenched and mangled.
Heart palpitating, blood rushes through his ears, a sudden dizziness overcoming him.

In the sky above, Esris’ divine form has almost fully risen above the skyline, and as you both utter
the words, her light shines upon the two of you, encasing your frames in an ethereal halo of silver.

“N-Namjoon…” someone calls out. The voice breaks through his agony and Namjoon falters.
Following the sound, his blurry eyes rove over the courtyard, and when he finds its source, his
blood runs cold.

You.

The real you.

The moment he lays eyes on you, he feels the pieces of his soul, once ripping at the seams, slowly
knit back together—as though simply looking at you soothed it. Breath evening out, the fierce
wildfire that ricocheted within his being slowly ebbs and once it ebbs to a smoulder, he exhales in
relief.

Features twisted into an expression of dismay, you look between both Namjoon, and the impostor
pretending to be you. “N-No,” you whisper.

Namjoon opens his mouth to respond, however, before he can say a single word, Devair Rothbarth
appears from behind you before grabbing you by the waist.

“_____!” Namjoon screams. However, he’s too late. Because, all of a sudden, with a malicious
grin, the man disappears in a plume of shadows, and you with him.

Letting out a roar of anger, Namjoon turns to the impostor. Rage storms within his nacre irises, his
pupils dilating menacingly as he glowers at the imitator. Without warning, a surge of Aura burst
out of his hands, and in a brilliant flash of iridescent light, he summons his sword. The person
pretending to you takes a cautious step back, fear clouding their eyes. Nevertheless, fury clouding
his senses, he barely acknowledges their terror, and instead, aims the tip of his honed blade
towards the person’s neck.

“Who are you?” he sibilates, his incensed gaze piercing the impostor.

In that moment, Esris fully rises. A divine beacon in the sky, her hallowed light rains down upon
the garden, and in the purity of her radiance, the dark spell shrouding the impersonator is
immediately dispelled. The second the guise is broken, Irena appears from the veil. Seeing Irena,
Namjoon’s Aura spikes, and for the second time that night, it wildly seeps out of his body. A
pulsing halo of pearlescent light shimmers around his figure, the corona coalescing with the
argentine effulgence of Esris’ own luminescence.

“Consider yourself lucky, Irena,” Namjoon snarls, disdain dripping from his voice as he hisses her
name. “If it weren’t for the fact that my soulmate was just kidnapped, I would have had your head
for both conspiring against the Imperial Family and for practicing dark magic,” Namjoon sibilates.
Then, pulling the tip of his sword away from her neck, he turns on his heel and moves to chase
after both you, and Devair. Before he can leave, however, Irena grabs his wrist.

“Are you going to chase after her? Well, it’s too late. You’ve lost your chance,” Irena informs.

“Let go,” he growls. Despite his words, Irena only tightens her hold on him.

“It’s too late! You won’t ever be able to break her curse. She’ll be stuck as a creature for the rest of
her life,” Irena cries, in an attempt to convince Namjoon. In a fit of frustration, Namjoon yanks his
wrist away from her, his strength causing her to stumble back. Catching herself before she can fall,
Irena looks at Namjoon in shock.

“I don’t fucking care!” Namjoon explodes. Turning on his heel, he rounds on Irena. “I don’t
fucking care whether she’s cursed or not. I don’t care if she has to spend her entire life as a
creature. I love her,” he seethes. Irena scoffs at him, disbelief colouring her features.
“Is that a joke? She’s a fucking bird,” Irena shrieks. Then, “Esris will not bless a union between the
Sacred Moon and someone tainted by dark magic,” she mockingly informs.

“She already has. Despite the curse, our souls were still tethered,” Namjoon hisses in retaliation.
Irena bristles. Realising the truth of Namjoon’s words, her haughty facade cracks.

“I-Impossible,” she whispers. “Why her? Why is it always her?” she mutters under her breath, her
voice beginning to crack. Looking at Namjoon, she stares up at him through watery eyes. “I have
loved you for years, Your Highness. But even back then… all I would hear is how you would be
betrothed to her. But then she disappeared… and I thought I had a chance. So why is it still her?”
Irena questions, her voice pleading. Namjoon shakes his head at her pitiful state. Once again, he
turns, only to pause when Irena calls out to him.

“Your Highness… Please… I love you,” Irena confesses. Fists clenching, Namjoon’s fingernails
dig into his palm. One last time, he turns and looks at Irena. Hope blooms across Irena’s face, only
for it to be crushed when she sees the cold callousness in his beautiful opaline eyes.

“You were one of my only friends, Irena. When we first met, I was convinced you weren’t like the
others who chased me purely for my title and status as the Sacred Moon. I honestly trusted. And
though I never loved you, I liked you,” Namjoon confesses, his voice a low whisper. He grits his
teeth, his jaw flexing as his fingernails dig deeper into his palm. “And then you had to do all of
this,” he spits. Irena flinches from the sheer hatred in his voice.

“You deceived me. You attempted to trap me in a betrothal that I did not want. And when that
didn’t work, you used dark magic to disguise yourself as my soulmate—the one person chosen by
Esris herself for me,” Namjoon hisses. Irena looks away, her visage twisting into a mix of despair
and heartache. “And if that wasn’t enough, you tried to use a Sacred Oath to forcibly tie yourself to
me—with no regard for my feelings, or the pain I would feel when my soul bond was broken. Yet,
in spite of all this, you still beg me to choose you?” Namjoon questions in incredulity.

“I love you,” Irena repeats, his voice barely audible. Namjoon laughs, the sound disdainful and
derisive.

“You do not know what love is, Irena. This isn’t love. This is obsession,” Namjoon jeers.

“Please,” she chokes out.

“Cursed or not, I will only ever love ______. Her and no one else,” Namjoon declares. A choked
cry emanates from Irena. Still, Namjoon continues. “Lady Irena Graffias, I have never loved you. I
could never love you. I will never love you. Your entire existence repulses me. With Esris as my
witness, I make this Sacred Oath,” Namjoon vows. Hoary light shines upon his, and encased in
Esris’ radiance, Namjoon glows silver.

The moment he finishes his oath, Irena wails in anguish. Knees buckling under her weight, she
crumples to the ground, her body wracked with sobs.

“You brought this upon yourself,” Namjoon cruelly states. Then, with a final shake of his head, he
spins on his heels and runs to where he knows you’ll be.

The Gloaming Forest.

Namjoon sprints through the Imperial Grounds as fast as his feet can carry him, and just as he
reaches the edge of the forest’s boundary—the whimsical thrum of Even-Elders ringing louder—he
comes to a skidding stop.
There, just at the entrance, stands his Lumian.

Against the hyacinth trunks of the Even-Elders, her raven coat is prominent—her adumbral
silhouette drawing attention to the magnificence of her enormous size. Her long mane sways in the
wind, the amaranth and amber of her hairs not unlike that of the sunset, while she looks at him
through her cognisant, rubious eyes.

“Titania,” Namjoon breathes out. Approaching her, Namjoon rests his hand on her muzzle and pets
her. “How did you know I need you?” he murmurs in awe.

From her position, Titania huffs at him, her eyes almost accusatory.

“I’m sorry, I know I’ve been going to the forest without you lately,” Namjoon apologises. “But we
don’t have time. My soulmate has been kidnapped. I need to find her immediately,” Namjoon
continues.

Titania snorts, her left foot clopping against the ground. Clumps of grass and mud scatter around—
the earth ripped apart under her strength.

“You’ll take me right? I won’t be as fast without you,” Namjoon coaxes. With a neigh, Titania
flicks her head towards her saddle, Namjoon grinning up at his Lumian.

“I knew I could count on you,” Namjoon responds. As he speaks, he places one foot on her stirrup,
and bracing his weight on her back, he manages to swing himself up and onto her saddle. Gripping
her reigns tightly, he gently kicks her side.

“Let’s go,” he commands.

Immediately, Titania takes off.

Defined sinew ripples under the onyx of her coat, each muscle contracting vigorously as she easily
tears through the landscape of the Gloaming Forest. The deafening gallop of her hooves is
sonorant, the sound resonating louder than the ambient hum of the forest. Trees rush past him, the
scenery blurring into indistinct shades of violet, saffron and azure. Nonetheless, despite her speed,
Titania expertly, and effortlessly, sprints through the serpentine woods and rugged turf—the
harshness of the forest’s terrain inconsequential to Titania’s sheer agility or dexterity.

Gripping Titania’s reins, Namjoon focuses his senses on the tether that connects his magic to
yours. The link is faint, most of it obscured by the darkness that corrupts your magical core.
Nevertheless, it still exists, and that was more than enough for him to find you. Allowing your
bond to guide him, Namjoon directs his Lumian in the direction he feels you. With each passing
moment, he feels you nearer to him, your soul beckoning him towards you. Until eventually, it’s so
close his magic can almost touch you.

Within the thick brushes and dense thicket, Namjoon spots a small clearing, one obscured by
overgrown wines and twisted brambles. A faint light emanates through the clearing, the sinister,
carmine glow incongruous in juxtaposition to the ametrine hues of the Gloaming Forest.
Tightening his hold on the leather straps of Titania’s harness, he leans further against her back—
until he’s almost perpendicular. Squeezing his thighs around her strong body, he sucks in a
steadying breath.

“This is going to hurt,” he mutters. Titania merely grunts in response, but otherwise continues
unperturbed. As the thorny clearing grows nearer, Namjoon braces himself.

Unhindered, Titania breaks through the prickly underbrush, her thick coat preventing them from
scratching her skin. One of Namjoon’s arms moves to cover his face, a low grunt spilling out his
throat when he feels the thorns scrape his hands. The pain is momentary, however, because, with a
loud whinny from Titania, the two of them burst into the hidden glade.

The moment Namjoon enters the clearing, he freezes.

Nebulous tendrils whirl around the clearing, their brisk force creating a violent windstorm that
swirls around the entirety of the glade. Tempestuous winds surge through the air, heavy boughs
whipping unnaturally while torrents of leaves tear from branches. The clearing is completely
obscured by darkness—the faint shafts of moonlight filtering through the dense canopy swallowed
whole by pulsating shadows. Rubescent orbs flicker in the air, and as each hover around the
clearing, their ominous glare bathes the landscape in incarnadine light.

Nevertheless, the sheer display of dark magic isn’t what causes his blood to curdle.

It’s you.

Or more, the sight of you sprawled on the floor. And the warlock that looms above you.

Manifesting from a cloud of shadows, the man who’d grabbed you throws you onto the ground.
With a grunt, you tumble on the hard terrain, your fall only slightly cushioned by the grass. You let
out a groan and turn to look at your attacker. Through wide eyes, you watch as the old man in front
of you transforms into a man you were entirely too familiar with.

Devin Gray.

Seeing the man who’d cursed you all those years ago, your magic reflexively reacts. Your Aura
surges towards your hand, a bright flash of lilac light emanating from your hand as you summon
your sword.

However, before it can fully form, you let out a piercing shriek.

Pain roots itself within your chest, your curse flaring to life as Devin looks down at you
maliciously. Droplets of perspiration bead your forehead, your skin prickling with an intolerable
heat. Bracing your clammy, trembling hands against the grass, you clench your teeth, your visage
twisting into a grimace as you try to bear the brunt of your torment. Nonetheless, with each passing
moment, the pain only worsens—dark magic compressing your magical core, darkness eating away
at it bit by bit, in the most excruciating way possible. Your eyes squeeze shut, your forehead
pressing against the cool grass as you try to ground yourself to reality.

“Did you really think this would work? That you would be able to have a happily ever after whilst
cursed like this?” Devin mockingly questions as he circles you. Laying in a crumpled heap on the
ground, you close your eyes and gasp for air.

Deep within you, chaos reigns—both your magic and the curse in turmoil. The curse rifles through
both your magical core and your soul, leaving both in a state of unceasing discord, the dissonance
causes the three internal forces to clash, the powers churning into a wild, searing tempest that
leaves you unable to breathe. Pressure builds within your chest, your heart palpitating as your lungs
burn for oxygen. Helplessly, you attempt to rein in both your magic and soul, to somehow bring
them back under control and into harmony. Yet, each attempt results in failure; each a futile pursuit
that leaves you weaker than before—the curse grasping a stronger hold on them both.

“How much longer are you going to struggle like this, my lady?” Devin provokes.
“F-Fuck you,” you respond through broken breaths. Above you, Devin’s nostrils flare. All of a
sudden, the curse intensifies and, feeling the dark magic pillage through you, you bite your lip—
hard enough to break skin. As the ferric taste of blood floods your palate, you wince. Nevertheless,
you refuse to utter a single sound—you wouldn’t give Devin the satisfaction.

“It truly is a wonder, how defiant you remain even as the curse ravages your magical core,” Devin
remarks, a slight hint of wonder tinging his voice. “When I took this path, I almost didn’t survive
the corruption. Is this what it means to be a High Master of Aura?” he asks.

Scoffing, you level him with a bloody, mordant grin. “You’re simply a lesser man,” you gibe.
Crouching so he’s eye level with you, Devin casually picks up a lock of your hair.

“This is why I must have you, Lady _____ Revati. Future Grand Duchess of the Empire. High
Master of Aura. If I had you by my side, we would be invincible,” Devin entices.

“You will never have me. My magic has already bound me to another,” you retort. Devin throws
his head back and laughs maniacally.

“Ah, yes. You’ve been soul bonded. And to the Sacred Moon of all people,” Devin casually recalls.
Then, features twisting into an expression of wickedness, he levels his glacial eyes upon you again.
“But, I wouldn’t put any faith in him. He must have completed his Sacred Oath promising to love
Irena by now,” he taunts.

Recalling the sight you’d stumbled upon earlier in the night, you falter. Uncertainty clouds your
eyes, the hesitance only causing Devin’s smirk to widen. Lifting your hair, he presses a kiss to it.

“That’s right, my lady. Your soulmate has abandoned you. Even if magic bound you together, you
and I both know that nothing can break a Sacred Oath,” Devin snickers.

“No… He wouldn’t….” you attempt to protest. Devin hums.

“Oh, but he would. He would if he believed his oath was to you,” Devin responds. Realisation
dawns upon you, your epiphany piercing through you like an arrowhead. Eyes widening, you look
at him in shock.

“Y-You planned this,” you stutter.

“Aren’t you very clever?” Devin asserts mockingly. “As we speak right now, your soulmate has
promised his love to someone else. There is nothing left for you back there. So, choose me. Marry
me,” Devin offers.

Nails clawing into the ground, you turn away from him and close your eyes. Your magic and soul
are still rife with tumult, the curse slowly corrupting more and more of you. Nevertheless, if you
dig deep enough, you can still feel the bond between you and Namjoon. It’s faint, and frayed.
Almost non-existent. But, not completely broken.

“He loves me,” you refute.

Devin tuts. “He has promised to love someone else,” he remarks.

You shake your head, your nails digging further into the ground. “He loves me,” you repeat.

Visage contorting into a scowl, Devin draws to his full height. All of a sudden, your curse increases
tenfold. Unable to stop yourself, the onslaught of pain unexpected, you let out a piercing shriek.
White-hot agony courses through your veins and, spine contorting, you curl into yourself.
Tendrils of darkness seep out of his body and into the forest. Swiftly, darkness encapsulates the
area, the nebulous wisps consuming any source of light, until not even the faintest ray can be seen.

“My patience is wearing thin, _____. Say you will marry me and I will lift your curse,” Devin
propositions.

“N-No,” you feebly deny.

“Very well,” Devin hisses. Summoning his magic, shadows sway around his hand. Slowly, the
nebulous, intangible cloud forms into a distinct, corporeal spear. “Then you leave me no choice,”
he seethes.

Taking in a deep, steadying breath, you brace yourself for the impending attack.

However, before Devin can impale you with his lance, the cyclone of shadows he’d trapped you
both in suddenly shatters.

A bright, blinding light illuminates through the Gloaming Forest, and in an instant, the darkness
dissipates—like flame burning paper. Instinctively, you turn your head away from the lurid
brilliance and shut your eyes. In an instant, the curse that pilfered your core settles and, feeling the
once eroded tether resuscitate, your heart flutters in your chest. Breath hitching in your throat, a
warmness blooms within the pit of your stomach and hope bubbles deep in your chest.

“Get away from her,” a sudden roar echoes through the air.

The moment the brightness fades, you open your eyes, only to be met with the sight of Namjoon.
Burnished in a flaring corona of pearlescent light, he’s exquisite—a striking vision of power and
authority. As soon as you lay eyes upon him, relief washes through you. Tears prickle at your eyes,
a sudden lightness overtaking you.

