The Night Market wasn't a place.
It was a heartbeat between worlds.
Lanterns floated in the air, held up by whispers. Merchants wore masks made of mirrors. Stalls offered wares not meant for the sane: bottled memories, regret pearls, hands that granted wishes (for a price).
A small demon tried to sell me a basket of second chances.
"Only slightly cursed!" it said cheerfully.
"Tempting," I replied. "But I'll pass."
Marcus walked beside me like a shadow made flesh, eyes scanning every corner.
"They're watching you," he said. "They can smell who you were."
"Let them watch. I'm done being hidden."
We made our way toward the Heart Tent, where the oldest truths were sold. It stood in the center of the market, stitched together with golden sinew and what looked suspiciously like braided hair.
A woman greeted us. Half of her face was human. The other half? Smoke.
"Ah. The thunder bride," she said, voice echoing twice.
"You've come to remember."
Inside the Heart Tent, I was offered a cup. Bone-white. Filled with a liquid that pulsed.
"Drink this," the woman said. "And you'll remember why you died."
Marcus grabbed my hand.
"You don't have to do this."
"But I do, Marcus. Because if we don't know who I was—who we were—we'll never survive who we're becoming."
I drank.
The world melted.
---
The Past Life – Fully Awakened
I stood beneath a blood moon.
Armor gleaming. Hands stained with gold and ash.
I was Ariyike, daughter of the Sky Oracle, of Ile-Ife. The woman who made the Valerian Pact—a forbidden love sealed with blood and sealed again with betrayal.
I loved Kael—Marcus's past self.
But I also killed him.
Because the gods demanded it. Because only his blood could stop the Red Harvest. And because I swore an oath I never forgave myself for.
But Kael didn't hate me.
He died whispering my name.
"In another life… I will find you again."
---
Back to Now
I collapsed.
Marcus caught me, shaking.
"What did you see?"
"Us. The truth." I gripped his shirt, breathless. "We were cursed because we loved each other more than the gods allowed."
"I was a sacrificial bride to Sango god of thunder, but I fell in love with you"
His face changed—eyes burning with fury and something softer.
"Then we'll finish what they started."
He kissed me.
Not out of passion alone—but out of promise.
And when our lips met, something ancient shattered.
---
Something Has Awakened
The market went silent.
Every creature, every ghost, every whisper froze.
The woman with the smoke-face bowed.
"It has begun," she said.
"The Bride of Thunder has returned."
"And the gods are afraid."
---
We returned from the Night Market just before sunrise.
Marcus looked like a man who'd fought shadows and won. I felt like a woman who had just fallen in love—twice. With the man before me… and the warrior I used to be.
"So," I said as we reached the castle steps, "do all your arranged marriages come with ancient curses and magical trauma bonding?"
"Only the ones I enjoy."
Cheeky devil.
---
Queen Isolde waited in the throne hall.
Tall. Cold. Ethereal like an ice sculpture with opinions.
Her gaze swept over me like I was an insect on her favorite gown.
"You took the bride to the Night Market?" she hissed.
"You risked awakening the blood oath?"
"She needed the truth," Marcus said. "And she's not a child."
"She's a danger."
I stepped forward, voice cool but firm.
"I'm the solution to your curse. Not a threat."
"You're a foreigner," the queen snapped, "with a name that stirs storms and a mouth that offends decorum."
"And yet here I am. Married. Breathing. And hotter than your heir."
Even Marcus choked back a laugh.
She stormed out, muttering about "insubordination" and "witch brides." I waved politely.
---
Later that night, Marcus came to my room.
His shirt was unbuttoned. Again. At this point, I suspected the buttons were just decoration.
He sat beside me, handed me a small box.
"What's this?" I asked.
"A crown," he said. "Bone from the gods' battlefield. Forged for the Valerian Bride."
Inside was a delicate circlet of pale ivory. It pulsed faintly in my palm.
"Put it on, and your power will stabilize. But it comes at a cost."
"What kind of cost?"
"It will bind your magic to mine. Our lives… tied. Our fates... sealed. And our bedroom… permanently spicy."
I raised an eyebrow. "So a magical marriage contract, but with excellent fringe benefits?"
