I Woke Up Married to the Cursed King

They worked at night.

Riven’s suggestion — the north wall section was visible from the east corridor windows, and neither of them wanted Aldric walking past and noticing. At night, in the hours when the palace slept, they could work without being observed.

Elian and Riven moved the stones. Sable maintained protections around the site, a subtle working that would deflect casual attention without announcing itself to someone actively looking.

The first night they moved the outer layer. Old stones, heavy, improperly set — as Veira had said. They shifted with effort but they shifted.

Elian worked in silence mostly. Thought about the person underneath.

Someone who had been made into a sending, he thought. Someone who had been buried alive — or perhaps buried after, the burial itself part of the ritual. He didn’t know which was worse.

Someone who had lost their name.

We’ll find it, he thought again. Before we burn it. We’ll know who you were.

* * *

The second night they reached the burial layer.

Riven put his hand on the earth and confirmed it.

"Here," he said. "About two meters down. Under the foundation stones."

He looked up.

"It’s old," he said. "The signature is faint even to me. Twenty years minimum."

"What can you tell about the tradition?" Sable said.

Riven crouched. Felt the air above the spot.

"The burial style has western elements," he said slowly. "But modified. Modified by eastern technique." He looked at Elian. "It’s a hybrid working. Someone who knew the western tradition — was from it, probably — but had learned eastern methods to strengthen or conceal."

"Aldric," Elian said.

"Or someone he directed," Riven said. "Or both."

Elian looked at the ground.

You’re here, he thought. Right here. We’ve been walking past you for months.

"We come back tomorrow," Elian said. "With what we need for the burning. One more night."

* * *

He asked Veira that morning.

"The burial cloth we’ll find," he said. "Western style. You felt something familiar in it."

Yes, she said. I knew it before you said it. I felt the resonance.

"Who might have been buried there?" he said. "Someone from the western tradition. Someone connected to the network the previous king destroyed."

Veira was quiet for a long time.

I don’t know the specific person, she said. But I can tell you that the western branch of that network had practitioners who specialized in sendings. Who understood the old burial rituals. She paused. If Aldric commissioned this — or if he performed it himself — the person he chose to bury would have been from that tradition. Someone whose spiritual signature would strengthen the working.

"A practitioner," Elian said. "He buried another practitioner."

Yes, Veira said. Someone whose knowledge was valuable enough that their spiritual energy would make the sending powerful. Someone he trusted enough to approach. A pause. And then used.

Elian stood at the shrine.

"He used someone who trusted him," Elian said. "To make this work."

Yes, Veira said. That’s the part of this that I find— She paused. There are no words for what I find it. Grief. Fury. Both.

"I know," Elian said.

He went back to prepare for the final night.

* * *

The third night they found it.

What remained was — not much. After twenty years, after a ritual burial designed to extract spiritual energy, there wasn’t a great deal of the person left. Bones. Some cloth — the specific western embroidery that Elian recognized immediately, the same style he’d found fragments of in the records. A few objects buried with the body.

He picked up the cloth carefully.

A small sewn mark on the inside edge. A name, or part of one.

He held it in the lamplight.

Seren, the mark said. Or something close to it — the letters had faded, some damaged by time.

Seren.

Elian looked at the cloth.

"I have a name," he said.

Sable looked over his shoulder. "Seren."

"Or part of one," Elian said. "But it’s something." He looked at the burial site. "We’ll check the records. Find who this was. Before we burn it."

"Tomorrow," Riven said.

"Tomorrow," Elian agreed.

He covered the site carefully.

One more night.

Then the burning.

Then Seren — whoever Seren had been — would be finished.

Thank you, Elian thought. For holding on long enough for us to find you.

He didn’t know if the sending heard.

He thought it might have.

The corridor felt different when he walked through it that night.

Quieter.

Like something preparing to be done.

* * *

He searched the records the next morning.

Not alone — he brought Sable, who was faster and more methodical than him when it came to old documents. They worked through the palace’s pre-existing records, the ones that predated Elian’s arrival, looking for any mention of a practitioner named Seren from the western territories.

It took three hours.

They found a fragment.

