Solvane sprinted through the palace corridors, his breath ragged, his vision blurred. He didn't look back—didn't dare. His heart thundered in his chest, and his hand burned with a pain so sharp it felt like fire had taken root in his veins. He clutched it tightly, but the agony only deepened.
Normally, his wounds healed in seconds—his body a marvel of royal blood and ancient magic. But this injury was different. It wasn't healing. In fact, it was growing worse. The skin around the wound had turned black, veins pulsing unnaturally beneath it, as if something inside was spreading.
He stumbled into his chamber, collapsing just past the threshold. His head pounded, and his body trembled uncontrollably. Blood trailed behind him like a crimson ribbon, staining the polished floors.
Sunny, his maid, arrived moments later with his dinner tray. She froze at the sight: the blood, the prince curled on the floor, shivering like a dying animal. Her breath caught in her throat—not from pity, but from fear.
She had been tasked with protecting him. If Solvane died under her watch, it wouldn't just be her life forfeited. Her entire household could be slaughtered in retribution. That was the law of the Yellow Aspers.
She turned and ran, heart hammering, toward the king's quarters.
The King of the Yellow Aspers—was a man whispered about in every corner of the realm. A warrior who could rival an entire army. She remembered the first time she saw him, years ago, when she was still a girl.
He had held his sword with a grace that defied his brutality. His face was refined, almost regal, yet his presence was that of a predator. He was like the forbidden apple—beautiful, untouchable, and dangerously tempting. That day, he had fought another Golden Asper. It wasn't a duel. It was a massacre.
She had seen his grin then—feral, unhinged. His eyes weren't human. They were bestial, glowing with something ancient and terrible. She hadn't felt fear like one feels for a wild animal. No, this was deeper. It was fear of the unknown. Of something that shouldn't exist.
There was no one who haven't heard of His name
He was known as King Aubrean.
Now, she stood before his chamber door, trembling. She raised her hand to knock—but before her knuckles touched wood, the door swung open.
He stood there, towering, silent.
His gaze pinned her in place. He didn't speak, but the message was clear: Talk, or I'll make sure you never do again.
"The prince," she stammered. "He's dying. There's blood and—"
"Where is he?" the king interrupted, voice like steel.
"In his chamber. I didn't know he—"
Before she could finish, he was gone.