“N-Namjoon,” you hiccup, your lips twisting into a watery smile.

Hurled across the glade by the outburst of Namjoon’s Aura’s, Devin staggeringly picks himself off
of the ground. Turning to Namjoon, he glowers at him. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he
spits.

“Let her go,” Namjoon growls as he raises his sword. The intricate, silver hilt glistens in the night,
the honed blade glowing with an ethereal shimmer.

In spite of the situation, Devin laughs wildly. Letting out a tut, he levels Namjoon with a wry
countenance. “So, the Prince has come to save his Princess,” he mocks. Then, pursing his lips in a
taunt, “However, you must know it’s too late. You have no hope of breaking the curse. And I have
no intentions of releasing it,” Devin jeers.

Namjoon grits his teeth, the corner of his jaw twitching. Without hesitation, Namjoon throws his
sword with all his strength. Imbued with his Aura, the weapon flies through the air—a high-
pitched whistle ringing through the stillness. Barely able to dodge the blade’s speed, it skims
across his cheek, the edge slicing through skin and drawing blood. Instantly, Devin doubles over in
pain, a shrill howl reverberating through the forest.

“W-What did you do?” he hisses through gritted teeth, his icy gaze glaring at Namjoon. Namjoon
smirks.

“My blade was forged on a night of Esris’ Rise. As such, it’s imbued with her power. From what I
recall, the tainted magic of a warlock cannot withstand the Goddess’ magic, can it?” Namjoon
taunts. With a simple flick of his hand, Namjoon’s sword soars through the air once again and
returns to his hold.

“If you won’t lift the curse, I will simply kill you,” he snarls.

“N-No. You can’t,” you object, finally managing to collect yourself. With Devin’s attention fully
focused on Namjoon, the curse ebbs back to its familiar burn—one you had long since grown
accustomed to.

“My love,” Namjoon breathes, the harshness of his features softening as he lays eyes on you. In
front of you, Devin laughs.

“You better listen to her, Prince,” he says, spitting out Namjoon’s title with as much contempt as
he can muster. “If I die, you will have no hope of curing her. She will remain cursed forever,”
Devin informs.

Momentarily, Namjoon falters, the blazing halo of nacre around him slightly diminishing in
tandem. “What do you want?” he snaps, his eyes slightly narrowing.

“What I want is my rightful title as Duke Graffias,” Devin hisses. His admission causes both you
and Namjoon to reel back. Seeing the shock on your face, Devin grins. “Oh, you weren’t expecting
that, were you?” he chuckles blithely. “That’s right, I am the rightful heir of the Graffias Duchy,
and Irena’s older brother,” he admits.

His revelation has your mind casting back to the first day you met Devin. That day, the day your
entire life changed, Devin had admitted he was sent to assassinate you. However, ensnared by your
curse, you had never given it much thought, you had never questioned why someone had sent a
warlock after you.

You should have.

Perhaps it would have led you to answers sooner. However, in the short nights that you
transformed back into a human, you had spent your time attempting to break the curse. And
eventually, after you’d given up any hope of reuniting with your family, you had barely cared
enough to consider just why you had stumbled across Devin.

Nonetheless, that still doesn’t explain why the Graffias Duchy wished you dead. You had never
once crossed paths with them.

“There is no son of the Graffias Duchy,” Namjoon states.

“Not a legitimate one,” Devin retaliates harshly. “I am the Duke’s bastard child. A flaw he never
let me forget,” he growls.

“So, what? What does _____ have to do with that?” Namjoon challenges, his rising ire envisioned
in the way his Aura burns brighter.

“Just because my mother was a maid, my father refused to acknowledge my legitimacy. However,
that didn’t stop him from using my magic. You see, though a bastard, my magic was very
powerful,” Devin boasts. Turning to you, he grins. “After all, I managed to curse the beloved heir
to the Revati Grand Duchy, did I not? The same heir who was trained by her father, the greatest
knight of the Empire.”

On shaky knees, you pick yourself off of the ground. Your muscles protest the movement, each
twitching erratically from the aftermath of your torment. Seeing the way you stagger, concern
colours Namjoon’s moonstone eyes. With heavy breaths, you fight the ache in your body and,
bracing yourself against a tree, you finally pull yourself into an upright position. Still weakened,
however, you hunch over, the entirety of your weight braced against the tanzanite trunk of the
Even-Elder.

“Was—” you heave. As you force the word from your throat, your lungs burn in objection—the
organs still not fully recovered. Still, “Was it Duke Graffias who sent you to kill me?” you choke
through gritted teeth.

“What?” Namjoon exhales. His heart skips a beat, the grip on the hilt of his sword slackening.

This was the first he was hearing about this.

“She really is a clever one, isn’t she?” Devin praises whilst glancing at Namjoon.

“Why?” you sibilate. Despite the curse, your Aura flares, and for a brief moment, an ianthine glow
flickers around your figure.

“Long before you had ever formed a soul bond, the two of you were promised to each other,”
Devin states.

“What does that have to do with anything?” you seethe. Namjoon pauses, epiphany dawning on his
features.

“Irena,” he mutters. You turn to him, your features crumpling in grief briefly. “Irena claimed to
have loved me for years,” Namjoon remarks.

“Vicious, that half-sister of mine,” Devin comments blithely. “She couldn’t stand the fact that she
couldn’t have you. A consequence of our father spoiling her rotten,” he adds.

“So what? She decided to kill me?” you rage. Devin shrugs.

“She thought that if she could get rid of you, the Sacred Moon would be hers,” he casually
responds.

“But you didn’t kill me. You cursed me instead,” you snap.

“It wasn’t my plan originally. I just gained nothing from getting rid of you. And as I recall, I gave
you an option,” Devin snarkily retorts. Your face twists into a snarl.

“To marry you,” you explode.

“Yes. If it all went according to plan, both Irena and I would have gotten what we wanted. She
would get her beloved Prince, and if I couldn’t be the Duke, I would be better—the Grand Duke.
Who would dare contest the legitimacy of the Empire’s only Grand Duke?” Devin divulges. “And
that offer still stands. If you marry me, I will release your curse.” Devin offers once more.

“Over my dead fucking body,” Namjoon hisses.

“That can be arranged,” Devin smirks.

“I would like to see you try,” Namjoon counters.

You suck in a sharp breath.

Namjoon stands tall, his blade grasped in his hand. From your position, you watch him in all his
glory. At a first glance, his stance seems easy, his sword arm relaxed by his side. However, from
your years of training, you could see the tension in his muscles: the tightness of his shoulders, the
way his fingers clench around the hilt of his weapon, the way his eyes remain fixated upon Devin
—each one a clear sign that he was primed to attack at any moment.

Unmoving, the two stare at each other, the air between them so tense, so palpable, that you could
cut it with a knife. For a few moments, both of them remain completely still, not even a single one
of their muscles twitching.

Though, that all changes in a blink of an eye.

In a flash, the two of them move.

A surge of shadows erupts out of Devin’s hands, the storm of darkness barrelling towards
Namjoon.

Instantly, Namjoon retaliates.

Aura bursts out of Namjoon’s being, a dazzling rupture of irised light swirling around him in a
tempestuous shield.

The moment the shadows impact the brightness, they’re absorbed by the cyclonic radiance.
Refusing to let up, however, Devin intensifies the power of his attack—darkness swarming in an
amorphous mass of caliginous tentacles around Namjoon’s Aura. The force of their attacks causes
the wind to pick up, a ferocious vortex of air rushing around the Gloaming Forest. In the wake of
its destructive gale, tree branches snap off their boughs, and a flurry of leaves tear off their stems.
You plant your feet firmly into the ground, your hold on the trunk tightening as the spontaneous
hurricane threatens to sweep you off your feet.

For a fleeting moment, you watch as the shadows threaten to consume the light emanating off of
Namjoon. Knees buckling under your weight, your nails scrap the trunk of the Even-Elder, a flitter
of distress rippling through you. Seeing the way Namjoon’s Aura dwindles, your magic flares to
life—your soul wailing in torment. In a desperate attempt, you attempt to summon your own Aura
in a bid to help Namjoon. Nevertheless, in your panicked frenzy—your magical core fluctuating
frenetically—you barely have any control of your magic. Instead, all you produce is a vivid,
ianthine blaze that immediately extinguishes—your power exhausting itself.

Thus, you watch in despair as the storm of light slowly diminishes, the shield growing smaller and
smaller as darkness consumes it. From the opposite side of the forest’s clearing, a smirk of victory
tugs at Devin’s lips, and increasing his power a little more, he moves to swallow the entirety of
Namjoon’s Aura. In a sudden twist, however, an enormous nova ruptures out of Namjoon, the
gleam so bright it devours every tendril of darkness. The aftershock of Namjoon’s attack causes a
ring of sheer, brutal force to disperse, its strength so potent you’re sure the only reason it doesn’t
obliterate the Gloaming Forest, is due to Esris’ magic imbuing the Even-Elders.

In the aftermath, both of them are left unharmed. Though, if you were being honest, Namjoon
looks a little worse for wear. Sweat drips down his forehead, his chest heaving as he breathes
haggardly. You have no doubt that unleashing that much of his magic took a toll on him.

“Why don’t you give up?” Devin taunts.

“I won’t lose her,” Namjoon responds, his grip on his sword tightening.

“Even if you kill me, she’ll remain cursed,” Devin repeats. Namjoon grits his teeth.
“Do you think I’m doing this because of that? Regardless of whether she’s cursed or not, I love
her,” Namjoon confesses. Devin’s eyebrow twitches, the corner of his mouth down turning. “Even
if I had to abandon my position as the Sacred Moon, even if I had to give up the Empire, I would. I
would live with her under moonlight for the rest of my life if I had to. All for her. This curse means
nothing to me,” he continues.

“Then why are you trying so hard to break it?” Devin challenges.

“Because I do not wish to see the one I love cry. Because until it’s broken, nothing changes for her.
Nothing will end. And nothing will begin,” Namjoon professes.

“Namjoon…” you whisper, your throat constricting with emotion. Devin throws his head back, his
deep-bellied, sardonic laugh reverberating through the air.

“It’s too late for that. You won’t be able to defeat me. Not unless you aim to kill me,” Devin
boasts.

“We’ll see about that,” Namjoon retorts.

The instant you blink, they attack once again.

Red orbs appear out of thin air around Namjoon’s frame, each floating sphere of condensed magic
vibrating fiercely. With a snap of Devin’s fingers, they detonate. A large explosion of darkness
surrounds the space Namjoon occupied. In the nick of time, Namjoon manages to erect a shield—a
translucent dome of magic protecting him from the blast. As he fends off the attack, his throat
rumbles, Namjoon gritting his teeth as he attempts to keep his shield in tact, even against the
unrelenting barrage of shadows. The two opposing powers clash, the force of them causing
Namjoon to skid back, Namjoon digging his heels into the ground.

The low rumble in his throat grows louder and, morphing into a gravelly scream, he suddenly
swings his sword. Imbued with both his Aura, and Esris’ magic, the blade luminesces with an
incandescent glow and Namjoon manages to shatter the warlock’s magic. Engulfed in his
coruscating corona, you watch as Namjoon infuses his body in his Aura, and suddenly, he rushes
forward. In the matter of a second, he somehow closes the distance between him and Devin, only to
swing his sword forward. Though, just before his blade wounds the warlock—the honed edge
threatening to sever one of Devin’s limbs—Namjoon draws back.

Instead, he summons six pillars of light. Luminous columns shoot up from the ground and into the
sky, each one emanating a vicious energy that traps the warlock within its prison. The swaying
darkness that surrounds Devin is immediately burned away and the sight of the shadows dispersing
causes Devin to growl. Without missing a beat, he casts his next spell. Shadowy bullets scatter
through the air, the pellets elongating before piercing through the air in a shower of umbral lances.
Narrowly, Namjoon manages to dodge some of them, his sword fracturing them into splinters.
Some, however, impact him—his clothes ripping and flesh tearing.

Nausea gnaws at your limbs, its queasy bite causing your stomach to churn with a mix of
hopelessness and dread. Each attack causes the strife within you to intensify, the sight of
Namjoon’s struggle only further exacerbating the cacophonous war currently raging in your magic.
Breath turning laboured, you inhale quick, sharp breaths that cause your throat to dry. With
trembling, clammy hands, you will yourself to calm down, to bring the dissonant conflict within
your magical core back under control. Nonetheless, as your magic refuses to cooperate, you feel a
hollow void expand within your chest.

For the first time in years, you feel utterly powerless.

All of a sudden, one of the spears impales Namjoon thighs. Blood spews from his wound, a trickle
of sanguine fluid seeping down his skin and soaking into his trousers. Your chest caves in at the
sight, the breath stolen from your lungs. A sudden dizziness washes over your being, the sight of
Namjoon’s wound causing you to stagger.

“N-No,” you choke out.

A shrill whistle rings in your ears, the strident sound drowning out that of Namjoon and Devin’s
attacks., and helplessly, you watch as the battle continues—Devin ruthlessly sending a plethora of
attacks towards Namjoon. The entire time, Namjoon remains on the defensive—each of his spells
focused on protecting him from the warlock’s malignant magic—he barely counterattacks.
Though, each of his retaliations lack the same lethality held in Devin’s.

Unlike Devin, Namjoon isn’t aiming to kill, and as a result, he finds himself at a disadvantage.

From the outskirts, you watch Namjoon in a mix of dread and trepidation.

No longer are his muscles primed and ready to attack, magic exhaustion undoubtedly sinking into
his bones. Though he stands tall, there’s a slight slouch in his shoulders and with each passing
moment, the grip on his sword slackens, only to tighten again—as though he had to continuously
force himself to hold it. Sweat staines his furrowed brows, his opalescent eyes keeping his trained,
yet laboured, sight on the warlock. Every now and then he falters, one of his feet sliding a little too
far on the grass, and after each flare of his magic, he sags imperceptibly. Though, the biggest sign
of his weariness, is dwindling the corona of light that surrounds him—once a resplendent halo, it
now flickers erratically, as though it were beginning to wane.

He won’t be able to keep up with the reckless use of his Aura much longer.

Not if he wasn’t aiming to kill the warlock.

Oesophageal muscles tight, you attempt to swallow the bile that rises in the back of your throat.
“Kill him. You have to kill him,” you force out, your vocal cords straining. Your voice breaks
through the destruction of their magic and, hearing you, Namjoon wavers.

“No,” he yells back.

“You have to,” you hoarsely plead. Devin merely cackles as he sends shadowy orbs hurtling
towards Namjoon, the warlock losing himself in the darkness that corrupts his own magic.

“I can’t. I won’t,” Namjoon shakes his head. “Not— Not if it condemns you to this curse,” he
continues through heavy breaths.

You watch as one of the dark spheres hits Namjoon’s side, the brunt of the attack propelling him
through the air. An internal pressure compresses your chest, your lung constricting with a burn as
you forget to breathe. Black spots cloud your vision, your breath shortening as both your heart and
pulse elevate. The sound of blood rushes through your eardrums and no matter how much you
breathe in, you feel as though you can’t satiate ache in your chest. A whimper breaks through your
lips, tears stinging your eyes as you watch Namjoon stagger back to his feet, only for him to fall
onto one of his knees.

Face crumpling, you break out into a fit of uncontrollable sobs.

“He’s not going to break it. Even if you defeat him, he isn’t going to break it. This will only kill
you. So before it does, you have to kill him. Please,” you hysterically implore while trying to
reason with him. Panic settles deep within your stomach as you watch his Aura grow smaller and
smaller, until soon, it’s barely half the size as it used to be.

“No. No, I won’t. I can’t. I can’t kill him knowing what that means for you. Don’t ask me to do it. I
cannot do it,” Namjoon refuses once again.

“Isn’t that sweet? How sickening,” Devin jeers. “Though, even if you tried to kill me, you couldn’t.
Not in the state you are now,” he taunts. Then, a sadistic smirk twisting onto his lips, “Don’t worry
though, I will end this for you,” he states.

Shadows circle around Devin’s frame, the whorling darkness forming a wild, sinister vortex. Dark
markings form along both of his pale arms and his face, the scleras of his eyes overcast in a vile
shade of red while his veins blacken. Around him, the Even-Elders, once glimmering celestial,
decay in front of your own eyes. Their lush branches, previously verdant with ametrine foliage,
wither completely, until they’re nothing but desiccated skeletons. As their leaves disintegrate to
ash, their orphic hum turns into a raucous wail, as though the trees themselves were screeching.
Yet, with each passing second, the adumbral vortex around Devin enlarges exponentially. It was as
though the magic from the Gloaming Forest was being siphoned from its roots and directly into
Devin.

