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The Blade and the Bound

The palace floor was colder than I remembered, its stones biting into my bare feet as I stood before the court in silence, a thousand eyes slicing me open. But it wasn't the nobles I feared. It was him.

Dominic Thorne.

The King's Consort.

The kingdom's executioner.

And now, mine.

He hadn't moved since the royal decree had been read, hadn't even flinched when they spoke the words that bound us. His face, carved from ice and steel, betrayed nothing. Not curiosity. Not disgust. Not interest.

Just… silence.

I stood still, trembling only slightly as the crown pulsed against my temples. It had accepted me; an orphaned servant girl with bloodstains still beneath her nails but no one else had. Least of all him.

"She is untrained," one of the elders muttered. "Unfit."

"Cursed," whispered another. "The last queen died screaming in that same crown."

I looked up, meeting Dominic's eyes across the chamber.

They were dark. Unreadable. A storm with no thunder yet.

"Come forward," he commanded finally.

His voice cracked through the silence, low and deep, like something ancient stirring in the crypts below us. I stepped forward on instinct alone, the weight of the crown and the eyes of the court heavy on my shoulders.

He stood at the edge of the throne dais, sword still strapped to his back, cloak brushing the marble. I had heard stories about him, how his blade never missed, how he served the crown and no one else not even the king who died by betrayal last moon.

"Do you know what this means?" he asked, voice quiet but sharp.

"That I belong to you," I said before I could stop myself.

The room inhaled all at once.

But Dominic didn't move. Not a blink. Not a breath.

"No," he said, stepping down the dais until we stood eye to eye. "It means I protect you… even if I don't believe in you."

My breath hitched.

His hand raised slowly not to touch, but to draw the blade from his back. The sound of metal sang through the air, clean and unforgiving.

"You wear the crown now," he said, resting the flat of the blade against my shoulder. "And the crown makes enemies."

I didn't flinch.

He lowered the blade.

"I'll keep them from cutting your throat, Your Majesty. But don't mistake protection for affection."

I swallowed, throat dry. "And if I fall?"

"Then you'll fall alone."

But when he turned his back on me and walked away, I saw it.

The smallest hesitation in his step.

The faintest twitch in his jaw.

And I knew…

He was already breaking his own vow.

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