"Exactly."
"And if I don't wear it?"
"You'll still burn bright—but you might burn alone."
We stared at each other, the air thick with heat and unspoken wants.
"Say it, Marcus."
"Say what?"
"That you want me. That this is more than duty."
He moved closer, until his breath danced against my lips.
"I want you. Not because of a curse. Not because of prophecy. But because you challenge me. Because you set me on fire."
"Then crown me."
He placed it gently on my head.
The moment the crown touched my hair, fire rushed through my veins—cool and hot all at once.
A mark flared on my shoulder. His name in ancient runes.
Marcus gasped.
"It's done," he said, eyes wild.
"You're mine now."
"In power. In passion. In fate."
"Good," I whispered, yanking him down to me.
"Then claim me."
And he did.
Fiercely. Reverently.
As if the gods could wait their turn.
The air buzzed with magic. Moonlight filtered through the stained glass above, casting silver petals on her bare shoulders. Silk wrapper that clung to her curves like water on flesh.
He pulls out of her reluctantly and knelt before her, one hand on her thigh, just beneath the silk.
She lay tired, glistening from their sweat.
"Yétùndé," he rasped, voice hoarse, "Am still hungry—"
She reached for his jaw, her fingers threading through the soft stubble.
"Then eat," she said, voice soft but unshakable. "I want all of it. You. This moment. Whatever comes next."
He rose to his feet in one fluid movement, towering over her.
Marcus let out a low growl, the kind that vibrated in her belly.
"As you wish, My Queen."
His mouth found hers then—hungry, claiming, desperate. Years of prophecy and loneliness unraveled in that kiss. Her body molded to his like it had always been meant for him. She tasted his breath. His need.
He carried her—no, cradled her—like something divine. Gently, reverently. He laid her on the altar where queens had once knelt. She lay back, lips parted, crown gleaming on her curls.
He tugged at the silk cloth, slow enough to let her shiver, fast enough to leave her gasping.
When her body was bared before him, Marcus exhaled as if he'd seen a revelation.
"Gods, Yétùndé… you're made of starlight."
She arched a brow, teasing. "You sure it's not just brown sugar?"
That broke something in him.
He chuckled—but it turned into a growl as his mouth descended onto the hollow of her throat.
His tongue traced every dip, every curve. Her nipples peaked under his breath alone, and when his mouth took one into heat, she moaned—loud, unashamed, unafraid. She threaded her fingers into his hair, pulling, guiding, needing.
His hand moved lower, parting her thighs, his eyes meeting hers for permission. She gave it—not with words, but with a lift of her hips and a moan that sounded like surrender.
He tasted her like a man possessed.
And she came apart like prophecy unraveling in fire.
He hovered over her now, his eyes glowing—not just with desire, but with wolf light. Something ancient stirred in him. In her.
When he slid inside her, again, slow and deep, the stars blinked.
She cried out his name—guttural, sacred, shaking—and clung to him like he was the only anchor in a world breaking open.
He thrust, slow at first, then faster as her legs wrapped around him, urging him deeper, harder, more.
" my king" she gasped.
"Say it again," he groaned.
"My King," she breathed. "I am yours."
And then—
Her crown tilted.
Their rhythm shattered.
They came together like sky meeting sea, like flame meeting oil, like destinies colliding.
She lay in his arms, slick with sweat, heart hammering.
Her mould filled with his cum and shaft, swollen and sore.
"I felt it," he whispered. "Something shifted."
"It wasn't just sex," she said, voice dazed.
"No," he murmured, kissing her collarbone. "It was the beginning of a war. And the gods just picked a side."
The crown glinted on the floor where it had fallen.
Later
We lay tangled in sheets and spells.
My skin still sparkled with leftover magic.
"What now?" I asked.
"Now," Marcus said, brushing a curl from my forehead, "we survive the next test."
"Which is?"
"Your coronation."
"Lovely. Will there be cake?"
"Yes. And assassination attempts."
"So… spicy cake."
We laughed.
But outside our door, far across the castle grounds, something ancient stirred.
The crown on my head warmed.
A whisper crawled through the air.
"The bride has returned. And with it… the reckoning."