The unworldly, infernal power that surrounds Devin sends a sense of foreboding fills you, the hairs
on the back of your neck standing on end.

Opposite him, Namjoon struggles to pull himself to his feet, the wound on his thigh festering with
darkness, the corrupting undoubtedly eating at his flesh from within. Nonetheless, from his harsh
breathing, you know he’s in no state to fend off whatever Devin was planning.

You had to do something.

You had to save him.

And you had to do it now.

Closing your eyes, you forcibly inhale deep, slow breath as you will yourself to calm down.
Searching deep within yourself, you find the colliding energies of your magic, your soul, and your
curse. Feeling the dark magic rooted within your magical core, a ripple of despair flares within
your being. Nonetheless, you swiftly stifle it. There was nothing you could do about the curse.

You had no control over it. Not now at least.

But, what you did have control over, was your magic and soul.

Eyebrows scrunching, you attempt to reign in the two turbulent energies and bid them return to a
state of calm. In spite of your command, the two forces continue their reckless struggle. A sense of
frustration wells up inside you and a single tear breaks free to trickle down your cheek. Pinching
your lips together, you clench your teeth and, ignoring the pain in your jaw, you will them harder
into a state of composure.

When it still doesn’t work, you can’t help but scream in frustration.

And then, your father’s words echo in your mind.

‘Magic seeks calmness. It requires composure. If you find yourself in a state of turbulence, ground
yourself first.’

That was the first lesson he had taught you, back before you’d officially become a High Master of
Aura, back when you weren’t as proficient in controlling your magic.

“Magic seeks calmness. Ground yourself,” you mutter to yourself.

You inhale a deep, steadying breath, only to exhale slowly.

Ground yourself.

Memories rush to the front of your mind.

You remember the warmth of your father’s embrace, his strength and comfort washing over you as
he would hold you close. You remember the affection in your mother’s voice, the softness of it
allaying all your worries as she would sing to you. You remember the employees of the Grand
Duchy, how they would chase after you in concern and the way they would huff in exasperation
but smile knowingly when you undoubtedly found yourself in some form of trouble. You
remember the Empress, the way her eyes would twinkle with mischief as she teased you about
being a princess, and how she would love to introduce you to her son.

You remember the night you had met Namjoon.

You remember the way your magic had come alive, in a way it had never before, almost as though
it was exhilarated.

You remember the way your soul sang, the unbridled sense of joy that flittered through you when
it bound itself to his.

You remember the sense of completion you had felt.

You remember the first time he kissed you—the sweetness of his lips incomparable; the depth of
his affection unfathomable.

As the memories play in the dark of your subconscious, a sense of calm washes over you, and
instantly, the warring energies within you are lulled into a harmonious stillness. With the balance
of your magical core restored—your magic and soul once again thrumming in a state of euphony—
relief bubbles within your chest. A sudden giddiness surges through you and, opening your eyes,
you can’t help the emotional laugh that slips through your throat, nor the tears that spill down your
face.

The moment you open your eyes, however, the sound dies on your lips.

With a gesture of hands—as though he were physically pushing the magic—the fierce hurricane of
dark magic hurtles toward Namjoon.

Without wasting a moment, you summon your sword. With your magical core stable once again,
controlling the flow of your Aura is second nature to you—the flux an innate, parasympathetic
response that comes instinctively to you. With a lustrous flash of pale, amethyst-hued light, your
blade materialises from thin air. The second your fingers curl around the leather-bound hilt, rather
than cutting off the stream of your magic, you increase it to a potent flood before redirecting it into
the very essence of your weapon.

Responsively, your sword reacts.

Unrelenting, you imbue it with every ounce of your magic, pouring every single drop of your Aura
into it. A sense of lightheadedness washes over you and blind spots obstruct your vision as you
overexert yourself. Yet, you continue infusing your weapon with your energy. Until, eventually,
you feel a wet trail of warmth trickle from your nose down your lips. Tongue flicking out, you’re
surprised by the ferrous taste of blood. Nonetheless, you refuse to stop—not until the metal blade
glows incandescent, the edge vibrating intensely with the power inundated within.

Just as the cyclone of abyssal darkness threatens to strike him—Namjoon throwing up a weak
shield in his defence—you hurl your sword at Devin. A high-pitched whistle resounds through the
air. In an instant, your weapon pierces the distance between you and the warlock. Left in a
weakened state by his spell, and not having expected your attack, your blade impales his chest.

Devin stops, his eyes widening in shock as he looks down at his torso. Seeing the familiar blade
lanced within his chest, he blinks and turns to you. He opens his mouth to say something, however,
not a single sound emerges. Rather, he staggers and falls to the ground, his dead, lifeless eyes
vacantly staring at you.

Seeing the way he collapses, the adrenaline pumping through your veins is suddenly expended.
Instinctively, your gaze turns to Namjoon. Once more gilded in his glimmering Aura—the corona
pulsing as though it had never diminished—you watch as his lacerations stitch together, his magic
repairing any and every wound. Relief rushes through you, tears welling up in your eyes as you
watch him rise to his feet.

He was safe.

He was safe and sound.

You’d saved him.

And then it hits you.

You’d saved him.

And damned yourself in turn.

Under the weight of your conflicting emotions, your limbs turn weak, unable to hold yourself up
any longer. You crumble to the ground.

The realisation that you were now to be cursed forever dawns upon you; the sorrow of your
condemnation contradicting the solace you feel having saved Namjoon.

Incapable of stifling your overwhelming emotions, you come undone. Breath turning short, you
inhale raggedly, your eyes vacuously staring at the trampled blades of grass.

You had spent six years looking for a way to break your curse.

Six whole years.

Six years in which you had been sequestered from any other human. Six years in which you’d lived
with the dark magic coursing through your veins. Six years in which you had no choice but to live
as an accursed creature, cursed to only walk as a human under moonlight.

And now, now all those years were for nothing.

Vision blurring, an acute pain forms in the middle of your forehead and you feel the familiar sting
of tears. A broken sob slips from your throat. And then, as if releasing an entire damn, you fall
apart and weep.
All of a sudden, strong arms wrap around you. The scent of the night sky, vetiver and myrrh floods
your senses, and instantly, you find solace in his smell. Leaning into Namjoon’s embrace, you
press the side of your head into the corded definition of his chest. Namjoon tightens his arms
around you, his lips pressing to the top of your skull whilst his hands gently caress your back.
Tenderly, he consoles you, his mouth lavishing you with affectionate kisses as he whispers sweet
words of consolation.

In your state of grief, however, you can’t seem to comprehend his words, nor really hear them over
your own cries. Though, you do vaguely recognise Namjoon picking you up and carrying you
somewhere else as you desperately cling to him.

Eventually, the tears dry up. Cries pacifying, you sniffle and look up, only to pause.

No longer are you in the depths of the Gloaming Forest. Rather, you find yourself in a
bedchamber, seated on the velour sheets of a bed.

Bister walls—embellished in gold trimmings—enclose the bedroom and black marble—streaked

with gilt—laminates the floor. An ornate, crystalline chandelier hangs in the middle of the ceiling
and lucid lamps of diamonds fulgurate with croceate flames. Glassless archways lead to a granite
balcony on the right side of the room, a thin barrier of potent magic intercepting the elements.
Verdurous vines of clematis and star jasmine coil around the marmoreal columns leading to the
terrace, the flowers efflorescing in luxuriant clumps of blossoms.

In the sky outside, Esris crests at her zenith, her magnificent celestial body eclipsing the sodalite
welkin. Seris’ smaller form faintly occults Esris, the minor counterpart outshined by the
transcendent radiance of the Moon Goddess herself. Concentrated beams of moonlight penetrate
through the vaulted entrance and into the chamber, its irised gleam dancing along the mottled
flooring and bathing the bedroom in its vermeil light. As though sentient, some shafts of Esris’
light stretch toward Namjoon and, coiling around his frame, they burnish him in a sublime halo of
pearl.

“Nam—Namjoon. W-What does this mean for us? What am I going to do?” you whisper, your
voice broken by a few, stray sobs. The distraught look in your eyes causes Namjoon’s throat to
constrict. Crouching before you, he cups your cheek and rests his forehead against yours.

“We’ll find a way. I will find a way. Even if I have to exhaust the magic of the entire Empire. Even
if we have to traverse the entirety of Far Far Away, whether it be to the far outskirts of Oriarora or
the Kingdom of Lumientia, I will find a way to save you,” Namjoon vows.

Earnestness shines clear within his eyes of Selenite, and as you stare into the moon-like depths, you
know he means his words. Yet, rather than comforting you, they merely cause despair to ingrain
itself further in your chest. You shake your head and close your eyes, a single tear slipping out of
your eye.

“I have tried for six years to no avail. Six years, Your Highness” you murmur wearily. Fatigue
rings clear in your voice, the exhaustion of your curse finally overpowering you.

“No. No,” Namjoon protests, his voice cracking. Inclining his head, he presses his lips to your
cheek, just where the trail of your tear ends.

“Do not call me that. Do not distance yourself from me, my love. I cannot bear it. Call me as you
have. Call me by my name,” Namjoon begs, his eyes imploringly peering into yours. You pull the
flesh of your inner cheek between your teeth and chew on it.
“You know I can’t. You must know that if I am to be cursed forever, that we cannot be together,”
you reason. Even as you utter the words, you feel your soul flare in agony, every fibre of your
being revolting against your sentiment; every fibre of your being yearning to be with him.

Namjoon shakes his head furiously.

“No. No. I do not know of that. We were made for each other, _____. Our souls are bound forever,
our magic intrinsically linked. How can you deny that? How can you deny me?” he argues
vehemently.

“I’m not doing it deliberately,” you cry. “I do not want to leave you. If it were possible, nothing
would separate me from you. No mountain. No sea. Not even death’s embrace,” you profess.
Lifting your hand, you place it on the hand that cups your face. Intertwining your fingers with his,
you turn your head and kiss his palm. “But look at me, my light. Even now, with Esris’ light
shining upon me, this curse still plagues me. If even the Goddess cannot save me, what hope do I
have?” you lament quietly.

Namjoon draws closer to you, his nose pressing against yours, his lips just a hairs breadth away. “I
will find a way. I will find a way. Please do not leave me. I love you.” Pillowy lips caress yours
with each pronouncement, each utterance lavishing you with a soft kiss.

Unable to resist his lure, you tilt your head up and connect your lips. Instantly, Namjoon falls into
you. Rising from his position, his hands fall onto the bed either side of you—his muscular arms
effectively caging you within his embrace. Your own arms raise, your hands carding into the silken
locks of his midnight hair as you draw him closer into you. Time seems to halt, your surroundings
fading to black as you sink into the feeling of Namjoon’s lips pressing to yours. Though, before
you’re fully pulled into the inebriating undertow of his kiss, Namjoon parts.

A soft moan of protest slips from your throat, your lips chasing after his. Nonetheless, with a chaste
kiss to the corner of your mouth, Namjoon pulls away. “We should stop here,” he murmurs. Eyes
fluttering open, you earnestly gaze at him.

“If I am to return to the bitter loneliness, I do not want to leave without having loved you. If I am
to part from you, I want to have known you completely, and intimately,” you confess under your
breath. Namjoon sucks in a shaky breath.

“I will not let you return to loneliness. I will not let you part from me,” comes his stubborn
response. His voice is equally low and breathy, the sweet warmth fanning over your lips. A faint
saccharinity tinges your palate and, as though sampling his taste, your tongue flicks over your
mouth.

“But you know you must,” you declare, a tone of finality to your voice. Namjoon’s face crumbles
under the weight of his emotions.

“What can I do to make this better? Tell me. I will do whatever it is you request of me,” he pleads.
You smile ruefully. One of your hands unlace from his hand and, curling it over his neck, you
move to cradle his cheek. Rubbing your thumb over the voluptuous fold of his mouth, you press a
kiss to the corner.

“Just give me one night, my light. Just give me one night where I can have you, wholly and
absolutely,” you answer.

“You already have me, my love. Wholly and absolutely. There is no one else in this Empire, no one
in the entire land of Far Far Away, who could have me the way you do,” Namjoon proclaims. Joy
smoulders within you, your elation eclipsing that of your sorrow and heartache. “But I cannot just
give you one night,” he refuses. Instantly, your delight is suppressed.

“Why?” you whisper.

“Because I have had countless of one nights,” Namjoon confesses.

Before you can argue, a twinge of irritation bubbling with you, he continues. “Because I no longer
want just one night. Not if it’s with you.”

Dipping his head forward, Namjoon presses a kiss to your temple. “I want all your nights, my love.
And all your days. And all your dawns and dusks.” With each sentiment, he tracks a kiss down
your face. Over your forehead, onto the bridge of your nose and then toward its tip.

“I want every single one—until the aurora of our life shifts to the gloam of our death,” he
confesses. Once again, he rests his forehead against yours. “And even after we grow old, and our
bodies surrender to death, I want you. I want every possible moment with you.”

His admission has your throat tightening, a thick knot forming in the base of your oesophagus. “N-
Namjoon,” you murmur, emotion rife in your voice. Closing the distance between you, Namjoon
presses his lips to yours in a short kiss once more.

Drawing away, “While I live, and even long after I fade from this realm, I will love you, _____.
For as long as my soul is tethered to yours and for as long as my magic is bound to yours, you will
never be alone,” he professes.

“My light, you cannot promise that,” you feebly argue. Though, certainty lacks in your voice, your
resolve swiftly crumbles under his solemn declaration. Namjoon merely smiles tenderly.

“But, my love, I can. Because I will keep my vow no matter what. Even if it means following you
into that forest. Even if it means only living with you under the veil of night. I will do anything, if
it means I do not lose you,” Namjoon asserts. You open your mouth to protest, yet, the words do
not seem to form on the tip of your tongue. Thus, you meekly nod.

You know it cannot be. You know his vow is unfeasible. You know that for as long as you are
cursed, you cannot be together.

Yet, even knowing that, you cannot deny him.

Not when his conviction is stronger than that of your denial.

“Then prove it to me,” you whisper. Looking up at him, you stare into his eyes. Tumultuous gems
of moonstone stare at you, the selenite depths stormy with love and lust. “Prove to me that the
force of your devotion outweighs the burden of my curse,” you bid. Namjoon’s smile widens.

“Gladly,” he whispers.

Then, instantly, his lips find purchase upon yours.

Gradually, time slows down, until once more, it comes to a complete halt—the feel of Namjoon’s
lips upon yours the only truth your mind seems to parse. Not wasting a moment, his tongue swipes
at the seam of your mouth and readily, you grant him access. Namjoon’s tongue snakes between
your teeth and into the warm cavern, the action eliciting a soft moan from the base of your chest.
Once of Namjoon’s hands moves to cradle the side of your face, the tips of his fingers splaying into
your hair as the velvet of his appendage languidly moves over yours.
Almost instantaneously, his sacchariferous taste bursts upon your palate. His inebriating flavour
douses your tastebuds, and helpless under his intoxication, you imbibe him. Nerves wired beyond
belief, your toes curl involuntarily, your senses overwhelmed by the onslaught of his kiss. Molten
lust pools deep within the pits of your abdomen, your desire roiling and intensifying with each
passing moment, until you feel heat radiate within the apex of your thighs.

An inconsequential tingle builds within your ribs, the need for oxygen arising within the nodes of
your lungs. Deliberately, however, you ignore it. Instead, you press your lips further to his—your
skin moulding against his—and your tongue fervently glides over his—your flavours fusing
together. No matter how much you consume him, however, you cannot seem to satiate your need
for him. You want to feel more of him. Taste more of him. Devour more of him. Until his
ambrosia completely engulfs you, leaving you immersed in everything that is utterly him.

Nonetheless, when the tingle kindles into a vicious sear, you can no longer ignore it, and instead,
you both pull away. Breath laboured, the two of you gasp for air, your heated breaths circulating
the air between you as you attempt to replenish the oxygen within your lungs. Impatient, however,
Namjoon’s lips crash into yours before you can fully recover—his mouth slotting against yours
with an intense ferocity. Defenceless against his assault, you accept him with another moan.

