Celeste found him in the garden ruins at dawn.
Alaric stood amid the skeletal rose bushes, his back rigid, as if the morning light might scorch him. The remnants of a stone fountain lay between them, its basin choked with dead leaves.
"Charming," Celeste said, kicking a broken statue. "Did you murder the landscaping staff too?"
"It was a wedding gift," he said quietly. "Destroyed the night the curse began."
She stilled. "You mean the night you stopped aging."
A breeze stirred his silver hair. "Sentiment is a weakness."
"Then why keep the ruins?" She stepped closer. "Why not walk away?"
His fingers flexed. "Some oaths can't be broken."
"Or won't."
Their eyes locked. For a second, she thought she saw it—loneliness, vast and yawning. Then he turned to stone again.