She was the firstborn daughter of Kingdom of Velthorne, the jewel of our kingdom; the one meant to seal the alliance with Crown Prince Kael's war-hardened realm. But she had broken the one law that mattered. In the kingdom of Drevak, purity was not a virtue but a sentence. If she arrived at their gates unwed and not untouched, she would die.
Once my father died, the crown would go to Crown Prince Alaric. Amid this peace agreement, a change in reign would be death itself. The war would continue without this alliance. More people would die, and Velthore would fall.
I have already seen it.
The kingdoms of this world do not belong to men alone. Magic is not a whisper in the dark—it roars in the wild places, bold and untamed. Monsters roam beyond the safety of our walls—shadow beasts with too many eyes, scaled leviathans that slip through the rivers at night, and winged terrors that blot out the moon. Fae drift through the woods, their laughter sharp as broken glass, their promises traps wrapped in beauty.
We build cities, forge alliances, and claim crowns—but we are not the rulers of this world. We survive it.
Magic runs through my veins, as in all born of Velthorne blood. We hide it because kingdoms like Drevak would burn us for it. But my magic is not the kind that can be bound. I see—the future, the threads of fate twisted and fraying. I saw Nyra's death before the envoy arrived. I saw her blood on the stones of Drevak's border, war tearing through our lands, and the creatures of the wild drawn to the chaos like wolves to the scent of death.
So, I went in her place, not out of fear, out of duty. No one needed to ask. I am not only a daughter of Velthorne. I am its shield, blade, and its offering.
I walked willingly toward Drevak's gates, into the arms of a prince forged in war, into the heart of a kingdom that would kill me if they knew the truth. I carry my magic like a hidden weapon, silent and deadly.
I am not helpless. I am not tame. And if the monsters of this world think I am prey—they will learn to fear my name. Velthorne will not fall, not while I still draw breath. And should magic rise in fire and fury? I will rise with it.