Aurelia learned quickly that fear in the palace was not loud.
It did not scream or run or beg.
Fear whispered.
It lingered in the way servants hesitated before stepping too close to her. In the way guards stiffened whenever she passed near the king's chambers. In the way doors were opened for her and closed again with quiet finality, as if the palace itself feared proximity.
Especially at night.
That evening, she was summoned again.
Not to court.
Not to the council.
To the king's private wing.
The maid who escorted her did not speak. Her hands trembled slightly as she opened the heavy doors and gestured Aurelia inside. The moment the doors shut behind her, the silence pressed in—thick, intimate, and unmistakably dangerous.
The chamber was dimly lit, illuminated by a low-burning hearth and a single candelabra near the bed. Kael stood near the window, his back to her, dark hair loose instead of bound by the crown.
He looked less like a king here.
More like a man alone with something that refused to leave him.
"You spoke boldly today," he said without turning. "Do you regret it?"
Aurelia swallowed, steadying herself. "No."
Kael turned slowly. His gaze swept over her—assessing, guarded, unreadable.
"You should," he replied. "Bold queens die faster."
"Then it's fortunate I don't intend to die," she said.
A pause.
Then—quiet laughter.
It startled her more than anger would have.
"You really don't understand where you are," Kael said, stepping closer. "This palace devours people like you."
"People like me?" Aurelia asked softly.
"People who believe they can change fate."
He stopped a few steps away. Close enough that she could feel the heat of him. Close enough that instinct told her to step back.
She didn't.
"If fate were unchangeable," she said, "you wouldn't still be alive."
Something flickered behind his eyes—sharp, dangerous, wounded.
"You are here because of fate," he said. "And fate is cruel."
"I know," Aurelia replied. "It dragged me here without permission."
Kael studied her for a long moment, as though seeing her properly for the first time.
"You were warned," he said. "About the curse."
"Yes."
"And you still stand close to me."
"Yes."
His jaw tightened. "You shouldn't."
Slowly—deliberately—he lifted his hand.
Aurelia's breath caught.
Every instinct screamed at her to flee. She had been told what happened to queens who forgot themselves. To women who allowed affection, comfort, or closeness.
But she stayed still.
Kael's fingers hovered inches from her arm.
The air between them changed.
It thickened—vibrated.
The candle flames flickered violently. Shadows crawled along the walls. A sharp, icy sensation washed through the room, as though something unseen had awakened.
Aurelia felt it then.
The curse.
It pressed against her chest like a warning, cold and heavy, whispering death in a language older than fear.
Kael hissed and pulled his hand back sharply, as though burned.
The shadows recoiled.
Silence crashed down.
"You felt that," he said hoarsely.
"Yes," Aurelia whispered. Her heart pounded violently, but she was still standing. Still breathing. Still alive.
Kael stared at her hand—at the place he had nearly touched.
"You should be dead," he said quietly.
Aurelia looked at herself too.
She was unharmed.
"I don't feel dead," she replied.
His expression hardened, not with anger—but with something dangerously close to hope.
"No," he said immediately, turning away. "Do not mistake survival for immunity."
"But—"
"Enough," he snapped. "This is not a miracle. It is a delay."
Aurelia stepped forward despite herself. "Then why didn't it kill me?"
Kael's hands curled into fists. "Because curses enjoy patience."
He faced her again, eyes dark. "Listen to me carefully. You are not to touch me. Not intentionally. Not accidentally. Not ever."
She hesitated. "And if I do?"
"You will die," he said without hesitation. "And I will not watch another woman bleed for daring to care."
The words struck deeper than she expected.
"I don't care for you," Aurelia said softly. "Not like that."
"Yet," Kael replied.
The certainty in his voice made her chest tighten.
He moved past her then, opening the door.
"You may go," he said. "You have done enough damage for one night."
Aurelia paused at the threshold and looked back.
"Your Majesty," she said quietly, "you flinched first."
His back stiffened.
She left before he could respond.
That night, Aurelia lay awake again, staring at the ceiling, replaying the moment the curse had stirred—and failed.
It reacted, she thought. But it didn't claim me.
For the first time since waking in this world, fear gave way to something else.
Possibility.
And somewhere in the palace, alone in the dark, King Kael Blackthorn stared at his hand and wondered why the curse had hesitated.