The ancient prophecy carved into the obsidian walls of the Duskborne crypt had remained unchanged for a thousand years, its words glowing faintly silver whenever the moon reached its peak. Tonight, as Crown Prince Lucian Duskborne traced the ethereal script with his fingertips, the letters pulsed with an urgency that made his dead heart stutter.
When mortal blood calls to royal vein, when two souls merge in crimson rain, the Crown shall rise, the Kingdom fall, unless True Love conquers all.
"My lord?" His advisor's voice echoed through the stone chamber. "The Council awaits your presence."
Lucian didn't turn from the prophecy. For three centuries, he'd dismissed these words as mere poetry, the desperate hope of ancient vampires who believed in fairy tales. But tonight, something stirred in his chest—a restlessness he couldn't name, a hunger that had nothing to do with blood.
"Tell them I'll be along shortly, Viktor." His voice carried the authority of one born to rule, even as uncertainty gnawed at his soul.
As Viktor's footsteps faded, Lucian pressed his palm against the cold stone. The prophecy flared brilliant silver, nearly blinding him, before settling back to its usual dim glow.
Somewhere in the mortal world above, his destiny was walking toward him.
And he had no idea that everything he thought he knew about power, duty, and love was about to shatter like glass.