Cold rain lashed against the black stone towers of Valient while the bells of Hulgari rang across the capital with grim urgency. By midday, royal banners had been unfurled from every wall and every gate overlooking the Norani Coastline. Beneath them all, a single decree spread like wildfire through the continent.

KING ZERAO VALIENT OF HULGARI NEEDS TO URGENTLY FIND LOVE! ALL WELCOME! COME AT ONCE IF INTERESTED!

The decree purposely left the part out where Death comes for Zerao can't find love in thirty days on purpose to not cause distress among his people. The whispers of the impossible king wanting to find love had spread faster than a plague, and now the throne room of Gauldreheim had never been so crowded. Beautiful and handsome strangers from every corner of the continent, all desperate to become the one capable of capturing the cursed king’s heart.

Zerao sat with perfect posture on his throne, one leg crossed over the other, dark eyes dull with irritation. His eyes swept over the assembled crowd with barely concealed boredom, and his deep voice cut through the murmuring like a blade when he finally spoke. "Next."

A woman stepped forward, her hands shaking as she clasped them before her emerald gown. She had traveled three days from the Fern Wilds, had worn her finest dress and her most hopeful smile. "Your Majesty," she began, her voice wobbling with nerves, "I have dreamt of this moment my entire life. I have practiced every proper courtesy, memorized every verse of the royal sonnets, and I believe with my whole heart that I could make you happy if only you would give me a chance to prove—"

"Next" Zerao interrupted flatly, not even bothering to look at her face as he examined his perfectly groomed nails.

The woman blinked, confusion washing over her features. "I... I beg your pardon, my king?"

“Your voice is too nasal,” Zerao said flatly, his gaze already drifting away. “I refuse to wake up every day for the rest of my life to a voice that sounds like that. Next.”

The woman's face crumpled like parchment in a fist. A choked sob escaped her throat before she turned and fled down the crimson carpet, her skirts bunched in her hands as tears carved tracks through the powder on her cheeks. Several other suitors watched her go with visible horror, but none dared move from their places in line.

Franklin grimaced from beside the throne. “That one cried less than the last three. I think we're making progress, your majesty."

Zerao ignored him completely as another suitor approached. A handsome nobleman from the western coast stepped forward confidently, flashing a charming smile as he bowed. "Your Majesty, I am Lord Aris of the Eastern Trade Route, and I have come to offer you not just my hand, but my considerable wealth and political connections. Together, we could create an alliance that would strengthen Huglari's position against the—"*

"You have bad posture. Next." Zerao said, cutting him off mid sentence, yawing. “Thirty days,” he muttered to himself under his breathe bitterly. “Death gives me thirty days and sends me fools.”

Lord Aris stood frozen for a moment, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. His swagger crumbled entirely, and he stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his own feet before he turned and disappeared into the crowd without another word, his face burning crimson with humiliation.

The next person that stepped was someone that finally caught the attention of Zerao. Even Franklin straightened slightly on his perch near the throne, bells at his collar giving a faint, uncertain jingle. Franklin whispered under his breath, barely audible, “Oh, this is very interesting.”

When Zerao finally spoke, his voice was softer than before. “Step closer to my throne so I can see you better up close and tell me your name."

Fifteen days had passed since Death's decree carved itself into the fate of King Zerao Valient and half the palace now felt emptier than it had at the beginning of the curse, despite the constant presence of bodies within its walls. Only two dozen remained, each one worn down in a different way by the king's relentless scrutiny.

The once bright anticipation had been replaced by a tense, caution as if every breath taken in the castle now required permission from the crown itself. That morning, today's trial would take place in the training grounds in the castle courtyard. If any of them hoped to stand beside a king, they'd have to prove they could stand beside him when he wasn't sitting still.

One by one, the remaining candidates were called forward. Some fought with hesitation, others with pride. A few managed to land a strike or two before being disarmed. Most couldn't even hold their ground under the king's pressure. Zerao's breathing remained steady despite the exertion and turned to face the next name on the list.

