Witchbound Villain: Infinite Loop
276 – Blood, Bound and Buried

“Were you scared?”

“Yes,” Burn said without ceremony.

He lay atop her, ear pressed against her chest like a man hoping her heartbeat could drown out the chaos in his skull. “One—because I thought we were siblings and you might rightfully be horrified. Two—because, well, you do kind of loathe Merlin.”

“Well, yes, incest is revolting,” Morgan muttered. Her face cycled between corpse-pale and crimson like a woman caught between nausea and scandal. “Cough. But we’re not blood siblings… dummy…”

Burn, still pointedly not looking at her—because staring at her cleavage while having this conversation might’ve ended him—also turned a delicate shade of embarrassment. “I wouldn’t ever think you’re disgusting. Cough. Even if it was… you know. That’s why I’m still asking you to marry me. Degeneracy and all.”

“How did I end up like this…?” Morgan sighed dramatically. “This is clearly your fault.”

“It is,” Burn admitted with terrifying honesty. “I corrupted you. I own that. Please forgive me, Morgan.”

She looked down at the man clinging to her like a confessional, and her expression softened. She stroked his cheek, kissed his forehead, and was overtaken by a crushing sadness.

“You must’ve been scared out of your mind… my poor Burn…”

He burrowed into the crook of her neck like a miserable fox. “You’re really not my blood sister, right?”

“Oh, for—how would I be?” Morgan scoffed, exasperated. “I’ve always been an Elle. Born as Lucia Elle. Will always reincarnate as Lucia Elle. This isn't some genetic lottery. Who the hell told you otherwise?”

“That ******* ****** ****** Lancelot.”

Morgan made a mental note: she would personally murder that man while reciting every profanity in every known language so the heavens would definitely take notice.

“And apparently,” Burn continued bitterly, “everyone in the Assembly also thinks you were Merlin’s biological daughter.”

“Well they don’t know shit,” Morgan spat.

“I didn’t know either,” Burn sulked, “which is why—maybe—you could’ve explained how your death and rebirth cycle works?”

Then he realized it. He had just… complained. To his wife. About her. Oh no.

But Morgan, eyes still on the ceiling in philosophical detachment, hadn’t noticed the historic milestone of his emotional intimacy. Instead, she offered a mild counterattack.

“You thought I could just be born out of any random bloodline? Not an Elle?”

“I don’t know, okay? Who’s to say Merlin didn’t pull some soul-bloodline bait-and-switch? I mean, look what he did to my line.”

“That one’s on me,” Morgan murmured. She pulled him closer, protective now. “Forgive me, Caliburn.”

It cut her, the way he kept asking for reassurance. It wasn’t just that he feared the truth—he feared that the only way their love could be legitimate was if the bloodlines checked out.

As if everything they were could be invalidated by a twisted paternity test.

But she didn’t lash out. Not this time. She understood fear. She’d been stitched from it more than once.

“I never told you,” she said gently, “because to me, my lineage doesn’t matter. My blood, my bones… they’re mostly just echoes of my soul now. Haven’t you noticed? I don’t resemble any of the Elysian descendants. Not even slightly.”

She gave a dry little laugh. “My beauty, my body, my lack of Force ability… it’s all uniquely mine. A living contradiction.”

“Then say it clearly,” he snapped—well, half-snapped—propping himself up to glare at her, equal parts wounded and righteously annoyed. “You were furious at me for not telling you about my Soulnaught Syndrome, and now look at you. Doing the exact same thing.”

Beneath him, Morgan shrank like a chagrined schoolgirl, face turning a shade of pink reserved for public humiliation. “Okay… that’s fair. I’m sorry…”

“But you see,” she began, squirming like a saint about to confess to tax fraud, “my death and rebirth is… well…”

She sighed, long and suffering. “It’s one of those subjects I’ve spent entire lifetimes not wanting to explain. Honestly, I’d rather get stabbed again.”

“Oh, worse than thinking the woman you’ve been sleeping with is your long-lost sister?” Burn deadpanned, entirely unimpressed.

“Awww, fine!” Morgan groaned, flopping like a tortured soul mid-exorcism. “I’ll tell you… ughhh…”

Burn smiled faintly. He drew her into his arms, his lips brushing the soft curve of her collarbone—gentle, reverent, almost trembling.

“You see,” he murmured, “if you're carrying our child, then I need to understand everything—your body, your soul. I have to protect both of you now. That’s all that matters.”

Morgan froze. Blinked. Once.

“…What?” she whispered.

A beat of silence passed like a knife through still air.

“Caliburn,” she said slowly, her voice tightening. “What did you just say?”

He lifted his head, calm but firm, a steady hand placed gently over her abdomen. “Just before,” he said, as though clarifying something obvious. “Weren’t you about to tell me you were pregnant?”

She stared at him. Blinked again. Then, as comprehension sank in, her entire face turned a violent shade of red—not from bashfulness, but from sheer horror.

“You thought I was… pregnant?” she asked, voice cracking under the weight of disbelief.

Burn straightened abruptly. Alarmed. “You’re not?”

