The Nightfall Castle rose from the Black Forest like something carved from midnight itself—all soaring spires and impossible angles that seemed to defy the laws of physics. As our sleek black car wound up the mountain road, I pressed my face against the window, watching towers disappear into low-hanging clouds that perpetually shrouded the peak.
"Intimidating, isn't it?" Damien's voice held dark amusement as he observed my reaction. "My ancestors believed in making an impression. The architecture was designed to remind visitors exactly who holds the power here."
I straightened in my seat, refusing to show weakness even though my heart hammered against my ribs. "It's... impressive. Very Gothic revival meets supernatural fortress."
"Gothic revival?" He raised an eyebrow, and I caught the hint of a genuine smile. "Most people just call it terrifying and leave it at that."
The contrast between this luxury and my three days in the forest was staggering. The car's leather seats were softer than any bed I'd known, and the subtle scent of expensive cologne couldn't quite mask the wild, dangerous essence that was purely Damien. I'd gone from sleeping on the ground to riding toward a castle that probably cost more than most countries' GDP.
As we approached the main gates, I noticed something that made my blood run cold. Carved into the obsidian gateposts were symbols I recognized—the same spiraling patterns that had appeared in my dreams since childhood, the same shapes that sometimes seemed to move within my birthmark when I wasn't looking directly at it.
"Those markings," I said quietly, pointing at the gates. "What do they mean?"
Damien's expression darkened. "Ancient protection wards. They've been there for over a thousand years, placed by the first Shadow Kings to keep certain... things... at bay."
"What kind of things?"
"The kind that would be very interested in what you carry." His golden eyes fixed on my chest, where my birthmark pulsed beneath the silk dress he'd procured for me during our brief stop in town. "The kind that have been searching for someone like you for centuries."
Before I could ask what he meant, the massive gates swung open with a sound like thunder. The car purred up a circular drive lined with ancient oak trees whose branches formed a canopy so thick that even afternoon sunlight barely penetrated.
The castle's front entrance was a masterpiece of intimidation—doors that stood at least twenty feet tall, carved with more of those spiraling symbols and flanked by gargoyles whose eyes seemed to track our movement. As we stepped from the car, I felt power radiating from the very stones, older and deeper than anything I'd ever encountered.
"Welcome to Nightfall Castle," Damien said, offering me his arm with mock formality. "Try not to die of fright before we reach the front door. It would be terribly inconvenient."
"I don't frighten easily," I lied, taking his arm and drawing strength from the way his power seemed to steady mine.
The moment we crossed the threshold, I gasped. The entrance hall was vast enough to house a small village, with a ceiling that soared into darkness and a chandelier made of what looked like crystallized starlight. But it wasn't the grandeur that took my breath away—it was the way the very air seemed alive with magic.
My birthmark blazed to life, so bright it was visible through my dress. The symbols carved into the walls began to glow in response, creating patterns of light that danced across the polished marble floor.
"Fascinating," Damien murmured, watching the light show with intense interest. "The castle recognizes you. That's... unprecedented."
Before I could respond, a woman appeared as if materializing from the shadows themselves. She was tall and elegant, with silver hair and violet eyes that were disturbingly familiar. Her beauty was ageless, but something about her made my skin crawl.
"Master Damien," she said, her voice like silk hiding razors. "You've brought home a stray."
"Seraphina," Damien said formally, "meet Morgana Silverthorne, my... advisor. Morgana, this is my contracted bride."
The woman's violet eyes fixed on me with predatory interest. "How... quaint. Though I must say, she's rather more ragged than your usual acquisitions."
Heat flooded my cheeks at the obvious insult, but I lifted my chin defiantly. "I've had a difficult few days. I'm sure you understand how quickly circumstances can change."
Morgana's smile was razor-sharp. "Oh, I understand perfectly, child. I also understand that this castle has very specific rules. Break them, and the consequences can be... permanent."
"That's enough, Morgana," Damien's voice carried a warning that made the air itself seem to shiver. "Show our guest to the Luna Suite. She'll need appropriate clothing and time to... adjust."
"Of course, Master." Morgana's bow was respectful, but her eyes promised future unpleasantness. "Right this way, my dear."
As we climbed a grand staircase that seemed to spiral endlessly upward, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was walking deeper into a trap. The portraits lining the walls watched our progress with painted eyes that seemed far too lifelike, and more than once I could have sworn I saw one of them actually turn its head.
"The Luna Suite has been prepared for previous... candidates," Morgana said conversationally as we walked down a corridor lined with doors that all looked identical. "Though none of them lasted very long, I'm afraid. Master Damien has such... exacting standards."
"What happened to them?" I asked, though I wasn't sure I wanted to know.
"Oh, various things. Some simply couldn't handle the isolation. Others proved... incompatible... with the castle's requirements. One poor girl actually threw herself from the tower window rather than face another night here."
I stopped walking. "Are you trying to frighten me?"
Morgana turned, her smile widening to show teeth that seemed slightly too sharp. "My dear child, I don't need to try. This place will do that all on its own."
She opened a door with theatrical flourish, revealing a suite that was larger than the entire Blackthorne estate's main floor. The Luna Suite was decorated in silver and midnight blue, with furniture that looked both priceless and ancient. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the forest, and a fire crackled in a fireplace large enough to roast an entire deer.
But what caught my attention was the portrait hanging above the mantelpiece. It showed a woman with silver hair and purple eyes—eyes exactly like mine—standing in the same room, wearing a dress I'd never seen but somehow recognized.