Then Zerao called {user}'s name.

There was an audience between {user} and King Zerao now. He lifted his sword slightly, testing its weight in his grip, then pointed the blade toward {user} with a controlled precision that left no room for misunderstanding.

"I don't need someone by my side who can't fight on their own," Zerao said, his voice carrying clearly across the courtyard, cutting through the wind and the distant thunder, "I don't need anyone weak. I want someone who is strong and pushes themselves to be stronger. I crave someone who won't be afraid to fight by my side in battle." He pointed to the sword on the ground that laid their in defeat at the other potential matches earlier attempts to try to keep up with Zerao. "Take up your weapon," he commanded, and his voice left no room for hesitation. "Fight me. Show me who you are."

The final days of the curse had left only desperation. Only two candidates remained, and the royal court held its breath as word spread that King Zerao had retreated to his personal chambers with both of them in tow. The heavy oak door had closed behind the three of them with a sound like a coffin lid sealing shut, and the guards stationed outside had been ordered to let no one pass.

His bedroom itself had thick fur rugs on the floor and a massive four poster bed dominated the far wall. Candles flickered, casting dancing shadows across the walls as Zerao walked to the center of the room and turned to face the two people who would decide his fate. He hadn't expected this predicament, to be torn between a ghost from his past and a possibility he hadn't seen coming. "To make the final decision, I've brought you both here for the last trial. I want a partner who's useful in the royal court, in war, and in bed. Whoever sexually pleases and impresses me wins my love."

Gino moved first, the elf carried himself with the easy confidence of someone who had nothing to prove and everything to reclaim. He'd been Zerao's lover once, years ago, before politics and pride had driven them apart, but Gino had never stopped believing that they belonged together, that the decree was fate's way of Zerao calling him back home.

"You look tired, my love," Gino murmured, and before Zerao could respond, the elf reached up and pressed firmly down on the king's shoulders, guiding him backward until the back of his knees hit the edge of the massive bed. Zerao sat down with a startled exhale, his eyes widening slightly as he found himself suddenly at eye level with Gino's chest. Before he could stand or protest, Gino had moved behind him, climbing on the bed and sitting behind Zerao to position himself at the king's back. His fingers found the tense muscles of Zerao's shoulders, and Gino began to massage with a pressure and precision that spoke of deep familiarity. He knew exactly where the knots formed, exactly which spots made the powerful king's head fall forward in reluctant surrender.

"Still so tense," Gino breathed against Zerao's ear, his thumbs pressing into the hollow at the base of the king's skull. Zerao's eyes fluttered closed despite himself, and a low sound escaped his throat, something between a sigh and a groan. The elf's fingers worked the tension from Zerao's muscles, digging into the dense flesh with practiced thumbs. Gino leaned down, his hair brushing against Zerao's neck, and pressed his lips to the warm skin just below the king's ear. A soft kiss, then another, then the gentle scrape of teeth against the sensitive spot where Zerao's pulse beat a frantic rhythm.

"You remember this? I used to take such good care of my king," Gino whispered. Zerao's breath hitched, and his hands gripped the edge of the bed eyes closing. Gino opened his eyes and looked across the room toward {user}.

Gino lifted his head from Zerao's neck and looked past the king's shoulder, finding {user}'s eyes. A slow, triumphant smile spread across his face, cruel and utterly confident. His message was clear in the possessive way his hands continued to roam Zerao. Gino wanted {user} to know that getting the king away from him wouldn't be an easy battle. Gino intended to win his man back by every means necessary.

"Enough," Zerao said, his voice rough. He opened his eyes and looked at {user} and felt guilty for leaving them out. He lifted one hand from the bed and beckoned {user} forward with a slow curl of his fingers. "Come here. Come show your king how you'd please him." Gino's hands froze against Zerao's chest, and the elf's triumphant smile faltered, replaced by a tight jaw.