The bells of Valencrest rang softly beneath the pale morning sky, their sound drifting through the mist-covered gardens of the count's estate. Sunlight filtered through tall cathedral-like windows, casting gentle shadows across silk curtains and polished marble floors.
Amelia Valencrest stood before a tall mirror, her reflection staring back at her with unsettling calm.
Long black hair cascaded down her back like spilled ink, untouched by ornaments. Her blue eyes—clear and deep—held neither excitement nor fear, only quiet awareness. Today marked her official debut into noble society, a day her parents had prepared for since the moment she was born.
"Miss Amelia," a maid said gently, bowing her head. "The Count and Countess are waiting."
Amelia nodded.
She allowed the maids to dress her in layers of pale blue silk and lace, a gown modest enough to avoid gossip yet elegant enough to demand attention. As the corset was tightened, a strange warmth stirred deep within her chest—faint, controlled, and dangerous.
Magic.
She suppressed it instinctively.
From the moment Amelia was born, strange things had followed her. Candles lit themselves. Holy relics hummed in her presence. Once, when she had been ill as a child, the chapel bells rang without being touched.
The Countess had wept that night.
Since then, Amelia had learned to be careful.
The grand hall of Valencrest filled slowly with nobles, knights, and messengers from the capital. Her parents stood at the front, dignified and composed.
Count Alaric Valencrest was a man known for neutrality—a rare trait in a kingdom divided by ambition. Beside him stood Countess Marianne, her gentle smile hiding a sharp political mind.
"My daughter," the Count said quietly when Amelia approached, "remember what we taught you."
"Observe. Listen. Speak carefully," Amelia replied.
Pride flickered in his eyes.
That was when the atmosphere shifted.
The doors opened.
Black boots struck marble with authority.
A man entered, tall and imposing, clad in dark military attire embroidered with crimson thread. His black hair fell loosely around sharp features, and when his gaze lifted—
Red eyes met Amelia's.
Duke Lucien Blackthorn.
The western duke. The empire's most feared general. A man whispered about in war councils and ballrooms alike.
Amelia felt it.
A pressure—heavy, dangerous, and oddly familiar.
Lucien's gaze lingered on her for a fraction of a second longer than propriety allowed.
Then he bowed.
"Count Valencrest," he said, voice deep and controlled. "I thank you for your hospitality."
The Count returned the bow. "Your presence honors us, Your Grace."
From that moment on, Amelia was aware of him.
She did not know why—but she knew he would not look away.
Laughter erupted near the entrance as another group arrived.
Golden hair caught the light as if kissed by the sun itself.
Prince Adrian Aurelius stepped inside with an easy smile, blue eyes bright and curious. Unlike the duke, he wore his status lightly, greeting nobles with warmth rather than intimidation.
When his gaze found Amelia, his smile softened.
"Well," he murmured, approaching, "so this is the Count's precious daughter."
Amelia bowed properly.
"Your Highness."
"Please," he said lightly. "You make me sound old."
He laughed, and the tension eased—but Amelia felt something else now.
Interest.
Genuine and dangerous.
From across the hall, Duke Blackthorn watched silently.
The final arrival came without announcement.
The hall fell silent.
White robes brushed the marble floor as a young man entered, flanked by holy knights. His white hair shimmered like silver beneath candlelight, and his golden eyes glowed with an unsettling calm.
Pope Seraphiel.
The youngest pope in the history of the Holy Church.
He stopped mid-step.
His gaze locked onto Amelia.
For the first time in her life, Amelia felt her magic react violently.
Her breath caught.
The pope's eyes narrowed—not in suspicion, but in recognition.
"So it is true," he said softly.
The hall froze.
Count Valencrest stiffened. "Your Holiness?"
Seraphiel smiled gently.
"Forgive me. I sensed a… blessing."
His gaze never left Amelia.
From that moment, her fate was sealed.
Power, blood, and faith had all found her.
And none intended to let her go.