Elena stood barefoot at the river bank, allowing the water to wash up her feet. The forest shimmered softly in the silver moonlight, casting soft reflections on the still river. She took in a deep breath of the air that smelled faintly of wet wood and lilacs mixed together.
And then she saw him...Calithar.
He stood across the river, exactly where he had the first night they met. His presence was unchanged, yet they seemed to have amplified in its intensity. His silver eyes gleamed sharper than she remembered, glowing like twin stars suspended in the shadow of his face.
As she stared at him, her body began to move without her consent. Elena moved slowly with her gaze never leaving his as she approached the river.
She placed her hand in his, and the moment their skin touched, the river surged like it was alive.
He placed his hands on her waist and drew her closer, step by step, until she was standing before him. The mist rising from the river, curled around them, sealing them in a cocoon of shadow and light. His large hands gripped her waist firmly, pulling her against the hard planes of his bare chest.
"My love...," he whispered ever so slightly that it made her pupils dilate. His smooth voice wrapped around her senses temporarily numbing and enchanting her completely.
Calithar lowered his head, his mouth hovering dangerously close to hers.
His posture was still, elegant and commanding, as if he had been waiting for years to claim her all this time.
Her eyes widened as she tilted her head up to him. His face was inches from hers now—sharp, flawless, and devastating in its beauty. His lips hovered so close that she could almost feel the ghost of his breath against her mouth.
His breath fanned her lips, warm and temptingly intoxicating. Her heart thundered as if it would tear from her chest. She knew she should resist but with his arms around her so invitingly, she had already lost.
Just as his lips brushed against hers, ready to claim her fully, a violent shove ripped through her chest, as though invisible hands had hurled her backward.
.............
Elena woke with a strangled gasp as her body tumbled from the bed and crashed hard against the cold, tiled floor. She sat up, trembling with her hands on her chest heaving as her eyes widely darted around her surroundings.
Empty. The room was totally empty. Who then had pushed her?
Her pulse raced as she scanned every shadow, half-expecting to see Calithar standing in the corner, watching her. But that wasn't the case at all.
The entire room was deserted and so eerily quiet you could hear a feather drop. Only the open window allowed the evening breeze to sweep in, stirring the drapes into ghostly movements.
Had the wind jolted her awake? Had she simply rolled off the bed? She pressed a hand to her chest, but the unease wouldn't leave her.
It had been months since Calithar last appeared in her dreams. Why now? Why so suddenly—and why...why had it felt so...real?
Her hand rose to her mouth, tracing the line of her lips.
He had almost kissed her.
The thought made her heart ache painfully and her stomach twisted in confusion. Why did part of her wish he had?
As she sat on the floor trying to make sense out of what had just happened, the suddenly creaked open.
She jerked as her heart leapt from her chest, only to see Damien nonchalantly walk in. His eyes swept over her quickly as she sat on the floor.
He arched a brow and approached her slowly. "You're awake," he said, sitting quietly on the bed.
"I—yes," Elena stammered, climbing back onto the bed, trying to compose herself.
"Good." His eyes scanned over her for a moment, as though he sensed something was off. Still, he didn't question her. "I have business with the King. I won't be here for a while."
"Oh...that's alright." she said, running her palms through her hair to smoothen it out.
"Uhm...can—can I tell you something?" she said, fiddling with her fingers. Damien looked at her with a slight grown on his face.
"What is it?"
She parted her lips, ready to speak but quickly shut it back.
"So—sorry. Nevermind, it's just something stupid."
Damien stared at her for a few more seconds before getting up.
"If you say so. The coronation is tomorrow so we can't delay." With that, he stood up from the bed. He turned and walked towards the door, shutting it softly behind him.
Elena swallowed hard when he left. She wrapped the duvet around her body, squinting her eyes shut as hard as she could just to get some rest.
It was just a dream right? Nothing more to it. As she laid there, she silently prayed for a peaceful night yet something within her wanted to have the same dream again.
And this time, with a continuation...
....................
Trumpets shattered the quiet.that cloaked itself around the palace. The sound was thunderous and commanding, reverberating through the stone walls of the palace even to the far ends of the main city. Outside, she could already hear the shuffling footsteps of the people, their voices and more freaking instruments!