Gently, Namjoon pushes you back and, following his lead, you allow him to lay you on his bed.
Crawling above you, Namjoon nestles himself in between your thighs, you legs automatically
spreading to accommodate him. Somehow, in the midst of your kiss, your head falls onto one of his
pillows. Instantly, his scent floods your olfaction. Between his exhilarating scent and his
electrifying taste, your senses are completely overwhelmed.

As his tongue forces itself between your teeth, it lashes yours with a renewed vigour. His kiss is
different this time; needier, urgent—desperation rampant within his actions. He practically ravishes
you, leaving you both utterly senseless and entirely breathless. You attempt to compete with his
pace, though, swiftly, you find yourself out of your depth—Namjoon easily and readily dominating
you. With each stroke of his tongue, barbs of excitement prickle at your skin, until suddenly, they
intensify into a raging inferno that surges under your skin.

Within short moments, you’re reluctantly breaking the kiss—your lungs not having fully
recompensed the breath stolen from your previous kiss. Tearing your lips from his, you heave for
air.

“Namjoon,” you rasp. Through half-hooded lids, you bite your swollen lip and look up at him.
Namjoon hums.

“What do you want, my love?” he questions lowly. The rich timbre of his voice reverberates
through the air and straight to your core, the resonant baritone sending a shiver up your spine.

“I want you. Completely, and intimately,” you repeat your sentiments from earlier. A languid smile
creeps onto Namjoon’s tumescent lips.

“You’ll have me. Completely, and intimately,” Namjoon reiterates.

Namjoon mutters something under his breath, so low it’s barely audible. Autonomously, your ears
strain to hear him. However, before you can decipher his words, a sudden flash of light engulfs the
two of you. In an instant, both your clothes vanish—the garments dematerialising in a shower of
argentate coruscation. A brisk chill settles over your skin, your flesh prickling with goosebumps.
You know you should feel some semblance of shame at your sudden nakedness, some inclination
of embarrassment.
Yet, rather than abashment, you’re left completely spellbound by the vision in front of you.

Bathed in Esris’ radiance, Namjoon gleams lustrous—the alabaster effulgence robing him in a
celestial aureole. The richness of his brassy complexion is personified, his skin glittering as though
he were the moon itself. Corded muscles ripple underneath taut skin, and under moonlight, the
hardened definition is illuminated: the vast expanse of his broad shoulders, the powerful sinew of
his muscled arms, the bulging flesh of his sturdy thighs. Canvased by the cloak of night behind
him, the indigo of his hair blends into the dark welkin and instead, the nacre of his eyes glow
lambent.

And with Esris as your witness, you could swear you have never seen anyone more transcendently
divine than him.

Pearlescent eyes ravage you, the boundless depths riotous with a flux of libidinous appetite and
unbridled passion. His heated gaze traces over every curve and contour of your body: the
roundness of your breasts, the voluptuousness of your hip, the fullness of your thighs. Piously, he
explores your body, his vigilant regard committing each and every inch of your body to his
memory; until he is certain he could close his eyes and accurately—and effortlessly—carve the
shape of your figure in the dark of his mind.

“By Esris, you are enchanting,” he murmurs reverently.

Vermeil heat stains your neck, a quiet whine spilling from your throat. “Don’t tease me.”

Eyes tracking back up your body, his hand cups your chin as his thumb traces your bruised lips.
Dipping down, he presses a kiss to the corner of your jaw. “I am not. Words could not express the
way you ensnare me in your beauty. Nor the way your magic beguiles me. Nor the way your soul
enamours me,” Namjoon professes.

Your face softens. Reaching your hand up, you trace the contours of his face: the gentle arc of his
brow-bone, the soft slope of his nose, the voluptuous folds of his lips. Under your gentle touch,
Namjoon’s eyes slip shut, a soft hum emanating from his chest. When your fingertips flit over the
angular definition of his jaw, you smile.

“Words need not express it. I feel it. As true as I feel my heart beat,” you murmur in response. The
smile on Namjoon’s face widens and, tilting his head, he presses a kiss to your palm.

Then, diving forward, he begins peppering kisses along the soft curve of your jaw and down the
elegant arc of your neck. Tongue flicking out, he licks the peak of your collarbone. A gasp spills
from your mouth, the sound morphing into a low moan when his mouth encloses the supple flesh,
his teeth gently nibbling at your clavicle. The harsh gnaw of his dentition juxtaposes the soft lave
of his tongue, the two ministrations causing you to mew in wanton need. Pulling away, Namjoon
hums in pleasure and admires his handiwork—a mauve mark blooming against your sepia skin.

Shifting further down, Namjoon positions himself so his face is level with your breasts. Ardent
gaze flitting over your chest, he exhales heavily. The warmth of his breath fans over your sternum,
and responsively, your nipples twist to hardness. Once more, Namjoon hums in pleasure.
Reverently, he presses a kiss to your breastbone, only to tilt his head and lavish the same attention
onto the swell of your bosom. With a groan, you arch into his tender touch. His gentleness is not
lost upon you, the tender way his lips ghost your flesh a foreign affection.

“Namjoon,” you breathe out.

“Hm, my love?” comes his rumbled response. As he speaks, his lips caress the top of your breast,
his nose nuzzling into the soft mound.

“Please,” you breathlessly beg. Nuzzling his face between your breasts, Namjoon exhales in
amusement.

“Patience is a virtue,” he quips.

“One I have not been blessed with,” comes your facile retort.

Namjoon laughs again, the sound louder and richer this time. It reverberates through your chest
and to your heart. A warm flurry of contentment blooms within the your stomach, situated right
within your carnal hunger.

Easily, Namjoon gives into you. Large hand curling around your hip, he strokes it up your waist
and towards your breast. Then, cupping it in his palm, his thumb flicks the hardened bud. A jolt of
electric pleasure shoots through you, and against your will, your back contorts of the bed; a breathy
groan resonating through the air. Namjoon repeats his action, his thumb stroking your indurated
nipple repetitively. Beneath his touch, the peak grows harder and harder, until it twists almost
painfully.

“G-Goddess,” you gasp, you eyes fluttering in pleasure. Eyes flicking up, Namjoon’s gaze darkens
as he observers your face. The swollen folds of your mouth part open, soft breaths of delight
involuntarily slipping out with every one of his caresses.

Emboldened by your reaction, Namjoon dips down and grazes his mouth over your nipple. As
warm, plush lips skim across your hardened bud, a strained mew elicits from your throat, the sound
deepening when his tongue flicks out to swirl around the peak. Against your will, your hands dart
to his shoulders. Your nails rake along the firm stretch of his shoulders and over his neck, your
fingers entangling within his thick hair. Gripping his locks, you pull him further into your breast.
You feel the way he smiles, the corners of his mouth tugging against your skin.

“You are a vision, my love,” he murmurs.

Before you can open your mouth in protest, however, the warmth of Namjoon’s lips envelops your
umber bud. He gives you no time to bask in the wet heat of his mouth, because, tongue
immediately pressing to the tip, he firmly licks your nipple. The sudden stimulation has your skin
searing with desire, heat flushing through you. Head falling back, your skull digs into the pillow as
your spine contorts, a sharp cry tearing from the hollow of your chest. Gently suckling, Namjoon
toys with your nipple—alternating between tantalisingly swirling his velvet appendage around your
bud and lightly nibbling it with his front teeth.

Meanwhile, his other hand moves to cup your neglected breast. In an instant—as though he’d
memorised the shape of your body—he slots the nipple between his fingers before gently
squeezing his knuckles. Situated between the groove of his digits, his action pinches your
hardening bud, a slight thrum of pain jolting through your nerves. Simultaneously, his fingers
massage the plump mound of your tit, his calloused fingertips delving into the soft tissue as he
tenderly massages it.

Each ministration is deliberate, each conducted with a purposeful slowness that has you gradually
acquiescing to the descent of madness. Febrile skin becomes sensitive, each of his breaths, each of
his kisses causing white-hot prickles of heat to barb your spine. Liquid lust consumes your core,
your blood simmering with the euphoric pleasure he reaps onto you. All of a sudden, Namjoon
lightly bites down onto your nipple, and unable to help yourself—thrums of pain intermingling
with your burning lust—you thrust your chest further into his face.
“Ah—Namjoon,” you sob. Need is evident in your voice, the slight break causing Namjoon to
groan. The sound reverberates through your breast, and paired with the way his teeth rake over
your nipple, your eyes roll in bliss.

“I love when you call my name,” Namjoon murmurs as he releases your nipple. The moment he
parts from your breast, you moan in protest. His breath wafts across the spit-soaked bud, the
warmth of it causing you to shiver. Tenderly, he presses a kiss to the swell of your breast, only for
his nose to trace the curve of its side.

“Namjoon,” you repeat once more. Though, this time, it’s intentional.

He breathes in deeply, inhaling your natural scent—the intoxicating fragrance thick in the air from
how close he is to you. When he reaches the underside of your tit, he peppers the plump flush in
soft kisses.

“I love the way you call me,” he admits before placing an open mouthed kiss just at the base of
your breast. You hum noncommittally.

“I am not the first to do so,” you remark, and though you do not mean to, you cannot help the
bitterness that laces your intonation.

“But you will be the last,” he effortlessly replies. As he speaks, his hands trace over the shape of
your torso, until they rest at the base of your ribs. Positioning himself over your upper abdomen,
you watch as his face drops lower, so his lips ghost over your flesh.

With controlled languor, Namjoon tracks hot, open-mouthed kisses over your body. Maddeningly,
voluptuous lips suckle at your flesh, his teeth lightly scratching over the surface. His mouth blooms
plum bruises in its wake, the marks staining your skin in his devoted veneration, each one a unique
blossom of claret that adorns your torso. He traces every inch of your midriff: over the curves of
your lower ribcage, down the softness of your abdomen, and around the swell of your stomach.
Until eventually, he reaches the apex of your thighs. He shifts under you, the mattress dipping
slightly as he positions himself comfortably between your legs.

Seeing him so close to your sex, a ripple of nervousness washes over you. Sensing the wave of
anxiousness emanating from your soul, Namjoon looks up at you through the thick of his lashes.
The incandescence of his selenite eyes has you squirming, and inadvertently, your legs bend at the
knees, your thighs closing shut. A soft tenderness twinkles within the tumultuous desire of his gaze
and, dipping his head, he presses a gentle kiss to the top of your kneecap. Large hands skim down
the insides of your thigh, until they graze against the base. Dexterous digits curling around your
soft flesh, he grips your limbs.

“Do not hide from me, my love. I want to know all of you. Completely, and intimately.” His
baritone tenor is practically a purr, the sultriness of his words causing your spine to shudder.

Gathering every ounce of your courage, you quell your trepidation. Instead, you nod. “Completely
and intimately,” you whisper. A lazy smile curls onto Namjoon’s lips and once again, he presses a
kiss to your knee. Then, with a delicate firmness, he parts your thighs.

Freely allowing him to spread you legs, you watch as Namjoon’s ardent regard is immediately
drawn to your exposed core. The sight of your dewy nether lips causes a resonant, gravelly rumble
to emanate from deep within Namjoon’s chest. Avid eyes drink you in, his nacreous, stormy depths
practically devouring you within their intense zeal. Wordlessly, he tracks over your sex: the
discernible throb of your swollen clit, the slick sheen of your tumescent folds, the fierce quiver of
your leaking entrance. He observes it all—each apparent sign of urgent desire only causing his own
shaft to harden.

Florid heat stains your skin, your flesh inflaming from the base of your neck to the tips of your
ears. Under his fervent gaze, you fluster and attempt to shut your legs once more. Nonetheless, just
as your thighs twitch, the muscles of Namjoon’s forearms ripple—a distinct vein bulging under the
tautness of his flesh. The strength of his hands pin your thighs down to the mattress, Namjoon’s
hold effectively preventing you from escaping his lust-filled perusal.

Head dipping down, Namjoon inhales deeply. The thick, headiness of your lust clouds the air, its
cloying perfume impregnating the atmosphere and flooding Namjoon’s olfaction. A pained groan
trembles from the back of his throat, and though you didn’t think it were possible, his eyes darken
further with lust— a violent tempest of carnal hunger forged within opaline pools. Mesmerised by
both, the scent of your arousal, and the sight of your desire, Namjoon draws himself closer to your
sex, the pillowy folds of his lips grazing your aching clit.

“Ah,” you gasp. Namjoon exhales in mirth and, as his warm breath wafts over your sensitive core,
you hiss.

“You’re so sensitive,” he remarks as he presses a kiss to the hood of your clit. Your skin flashes
with heat. Though, you’re unsure whether it’s from embarrassment or need.

“Namjoon,” you mumble, a hidden desperation lacing your voice.

Shifting so his upper body is flat on his bed, he lays himself between your legs. One hand moves
from your thighs, and fingertips flitting over your pelvis, they trail towards your sex. With a gentle
touch, he caresses the outline of your pussy—his digits circling your clit before running along the
seam of your slit. His featherlight touch is almost venerational—his fingertips brushing your flesh
with an almost benevolent adoration.

“Namjoon,” you implore.

Head angling to the side, Namjoon kisses the darkened flesh of your inner thigh. “As my Empress
commands,” he surrenders.

Tongue sliding out, Namjoon laps it over the entirety of your cunt: around the honeyed entrance,
up your quivering folds, and towards your throbbing clit. When he lightly flicks the tumescent
bundle of nerves, you cry out in pleasure, your back darting off the mattress. Involuntarily, the
ringed muscles of your pussy clench and as the flesh closes around itself, you feel an empty ache
build within your loins. As the flesh of your sex contracts, a fresh wave of arousal trickles out of
you, the slickness coating Namjoon’s lower lip and chin.

Feeling your wetness, Namjoon lowers his mouth and swirling his tongue around the honeyed ring
of muscles that make up your cunt. Languidly, he laps at your pussy, your thickness bathing his
tongue. As your arousal coats his palate, Namjoon groans gutturally. Skin flashing with heat, barbs
of blissful heat prickle at your flesh and your hips reflexively thrust into his face. Despite the jerk
of your sex, Namjoon continues his relentless torture—his tongue delicately tracing the ringed
entrance in long, slow circles. Flexing your fingers, you rake your nails over his scalp, and gripping
the roots of his hair, you tug at his head.

“Oh Goddess,” you mewl.

Delicately, Namjoon laps his tongue through your slit. As the appendage drags through your folds,
your wetness pools onto the hollow, causing Namjoon to swallow thickly. Arousal dousing his
mouth, your intoxicating flavour saturates his palate—your essence clinging to every one of his
taste buds.

“The sweetness of your pussy has me addicted, my love,” Namjoon mutters, his breath wafting
over your molten core.

Lost in pleasure, you barely regard the vulgarity of his words. Instead, “More,” you plead.

“Anything for my future Empress,” comes his breathy answer.

You feel him pull away from your entrance, a moan of displeasure slipping from your throat.
Nonetheless, the moment you feel his warm lips enclose around your clit, the sound morphs into a
high-pitched keen of ecstasy. Full petals wrap around your engorged bud, and his agile tongue
following suit, he suckles rhythmically. The cadenced suction sparks jolts of electric pleasure
through your bloodstream, your nerve endings set ablaze with ecstasy. Hips writhing, you cry out
his name.

Rolling the swollen bud in his mouth, Namjoon’s teeth grazes your clit as his tongue intermittently
roves over it. Your mind hazes with pleasure, the tantalising way he suckles at your tumid bundle
of nerves driving you insane with lust-filled euphoria. Wired beyond belief, your heart rate
increases and your pulse elevates. As a result, the temperature around you spikes by a couple of
degrees; a thin sheen of perspiration coating your forehead. However, in spite of your bliss, the dull
ache within your core intensifies. The walls of your pussy clench furiously, the empty feeling
within you intensifying with each of his actions, and as your wetness trickles out of you, your core
practically weeps to be filled.

“More,” you practically sob.

Ceding to your plea, Namjoon’s fingers flit up the seam of your ass, only for two of them to tease
the trembling entrance of your cunt. Inhaling sharply, you rock your hips into his touch.

“P-Please,” you gasp. Namjoon hums. In torturous strokes, the pad of his finger circles your
entrance, his finger applying just enough pressure to press onto your quivering muscles, but not
enough to penetrate you. With his digits so close to your honeyed hole, you sob—the vacuous
urgency within your core igniting with a vengeance.

“Please,” comes your dry, almost choked, appeal.

“What do you want, my love?” he coos. Even as he speaks, he continues his teasing ministrations
—his teeth lightly nipping your engorged bud.

“Something. Anything,” you pant.

