he had never brought a woman here before.

the cavern beneath the earth pulsed with a forgotten warmth, a space carved by hands older than memory. stone walls stretched high above her resting body, lit only by the low burn of enchanted flames. they did not flicker like natural fire — they breathed.

she lay in the center of it all. bare feet tucked beneath furs, lips parted in shallow sleep. her skin still bore the faded traces of the curse, raw and delicate, but no longer bleeding. no longer screaming. he had drawn it out slowly. with oils. with words. with fingers that had learned gentleness through centuries of silence.

she was not healed. she was claimed. the scent of her lingered on his palms — the bitter tang of her pain, the softness of her breath, the faint sweetness of her skin as the curse loosened its grip. his shadows moved across the walls like jealous things, clinging to her outline.

he sat beside her again that night, as he had each night before. she had begun to stir more. to wake in fragments. to dream with her hands clenched in the furs.

but tonight — tonight was different.

her lashes fluttered. her chest rose with deeper rhythm. the line of her throat was exposed, pulsing just beneath fragile skin. his fingers reached, unthinking. they brushed a strand of hair from her brow and lingered there. the touch was nothing. but it changed everything.

his voice, unused for days, broke the silence. low. firm. barely above a growl. "you will not leave me." he didn’t need her answer. not yet. the forest wouldn’t let her go, even if he did. but he wouldn’t, not now. not after this. not after watching her decay, and breathing life back into her with his own hands.

her body had belonged to a throne. her blood to a family that poisoned itself with envy. but here—here, in the underbelly of the earth, in a home built for shadows and silence. she belonged to him, and slowly, she would come to know it.