It was the day of coronation. The day the prince would be crowned.
Before she could steady herself from all the noise, her chamber doors burst open and almost ten handmaids swept in.
"Good morning, Your Grace. We must quickly get you ready," one of them urged, bustling toward her with armfuls of garments. "The coronation begins soon."
They descended upon her like a flurry of birds, tugging her into the bathroom. There, they dipped her in a bathtub filled with rose petals before dabbing her skin with scentful oils.
After the bath, they began the dressing. Her hair was brushed up and clipped sharply into a tight bun until it gleamed. A few curled strands fell on both sides of her face, gently brushing her cheeks. Her lips were stained with a faint touch of pink hue and her body wrapped in the royal traditional Zerathanian attire—an elaborate gown of cream and brown embroidered with silver crescents that covered the flair from her waistline downwards. Around her throat was a necklace of red jade stones clasped into the infinity symbol.
Immediately after prepping her, Elena was hurried down as if the place was on fire.
.............
As she descended the stairs, her jaw practically hit the floor. The palace had been transformed from head to toe!. She was then ushered into an awaiting carriage that carried her across the main palace to the temple located at the western wing of the palace grounds.
When she stepped into the grand ceremonial hall, her breath caught.
The vast chamber was draped in splendor and grandeur. Skyscraping banners of gold and grey hung from the arched ceilings, embroidered with strange symbols and emblems all written in black. Roses twined along the walls complimenting the stark, pale marble. Chandeliers blazed with a hundred candles each, refracting their lights into shards by dangling crystals so the entire hall glittered like a galaxy had spilled into stone.
Every seat was filled with nobles from across the world; lords, envoys, kings, crowded the hall in their traditional attires.
Elena was led to her seat near the front, close to Damien, on the right-hand side of the hall where other kings and foreign representatives sat. She immediately took her seat without saying a word to him. Not like she even had anything to say in the first place.
.......................
A low hum of harps, lyres and the solemn echo of flutes filled the temple. It was grave and heavy, carrying a dreary feel to whoever listened to it like the air before a storm.
Admist all of it, Xavriel entered.
The hall fell utterly silent as he appeared at the far end, framed by a set of towering doors thrown wide. As he approached the altar where the throne sat, he looked like a bride approaching her beloved to be wed to him.
Xavriel wore a grey velvet cloak so dark it seemed to drink in the light. Silver tassels traced the hem in sharp, lightning-like patterns, and at his shoulders rested a mantle of raven feathers that gleamed like oil. A circlet of black and grey rested at his brow, giving him the image of a ruthless king. His chest was decorated with a grayish blue shirt lined with purple buttons with flaps folded on each other. His presence rolled through the chamber like smoke—majestic, suffocating and obvious.
Every step he took toward the altar was measured and deliberate. Everyone gathered got up from their seats and bowed lower than custom demanded. This was a man who single-handedly carried out a revolt against the entire kingdom. Even the priests bent their heads deeper both in reverence and in fear.
Elena's chest tightened as if the air had escaped from her lungs. She had seen him feed mercilessly, seen the monster lurking beneath his smile. And yet now, dressed as a sovereign, she couldn't deny how magnetic, commanding and divine his aura was. She despised herself for how she stared at him in of awe that. Could you blame her though? Who wouldn't?
...............
After everyone was seated, the ritual began.
Xavriel knelt on a black plush cushion before the priests, lowering himself onto one knee. The black, shiny, gem filled crown was brought forth on a white pillow and given to the head priest. Soft gasps and murmurs arose from the audience at the sight of it.
The Crown of Veylar.
It was said to have belonged to the first king and was forged in shadow and fire. Its gold was so dark it gleamed like diamonds burning like fresh blood under the light. Legends claimed it whispered to its bearer, either corrupting or empowering them depending on their nature and worthiness.
The priest began the chants, but Xavriel did not wait. Instead, he raised his hand, unsheathing a sharp, dagger whose blade was curbed crookedly at the end. With a single, clean motion, he cut across his palm.
Thick blood welled in his palm, dripping onto the sacred throne before him.