And that was when the full weight of the moment crashed down on Morgan. This man—who until just minutes ago believed they were siblings—had just convinced himself she was carrying his child. In his mind, he had already crossed the line, committed to it, and now stood at the edge of emotional ruin.

“Caliburn…” she began gently, as if approaching a wounded animal. “I’m not pregnant. I… I just started menstruating.”

She watched as the soul visibly left his body.

***

Adroros Borion reclined like a man who had just survived a heart attack—or at least a royal scandal of similar caliber. Across from him sat his son, Endreos, wearing the look of someone who had just witnessed a political apocalypse.

“Go get some rest, son,” the old centaur said, though they both knew the suggestion was laughable. Rest? Now?

“You’re the one who should be resting, father,” Endreos countered, because apparently neither of them believed in practicing what they preached.

“In a bit,” Adroros muttered, just as footsteps padded outside their door.

Knock-knock.

“Sir Adroros, it’s me. Eos.”

Adroros gave his son a look before responding, “Please, Sir Eos.”

The door obligingly opened by magic, and in trotted a pristine white alicorn—wings folded neatly, manners polished—Eos Kirmizi, who often loitered in their quarters, mostly because he, too, couldn’t fit into human-shaped furniture. The place was more cushion than floor, outfitted with specialty recliners—the kind only oversized quadrupeds with back pain could appreciate.

Eos, already a seasoned veteran in the art of collapsing onto floor cushions without losing dignity, plopped down with them. Nobody stood to greet him. Etiquette took a backseat when your empire might be imploding.

“Still nothing?” Adroros asked, already predicting the answer.

Eos shook his head. “No sign of either His Majesty or Her Holiness.”

A synchronized sigh echoed from the centaur duo. Adroros rubbed his face. “Well, it figures. His Majesty was… profoundly enraged. Frankly, we’re lucky he didn’t burn the castle down before whisking her off to sulk—or whatever it is demigods do when emotionally compromised.”

“It’s actually surprising he didn’t bark further orders,” Eos mused. “He must trust us more than we thought.”

Adroros gave him a withering look, arms crossed in the universal gesture of you sweet summer child. “No, Sir Eos. He doesn’t trust us. He just knows we’re too terrified of him to start leaking gossip.”

And who could blame them? After seeing the emperor’s display of fury, even the bravest among them suddenly found their spines optional.

Along with the three of them, were the privileged twelve who had been slapped with the truth like a divine subpoena: Tashr Reyrie and her firstborn, the Dragon of the East, the Vampire of the West and his daughter, King Lumine, Duke Leodegrance, Queen Selen and Theor, King Navarre, King Anville, and good old King Sam.

Each of them had received the catastrophic revelation that Caliburn Pendragon was not, in fact, a Pendragon—and had, quite unintentionally, taken a tumble into incest because he was actually the bastard child of Merlin. Surprise!

“I heard such relationships among blood kin are a massive taboo for your kind,” Eos said, deadpan. “Apparently I’ve underestimated the fallout.”

Endreos coughed awkwardly. “Well… Sir Eos… isn’t that the same for your people?”

“No,” Eos replied flatly. “We unicorns marry our sisters all the time.”

Cue stunned silence.

It was hard to tell what was more shocking—that Burn had accidentally committed incest, or that Eos had just casually admitted to doing it on purpose.

“Female unicorns aren’t technically unicorns,” Eos began, voice heavy with the weight of centuries and questionable logic. “They’re shaped like humans—or they were human, once. It’s… complicated,” he added, sighing like someone who’d had to explain this far too often, and never once to satisfaction.

He wasn’t wrong.

There were two kinds of female unicorns, neither of which could be called straightforward. The first type were the ones chosen to carry a unicorn’s heart—the heart bearers.

When a unicorn reached the twilight of its life, it didn’t simply die. Instead, it sought out a human maiden—always alone, always pure—and offered her its heart. If she accepted, she ceased to be human in any way that mattered. She became something else. A female unicorn.

These women, once transformed, became the mates of other unicorns. But the bond came with limits: a heart bearer could only give birth once. One unicorn. One legacy. Nothing more.

The second type were even rarer: daughters born from heart bearers. These were the purebloods. The true-born female unicorns. Incredibly scarce, nearly mythic. After all, unicorns themselves were rare enough—adding the word pure made the odds microscopic.

And yet, when a pureblood female did exist and took a unicorn as a mate, her lineage carried more power. She could give birth to up to three male unicorns. No more. And never a daughter. Creation came with conditions, and the divine were no exception.

“Sometimes, when born from a pureblood, the resulting unicorn develops wings,” Eos added quietly. “Those are called Alicorns.”

A pause. “I’m one of them.”

There was no arrogance in the statement. Just truth.

“I’m the youngest of three brothers,” he continued. “One day, when either of my older brothers nears the end of his life, he’ll seek out a maiden and give her his heart. That maiden—his chosen one—will become my sister.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“And when that happens… if she becomes my mate, it means I’ve married my own sister. Because she carries my brother’s heart.”

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