“Very well,” he acquiesces.

Thighs shaking on either side of his face, you feel your throat constrict as the knot inside your
stomach begins tightening.

Pressing the tip of his index finger to your entrance, he slowly slides the digit into your velvet
depths. The slight stretch causes your walls to contract, and as he pushes further into you, your
cunt practically swallows the length. Its foreign sensation causes you to grit your teeth and hiss,
your inner walls being filled for the first time in your life. Feeling the intense grip of your rippling
flesh around him, Namjoon’s lips detach from your clit.

Instead, he hisses lowly. “Fuck. You’re tight.”

Once he has buried the entirety of his finger into you—the folds of the skin connecting his digits
flush against your outer walls. Experimentally, he flexes, and as the appendage curls inside of you,
your thighs quiver—the pad of his fingertip stroking the sensitive bundle of tissues situated at the
top of your pussy.

“Goddess. Right there,” you moan. Once more, Namjoon repeats the movement. This time, he
purposely caresses your sweet-spot, the edge of his nail dragging against the spongy tissue. Eyes
rolling into the back of your skull, your mouth parts open in a throaty groan. Unadulterated
euphoria courses through your veins, your blood boiling with pleasure.

Tentatively, Namjoon pulls the finger out of you. The motion is slow, Namjoon’s throat drying
when he observes the way the tight flesh of your entrance clings to his digit, the length slick in a
thin, glistening sheen of your wetness. Once it’s almost completely withdrawn—just the tip buried
within your silken depths—he pumps it back into you. Again, you feel every inch, the slender girth
of his appendage stretching your inner walls and causing you to let out an involuntary mew.

“How does this feel, my love?” Namjoon questions, his eyes flicking up to your face.

“G-Good,” comes your trembled response. Namjoon smiles and kisses your clit gently. Increasing
his pace, he thrusts his finger into you, relishing in your breathless moans and pleasured gasps as
he waits for your walls to grow accustomed to the intrusion.

After a few more pumps, another digit teases at your entrance. The sensation causes you to shudder
and, encouraged by your reaction, Namjoon slips his middle finger in beside his forefinger—
stretching you out further. A stinging thrum erupts along the walls of your cunt, your flesh forcibly
pulled apart by the girth of his two fingers. Crying out in a mix of pain and pleasure, you screw
your eyes shut, a lone tear spilling down your face and into your hairline. Nonetheless, Namjoon
faithfully pushes his digits into you, until once again, they are buried hilt-deep within you, a faint
squelch resonating through the air.

Seeing the slight twinge of pain, Namjoon’s lips graze your clit in a soothing kiss. “Bear it, my
love. I must stretch you out if you are to fit me inside,” he softly coaxes.

Keeping his digits entombed within your rippling, velvet hold, Namjoon lavishes kittenish licks
and tender kisses to your pulsing bundle of nerves. Beneath his affectionate actions, the light
twinges of pain dissipate, pleasure once again gripping your senses. Voluntarily, you clench around
the intrusion before bucking your hips into him. Namjoon quirks his eyebrow and you pleadingly
gaze at him.

“More.”

Responsively, Namjoon’s tongue laves through your folds—the pointed tip tracing over your slit
and around your clit. Simultaneously, he begins thrusting his digits into you—both fingers
retreating out slowly, only to plunge back in firmly. Deep within your abdomen, you feel the dull
heat of your euphoria roil, the molten lust intensifying into a blistering sear with each and every
one of Namjoon’s actions. Losing yourself into the haze of pleasure that descends over you, your
jaw slackens, your hips rocking against his face of their own accord.

“Namjoon—fuck,” you curse, your toes curling when he nips at your clit.

In response, Namjoon increases the speed of his digits—the fingers pumping rapidly in and out of
you. With each plunge, your lover laps at your folds, his tongue faithfully drinking in your thick,
flowing arousal. Bliss burns through you, your skin flashing with every one of his ministrations.
Involuntarily, your cunt clenches, Namjoon groaning at the vice-like grip. Pushing his fingers deep
into you, he suddenly spreads them apart, and pliant under your lust, your walls splay open. As
another twinge of pain ripples through you you whine out his name.

“Esris, you’re so tight,” Namjoon remarks in awe. With another well-placed thrust, a loud squelch
echoes through the air, the sound causing him to purr. “And wet.” Tongue licking down your slit,
he moves to swirl it around your slightly gaping entrance.

With a sudden plunge, his silken tongue dives into your entrance—the agile muscle thrusting in
and out of your spread hole. Your spine arches, a strained cry tearing from your throat at the
unexpected action. Every time it impales you, Namjoon whorls the appendage—the flat of the
appendage laving over your inner depths as he laps at your honeyed flesh—and each time, you feel
your cunt clench and tighten around it—as though your walls were attempting to trap him within
their grasp. Synchronously, Namjoon continues pumping his digits inside of you, each plunge
forcing little tremors of bliss to jolt over your nerve endings.

Legs shooting out, you hook them around his shoulder, your thighs squeezing against his face.
Heels digging into the corded expanse of his back, you brace your shoulders against the mattress
and lift your hips off of the bed before grinding your pussy into his face. Your ministration pushes
your cunt flush against his mouth, Namjoon’s tongue delving deeper into your rippling hole.
Namjoon groans into your sex, the reverberations only intensifying your pleasure. Responsively, he
presses his two digits further into you before intentionally dragging them against the sweet spot
nestled within you.

Thighs shaking on either side of his face, you feel your throat constrict as the knot inside your
stomach begins tightening. Molten lust swirls within your loins, each of Namjoon’s actions pushing
you further and further towards your climax. As the knot of pleasure tightens within your stomach,
you suck in a sharp breath. The pleasure is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, your body
chasing a foreign sensation of frenzied euphoria

“N-Namjoon. I—” you attempt to speak.

Though, with your pleasure-addled mind, you can’t seem to form a coherent thought. Below you,
Namjoon pulls his tongue out of you, and instead, his fingers explore the inner flesh of your cunt.
When the pads of his fingertips stroke your sweet-spot, your thighs jerking around his face,
Namjoon pauses. Purposely, he strokes the sensitive bundle of tissues and, as white-hot heat
prickles at the base of your spine, you whimper.

“What is it, my love?” he coaxes. Swallowing thickly, your throat left parched from your
quickened breath and pleasured gasps, you pant.

When you don’t respond to him, Namjoon presses down harder on your g-spot, causing you to let
out a high-pitched wail. “I-I’m close,” you force out.

“Is my Empress cumming?” Namjoon purrs. With a dry sob, you nod your head. Plush lips
enclosing around your clit once more, Namjoon lightly suckles at it. “Cum then, my love. Cum for
me,” Namjoon urges, the words slightly muffled as he presses his tongue to your clit.

Between the reverberations of his words, the digits pressed flush against your sweet spot, and his
tongue rolling your clit in tight, small circles, the knot within you suddenly snaps. Jaw dropping
open, you wail out his name as you cum.

Unbridled, unadulterated pleasure ricochets through you, your nerves set ablaze with a euphoric
sear as you come undone. Ecstasy erupts, its violent tempest surging through you with an
indescribably ferocity that leaves you both, completely breathless and utterly unhinged. Erratically,
your body trembles, your toes curling as your eyes roll into the back of your skill. Cunt clenching
into a vice-like grip, you cum uncontrollably—the vicious contraction of your inner walls forcing
Namjoon’s fingers out of you. Hands moving to grip your ass, Namjoon’s tongue lays flat against
your entrance, his appendage furiously lapping as he imbibes your nectar.

Urgently, his velvet appendage sweeps over your pussy, gathering as much of your cum onto the
hollow of his tongue before swallowing. “That’s it, my love. Cum for me,” Namjoon urges, his
intonation rife with need, even as he licks you clean.

In the midst of your orgasm, Namjoon’s eyes flick up to you and he watches you in the throes of
passion. He watches the way you frantically writhe on top of him, your hips undulating and
bucking against his face as you ride the wave of your climax. He watches the way your face
scrunches in unadulterated bliss, tears of pleasure streaming out of your eyes and into your hair. He
watches how your mouth parts wide open, your lungs gasping for air even as you call out to him,
his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.

And as he watches you, he can’t help the awe that wells up within him.

“Beautiful,” Namjoon murmurs, the sentiment tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them.
Nonetheless, lost in pleasure, you don’t hear him. Or perhaps you do, but simply can’t make sense
of his words.

Eventually, your orgasm begins to quell, the vehement waves of pleasure fading into blissful
aftershocks of elation. As you come down from your high, you gasp for air. Below you, Namjoon
presses soft kisses to your flesh, his lips littering you in his adoration wherever he can: over your
pulsing bundle of nerves, against the soft skin of your inner thigh, onto the hood of your clit. The
tender actions cause you to sigh, a lazy, satiated curl crawling onto your face as you regard him.
Tilting his head, Namjoon returns your smile, and pressing one last kiss to your flesh—just over
your pubic mound—he gently unhooks your legs from around his shoulders.

Hands falling to the mattress on either side of your body, he cages you in his strong hold once
more. Reverently, he kisses his way up your body—his cum-stained lips lavishing your skin with
his affection. His lips trail to the top of your womb, over your abdomens, and between the valley of
your breasts. As he tracks his way up, his nose skims over your torso, a shiver running down your
spine at the ghostly touch. Eventually, Namjoon makes his way up to your neck, and burying his
face in the arc of your throat, he peppers kisses over the delicate column.

With his body hovering over you, you feel the hefty weight of his cock against your womb, its
throbbing heat flush against your skin. Languidly, you slip your hand between your bodies and
towards his member. The moment the soft warmth of your fingers curl around his shaft, Namjoon
hisses. The veined girth sits heavy in your hand, its length pulsating, hot, and hard, the feel of it
completely foreign as the vessels pulsate under your touch. Curiously, you squeeze your hand
around it, only for your eyes to widen when it twitches. Ragged breaths spill against your throat,
the sounds a mixture of pleasure and restraint—Namjoon attempting to keep his composure.

Nonetheless, oblivious to his repression, you gently flit your fingers over it—from the base, all the
way to the tip. When your palm curls around the blunt, bulbous crown of his cockhead, it jerks
again. Pulling your hand away from it, your eyebrows furrow. Something warm, thick, and sticky
coats your skin, the feeling unlike something you’ve ever felt, almost gel-like in texture. Curiosity
peaked, you wrap your hand around his head, and experimentally squeezing, you feel another
trickle of the syrupy substance spill onto you.

“Fuck. What are you doing to me, my love?” Namjoon mumbles, his hip bucking into your hand.
You jump, startled by his voice. Namjoon pulls his face from your throat and, bracing the entire
weight of his upper body on his arms, he looks at you expectantly.

“Are you having fun?” he teases, glee shining in his irised eyes.

Vermeil heat flushes across your skin, the warmth dusting across the bridge of your nose as you
gawk at him—your eyes wide like that of a Crested Deer in front of an arrow. Immediately, you let
go of his shaft, the movement so sudden it was as though it burned you. Your reaction causes
Namjoon to laugh, a deep-bellied, rich sound emanating from within his chest. Embarrassment
blooms within, the heat staining your cheek incandescing into a burning sear.

“I-I—” you stammer, unsure of what to say. Namjoon laughs once more. Then, composing himself,
he shakes his head. Swooping down, he presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, the
aftertaste of your essence staining your lips.

“I’m just joking, my love. You can touch all you want,” he exhales mirthfully.

“Don’t tease me,” you grumble, a small pout on your lips. Namjoon laughs again and, dipping
down, he kisses your puckered lips.

“I’m not,” he grins.

His face drops to your throat once more, his lips gliding over the delicate skin, his teeth gently
nipping you. One of his hands skims over your knee and up your thigh, until finally it splays over
the side of your waist. The weight of his cock presses harder against your womb and as its
throbbing heat seeps into your flesh, the empty feeling within your core heightens. Your fingers flit
up his arms, lean muscles flexing under your touch, before you splay them over his back.

“Joon,” you breathe out. Namjoon sucks in a sharp breath, his trapezius tensing under your touch.
Teeth grazing the supple skin, Namjoon’s lips caress the spot just below where your ear meets your
throat. Lightly suckling, he nips the flesh.

“Say that again,” he groans. His knee slips forward, the movement causing his thigh to jerk
forward, until its rigid musculature pushes against your naked sex. Against your will, your hips
drive forward, and purposely pushing your core to his flesh, you moan.

“J-Joon?” iterate. Namjoon groans once more.

“That’s it, love. Call me in the way only you can,” Namjoon entreats. Purposely, Namjoon grinds
his thigh into you—the quadriceps flexing against your pussy.

Pleasure roils within your stomach once more, and feeling your sex quiver, you mew, “Ah—
Please.”

The hand on your waist slides onto your back, and curling his arm around you, Namjoon suddenly
flips you over. You squeal at the movement, Namjoon skilfully manoeuvring the two of you into a
new position. Your thighs fall onto either side of his hips, your knees sliding against the black
velvet bedspread. At the same time, in a bid to brace yourself, your hands reflexively fall to the
sturdiness of his chest, Namjoon’s own dropping to the tops of your thighs. His dick smacks
against your lower abdomen with a soft whack, the sound of skin slapping against skin faintly
reverberating through the air.

Immediately, your eyes are drawn to his cock. The second you set eyes upon it, however, you’re
swallowing thickly. You had caught a brief glimpse of it when he’d vanished your clothing.
Though, right now, is the first time you’re seeing it in its full glory.
And glorious it was.

Thick pearls of pellucid precum ooze from his bulbous crown, his arousal coating his mauve
cockhead before staining the skin of your belly. Under the dense shafts of moonlight that swathe
his figure, it glistens, drawing attention to his sheer size. He’s incredibly long—absurdly so, the tip
reaching way past your navel—and somehow even thicker—its rigid girth intimidating against your
body. His shaft throbs under your gaze, the prominent and bulging vasculature forming a pulsing
map that adorns its length. Proudly, it stands erect—between two muscled thighs and pressed flat
to your womb. Fixated upon the sight, you swallow thickly, the walls of your cunt constricting.

Would it even be possible to fit something like that in you?

“See something you like?” Namjoon purrs. You ignore the borderline taunting inflexion. Instead,
your eyes trace up his body—up the rigged definition of his abs, across the sturdy prominence of
his pectorals, and up the thick knot of his Adam’s apple. Reaching his eyes, you find yourself
swept in the tempestuous undertow of his nacre depths.

“Want you,” you breathily murmur.

Namjoon sucks in a sharp breath and as his chest rises, it highlights its brawn. Hands skimming up
to your hips, he grips your curves, and then, with a soft tug, he pulls further up his body.
Immediately, the underside of his cock presses to your folds, both of you hissing in pleasure.
Squirming above him, you position yourself a bit more completely, your head lolling back when
your hot sex grazes his throbbing shaft. The bulbous tip slides through your folds with your
movement, a jolt of pleasure darting over your nerves as it grazes your clit.

Hands lowering, you brace them against his abdomen, your fingers splaying over the smooth ridges
of his abs. As he lays under you, you’re suddenly aware of his size. Standing, he is merely a head
taller than you—the top of your skull just barely grazing his chin. However, as you are, even in this
position, he’s still much larger than you—the sheer, corded expanse of his muscled frame making
your own seem smaller than it was as you sit atop him. Waxen moonlight dances around his frame,
Esris’ radiance kissing his skin with deference. Fingers skimming over him, you feel the corded
flesh ripple under his skin, each one potent with power.

Somehow, using the sheer strength of his core, he effortlessly pulls himself into a seated position,
and once again, you’re reminded of the difference in your statures. Your hands automatically move
to perch upon his shoulders. One hand clutching your hips, the other moves to grip the base of his
cock. Muscles contracting, he easily lifts you while simultaneously positioning his shaft against
your sodden lips—a loud, wet squelch resonating through the air. With his cockhead pressed to
your cunt, he strokes it through your slit—the oozing tip slotting between your folds and towards
your clit. As it slides over your pussy, the remnants of your cum covers his shaft, his own arousal
beading the pleats of your sex, and once the length is thoroughly doused in a mix of your juices,
Namjoon angles it toward your quivering entrance.

Head swooping down, Namjoon’s lips caress your temple in a gentle kiss. Breath fanning over
your hairline, he inhales deeply. “Are you ready, my love?” Namjoon questions softly. You pull
your lower lip between your teeth and chew on it, a thrum of nervousness flittering through you.

