I Woke Up Married to the Cursed King

Chapter 47: Chapter 47: Darling

The three of them had been at it for an hour.

Elian, Sable, Riven. The study table covered in notes, cross-references, everything they knew about the Varek laid out in the specific order that made it make sense.

"One of them is the master," Elian said. "One of them is the Varek in human form. We don’t know if they’re the same person or two separate problems." freēwēbnovel.com

"They’re the same," Riven said. "A Varek at this level doesn’t use intermediaries for the important things. It would be the master itself."

"So we’re looking for one entity," Sable said. "Somewhere in this palace. That’s been here for twenty years."

"Yes."

"And we can’t identify it by looking at it."

"Not under normal circumstances." Riven leaned back. "There are conditions where it becomes visible. Where its human form breaks down enough that you can see through it."

"What conditions," Elian said.

"Lunar eclipse," Sable said immediately.

Riven pointed at her. "Correct." fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

"The veil thins," Sable continued, slipping into the tone she used when pulling from deep knowledge. "Everything spiritual becomes more active, more visible. What’s hidden becomes harder to hide."

"That’s the good news," Riven said.

"There’s bad news," Elian said. It wasn’t a question.

"Everything becomes more active," Riven said. "Not just the Varek. Everything. Every spirit in this palace, the sending, the snake curse — all of it running at full power. And the Varek itself, if it knows it’s been identified, is at its most dangerous during an eclipse." He looked at them both. "We’re mere humans. If we trigger it at the wrong moment during an eclipse, it ends badly. Very badly."

"So the eclipse gives us the best chance of seeing it," Elian said, "and also the worst conditions for fighting it."

"Yes."

"What about a solar eclipse," Sable said.

"Different energy," Riven said. "Solar eclipse suppresses. Lunar reveals." He thought about it. "A solar eclipse would weaken it. Make it more vulnerable. But it wouldn’t make it visible."

"So we need both," Elian said. "We need to see it during the lunar eclipse and fight it during the solar."

"If we can time it," Riven said. "Eclipses don’t coordinate themselves for our convenience."

"When is the next lunar eclipse," Elian said.

"Six weeks," Sable said. "I checked the astronomical records when you first mentioned the Varek."

"And solar."

"Four months after that."

Elian looked at the table.

Six weeks to identify it. Four months after that to act. He did the calculation against the bracelet, against the darkening beads, against the possession attempt on the balcony.

Can Caelian hold for five months.

He didn’t say it out loud.

"We work with what we have," he said. "Six weeks to prepare for the lunar eclipse. We go in with the sole purpose of identifying it — not engaging, not provoking. Just seeing." He looked at Riven. "Can you build something for that. A working that lets us see through the human form without alerting it."

"Possibly," Riven said. "I’ll need—"

The study door flew open.

All three of them looked up.

Lyra stood in the doorway.

She was — Elian blinked — not the Lyra from the greenhouse. That Lyra had been poised, controlled, the specific polish of a woman who knew exactly how she was presenting herself at every moment. This Lyra had abandoned all of that. Her face was open and furious, her composure entirely gone, the jealousy coming off her like heat.

Riven and Sable went very still.

Elian rolled his eyes.

Oh, he thought. The drama has arrived.

"What did you do," she said. Her voice was shaking. Not with fear. With rage. "Did you go to him and beg? Did you cry? Did you tell him some story about—"

"I haven’t spoken to His Highness about you at all," Elian said. Calm. "Not once."

"Then why—" She stepped into the room. "He turned me away. He told the council no. He—" She stopped. Started again. The poise trying to reassert itself and failing. "You did something. You must have. Because men like him don’t choose men like you over—"

"Over someone like you?" Elian said pleasantly.

She looked at him.

"I’m going back," she said. "Don’t think this is finished. There will be another opening. There always is. The council will push again, and next time—"

"Darling," Elian said.

She stopped.

He looked at her. The professional look. The one he’d been using for twelve years on clients and marks and everyone in between.

