Chapter 3: The Twisted Bargain

The world dissolved into chaos and colour.

Elara felt as though she were being pulled through ice-cold silk and starlight. Colours she had no name for swirled around her—deep indigos bleeding into violent violets, silver threads of moonlight stitching the darkness together. Thorne’s arm remained locked around her waist like a band of iron, his body the only solid thing in the maelstrom. She could feel the hard planes of his chest pressed against her back, the cool brush of his silver hair against her cheek, and the steady thrum of ancient power radiating from him.

When the spinning finally stopped, Elara stumbled forward, knees hitting soft, moss-covered ground. Cool night air, thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and something sharper—like crushed starlight—filled her lungs. She pushed herself up, brushed tangled chestnut hair from her face, and looked around.

They stood in an enormous courtyard bathed in perpetual twilight. Towering trees with leaves of black and silver formed living arches overhead. Crystal lanterns floated lazily in the air, casting shifting patterns of light across marble paths veined with glowing purple. In the distance rose a palace that seemed carved from the night itself—obsidian spires spiralling upward, windows glowing with inner starfire, thorny vines climbing its walls like possessive lovers.

This was not her forest. This was not her world.

“Welcome to the Evernight Court,” Thorne said smoothly, his voice echoing with quiet satisfaction. He stood tall and regal, the rift behind him sealing shut with a soft whisper of magic. “Your home for the next year.”

Elara spun on him, fury and terror warring in her chest. “A year? You tricked me!”

Thorne’s black eyes glittered with amusement. He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until the heat of his presence made her skin prickle. “I did no such thing. You offered ‘whatever it takes.' The old magic is not known for its leniency toward desperate mortals. It simply… interpreted your words with enthusiasm.”

He lifted one of her wrists, tracing the glowing violet runes that now encircled it like a living bracelet. Where his finger touched, warmth bloomed—seductive, treacherous warmth that travelled up her arm and settled low in her belly.

“These marks bind you to our agreement,” he murmured. “They ensure you cannot run. They ensure you fulfil your part… or suffer the consequences.”

Elara yanked her arm back, but the runes pulsed in warning, sending a sharp sting through her veins. She hissed in pain.

Thorne clicked his tongue. “Careful, little mortal. The more you fight the bond, the tighter it becomes. Obey, and it will feel like silk upon your skin. Resist…” His smile sharpened. “And it will feel like thorns.”

Elara’s breath came fast and shallow. One year. Trapped here. Her mind raced to Lysa—safe now, waking to an empty house and no explanation. The thought nearly broke her.

“What exactly do you expect from me?” she demanded, forcing steel into her voice even as her body trembled.

Thorne began to circle her slowly, like a predator admiring his newest prize. “Everything. You will attend every court function at my side. You will participate in the Seven Trials of the Evernight—ancient tests of will, desire, and power. And most deliciously…” He stopped directly behind her, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “You will come to my bed whenever I summon you. Willingly or not, your body will learn to crave mine.”

A shiver raced down Elara’s spine. She hated how her nipples tightened beneath her simple wool dress, how the low timbre of his voice made heat pool between her thighs. This was wrong. He was a monster wearing beautiful skin.

“I will never crave you,” she spat.

Thorne laughed, low and rich. He stepped in front of her again and cupped her jaw with surprising gentleness, tilting her face up to his. “Oh, but you already do, sweet Elara. I can smell it on you. The fear… and the hunger beneath it.”

Before she could protest, he leaned down and claimed her mouth in a kiss that was anything but gentle.

It was possession. His lips were cool at first, then searing as magic flared between them. Elara gasped, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers with expert dominance. One hand tangled in her hair while the other pressed against the small of her back, pulling her flush against his hard body. She could feel the unmistakable ridge of his arousal pressing against her stomach.

For one treacherous moment, Elara kissed him back—lost in the taste of wild magic and midnight. Then reality crashed in, and she bit his lip hard.

Thorne pulled back with a dark chuckle, a tiny bead of black blood on his lower lip. He licked it away, eyes gleaming with approval rather than anger.

“Delightful,” he purred. “I do enjoy a mortal with fire. It makes extinguishing it so much more satisfying.”

The runes on her wrists flared brighter, sending waves of tingling pleasure through her body that nearly made her knees buckle. A soft, involuntary moan escaped her lips before she could stop it.

Thorne’s smile widened. “See? The bond already hungers for your surrender. Come.”

He offered his arm like a gentleman, though there was nothing gentlemanly in the hunger burning in his gaze. When Elara hesitated, the vines along the courtyard paths stirred, reaching toward her ankles in silent warning.

She took his arm.

As they walked toward the towering palace doors, Thorne leaned close and whispered, “The year has only just begun, Elara Voss. By the end of it, you will beg for my touch. You will wear my marks with pride. And when the final night comes… you may not wish to leave at all.”

The massive obsidian doors swung open without a sound, revealing a hall filled with fae nobility in shimmering silks and living shadows. All eyes turned toward them—curious, cruel, hungry.

Elara lifted her chin, heart pounding, as Prince Thorne led his new mortal prize into the heart of the Evernight Court.

The twisted bargain was sealed.

And the real game had only just started.

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