“I am,” you respond. Namjoon presses another kiss to the side of your head. Then, he slowly
lowers you onto his cock. Just before he can breach your walls, you push against his shoulders.
Immediately, Namjoon halts. He looks at you in question.

“What is it, love?” he asks. A hint of nervousness flashes in your eyes.

“Is—Is it going to fit?” you ask, your eyes glancing nervously at his cock. Namjoon’s face softens.
Lowering his face, his lips find purchase on yours. Instantly, you melt into him—the plush
softness of his mouth pacifying your nervousness. Before it can deepen, however, Namjoon pulls
away, only to kiss you once more.

“I’ll be gentle. We’ll take it slow,” he promises, his nose gently brushing yours. Inhaling deeply,
you nod. Then, spreading your thighs wider around his hips, you push your sex against his. For a
second time, Namjoon positions his cockhead at your entrance and, taking another deep breath, you
ready yourself.

You expect him to slide in easily—from how much of your wetness leaks out of you, from the
remains of your cum still saturating your entrance, and from gravity aiding him. However, he’s so
inconceivably thick, that even between your wetness and your weight, he struggles to enter the
tight, unused walls of your virginal pussy. An intense pressure builds around the quivering, ringed
muscles of your sex and your mouth falls open in a silent cry.

“Ah—Hnnn. Joon…” you whimper. All of a sudden, Namjoon’s hips surge forward in a small,
powerful thrust, his hand bringing down your own. Immediately, the bulbous crown of his cock
squeezes into you, Namjoon’s forehead dropping to rest against your collarbone as he hisses in
pleasure. A pained cry tears from your throat, an immense, stinging burn erupting through your
cunt—your untouched walls stretching to their limit around his girth.

“F-Fuck,” comes your choked howl. Your eyes squeeze shut, your nails digging into the indurated
flesh of his shoulder blades.

“Fuck, my love. You’re so tight,” Namjoon hisses. Teeth clenched, the corner of his jaw flexes as
he breathes heavily. It takes every ounce of his self-restraint to prevent himself from sinking into
you in one, smooth motion—the tightness of your cunt almost eroding his willpower. Sucking in a
few, deep breaths, he manages to calm himself. Then, lifting his head up, “Are you okay—” he
begins, only to stop. Seeing the way your eyes are scrunched up, your features twisted in pain, he
looks at you in worry.

“My love?” he whispers, concern evident in his voice. You nod your head, your arms tightening
around his shoulders.

“Just give me a moment,” you breathe out. Sucking in a deep breath, you wait for the pain to ease,
and eventually, it does—even if just a little. Nodding your head, “O-Okay,” you continue.

“Are you sure? We can stop—” Namjoon suggests. However, you frantically shake your head.

“No. No. Please, I want this. I want you,” you almost plead. Uncertainty clouds Namjoon’s eyes
and momentarily, he hesitates. Sensing his trepidation, you buck your hips into him. When he sinks
slightly further into you, you stifle the whimper that emerges in the back of your throat. “Please,”
you implore.

Namjoon’s jaw clenches, the corner muscle flexing under his action. He inhales steadily then nods.
Both his hands drop to grip your hips, his slender fingers curling around the full curves. Using his
grasp to anchor himself—both physically, and mentally—Namjoon slowly pulls you down and
onto him. Cockhead slowly burrowing into you, his unrelenting girth spears the soft walls of your
flesh. Inch, by thick, excruciating inch, his throbbing shaft impales you, the merciless hardness
stretching out your walls and pulling them thin around his member. Under him, you breathe heavily
in a bid to suppress the agonising sear that overcomes your sex.

“By Esris, how are you this tight?” Namjoon moans, almost undone by the tight embrace of your
velvet walls around his cock. His fingers flex over your hips, the pads digging deeper into your
flesh—so hard you’re sure he’ll bruise it.

“It’s n-not me… Ah—It’s you. H-How are you t-this huge?” you force out between pained pants.

With each second that passes, his cock invades further and further into your velvet depths, until
eventually, you wonder if he’ll ever bottom out, or if his cock was simply endless. It certainly felt
like it was endless. When his cockhead pierces your sex a little too quickly—the blunt head forcing
its way two inches deeper all of a sudden, you grit your teeth and hiss. Your nails claw into his
skin, embedding so deep that you lacerate his skin, small drops of blood seeping out of the shallow
welts. To his credit, Namjoon merely bears the brunt of it, taking the way you shred his flesh
within his stride.

Rather, his lips skin your brow-bone in a feathery kiss. “Just a little more, love,” he says.

As though heralding the end, the moment he finishes his sentence, Namjoon’s hips press flush
against your thighs, his shaft buried hilt-deep within you. Cock rooted in your core as far as
humanely possible, Namjoon halts. The blunt head bumps against the back walls of your pussy, the
very tip of his crown nestled against the groove of your cervix. An intense pressure forms within
your stomach—your cunt stretched to its utter limit, his unyielding hardness filling you up in a way
you’ve never felt before. The overwhelming sensation elicits a choked sob from the middle of your
throat.

The very second he bottoms out, you both falter. A sudden feeling of completeness overtakes both
of you, the sense of wholeness unlike any you’ve ever felt. Overcome by the sensation, your souls
flare to life. Both your magics spark with a certain, palpable vitality, your magical cores suddenly
invigorating with an unexpected flux of power. The intangible tether between you thrums in
likeness, but before it can electrify, the curse afflicting you erupts—a sudden pain overcoming you
as you feel its corruption eat away at your soul bond.

Unexpectedly, your wings burst from your back. The feathered appendages span the width of his
bed, the ivory plumes fluttering imperceptibly.

And all of a sudden, you crash down to reality.

In the midst of your euphoria, you had completely forgotten about the dark magic ailing you. You
had completely forgotten that this would be the last night you would spend with Namjoon. You
had forgotten that this was just one night—one more night before you had to return to the bitter
loneliness that had become your life.

Tears form within your eyes, your vision blurring as you’re confronted by the truth you had
suppressed. Sensing your turmoil, Namjoon bends down, his lips grazing your forehead. “I love
you,” he confesses.

“Joon—” you attempt to protest, your voice hoarse as bile rises in the back of your throat.

“I love you,” Namjoon repeats. Though, rather than a confession, this time it feels more like a plea.

“Please don’t,” you whisper. A hollow ache forms within your chest, the pain overshadowing that
of Namjoon’s immense girth buried within your unused walls.

In spite of your protest, Namjoon continues.

“You are my everything,” he professes.

Your heart wrenches at his words.

He unhooks one of your arms from his shoulder, and pressing a soft kiss to your wrist, he places
your hand on his chest. “You are my heart, which beats to the rhythm of your pulse,” Namjoon
declares. Underneath your palm, you feel the steady cadence of his heartbeat.

“You are my magic, which finds home in the spaces of your atoms,” he breathes. As he speaks, a
soft, irised light emanates from his chest, magic seeping out of his skin and into the air. Curiously,
though, it stretches out to you, the glimmer soaking into the flesh of your hand, where your palm
connects to his heart.

“You are my soul, which is braided between your blood for the length of eternity.” With this
assertion, you feel the way your bond flickers, that intrinsic sense of connectedness reaching for
you in the most visceral of ways.

“You are my everything, my love. And I love you,” he reiterates, almost imploringly.

“Namjoon—” you try to interject once again, a little more firmly this time. Nevertheless, inclining
his face, he presses a kiss to your lips, effectively cutting you off.

“I have loved you since before the rain; before the moon placed dew on the first leaf,” he murmurs,
each word a kiss upon your lips. The iridescent glow surrounding his frame luminesces, a
shimmering aureole of opal encasing him. Your soul bond similarly enkindles and, feeling the way
it stirs, your eyes widen.

“Namjoon, what are you doing?” you question, your eyes desperately searching his. Through the
corner of your eye, you glance at the sky, nervousness settling within you when you notice Esris
still at her zenith.

Rather than answer you, Namjoon looks at you knowingly—love radiant in his pearly eyes. Arms
coiling around your frame, he pulls you closer to him, until his naked chest presses firm against
your own—soft curves melding to solid contours. Rhythmically, his cock pulsates within you, the
shaft throbbing in tandem to your own quivering cunt, and slowly, the pain of his cock stretching
you becomes a little more manageable. Dexterous digits splay over the skin of your back, his
fingertips skimming across your flesh, the ghostly touch causing you to shudder.

“I am a love for you, finding you in the folds of time and in places the moon has not yet touched,”
he continues. His nose traces the outline of your collarbone, and following its path, his lips caress
their way over your décolletage and up your neck. Abruptly, Esris’ effulgence washes over him, an
air of divinity surrounding him.

“No. No, you mustn’t,” you meekly protest.

“I will love you for eternity. Long after death touches our bodies, long after its embrace parts our
souls,” Namjoon vows. The Goddess’ magic heightens, her divine power coalescing with
Namjoon’s own. “And on the last day of the world, when Esris’ magic fades from this realm, you
will know my love,” Namjoon murmurs. His face swoops closer to yours and, capturing your lips
with his, he lavishes you with the sweetest kiss. “As the stars fall from the sky, just like kisses from
my lips,” he finishes, his mouth separating from yours.

“With Esris as my witness,” he begins. Panic flutters within you, your suspicions confirmed as the
words threaten to spill from his lips.

He was about to make a Sacred Oath.

“Namjoon, please. If you do this, you will be bound to me forever. You will never be able to break
this vow,” you plead.

Namjoon merely smiles, “I am already bound to you forever, my love.”

“The curse—” you try to argue.

“Is meaningless to me,” he interrupts. Resting his forehead against yours, he peers deep into your
eyes. “Do you deny me for any reason other than the veneer of dark magic veiled within you?” he
questions. Chewing at the inner flesh of your cheek, you shake your head.

“I do not want you to regret this decision.” Your hands move to cup his jaw, your thumbs brushing
against his cheeks.

“My light, I am cursed forever,” you sigh. Fingertips roving over his visage, you trace the contours
of his face. “I simply do not wish for you to promise yourself to me, only for you to wake up years
into the future, and regret having loved me. For that, would be a far greater agony for me to bear
than this,” you quietly confess.

“How could I ever regret loving you?” he questions, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You do not know of the future. You do not know of your feelings in the far distance, when you
are the Heavenly Moon that rules alone, and I am still this accursed creature,” you respond.
Namjoon just smiles.

“But I do. As sure as Seris rises over Lunaerius, as sure as the Sun illuminates Aetherys, I know
that my love for you is eternal, indomitable and unassailable by the touch of time, or the kiss of
death,” Namjoon proclaims. Namjoon’s lips brush against your forehead, just in the space between
your brows. Your eyes flutter shut, a few, solitary tears dusting the hairs of your lashes. “Will you
deny me any longer, my love?” Namjoon murmurs. Swallowing the pain that festers in the back of
your throat, you shake your head.

“Then, with Esris as my witness, I make this Sacred Oath” he finishes. His voice is quiet, his words
uttered barely above a whisper. But, in the perfect stillness of the night, they echo through the
room, each one reverberating in the magic that impregnates the air. Instantly, a bright light
surrounds him and the Moon Goddess’ magic showers over him.

Namjoon’s soul blazes, the words of his Sacred Oath imprinting themselves within the fibres of his
being and the surfaces of his bones. The tether between you both thrums, a sanctified heat rippling
over the link. Warmth spreads within you and, feeling the way it smoulders the grim touch of
darkness that clouds your magical core, you swallow thickly. Dropping your hands from his face,
you reach for one of his own. Entwining your fingers together, you bring them to your mouth and
brush your lips over his fingertips.

“You are my heart, its beat a hymn that sings to the cadence of your lungs,” you begin. As you
place his palm on your breast, Namjoon’s breath hitches.

“If you do not want to—” he attempts to protest. Instantly, you shake your head and smile.
Certainty blazes in your eyes, nothing but assurance and adoration shining through.

“I want to,” you reply. Closing your eyes, you summon your magic. Your Aura reactively surges,
your power exuding out of your flesh and towards him. Namjoon inhales sharply, his eyes
widening as he sees the ianthine aureole encasing your frame. Between the shimmering halo and
your iridescent wings, you’re a vision of something celestial; an angel-like being held within his
embrace.

“You are my magic, its essence finding solace within every vein of your body.” As you speak, the
light surrounding you burns bright, morphing into a lambent glow.

“You are my soul, its vitality an unbreakable thread bound against your bones,” you murmur.
Unlacing your fingers from his, you lay both your palms to his chest, revelling in the warmth of his
flesh and the steady beat of his heart.

“My light, you are my everything. And I love you,” you repeat his words, each one saturated with
every ounce of your feelings, until they drip, overfilled with the love you feel for him. Angling
your face up, your neck stretches as you brush your lips against his.

“I have loved you long before the moon first rose into the black night, long before her light
bloomed a garden on earth,” you gently intone. As it did Namjoon, once more, Esris’ luminescence
cascades over you, the atmosphere palpable with her sanctity.

“I am a love for you, traversing the chasm of space and the constraints of time, so I may reunite
with you in each life,” you continue. In the aftereffect of Namjoon’s own oath, your magic knits
together, the argentate radiance of Namjoon’s power weaving with the amethyst luminance of your
own. The two essences swirl together, the colours blending into a silver-hued lavender.

“I will love you for eternity. And even after death separates me from you, even after it divides our
souls, I—” you pause, your throat tightening with emotion.

Tears pool within your eyes, bile rising at the back of your throat as you struggle to continue.
Namjoon’s face softens at the way you threaten to unravel under the weight of your emotions.
Veined hands fall to your hips and, tracing them up the curve of your waist, he wraps his arms
around your body. Warm skin presses to yours, Namjoon’s gentle comfort seeping through your
flesh and into your being. Within your core, you feel his cock pulse, the tip of his blunt head
kissing the entrance of your cervix. No longer do you feel any pain, your pliant walls having gotten
used to the feeling of his immense girth. Rather, you feel a sense of wholeness, the feeling only
bolstered in the midst of your vow.

You inhale shakily and will the tears away. Then, taking in a deep, steadying breath, you continue.

“And even after death separates me from you, even after it divides our souls, I will find you. In
each life, I will find you, and reunite with you. Until language can no longer fathom our love.”
Palms sliding up from his chest, they curl around his shoulders—your arms wrapping around him.
“And in the chaos of Esris’ departure, you will know my love, as the abyss embraces us, just as my
arms you,” you finish.

Shifting above him, you dig your knees into the bed and lift yourself, your mouth swooping to
capture his lips. Your motion causes his cock to slip out of you slightly, the movement eliciting a
moan from both of you. “With Esris as my witness, I make this Sacred Oath,” you mumble against
his lips.

As the last of your proclamation leaves your lips, a bright light flashes—Esris’ magic raining over
you. Instantly, you feel the words of your Sacred Oath carve themselves into the marrow of your
bones and within the fabric of your being. The bond tying both your souls together flares, the link
between you vibrating with an intense heat. You suck in a sharp breath—your body abruptly
invigorated, your magic vitalising in likeness.

All of a sudden, it incandesces.

The tether connecting you galvanises and as your magical core ignites, a fierce torridity surges
through you. Surprisingly, it doesn’t burn you. Instead, as the pure magic erupts through you, you
feel its deific sear ravage the dark magic nestled within you. Opposite you, Namjoon watches in
amazement as feathers moult from your wings, the gossamer plumes falling in a shower of
alabaster. Just as they float onto the black velvet of his bedspread, they scatter in a spray of silver
coruscation before vanishing into thin air; the featherless appendages eventually following suit. In
an instant, the darkness that befouls you is eradicated—razed to obliteration.

You suck in a sharp breath at the sensation, your eyes widening as you stare at Namjoon.

“Did—Did you feel that?” you choke out. Namjoon’s face crumples with emotion. Surging
forward, he captures your lips with his. You squeal in surprise, not having expected his sudden
onslaught. Before Namjoon can deepen the kiss, you pull away. “Namjoon?” you question,
confusion in your voice.

Deft hands glide up your back and, after tracking the curve of your spine, he rests them over your
bare shoulder blades. “Your curse, it’s broken,” Namjoon informs, his voice thick with emotion.
You freeze, unable to comprehend his words.

And then you feel it.

His fingertips against your bare shoulder blades.

Shoulder blades where your wings used to be.

Tears sting at your eyes once more, your vision blurring as you look at him

“Is—Is it really?” you stammer, disbelief rampant in your inflexion. Namjoon nods, a peal of
laughter bubbling from his throat.

