Page 95 of The Moonborn's Curse

Neither of them moved away.

But not everyone was pleased.

Lia stood to the side, her expression carved in frost. She wore the white flower crown like the rest, but it was crooked. She hadn't come near Seren once, but she had hovered just behind Hagan all day, her presence like a cold wind.

Dain too had been silent. Watchful. He had seen the kiss —Seren knew that by the way he looked at her like she'd taken something that didn't belong to her.

Earlier, he'd passed by with a glance and muttered under his breath, "Enjoy Lia's seconds while you can. She'll always be Hagan's first love."

Seren had turned, sharp. "And what does that make you? Her mouthpiece?"

He had gone stiff. His mouth opened—then shut—and he stalked off.

She regretted the words immediately. There had been pain in his eyes. The kind that developed over years of longing. No one knew more about that kind of agony than her.

The sacred pool was clear as air.

It lay at the edge of the forest, flanked by elder trees and a rise of mossy stones. Rumours whispered that it was a portal to another world—if you stepped in at the wrong moment, you'd be pulled into something older and stranger. No one stepped into the sacred waters, no matter the time of the day.

The pebbles at the bottom shimmered in every shade—violet, coral, pale blue. As the elder approached, the crowd quieted. The old man carried a bowl of enchanted ink, dark as night and glowing faintly from within. In his other hand, a bone needle carved with ancient runes.

The ceremony began with words—words Seren barely heard as she looked at Hagan beside her. He looked calm. Proud. And completely hers.

Her parents had wished to come but the unrest at the border had prevented it. Patrols had been attacked at the border—throats cut, stomachs sliced open. Fortunately, they held on with their shifter healing until they could be found after they had called for help through the tribelink. Draken had tightened the perimeter and looked drawn from the strain, though he said nothing as he stood off to the side.

Boden, Rheon, and Rhik were returning from the Seren's homeland. Two of them were bringing partners from Seren's bloodline to be bound through ritual and tribal ink. Her family was far away and that made Seren ache a little. To share this moment with people who understood both sides of her would have been perfect.

Still, today was not about who was missing—but who had become family.

The elder murmured over their hands, placing one atop the other.

Then came the needle.

The ink burned. Not like fire—but like something opening. A thread woven into skin and soul.

The twin halves of the knot—a mirrored looping design made from a single line—were etched into the inside of their wrists. The final dots sealed the bond.

It would last until death.

And as the crowd erupted in cheers and music started, Seren couldn't look away from Hagan. They smiled at each other, matching burns on their skin, matching wildness in their hearts.

The feast was long and noisy, with roasted meat, fruit wine, and songs that made little pups fall asleep under the tables. Seren laughed until her cheeks ached, danced until her toes went numb, and tried not to notice the moments Lia's gaze found hers across the firelight—cold, sharp, full of malice.

Hagan must have seen it too. He squeezed her hand, grounding her. "Give her time," he said.

"I will."

But the whispers were harder to ignore. About Lia being left behind. About how quickly Hagan had moved on.

Seren bit her cheek and said nothing.

Their cottage was tucked halfway between the oracle's house and the township. Privacy, Draken had said, as he led them there himself. A gift. A blessing.

"Tradition," someone shouted from the crowd behind them. "Carry her over the threshold!"

And Hagan did—with a laughing "sorry" and an exaggerated stumble through the door, slamming it shut behind them.

Inside, the cottage was warm. One room. A bed. A pantry full of food. Firewood was stacked neatly in the corner. Simple. Perfect.

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