The night air smelled of ash and blood. Candles flickered along the stone walls, throwing long shadows that danced like the memories of those who had come before me. I shivered, not from the cold, but from the inevitability of what was about to happen.
My name is Ayla, and tonight… I am the Chosen.
They said the king would accept my life willingly. That was a lie.
When the massive doors of the throne room groaned open, a hush fell over the crowd. And then I saw him.
The King.
He was nothing like the stories. Cold. Dangerous. Every inch of him radiated power, and yet… his eyes found me. They pierced through me like a blade, stripping away every layer I had built to protect myself.
"I expected fear," he said, his voice low, silk over steel. "But you… you look almost defiant."
I swallowed. My voice caught, but I forced it out.
"I don't intend to die tonight."
The hall tensed. A gasp, sharp and fearful, rolled through the crowd. He didn't flinch. Instead, a corner of his lips lifted—an expression both cruel and… intrigued.
"Bold," he murmured. Then, with a movement so sudden I barely registered it, he stepped closer. The scent of smoke and something darker—metal, earth, danger—hit me, making my heart stutter.
"You are mine," he whispered. "Not because I love you… but because I cannot let you go."
A shiver ran down my spine. His words should have terrified me, but instead… they ignited something in me, a spark I didn't want to understand.
And then he did the unthinkable. He reached out, brushing his fingers against my cheek. My body betrayed me, leaning toward the touch, craving the danger it promised.
The crowd faded. The walls disappeared. Only his gaze and the heat of his presence remained.
And in that moment, I realized that I was no longer afraid of dying.
I was afraid of what would happen if he let me live.
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