A letter in the diplomatic correspondence archives, twenty-three years old, from the previous king’s foreign affairs desk. A letter of inquiry to a western practitioner named Seren who was reportedly skilled in certain traditional arts. The letter mentioned a potential commission — unspecified — and requested a meeting.

There was no response on record.

But there was a date.

And the date matched.

"She came here," Elian said. "Seren. She came to meet with someone — officially the palace, but—"

"But actually Aldric," Sable said. "He used the palace’s diplomatic channel to bring her here. And then he buried her."

Elian looked at the letter.

"A practitioner who knew the western burial traditions," he said. "Who had the knowledge to make a sending this powerful. He found her. Brought her here under a pretense." He put the letter down. "And then used her."

Sable was very quiet.

"She trusted him," she said. "She came because she thought she was being consulted. She trusted someone from her own tradition."

"Yes," Elian said.

He thought about the sending in the corridor. About twenty years of being a purpose rather than a person. About forgetting your own name because the purpose had been pressed so deep that everything else wore away.

He thought about a woman named Seren who had come to this palace and never left.

"We burn it tonight," Elian said. "And before we do — we say her name."

Sable looked at him.

"We don’t know if she can hear," she said.

"No," Elian said. "But we say it anyway. She deserves to have her name said."

Sable nodded.

They went to prepare.

* * *

He told Caelian.

He found him in the study in the afternoon and told him — briefly, cleanly — what they’d found. The name. The letter. The history.

Caelian listened.

"Someone from the western territories," Caelian said. "From my mother’s homeland. Brought here by my uncle. Under the pretense of official palace business." He paused. "My father’s diplomatic channels were used to lure her here."

"Without your father knowing," Elian said. "I believe Aldric used the administrative infrastructure — the correspondence channels — without your father’s direct involvement."

"Or my father didn’t want to know," Caelian said.

Elian was quiet.

"That’s possible too," he said.

Caelian looked at the desk.

"After all of this is done," he said. "I want to know the full truth about my father. Not the official version. What he actually did. What he was." He paused. "Whatever it is. I want to know."

"When you’re ready," Elian said. "We’ll find it."

"Yes," Caelian said.

He picked up his pen.

"Tonight?" he said.

"Tonight," Elian said.

"I want to be there," Caelian said. "For the burning."

Elian thought about the snake. About what the activation could do if the emotional weight of the moment triggered it.

"The silencing trigger," he said carefully.

"I know the risk," Caelian said. "I want to be there anyway."

Elian looked at him.

"Stay at the edge of the site," he said. "Not at the center. If the snake moves — you step back. Immediately."

"Agreed," Caelian said.

"Tonight," Elian said.

"Tonight," Caelian agreed.

* * *

Aldric found him in the afternoon.

He looked, for the first time since arriving, slightly less warm.

Not cold. Just — the warmth pulled back a fraction. The mask adjusted.

"I’ve been thinking," Aldric said, "about what you said. About working independently." He paused. "I wonder if that’s still the wisest approach, given that things in this palace are clearly more complicated than either of us anticipated."

"I think we’re managing well," Elian said.

"The solstice ceremony was—" Aldric paused. "Not what I expected."

"Oh?" Elian said pleasantly.

"I expected the hall," Aldric said. "But the effect I felt — the change in the palace afterward — that didn’t come from the hall."

Elian looked at him.

"I have some sensitivity," Aldric said. "As I mentioned. And what I felt—" He looked at Elian. "Whatever you did, it was significant. Significantly more than I expected from someone in your position."

"I’ve had good guidance," Elian said.

Aldric looked at him.

"Yes," he said. "I believe you have." He paused. "I think we need to speak more openly."

"I’m always happy to speak," Elian said. "What did you want to discuss?"

Aldric looked at him for a long moment.

Then he smiled — the warm smile, the practiced one.

"Perhaps another time," he said. "When we’re both less — occupied."

He left.

Elian watched him go.

You’re moving up your timeline, Elian thought. You’re going to do something soon. You don’t know what we’ve found or what’s happening tonight. But you know things are slipping away from you.

Tonight, Elian thought. We burn it tonight. Before you can stop us.

He went to get ready.

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