Thorns of the Forsworn

The thorns knew his heart better than he did.

They curled around his neck, pressed into his skin with every flicker of emotion, bleeding him dry. Eric had long learned to stop feeling. To stop wanting.

Until her.

Kaely stood at the edge of his throne room, wrapped in crimson and shadows, her skin kissed by moonlight, her presence a firestorm in his carefully numb existence. Her gaze—fearless, mournful, curious—cut deeper than the thorns ever could.

“You dream of mercy,” she whispered. “But mercy doesn’t belong to monsters like us.”

Eric’s voice was low, rasped by centuries of silence. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I was meant to be sacrificed, wasn’t I?” she said, walking slowly toward him. “But you didn’t let them kill me. Why?”

His jaw tightened. The thorns on his chest coiled, tighter, tighter. Blood welled beneath the leather of his armor.

“I don’t know,” he lied.

She stopped before him, lifting her hand. He flinched when her fingers brushed his cheek. The vines reacted violently—spikes bursting, crimson splattering the black stone floor.

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

“I should fear you,” she murmured, “but I don’t.”

“You should,” he whispered.

“I know.”

The days that followed were a blur of defiance and unraveling. Kaely refused to be a prisoner. She roamed the obsidian halls of his castle with grace and boldness. She read from the forbidden texts, uncovered the ancient curse that bound him—the Curse of Thorns, forged by a jealous god who decreed that love was weakness, and weakness must bleed.

The curse was simple in its cruelty: If he loves, he bleeds. If he is loved in return, she dies.

And yet, love bloomed anyway. Slowly. Brutally. Beautifully.

They danced in shadows, kissed beneath the blood moon, spoke in silence with glances that screamed of longing. Every time Kaely touched him, the thorns tore deeper. Every time she smiled, he ached.

“I will die,” she told him once, eyes shining with defiance, “and I will still choose you.”

“I would rather burn the world,” he said, “than watch you fall for my sake.”

So he made a choice.

He summoned the Thorn Council.

“I will end this,” he announced. “I will sever the curse.”

They laughed.

“You will die,” they hissed. “Or worse—she will.”

“I don’t care,” he said.

But before he could act, Kaely stole his dagger and slit her palm—pressing her bleeding hand to his heart.

The thorns screamed. They burst from his chest like black serpents, writhing, flailing, desperate to defend their host. But Kaely didn’t flinch. She stepped into them.

She let them wrap around her. Pierce her. Bind her.

Eric roared, lunging forward—but it was too late.

She chose the curse.

She accepted it.

And something ancient shattered.

The thorns, now bound to two hearts, twisted and fused—not to punish—but to protect. They weaved a crown upon her brow, coiled like a lover’s embrace around her limbs. Where once there had been pain, now there was fire—divine, infernal, eternal.

Eric caught her as she swayed, her eyes fluttering open in his arms.

“You fool,” he whispered, voice trembling. “You’ve damned yourself.”

“No,” she smiled, brushing his face with a blood-streaked hand. “I’ve saved us.”

Epilogue:

The war between realms never ended. It transformed.

From the ashes of gods and men, rose two throned shadows, crowned in flame and thorn.

Eric, the Forsworn King of Crimson.

Kaely, the Thorn Queen of Slavia.

Together, they ruled a world that no longer believed in light or dark—only devotion.

And love.

Bloody, cursed, everlasting.

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