Selene
The hall was colder than usual.
Not physically—no draft, no chill—but in that way only royalty knew: the kind of cold that clung to conversations, where every word had teeth and every silence, a secret.
Selene sat at her father's right hand in the obsidian chamber, where the ceiling sparkled like a sky carved from glass and the high lords of Solrath draped themselves in velvet and spite.
Another trade dispute. Another border threat. Another echo of war.
She didn't hear them. Not really.
Not when her chest still burned from the crows, from the dream, from the weight of something ancient crawling beneath her skin. She had barely slept. Her ladies had powdered the hollows beneath her eyes, braided her hair like she was still a girl.
But something had changed.
She could feel it.
A pulse. A pull.
A warning.
"I believe your daughter should be present at the next treaty negotiation," Lord Maric was saying.
Selene blinked, forcing herself back to the table. "I'd be honored, my lord," she said evenly. "If the terms are worth the ink they're written with."
Gasps. A few stifled chuckles.
Her father didn't correct her. But he didn't look at her either.
The cold deepened.
That night, Selene stood at the edge of the Royal Arboretum, where moonflowers bloomed under magic and the oldest trees whispered in tongues no human spoke anymore. It was her sanctuary. The one place no tutor, no soldier, no king dared follow.
She removed her crown. Held it in her hands like a broken oath.
What was the point of wearing a symbol when the kingdom underneath it was built on blood?
She was supposed to bring unity.
But she felt fractured.
She didn't notice the shift in the air until it was too late.
The silence was too sharp. Too sudden.
Like the forest had inhaled—and never exhaled.
She turned.
And there he was.
Kael
Up close, she looked… real.
That surprised him.
He had imagined her a hundred different ways: haughty, cruel, gilded in sin. He wanted her to be that way. Wanted to see her and feel nothing but fire.
But this girl—this woman—was not what he expected.
She wore no guards. No jewels. No mask.
Just a storm in her eyes that mirrored his own.
"Who are you?" she demanded, stepping back.
Kael said nothing. Not yet.
His blood thrummed with the hunger he had held back for days, but his will remained iron. She was not prey. Not yet. She was a piece on the board. A key.
Her pulse quickened. She noticed his silence. Noticed his eyes.
"You're not—" she began, breath hitching.
Then she ran.
He let her.
Through the winding paths of the garden, her slippers barely touched the stone. He followed, slow, deliberate, like a predator who had already decided where she would fall.
She reached the eastern wall—only to find the gate sealed with ancient shadow.
Kael stepped from the trees.
She turned to face him, chest heaving. "You're one of them," she whispered. "The cursed."
His voice was a blade drawn in candlelight.
"No. I am the curse."
He raised his hand—and the world vanished.
Selene
When she woke, it was dark. Too dark.
The cold wasn't metaphor anymore. It was bone-deep, ancient. The floor beneath her was stone, damp with old blood. Chains—not iron, but obsidian laced with runes—bound her wrists.
She was no longer in Solrath.
No longer a princess.
Just a prisoner.
Footsteps echoed. Heavy. Sure.
Kael stepped into the flickering torchlight, a silhouette of ruin and command.
"Why am I alive?" she croaked.
Kael crouched before her. His eyes—red and terrible—held no sympathy.
"Because your blood is a kingdom."
"And you'll drink it?"
He smiled. And it terrified her more than any threat.
"No," he said softly. "I'll teach you what it bought."