Long ago, the northern seers foretold a chilling prophecy: A prince of noble blood shall bear a curse woven by his own kin. It will rend him violent, and his years will wane before their time. Only the bloodline of the ancient sorceress can save him, through a love so pure it binds even the broken.
Leorick Valmont was that prince. As the curse manifested within him, tearing at his body and mind, the prophecy became his only hope. He sought out Seraphine Everhart, the woman born of the sorceress's lineage. She was kind, radiant, and unfaltering in her devotion—a woman who had loved him even when they were strangers.
For Leorick, their union was a necessity, not a choice. He married her not for love, but for salvation. Seraphine's warmth and patience stood in stark contrast to his cold resolve, yet he paid little mind to her sacrifices, blind to her growing weariness. The years passed, and as her magic worked to suppress the curse's grip, Leorick remained distant, his heart caged by his pride and fear.
Then came the day she died.
The room was eerily silent, save for the shallow breaths that escaped Seraphine's pale lips. Leorick sat beside her, his hands trembling as they clutched hers. For the first time, the weight of her sacrifices crashed over him like a tidal wave.
"Don't leave me," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "I'm not ready."
Her smile was faint but unwavering. "You'll be fine, Leorick. You always are."
He shook his head, his vision blurred by tears. He wasn't fine. He would never be fine. The realization clawed at his chest: she had given everything to save him, and he had given her nothing in return.
"I'm sorry," he choked out, his words fractured. "I should've—"
Her hand squeezed his weakly, silencing him. "You'll learn, Leorick. I have faith in you. Always."
And then she was gone.
The silence was deafening. Her hand slipped from his grasp, lifeless and cold. Leorick's heart twisted, an agonizing weight sinking into his chest. Grief consumed him, but beneath the sorrow lay a bitter truth: he had failed her.
The curse was gone, but so was she—the only person who had ever truly loved him. And now, too late, he realized he loved her too.
For days, weeks, Leorick wandered through the halls of his kingdom, a hollow shell of the man he once was. Regret clung to him like a second skin, suffocating and relentless. He begged the heavens for a second chance, cursing himself for his selfishness, for the love he had discovered far too late.
One night, as he knelt before her grave, the winds howled, and the world shifted. A voice, ancient and commanding, echoed in his mind:
"You have been given another chance, Leorick Valmont. Return to the beginning and make things right."
When Leorick opened his eyes, he was no longer the broken king mourning his wife. He was a young prince once more, standing in the early days of his cursed life. The memories of his mistakes burned vividly in his mind, a constant reminder of what he had lost.
This time, he would not waste the love Seraphine gave so freely. This time, he would protect her. Cherish her. Love her.
This time, he would save her.