"If a man chooses me," he said, "when you are standing right there — as pretty as you are, as accomplished as you are, with everything you’ve brought to this — do you genuinely think he’s going to change his mind?"

Her mouth tightened.

"You came here to humiliate me," Elian said. "I understand that. You’re angry and you wanted somewhere to put it." He stood up. "But if you’re going to come into my study and try to teach me something about my place, I’m going to teach you something about yours."

"You are a man," she said, voice dropping into something colder now, "trying to take a woman’s place."

Elian smiled.

"And you," he said, "are a woman who has spent her whole life being an opportunist."

She drew herself up.

"When you married your husband," Elian continued, "you thought you had secured everything. A good name, a comfortable life, a future." He looked at her steadily. "And then he left you. Didn’t he."

Something flickered in her face.

He’d been watching the spirit beside her since she’d walked in. It had been there the whole time she’d been in the palace — he’d filed it, decided it wasn’t relevant, moved on. A man, standing close. Young. Well-dressed once, in the way that suggested money rather than taste.

Fingerprints around his neck.

Not bruising. Actual marks. The specific impression of hands that had pressed and held and not let go. He was not degraded the way most long-dead spirits were — still visible, still sharp, the details preserved. Which meant he hadn’t been left to drift. Someone had made sure he stayed close to her.

Her father, Elian thought, looking at the quality of the binding. Someone with authority over both of them buried him close to her. Made sure he couldn’t leave.

The spirit wasn’t angry.

He was just — watching her. With the patient attention of someone waiting for an answer to a question they’d been asking for a long time.

He’d been standing far back when she’d first entered the room. As she’d gotten angrier — as the fury came off her in waves — he’d moved closer. Feeding off it. Close enough now that Elian could see every detail.

Negative energy, Elian thought. He feeds off hers. That’s why he’s still so visible. She’s been keeping him sharp without knowing it.

"Lyra," Elian said.

She stopped.

He looked at her. Not at the spirit — at her. The professional look. Twelve years of reading people compressed into a single calm gaze.

"Why did you do it," he said.

She blinked. "Do what."

"Your husband." He kept his voice easy. Conversational. Like he was asking about the weather. "Was it money? Was it power?" He paused. "Did he live for someone else? Or was there a lover?"

The color left her face.

Not gradually. All at once.

"That’s," she said. Very quietly. "That’s none of your business."

"No," Elian agreed. "It isn’t."

She looked at him for a long moment. Something in her eyes that was neither the fury nor the poise — something underneath both of them that was older and more frightened.

Then she left.

The door closed.

Riven looked at Elian.

"You knew about him the whole time," he said.

"He was standing far back when she came in," Elian said. "I could barely make him out. But when she got angry—" He gestured. "Negative energy. He fed off it. Came close enough that I could see him properly." He sat back down. "He’s not degraded. Most spirits that age would be barely visible. He still has details. Fingerprints around his neck." He paused. "Someone buried him close to her deliberately. Kept him tethered. I’d guess her father, based on the binding."

"She didn’t kill him for money," Riven said. He was looking at the door with a particular expression. "That kind of haunting — that specific patience — that’s a man who died with a question unanswered."

"Yes," Elian said. "He wants to know why."

"Will you help him?"

Elian looked at the door.

"Not today," he said. "She’s leaving. That’s enough for now." He picked up his pen. "Where were we."

Sable looked at her notes.

"Six weeks," she said. "Lunar eclipse. We were figuring out how to see through a monster."

"Right," Elian said. "Let’s get back to that."

He stood at the window afterward.

The sitting room was quiet again. Just a sitting room.

We go in with what we have, Sable had said.

He thought about that.

What they had: the dampened ritual. Riven’s preparation. The divine being growing stronger. The shrine network.

What they didn’t have: the body. The master’s identity. Any certainty about what would show up during the eclipse.

It’s enough, he told himself. You’ve never had everything. You’ve always worked with what you had.

He turned away from the window.

Enough, he thought. Let’s go.