The instant it struck the stone, a hiss filled the air. The scent of molten glass seared through the air, invading Elena's senses. Flames from the coronation torch flared out angrily—only instead of the normal gold, they turned black.
The throne had rejected him!
The nobles recoiled, each one standing to get a better view of what was going on. This had never happened before.
"Elun morvas..." one of the priests stammered, paling.
From the far side of the chamber, a stranger rose. His voice rang out, trembling yet loud:
"Sacrilege! This is a curse! He is unfit to rule! The ancient flames burn black—"
The crowd erupted instantaneously in confusion. In a flash, everyone got up, surging straight for the exit without minding their titles and positions of power.
But they were a step behind. Soon, armored guards in red surged forward with their weapons drawn, ready to attack
Amidst the chaos, Xavriel quietly stood at the altar. As the guards were about to strike, he calmly raised one hand.
Silence crashed down like a blade and the whole temple fell into pin drop silence.
He turned his head, smirking with eyes glittering with cruel amusement. "Is that so? Why is everyone suddenly interested in leaving?." he asked calmly as he approached the gold seats lined in stair like manner on the right side. He made this way through the middle before coming face to face with the stranger who had called him out.
The stranger froze mid-breath and his body went rigid. Shadows seemed to coil from the ground itself, wrapping around him. In seconds, he was dragged screaming into the darkness of a portal that opened beyond the hall, vanishing without a trace.
The chamber fell deathly silent after witnessing the sight. Each member, prince or king slowly returned back to their seats with their mouths clamped shut.
Xavriel then lowered and calmly walked back to the priest at the altar. With a swing of his hand, he ordered the priest. "Proceed."
.................
Elena's heart hammered within her chest. She wanted to run out more than anything else but she knew better than that. Her mind flashed back to the stranger that was pulled into the mysterious portal. The thought alone of where he might be sent a shiver through her. Ever since she found out about the existence of vampires, nothing had become impossible to her again.
Her gaze flicked to Damien. He sat perfectly still. She noticed he hadn't moved an inch from his seat even when the others were fleeing a while back. His expression remained same: collected and oddly calm as if his face were carved from stone, but his eyes—his eyes were sharp and burning, as though he had expected this. As though he already knew the crown would answer to Xavriel in this way.
As soon as Xavriel arrived at the altar, the crown was lifted from the cushion.
Tradition dictated the priest should place it upon his head. But Xavriel rose on his own and took it in his hands.
Slowly, he set it upon himself.
In that same second, everything began to shake.
The hall trembled. Chandeliers swayed. The ground beneath them gave a faint shudder, as if the very palace was about to fall apart.
And then it happened.
For a heartbeat, just for less than a second, his silver hair bled into silver-blue.
Elena's breath stopped. Her heart lurched violently.
Silver. That shade of silver.
Her mind tore back to the dream, to Calithar's shimmering hair under the moonlight.
It couldn't be. It couldn't.
She blinked, and it was gone—his hair returned back to gold once more, radiant and glowing under the black crown.
Her palms grew damp. Was it her imagination? A trick of the light? Or had she seen the impossible?
After placing the crown on his head, Xavriel straightened himself.
The dangerous curve of his smile spread, slow and satisfied, as though this was precisely what he wanted.
When he spoke, his voice echoed effortlessly across the hall, carrying the power and image of the rumored 'dreadful king.'
"Today marks not only a coronation," he declared with his arms stretched out wide, "but the dawn of a new era."
His words were almost seductive, each syllable dripping with compulsion, weaving itself into the bones of everyone listening. Even those who had flinched at the black flames now leaned forward as through bewitched.
"A reign where strength will not falter. A reign where fear will be the foundation of loyalty. A reign where Veylar will rise above all."
His voice continued to echo around the hall. The people gathered outside the temple fell at the sound of his voice.
"All hail the great king!" the herald shouted from the end.
"All hail!" the people's in their thousands responded with reverence.
The hall itself erupted into cheers, loud claps and chants of praises, though their voices trembled in terror.
Elena remained unmoving with Damien by her side. What the heck was actually happening?!.
The monster who fed brutally fed in the shadows now wore a crown.
And the worst part—the very worst—was the possibility that this man, this very demon of a man, could be the Calithar she silently admired.