“Yes, my love. It’s broken. Can you not feel it? The way our soul bond is complete, the way the
purity of your magic shines? Untainted by even a sliver of dark magic?” Namjoon responds.
Closing your eyes, you urgently search for the darkness that had plagued you—looking for any
sign of its grim foulness within your magical core. Nevertheless, no matter how much you seek,
you cannot find even the fainted trace of it, its blight completely eradicated.

“I-It’s b-broken,” you whisper with a hiccup. Namjoon nods once again. “How?” you whisper,
your eyes searching his. A smile tugs at Namjoon’s lips.

“The purest of magic,” he responds. Your eyebrows knit together as you regard him quizzically.

“What?” you blurt, dumbfounded.

A rich, throaty laugh emerges from within the hollow of Namjoon’s chest. Bending forward, he
captures your lips once more.

“The purest of magic, my love. What could be purer than vowing to love one another in the
presence of the Goddess?” he elucidates.

Realisation dawns over you, its epiphanic rays illuminating the dark fog of your confusion.
Adrenaline courses through your bloodstream, and every single one of your scattering in the wake
of your recognition. Your heart races, unbridled joy surging through every node of your body, until
it consumes you—a weightlessness overtaking you. Elation radiates through your chest, its warmth
crawling up your neck and to your throat, laughter bursting from within. Unable to help yourself,
you practically leap at Namjoon. As you throw yourself at him, one of Namjoon’s hands falls to
the bed behind him—in a bid to prevent you both from toppling over—his other arm curling around
to hold you.

“It’s broken! I’m free,” you squeal in delight as you throw your arms around him. Namjoon merely
laughs, his head dipping to press a tender kiss to your shoulder. You pull away slightly, only to cup
his cheeks and slot your lips against his.

“I love you. I love you. I love you,” comes your melodious mantra, each a psalm between a litany
of kisses.

The corners of Namjoon’s lips tug and as the pillowy stretch, he smiles against your mouth. With
each admission, he returns your sentiment, and with each kiss, your mouths find purchase against
one another for longer.

Until, eventually, they meld together completely—neither willing to part.

Indolently, Namjoon moves his lips against yours, the seam of your folds slotting perfectly
between his. In an attempt to deepen your kiss, Namjoon’s tongue darts out, the tip tentatively
laving over your lower lip. With a soft sigh of contentment, you grant his access, your lips
separating as you allow his silken appendage to slip between your teeth. The second you feel the
warm, agile muscle stroke over yours, you moan. Your hands trace up the strong column of his
neck, your fingers entangling in the thick of his hair.

Delicately, Namjoon’s tongue glides over yours, and though you’re met with the faint aftertaste of
your own cum, you do not mind. Purely because, his natural sweetness overwhelms the heady
flavour. Intoxicated by him, you sink deeper into your kiss—your tongue languidly gliding and
curling against his. The taste of him intensifies with each passing moment, your palate doused in
the addictive ambrosia of his saccharinity. Wired all of a sudden, desirous heat flushes through
you, and suddenly, you’re all too aware of him. The way his tongue feels against yours. The
warmth of his hands on your body. The fullness of his cock embedded deep against your womb.

Skin welded to skin, magic linked to magic, and soul bound to soul, you have no idea where you
end or where Namjoon begins. Deep inside you, his cock throbs, his girth pulling apart your walls
to their limits, only to fill the vacuous emptiness with everything that is him. Cockhead pressed
flush against the entrance of your uterus, an imaginary ache forms within your vacant womb, and
for a moment, you wish he would imbue everything that is him within you, until you were
impregnated with his heir. Heart fluttering at the thought, you’re floored by the emotion.

You had never truly thought of having children. Though, cursed as you were, you doubted you
could bear a child. Now, however, it was different. Not a hint of dark magic taints you. And now,
you had the love of your life bound to you too. So, perhaps, it wasn’t such a far off notion.

The thought causes you to involuntarily clench. Namjoon tears his lips from yours, a guttural groan
of bliss rumbling through his chest. His hands drop to your hips, his fingers digging into the soft
cheeks of your ass as he pulls you closer. The movement causes him to push deeper into you—
something you thought wholly impossible from how thoroughly rooted into your velvet walls he
already was—and your mouth slips open in a breathless moan. Namjoon’s face dips to bury within
your neck and as he pants against your skin—his lungs burning for air—his senses are flooded
with your scent.

“What are you thinking of that has you clenching so exquisitely around me?” Namjoon prompts.
Gently, your fingertips trace the rigid swoop of his shoulders.

“Bearing your heirs,” you reply honestly. The pain of him stretching your untouched pussy has
long since faded, the burn so far removed that you no longer even recollect it. Instead, you’re left
with nothing but pleasure—unadulterated euphoria of his cock buried deep within you.

Under your hands, Namjoon’s trapezius tenses, the muscle flexing to tautness. Similarly, the
fingers on the back of your hips clenching, the blunt edges of his perfectly manicured nails
threatening to engrave their indentation within your flesh. Pulling his face from your throat, he
looks at you in surprise. Momentarily, his selenite eyes search yours, his unfathomable scrutiny
seeking even the slight shadow of doubt cast from your words. When he finds none, his shaft jerks
within you, thick beads of precum coating the soft walls of your cervix.

“Are you being serious?” Namjoon questions. Taking a deep breath, you look at him earnestly—
indisputable conviction and certainty apparent within your depths.

“I am,” you respond.

Holding his stare, you brace yourself on his shoulders. Then, flexing your thighs, you ascend off of
his hips. Your eyes flutter, twin hisses of pleasure resounding through the air. Slowly, his cock
pulls out of you, the pulsating veins dragging against each and every one of your nerve endings;
the thickness of his shaft stimulating an erogenous zone you had no idea even existed. Basking in
erotic bliss, you continue your ascent, until finally, only the bulbous crown of his shaft sits within
the trembling walls of your cunt.

“I want your children,” you confess.

With a small roll of your hips, you descend back onto him. Once again, the indurated, vascularised
surface of his cock strokes against your nerves, electrifying them with unbridled rapture.
Inadvertently, your jaw slackens, your breath quickening as heat prickles the base of your spine.
The slowness of your movement causes you to feel him in his entirety—every inch, every vein,
every ridge—and entombed within you, you carve the shape of him into your trembling, silken
flesh. Namjoon’s chest trembles, the sound reverberating from deep within his lungs and into
yours.

For a brief moment, Namjoon finds himself mesmerised by the erotic scene in front of him.

“By Esris, you truly are the most enamouring woman I have met,” Namjoon praises. Reverentially,
his hands roam over your body, his palms tracing over every curve, every dip, every swell. They
map the entirety of your writhing form; unceasing until your shape is ingrained within the grooves
of his flexion creases.

Slowly, you writhe above him, your hips rocking in small circles as you begin riding him.
Completely overcome by carnal delight, you lose yourself in the haze of lust. With each stroke of
his cock, he somehow burrows deeper into you, and eyes fluttering, your nails rake over his flesh.
Your arousal leaks over him, thick, filmy ropes dripping out of you before splattering onto his
inner thighs. Pleasure burns in the pits of your abdomen, passionate hunger tightening into a firm
knot. Out of the blue, Namjoon’s hips surge upwards, his girth stretching your aching walls a little
too swiftly. The motion causes his head to drag across the sensitive bundle of flesh at the top of
your pussy only for it to batter the back walls of your cunt.

“F-Fuck,” you hiss, your eyes screwing shut as a thrum of pain mixes with a tingle of pleasure.

“Say you want to bear my children again,” Namjoon all but demands, another thrust of his hips
punctuating his sentence.

The empty ache in your womb intensifies, a strained cry tearing from your throat. Blinking slowly,
you look at Namjoon through hooded, lust-filled eyes. One of your hands moves to grip his wrist
and, pulling it between your body, you lay it over your womb. With how immensely large his cock
is, it distends your lower abdomen—the outline of his shaft protruding through your flesh. Brazen
gaze fixated upon you, Namjoon stares unashamedly at the bulge, his thumb mindlessly tracing the
shape. You shudder under his touch, your walls rippling around him.

You lay your hand over the back of his, your fingers intertwining between his. “I want your
children,” you repeat.

Perhaps it is the veil of lust that clouds your rationality, perhaps it is the ardent, unrestrained need
that blazes within your bloodstream. Whichever it is, any sense of embarrassment or shame you
would feel is nonexistent—the emotions replaced by a raw, carnal urgency for your lover to
impregnate you. You push down on his hand, a ragged moan echoing through the air when you
feel your walls inadvertently tighten, the contraction intensifying the feel of Namjoon’s cock
within you.

“I want you to fill my womb with your seed. I want to bear your children. Please.” A sense of
desperation apparent in your plea, Namjoon’s eyes darken. Irised eyes rage with violent hunger,
lust blackening opaline pools as his pupils dilate.

Within a flash, Namjoon jerks forward.

Your eyes widen, a small yelp slipping from your mouth as you tumble backwards. Your body
impacts the mattress with a small bounce, your back pressing flush against the soft velvet sheets.
Namjoon falls onto you, his hands sinking into the bed on either side of your head as he pins you
with his body. The movement causes his cock to drive further into you, and when his blunt
cockhead batters your womb’s entrance, you hiss. Hands darting in the air, they find anchor within
the bulging muscles of his biceps, your nails sinking into the brawny flesh.

“Say it again,” he softly commands. Authority rings clear in his deep timbre, a slight husky
inflexion undercutting its usual baritone.

His hips retreat, his pulsing, erect shaft departing your velvet depths, only for him to suddenly
drive forward. The power of his thrust causes your entire body to jerk, and if it weren’t for his arms
caging you, your back would have slid across the slipper velvet bedspread from the force. Your
head lolls back, your skull digging into the mattress as your spine contorts off of the mattress.
Florid heat flushes across your skin, your flesh growing sensitive in your lust.

“I want your children,” you breathe out, unable to disobey his order. Namjoon groans above you.

“Goddess, I love you. You were truly made for me,” Namjoon reveres.

He braces the entire weight of his upper body on one of his arms. Meanwhile, the other moves
toward your hips. Nimble fingertips ghost over your flesh, Namjoon’s feathery touch skimming
over the soft curve of your waist and over the swell of your ribcage. Tracking his way to your
breast, he cups the soft mound in his hold, your flesh spilling from the spaces between his digits.
When his thumb grazes over your nipple, you moan, relishing in the way he gently toys with the
hardened bud.

“I cannot wait for your breasts to swell, your nipples leaking with milk in preparation for our
child,” he mutters.

You blink owlishly, surprise rippling through you at his utterance. Before you can reply, however,
Namjoon pulls his cock out of you once more, only to sink back in in one smooth thrust. The blunt
head pierces through your walls in one, abrupt stroke. As the silken flesh of your cunt is forced
apart around his thick girth, you shriek in pleasure, your thighs shaking as his ridged length drags
against every erogenous nerve within you. In your new position, he somehow hits deeper - his
wide cock splaying open your inner walls in the most delicious manner.

“P-Please,” you gasp.

Your plea is all he needs.

Manoeuvring himself above you, he repositions himself into a kneeling position. Large hands fall
to your thighs and, hooking them around his waist, Namjoon pulls you into his hips. Sliding across
the bed, the dewy folds of your sex press flush against his pubic bone, Namjoon burying his cock
as deep as humanely possible within you. Unable to contain yourself, you whimper out his name.
Undone by the sound, calloused hands grip your hips before Namjoon begins plunging into your
velvet depths. His thighs slap against the plump globes of your ass with each thrust, the sound of
skin smacking against skin resonating through the air.

Wild euphoria swallows you whole, hot flashes of feverish heat surging through you. Urgently, you
begin moving, your hips thrusting into his from below, his shaft impaling you over and over again.
Your hands fall to your sides, your hands fisting into his sheets as you lose yourself into the
sensation of his unrelenting, immense girth spearing into the sheath of your wet, rippling heat.
With a well placed thrust, he hits particularly deep, the tip of his crown dragging against your
sweet spot before battering into your cervix.

“Goddess, you are unbelievably tight,” Namjoon groans when you involuntarily squeeze around
him.

A coil twists and curls within your abdomen and gradually, you feel yourself climb the precipice of
your orgasm once more. The slow burn of pleasure thrumming within you heights with each thrust,
electric heat arcing over your nerve endings before spilling into your bloodstream. Goosebumps
prickle at your skin, the hairs on your arms standing on edge. Breath turning ragged, you gasp
Namjoon’s name as he ceaselessly impales his cock into your willing warmth. Your hips writhe
against his faster, each roll a little wilder, each swivel more unrestrained than the last as you
attempt to chase your rising high.

Despite the overwhelming, uncontrolled ecstasy that flushes through you—his cock stroking every
erogenous spot inside you—it’s not enough and your neglected clit vehemently pulsates.

“N-Namjoon,” you call out to him. Throat dry from your laboured breath, you struggle to vocalise
your need. Nevertheless, sensitively attuned to your soul, Namjoon easily deciphers your
inarticulate request.

Deft palms release your hips and instead, taking your hand within his, he laces your fingers
together. Bringing it up to his lips, he presses reverential kisses to each of your knuckles. Once he’s
venerated the back of your hand in his affection, Namjoon turns your hand over and presses kisses
to the tips of your fingers. Throughout his adoration, he continues thrusting into you, drawing out
your pleasure and forcing you to climb higher and higher to your peak. The tender devotion he
showers upon you causes your heart to flutter, the emotion mingling with the pleasure he reaps
onto you.

“Are you cumming, my love?” Namjoon murmurs, his breath wafting over your digits. You nod
your head frantically.

The telltale veil of bliss tinges the seams of your being, a raging inferno of hunger and need blazing
through you. Namjoon’s cock hits every single nerve within you, pulsating shaft and throbbing
veins dragging against your walls, his wide girth forcing them flush against your trembling walls.
Mouth dry, you gasp for air. Black spots blur your vision when the hand that previously held yours
moves to press against the outline of his cock which distorts your belly. The action reflexively
causes your walls to tighten, emphasising the sheer girth splitting your innermost walls open.

Rhythmically, the walls of your pussy contract around his shaft and, feeling you tighten, Namjoon
falls forward. Under his weight, the corded muscles of his arm ripple, his abdomen and thighs
similarly flexing as he continues pumping himself into you. Losing himself in the heat of your
cunt, however, his once cadenced pace falters, his thrusts becoming more erratic. Namjoon feels
his own end near, the trembling wetness of your pussy, paired with the constricting tightness,
causing his balls to clench.

“Do you wanna cum for me, my love?” Namjoon asks. Once again, you nod your head. The hand
on your womb presses down harder, the feel of his cock inside of you intensifying. “Do you want
me to cum inside you, love? Does my future Empress want me to fill her womb with my seed?”
Namjoon questions.

“Goddess—Please. Please,” you pant. Your thighs curl around his hips, the balls of your heels
digging into the taut flesh of his ass in a bid to pull him deeper into you—deep enough for him to
bathe the entirety of your uterus in his seed.

Elbow bending, Namjoon’s arm flexes as he draws nearer to you. Mouth hovering by the outer
shell of your ear, he nibbles at the cartilage, his laboured breathing heavy against your eardrum.

“Say it again, love. Tell me how much you want to bear my heirs,” Namjoon urges.

The rich baritone resonates through your ear, sparks of pleasure jolting straight to your core. An
almost animalistic urgency grips his voice, his thrusts slowing down into a hard, ruthless grind as
he attempts to breach the entrance of your womb. Jolts of pain surge through you, the sensation
causes your body to lurch. Jaw slackening, you moan in a mix of discomfort and bliss. Your throat
tightens, the walls of your cunt imitating the contraction.

“Fill me with your cum. Bathe my womb with your essence, until I have no choice but to bear your
offspring.” The words rush out of your mouth in an instant, blissful elation loosening your tongue.
They come out slightly slurred, thin rivulets of saliva dribbling from the corners of your mouth.

“Fill me with your cum. Bathe my womb with your essence, until I have no choice but to bear your
offspring.” The words rush out of your mouth in an instant, blissful elation loosening your tongue.
They come out slightly slurred, thin rivulets of saliva dribbling from the corners of your mouth.

“Fuck,” Namjoon curses. Splaying his fingers over your abdomen, he strokes the distended flesh.
“You’ll look so beautiful carrying my children,” he murmurs.

“Please,” you whimper. Just the thought of it had your womb aching—your uterine flesh trembling
as though it were begging to be filled by his seed.

“I’m going to cum inside you, my love. Bathe your womb in my essence just like you wish,”
Namjoon growls.

