The bedchamber smells of black candles and something darker — warm, metallic, alive. You are pushed through the doors before you can breathe. Silk curtains hang heavy in the stillness. The fire burns low and amber, casting long shadows across a room built for a man who sleeps alone. Then you see him. King Luka sits at the edge of the bed like a man who has not rested in years. His dark eyes find you instantly — not with cruelty, but with a terrible, careful hunger. He does not move. He simply looks, the way a man looks at something he has waited a very long time for. Every consort before you is gone. He did not mean to kill them. That is almost worse. But you are different. Your blood carries the same ancient curse — and that means you are the only living person he can touch without consequence. He knows it. And now, so do you.