Chapter 6 A QUEEN.
Venessa’s POV.
The King—Dante, though he hadn’t given me permission to use his name didn't move for a long time.
He stood in the center of that damp, hidden room, his chest heaving.
"You should have let him do it," he said, his voice a low, rough scrape against my nerve.
I leaned against the stone wall, my heart finally slowing down. "You have a really annoying habit of telling me what I should have done. I’m still alive, Rick is gone, and you’re still standing. I’d call that a win."
"It’s not a win," he snapped, turning to face me. The blue in his eyes was turbulent, like a storm hitting a lake. "The Red Moon is tonight. Rick wasn't just being a psychopath, he was being a pragmatist. The prophecy says the curse requires a sacrifice. A life for a life."
I looked at the discarded journal on the floor. "The prophecy was written by men who were probably terrified of their own shadows. I don't believe in dying for a 'maybe.'"
I walked over to the stone basin in the center of the room. The water inside was pitch black, reflecting the tiny sliver of blood-red light coming from the high window.
"How do we start?" I asked.
Dante stepped into the light. He looked exhausted.
The black veins on his chest were no longer just lines; they were raised, pulsing under his skin like living worms. "We don't 'start' anything, Venessa. There is no ritual in these books that doesn't end with you on an altar. I won't do it."
"Then we find a middle ground," I said, reaching for his hand.
He flinched back. "Every time you touch me, you take some of it into yourself. I felt it earlier. You’re absorbing the rot, Venessa. It’ll kill you slower than a blade, but it’ll kill you all the same."
"I felt it too," I admitted, looking at my palm. The faint line was gone, replaced by a dull, throbbing ache. "But I also felt it stop. When I touched you at breakfast, the shadow retreated. It just... paused."
I stepped closer, invading his space until I could smell the woodsmoke and salt on his skin. "I’m not a sacrifice, Dante.”
With a nod from him, we began the ritual.
It wasn't a grand ceremony with chanting priests and incense. It was just two broken people in a cellar, terrified of what would become of the great king.
Dante sat on the floor, leaning his back against the wall.
I sat between his legs, my back to his chest. It was the most intimate I had ever been with him, and the bond was nearly keeping me breathless.
It felt like an invisible force pressing us together.
"The book says we have to channel the energy through the bond," he whispered near my ear. My breath hitched.
“If it gets too much... if you feel your heart starting to slow... you have to let go. Promise me."
"Just shut up and focus," I said , even though my hands were shaking.
I reached back and grabbed his hands, interlacing our fingers then I pulled his arms around my waist, pressing his palms flat against my stomach. Took a deep breath and closed my eyes.
"Find the darkness," I whispered. "Bring it to me."
For a second, nothing happened. Then, I felt it.
It felt like someone had opened a vein and poured liquid ice into my blood.
I gasped, my head falling back on his shoulder.
The darkness didn't come in a wave; it came in a flood.
I saw images that weren't mine. I saw ancient wars, black forests, and a shadow that had been passed from King to King for a thousand years.
It was hungry. It was a void that wanted to eat everything light and warm.
Mine, the shadow whispered in my mind.
"No," I growled through gritted teeth.
I reached for that golden cord—the bond.
I grabbed it with everything I had and wrapped it around the darkness.
I didn't try to kill it. I couldn't. It was too big, too old.
Instead, I pushed. I pushed the shadow back into the corners of his soul, back into the cage it had escaped from.
Dante let out a choked scream, his grip tightening on my waist until I thought my ribs might crack.
The room grew colder. The candle blew out. In the dark, the only thing I could see was the red moonlight bleeding through the window, turning the floor the color of wine.
My heart was beating too fast and the shadow was fighting back.
It lunged at my heart, a sharp, cold spike of agony that made my vision go grey.
"Venessa! Let go!" Dante’s voice sounded like it was coming from miles away.
"Not... yet..."
I poured every ounce of my will into the bond. I used the memory of the way he had wiped his mouth at the altar. I used the anger I felt toward my father. I used the weird, desperate hope that had sparked when Dante had saved me from Rick.
I slammed the golden energy against the black tide.
Crack.
The sound echoed through the room like a gunshot.
A shockwave of power threw us both backward. I hit the stone floor hard, the air leaving my lungs in a wheeze.
Silence.
The red moonlight was still there, but the oppressive, heavy weight in the air had lifted.
I tried to sit up, my limbs feeling too much. "Dante?"
I heard a groan.
A few feet away, Dante was propped up on one elbow.
He looked like he had been through a war. His shirt was torn, and his skin was covered in sweat.
I crawled over to him, my hands trembling. I reached for his chest, fearing what I’d find.
The mark was still there.
My heart sank. The black veins were still etched into his skin, a permanent, ugly reminder of what ever it was.
It hadn't vanished. I hadn't cured him.
But when I looked closer, the veins weren't pulsing anymore. They were dull, like old scars. The oily, living movement was gone.
Dante looked down at himself, then at me. He looked... human. Still dangerous, still the King, but the "rotting" look had faded.
"It didn't work," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I couldn't get rid of it."
Dante reached out, his fingers brushing my cheek.
His touch was warm. Truly warm. For the first time, there was no coldness in his eyes.
"You didn't heal it," he said, his voice a low, awe-struck murmur. "But you stopped it. For the first time in ten years... it doesn't hurt. I can breathe."
I tried to smile, but a wave of dizziness washed over me.
I looked down at my own hands.
My veins were tinted a faint, smoky grey.
I hadn't destroyed the poison. I had shared it.
Dante saw it too. His expression shifted from relief to a guilt.
He grabbed my hands, his eyes searching mine. "Venessa... what have you done?"
"I told you," I said, my voice fading as the exhaustion finally won. "I’m not a sacrifice…”
I slumped forward, and this time, he didn't pull away. He caught me, pulling me into his lap and tucking my head under his chin.
He smelled like bourbon and, for the first time, a hint of something sweet—like rain on dry earth.
"You’re a fool," he whispered into my hair.
"And you're... still a jerk," I mumbled.
He didn't argue. He just held me tighter as the Red Moon reached its peak outside.
The curse wasn't broken, the King wasn't cured, and half the palace probably still wanted me dead.
But as I drifted off to sleep in the arms of the man who was supposed to be my end, I realize that maybe I could really love this man.