Taking the cartilage of your ear between his front teeth, he bites down a little harder, the pain
causing you to whine out his name. Abruptly, his hips drive forward, a choked sob tearing from
your lips when the unrelenting head of his cock threatens to penetrate the opening of your cervix.
Seeing the way the flesh of your stomach bulges, his cockhead jabbing into the air through your
flesh, Namjoon forces his palm right against that spot.

“Right here, my love. I’m going to flood you with my cum right here,” Namjoon asserts.
Throughout it all, you teeter on the brink of ecstasy. Eyes welling with tears, your features scrunch
in pleasure.

“Please,” comes your dry sob.

The hand on your abdomen slips down your body and into the apex of your thighs. Adroit fingers
immediately locate your clit. Pressing the pads of his fingertips to your tumescent, viciously
pulsing bud, Namjoon rolls the bundle of nerves in tight, furious circles.

Instantly, you careen off of the precipice and dive head first into your orgasm.

Overcome by rapture, unrestrained ecstasy caroms through you. White-hot barbs of elated euphoria
prickles at your skin; a blistering sear flushing through your veins. A high-pitched cry tears from
your throat as your orgasm surges through you. Wave after after of pure bliss crashes through you
and swept into its overwhelming undertow, you float off into your high. Clenching into a vice-like
grip, your walls tighten around Namjoon almost painfully, the erratic contractions causing
Namjoon to groan.

Defenceless against the feel of your vehemently rippling cunt, Namjoon ruthlessly drives his cock
into you. Through the veneer of your ecstasy, you feel a sharp thrum of pain, your hips bucking in
response. Immediately, Namjoon’s hips press into yours, his weight pinning you down and forcing
you to take his cock deeper into you.

Then, with one, almost brutal, thrust, Namjoon invades your uterus, his cock thoroughly burying its
head into your womb.

Under the unrelenting pressure of his indurated cockhead, the soft walls of your cervix splay open,
the constricting flesh sucking him into you, until it envelops him to his frenulum. As you feel him
pierce through the tight opening of your womb, a burning sear flares around your cunt. The sharp
pain blends with the euphoric rapture of your climax, and just as you begin the descend into post-
orgasmic bliss, another furious wave of elation ricochets through you. Violently, your back
contorts off the bed, your entire body convulsing from your third, sudden orgasm. A hoarse, pained
cry of ecstasy penetrates the air, the raw, tender muscles of your oesophagus straining under the
sound.

Undone by the sensation of your orgasming cunt, Namjoon roars. Abruptly, Namjoon’s cock
swells, the girth causing the walls of your cervix to pull apart further. Then, with a shudder of his
back, he cums. Rope after viscous rope of Namjoon’s cum engulf your womb, the thick essence
painting your inner walls white as he floods your flesh with his seed. His cock erupts directly into
your cervix, your uterine flesh trembling as it greedily soaks in his cum. Heat pools within your
stomach, the warmth of his semen radiating through your inner depths. Through it all, Namjoon
continuously strums your clit—revelling in the sensation both your pussy, and your womb, milking
his shaft for all its worth.

All of a sudden, you’re overloaded with stimulus, and your clit growing over-sensitised, you wail in
protest. Through the veil of your orgasm, your hands jerk and, wrapping around Namjoon’s wrist,
you attempt to push him away from you. Nevertheless, limbs weakened by rapture, you barely
muster enough strength to move his fingers from your clit. Thus, sobbing uncontrollably—tears of
overstimulated bliss soaking into your hairline—you weep for him.

“N-No m-more,” you wail, the sound ragged and dry. Your protest breaks through the veneer of
his own orgasm and forcibly pulling himself out of its intoxicating haze, Namjoon pulls his hand
away from your pussy.

Slowly coming to, Namjoon blinks repeatedly in a bid to clear the white-spots that blind his vision.
When he finally manages to clear the fog of euphoria, he’s surprised by the sobbing, overwhelmed
sight of you. Rolling over, he flops onto the bed beside you. Then, turning onto his side, he gathers
your trembling form within his arms. Instinctively, you curl into him. The tacky, sweat-soaked skin
of your chest melds into him, your face burrowing into the strong definition of his chest. Namjoon
wraps his arms around you, one slipping under your body to curl around your back while the other
protectively envelops your shoulders.

“Shhh. You’re okay, my love. I’ve got you,” Namjoon gently coos.

Nuzzling his nose into the hair at the top of your skull, he whispers sweet everythings, his breath
fanning across the matted roots. Fingertips ghosting over your skin, he traces indolent shapes into
your skin as he soothingly cajoles you back to reality. Desperately, you still cling to him. Nose
running down your face, Namjoon begins peppering kisses down the contour of your cheekbone,
over your jaw and towards your neck. With each tender caress of his lips, he murmurs comforting
words of praise and tender sentiments of love; the raspy husk of his voice quietly coaxing you
down from your high.

Unceasing, you drift on the wave of your rapture, your body quivering from the aftershocks of your
intense orgasm. Eventually, however, the fog begins subsiding and through its fugue, you vaguely
register the throaty rasp of Namjoon’s coos. The scent of the night sky, vetiver, and myrrh break
through next, the already intoxicating fragrance mingling with the laden headiness of sex. Focusing
on your senses, you allow Namjoon to pull you out of the overwhelming tide of orgasmic bliss and
after a few short moments, his voice rings clear in your ear.

Pillowy folds skim over your skin, his lips lavishing kisses across your shoulders. Dexterous hands
ghost over your spine, his fingertips chartering listless geometric patterns within the surface of
your skin. Soft breath fans over your skin, the warmth wafting the sheen of perspiration that glazes
your flesh. Enveloped in his strong embrace, you slowly come to. Your limbs slacken, your thighs
unfastening from around his hips before you bury your face further between the brawn of his pecs.
Your tears have long since stopped, the wet trails drying on your cheeks as you snivel against his
sternum.

“Namjoon,” you slur. Your love hums above you.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, his lips moving to kiss the edge of your shoulder.

“I love you,” you mumble. You feel him smile against you.

“I love you too,” he responds, unhesitant.

When he feels the erratic clenching of your nether walls cease, Namjoon carefully pulls his hips
back. His movement causes his cock to retreat from within your velvet depths. The seam of his
crown tugs against the resistance of your cervix, a hiss spilling from your grit teeth when he forces
the taut aperture to widen around his girth once more. Ripples of pain flitter over your walls and as
Namjoon’s cockhead drags over the over-sensitised flesh, your hiss turns into a whimper.
Gradually, he vacates your cunt. As your sex pulls together once more, the emptiness of your core
grows apparent—a sudden void dwelling within.

After a few, long, drawn-out moments, Namjoon’s head slips from the ringed walls of your pussy
with a soft pop. Immediately, a viscid river of cum pours out of you, his seed flooding out of you in
a steady stream. The sensation causes your eyes to widen. You wiggle away from him and look
down at your body, only to gawk when you notice the way your distended stomach empties. His
seed gushes out of you and onto the bed, your hips squirming at the uncomfortable feeling. Rolling
onto your back, you press your palm to your womb in awe, the change in your position narrowly
slowing down the outpouring.

Despite the amount of cum that had emptied from your depths—Namjoon’s cockhead acting as a
dam that had kept it trapped—there’s still the fainted swell in the skin above your womb.
Intrigued, you push down on it, only to moan when another surge of his essence spills out of the
pulsating entrance to your cunt and onto the mattress below. His seed coats the inner flesh of your
thighs, your nose wrinkling at the stickiness.

“By Esris, Namjoon…” you murmur. Disbelief apparent in your inflexion, Namjoon exhales in
amusement. He rolls onto his side, his arm coiling around your body as he lays his hand flat over
your stomach. Cupping your womb, he gently strokes the swollen skin.

“You did beg for my seed,” he remarks. The smugness of his tone causes you to roll your eyes.

“I did not expect there to be so much of it,” you counter. Namjoon chuckles and as his chest
reverberates against your ribcage, a warm fuzziness blooms within your stomach.

“You did choose the Sacred Moon as your lover,” he quips. Your eyebrow quirks.

“By that sentiment, am I to believe the Heavenly Moon has more impressive reproductive
capabilities?” you deadpan. Instantly, Namjoon’s face twists into a grimace. His expression of
disgust causes you to burst into laughter, only to wince when the rawness of your throat protests the
sound.

“Please do not bring up my father while we are naked and in bed ever again,” Namjoon gripes.

“Duly noted,” you giggle. Namjoon’s nose burrows further into your hair. Delicately, his fingers
flit over your abdomen, the digits etching invisible shapes into your skin. Exhaustion suddenly
claims you, the leisured touch of Namjoon’s fingertips lulling you to sleep.

“I cannot wait till your stomach is swollen with my seed. You’ll be a vision as you carry my heirs,”
Namjoon breathes.

You exhale a soft murmuration of noise, the sound a mix between a breathy snore and an
inarticulate moan. Namjoon merely smiles and, pulling you closer—both your hands pressed to
your stomach—he allows you to slip into your slumber.

A brisk gale flutters through the air, a crisp bite carried on its back. It coils around you, the gelid
nip stinging at your skin. Features scrunching, you attempt to ignore the chill. Instead, you burrow
into the hard, unyielding warmth laid flush against your back. Before sleep can claim you once
more, a bright light spills over your face, the stark brightness falling directly into your eyes. With a
groan of protest, you squint an eyelid open. Bleary visioned—the thick of your slumber still hazing
your mind—you peer at your surroundings.

You expect to see the crepuscular umbrage of the Gloaming Forest.

You expect to see feathered appendages, a wing that shields your eyes from the first glimmer of
daybreak.

Instead, you’re met with the sight of the sky, the first rays of dawn breaking over the horizon.
It’s almost morning.

Stirring wide awake, you jolt into an upright position. Beside you, Namjoon groans. His arm falls
to your lap, his hand dropping from its perch on your bare breast. Instantly, the events of the
previous night rush through you and recollecting your memories, you breathe in relief.

For a moment, you had thought you were in the forest.

Turning to the side, you watch as Namjoon’s eyelids flutter, the dark of his lashes kissing his
cheeks as he dreams a sweet dream. A small smile curls onto your lips. You bend over, your lips
grazing against his for a fleeting moment. Your action causes Namjoon’s eyes to scrunch and you
watch as he rouses from his own slumber. Before he can awake, however, a soft light spills through
the archway and into the chamber.

Inhaling sharply, you turn back to face the balcony.

Nervousness roils your gut.

Unable to help yourself, you slip out of bed. The second the bare soles of your feet touch the
marble of his floor, a shiver runs up your spine. Early morning chill rife in the air, goosebumps
prickle your skin, your nipples twisting to hardness. You open your mouth to utter a spell to clothe
yourself. However, before your tongue can even form the incantation, you pause. You expect to
feel a sticky discomfort between your thighs, from the remnant flood of Namjoon’s cum.
Nonetheless, all you feel is clean, uncovered skin. Glancing at your lover, you smile softly. He
must have cleaned the two of you up before he’d fallen asleep.

Once you solve the mystery of your stainless thighs, you move to utter the incantation. However,
once more, you pause—something lustrous catching the corner of your eye. There, on a chaise—
just a short distance from the bed—lies the most luxurious robe you’ve ever laid eyes upon.
Curiously, you walk towards it and, picking up the cloth, you slip it onto your body, only to awe at
it. The sheer, diaphanous fabric dons your frame in swathes of silver-threaded silk and as it adheres
seamlessly to your curves, you wonder if Namjoon had it specially prepared for you.

Now dressed, you quietly pad over to the balcony—your body easily phasing through the thin
barrier of magic that impedes the elements from entering Namjoon’s bedroom.

Stepping onto the terrace, you suck in a deep breath. The Empire of Lunaerius spans the distance,
rooftops of houses and buildings stretching as far as the eye can see, their architecture enclosed
within the mountains at the far border of the domain. After six years, its landscape is foreign to
you, the slate roofs and natural stone walls a stark contrast to the endless span of trees and
shrubbery that you had grown accustomed to. You stride closer to the edge of the balcony, your
hands resting on the cool bannister of the marmoreal balustrade.

In the far distance, the sun rises over the mountain. Overhead, the sky is painted in the dazzling
colours of the aurora; vivid shades of citrine, nacarat and carmine variegating the beryl firmament.
The burning star climbs into the welkin, its lurid hues spilling over the land of Lunaerius. As the
first rays of crimson-hued light cascade over the balcony of the Selenic Palace, the lurid shafts
fracturing through the skyline, you inhale a sharp breath. Languorously the croceate radiance
creeps towards you, the leading sunbeams first reflecting off of the palace’s moonstone walls.

With bated breath, you anticipate for its radiance to stream over you.

You don’t have to wait long.

Within moments, its refulgent heat scatters over you and instantly, the breath is stolen from your
lungs. Closing your eyes, you soak in the sunlight, its warmth touching your skin for the first time
in six years. The muscles of your oesophagus constrict, bile rising in the back of your throat as
emotion overwhelms you. As you bask in its radiance—the torrid caress of its gilded light
incomparable to any other sensation—you feel a presence behind you. Corded arms curl around
your waist, a soft cheek pressing to your shoulder. The scent of the night sky mingles with that of
the dawn and inhaling deep—earthy notes of vetiver and spiced ones of myrrh entwined within—
you sink into Namjoon.

“Did I wake you?” you ask. Namjoon hums.

“I missed you,” he mumbles, sleep still thick in his tenor.

“I have only been gone a few moments,” you laugh breathily. He hums once more.

“Any moment you are absent from my arms, is a moment too long,” comes his immediate answer.
Love blooms deep within your chest, its warmth coalescing with that of the sun. Before you can
reply, Namjoon lifts his cheek from your shoulder, only to rest his chin on your head.

“Why are you awake?” he asks. Opening your eyes, you look into the distance. In the moments you
had indulged in its fervour, the sun had risen further into the sky. You reach one arm to the
firmament, your fingers stretching towards the burning star—as if you were trying to grasp it.

“It has been six years since I have felt the sun on my skin,” you murmur. The arm reaching for the
sun drops, moving to lay across Namjoon’s. “Thank you,” you breathe.

“For what?” he questions.

“For everything,” you reply. Turning in his arms, you manoeuvre so you’re facing him.

You’re met with the sight of your near-naked lover, the white sheet loosely wrapped around his
hips the only thing keeping his decency. Burnished in the croceate luminescence of the sun, he
glimmers gold—the aurulent light intensifying the brassy undertone of his complexion. Opal eyes
galvanise with a vermeil hue, his irised depths gleaming with a sublimity that steals your breath.
Tender love effulgent within the nacre depths, your inhale shakily.

“I love you,” you profess. Voluptuous lips curl into a lazy smile, the corner seam splitting to reveal
his teeth. Lowering his face, his mouth finds purchase against yours. Your kiss is soft, and slow,
and broken all too soon—Namjoon’s folds pulling away from yours, even as you chase them.

“I love you too,” he murmurs. He raises his head, his nose brushing yours as his lips move to skim
the space between your eyebrows. “And if you have missed the sun that much, I will shower you in
its warmth,” he vows.

You can’t help but laugh airily. The sound muffling when Namjoon cuts you off with another kiss.

“I will show you the world,” he continues.

“Namjoon.” You look at him pointedly.

“I mean it, my love. I will show you the entirety of Far Far Away; everything you have missed in
those six years you spent in the Gloaming Forest,” he promises. Your face softens. Hands dropping
to your hips, he turns you, so you’re facing the Empire once more.

“I will show you every wonder beyond this horizon. The Ever Waterfalls and the Gelzen Pool of
 the Aetherys Empire. The Faerie Courts of Elfhame. The magic fortress of Castle Fox in Axotia.”
As he begins listing various kingdoms and cities, Namjoon's hand stretches into the distance.

“I will show you it all, my love. Until the memories of your curse are so far removed, you no
longer remember its pain, nor its loneliness,” he finishes with a heavy breath.

Once he’s finished, Namjoon’s arms once more coil around your body, his chin perching on the
top of your skull. Silence befalls you, the stillness comfortable as you bask in each other’s
presence.

And as the sun continues its ascent, you know that despite the bitter solitude and crushing agony of
your six years, your future would be one of eternal love and ceaseless joy.

And you would be right.

Because you lived… Happily Ever After.

End Notes

AND THAT'S ALL SHE WROTE FOLKS :D

I SINCERELY HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED IT. PLEASE DON'T FORGET TO LEAVE
A COMMENT I WILL LOVE U FOREVER ♡

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