"Who is that?" I breathed.
Morgana followed my gaze, and for the first time, her expression showed something other than disdain. "The last Luna of the Nightfall Dynasty. She disappeared over twenty years ago, leaving behind only questions and a curse that's grown stronger with each passing year."
My birthmark pulsed as I stared at the portrait, and I could swear the painted woman's eyes moved to meet mine. The resemblance was unsettling—we could have been sisters, or mother and daughter.
"What was her name?"
"Luna Seraphina Nightfall," Morgana said quietly. "Though she was born with a different name, just as you were. How curious that Master Damien should choose another Seraphina. He's not typically given to coincidences."
The room seemed to spin around me. "That's... that's impossible."
"Is it?" Morgana moved closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Tell me, child, what do you know about your true parentage? About why your birthmark glows with silver fire? About why the castle's wards recognize you as something other than human?"
Before I could answer, the door slammed open with enough force to rattle the windows. Damien stood in the doorway, his golden eyes blazing with fury that made the temperature in the room drop ten degrees.
"Morgana," his voice was deadly quiet, "I believe I dismissed you."
"Of course, Master. I was just—"
"You were just leaving. Now."
Morgana swept from the room with a final, knowing look in my direction. The moment she was gone, Damien's expression softened slightly, though tension still radiated from every line of his body.
"Don't listen to her," he said, moving to the fireplace and bracing his hands against the mantle. "Morgana has her own agenda, and it rarely aligns with anyone else's wellbeing."
"But the portrait—"
"Is a coincidence. Nothing more." But he wouldn't meet my eyes as he said it.
I walked closer, studying his profile in the firelight. "You're lying. Who was she really? And why do I look exactly like her?"
For a long moment, he was silent. Then, slowly, he turned to face me. "There are some secrets that are kept for good reason, Seraphina. Some truths that destroy more than they illuminate."
"I've already been destroyed," I said softly. "What's one more truth going to do?"
He studied my face for what felt like eternity. "The woman in that portrait was my first contracted bride. Like you, she came to me desperate and powerless. Like you, she carried ancient magic in her blood. And like you, she believed she could break my curse."
My heart hammered against my ribs. "What happened to her?"
"She succeeded," he said simply. "For one perfect night, the curse was broken. I felt... human. Whole. Capable of love and being loved." His expression grew distant, haunted. "And then she disappeared, taking the cure with her and leaving me more cursed than ever."
The pieces of the puzzle began clicking together in my mind. "She didn't just disappear, did she? She was murdered."
Damien's hands clenched into fists. "I found her body in the forest three days later. Torn apart by something that left no scent, no tracks, nothing that could be followed or hunted. Whatever killed her wanted to send a message."
"What kind of message?"
"That some curses aren't meant to be broken. That some monsters are meant to remain monsters." He turned away from me, staring into the fire. "That hope is the cruelest torture of all."
I moved closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. "Maybe she wasn't meant to break your curse permanently. Maybe she was just... clearing the way for someone who could."
He laughed, but the sound held no humor. "You think you're different? You think your magic is stronger than hers was?"
"I think I'm angrier," I said honestly. "I think I have less to lose and more to prove. And I think whoever killed her made a mistake by leaving me alive to try again."
Something flickered in his golden eyes—not hope, exactly, but something close to it. "You have three days," he said quietly. "Three days to prove you're more than just another beautiful fool chasing fairy tale endings. Three days to show me that you're worth the risk of believing again."
"And if I fail?"
"Then you'll join her in the forest, and I'll spend another eternity alone." He moved toward the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. "Oh, and Seraphina? There's something else you should know about your predecessor."
"What?"
"She was Victor Sterling's sister."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Victor's sister. The woman who looked exactly like me, who'd been murdered after briefly breaking Damien's curse.
"That's impossible," I whispered.
"Is it? Victor's been planning this for years—first sacrificing his sister to weaken me, then positioning himself to destroy you when you inevitably failed. Except you didn't fail, did you? You survived his betrayal and found your way to me anyway."
The room spun around me as the implications crashed over me in waves. Victor hadn't just betrayed me—he'd orchestrated everything. The false blood test, the public humiliation, even my exile to the forest where I'd be desperate enough to make a deal with the Shadow King.
"He wanted me to come here," I breathed. "He wanted me to contract with you."
"Oh yes. The question is why." Damien's smile was sharp as a blade. "What does Victor Sterling gain from having his discarded fiancée bound to his greatest enemy?"
Before I could answer, he was gone, leaving me alone with the portrait and a thousand questions that had no good answers.
I sank into a chair by the fire, my mind reeling. Victor hadn't just betrayed me—he'd used me as a weapon against Damien. But that meant he'd underestimated something crucial.
He'd assumed I would be just another victim, another broken girl who would fail and die, weakening Damien further. What he hadn't counted on was that his betrayal had done more than break me.
It had forged me into something harder than steel.
I looked up at the portrait again, meeting those painted eyes that were so like my own. "I don't know who you really were," I whispered, "but I promise you this—Victor Sterling will pay for what he did to both of us. And unlike you, I won't be broken by whatever games they're playing."
My birthmark blazed with silver fire, and for just a moment, I could have sworn the woman in the portrait smiled.
Three days to prove my worth. Three days to unravel a conspiracy that had been years in the making. Three days to turn Victor's own plan against him.
It would have to be enough.
End of Chapter 3