The carriage wheels screeched to a halt before the towering gates of Drevane Palace. Guards in obsidian armor lined the path, eyes sharp, spears gleaming beneath the afternoon sun. Lyra Vale swallowed hard, fingers twisting in her gown as the heavy gates groaned open.
This was it. The place everyone whispered about. The palace ruled by a family both powerful and feared.
The place she was expected to marry into.
"Lady Lyra," her escort murmured, stepping forward. "We must go."
She nodded, even as her legs trembled beneath her. She had agreed to this alliance for her family's sake—wealth for security, influence for protection—but no one prepared her for the suffocating dread pressing against her ribs now.
Inside the courtyard, nobles gathered in clusters, their silks fluttering like predatory wings. Their voices dropped to whispers as soon as they saw her.
"The bride," someone hissed.
"Poor thing," another murmured. "He'll break her in a week."
Lyra's pulse quickened. She didn't need to hear the rest to know who they meant.
Kael Drevane. The Crown Prince. The Cursed Heir.
People spoke of him with equal parts fascination and terror. Some said he was born during a blood moon. Others swore they saw shadows move at his command. They said he was cold, merciless, a danger to anyone foolish enough to get close.
And today, he was supposed to meet his bride.
A horn sounded, deep and resonant. The crowd parted instantly, forming a path toward the palace steps.
He appeared at the top of them—tall, broad-shouldered, draped in a midnight coat trimmed with silver. His hair was dark, his features sharp, carved as if from winter stone. But it was his eyes that stole the air from Lyra's lungs—gray, storm-filled, unreadable.
Kael Drevane descended slowly, each step echoing against the marble. The air itself seemed to tighten around him. People bowed, but she noticed how no one looked him in the eyes for more than a second.
So this was the man she was expected to marry.
When he reached her, he didn't bow. He didn't smile. He didn't offer his hand. He simply studied her, gaze flicking from the top of her head to the hem of her dress—measuring, assessing, calculating.
"You're smaller than I expected," he said calmly.
Her spine stiffened. "And you're ruder than I was warned."
A ripple of shock passed through the onlookers. Someone gasped. But Kael's expression didn't change. If anything, something faint—almost amused—touched his eyes before disappearing.
"Follow," he ordered, turning away.
Lyra's jaw clenched. She wanted to glare at his back, but curiosity gnawed at her anger. There was something strange about him—not demonic, not monstrous—but… heavy. Like he carried a storm inside him.
They stepped through the palace doors and—
The torches flickered violently.
Wind howled through the hall where there was no window. The air thickened, cold and sharp, as if every breath was being stolen.
Kael froze. "Not now," he muttered.
Lyra's heart hammered. "What's happening—?"
Before he could answer, the floor trembled. A chandelier rattled overhead, glass chiming in warning.
Guards rushed in, shouting, "Protect the prince!"
But Kael didn't need protection.
Shadows burst from the stone walls, swirling toward him like smoke alive. Lyra staggered back, eyes wide—until she realized the shadows weren't attacking.
They were responding.
Kael lifted his hand, fingers curling as if grasping something invisible. The shadows dragged themselves into a blade-like shape, forming a sleek, humming arc of black energy that settled at his side.
He wasn't afraid. He was in control.
The nobles behind them fell silent, trembling. Someone whispered, "The curse—he's losing control again."
Kael's eyes flashed—silver lightning cutting through storm-gray. "Clear the hall," he commanded.
Lyra didn't move. Not because she was brave—she simply couldn't. Her feet refused to obey as she stared, breath caught, mind racing.
What was he?
Kael turned to her, shadows coiling at his feet.
"Move," he said, voice low. "Unless you want to learn firsthand why they call me cursed."
She opened her mouth to speak—then everything went black.
A sound, sharp and wrong, split the air behind them. Kael spun just as an arrow—etched with glowing runes—shot through the hall straight toward Lyra's heart.