Finally, the day everyone in the kingdom had waited for arrived. The grand ball was set to begin at 7 p.m., allowing all guests ample time to prepare. The entire kingdom buzzed with anticipation, and the palace glittered with preparations. Over five hundred guests were expected, nobles, foreign royals, supernatural dignitaries, and the most respected names across the realm.
While the King was the official host, the true star of the night was his daughter, the very reason this ball had been arranged.
In one of the royal chambers, Lady Irene stood over her daughter, Klara. Klara was undeniably beautiful, with the grace of royalty and the intellect of a scholar. But she bore the unfortunate mark of obedience, always doing whatever her mother commanded.
Klara had inherited her Mother's flowing black hair and her Father's striking green eyes.
Irene pulled out a gown sent from an overseas tailor, a shimmering purple dress, the official color of royalty. It was elegant, expensive... and scandalously revealing.
Klara hesitated. "Mother, must I wear this? It's too tight, and I don't want to be the center of attention."Irene rolled her eyes. "Don't be foolish, Klara. This is your chance to find a husband worthy of your status. You must look presentable, irresistible even."
Klara reluctantly slipped into the gown. It clung to her curves in all the wrong ways, or right ways, depending on who was looking. She looked sinfully beautiful.
Irene styled her hair into two elegant buns, placed a golden tiara on her head, and summoned maids to bring food. But when Klara begged, "Mother, it's hard to breathe, can we loosen it just a bit?"
Irene didn't even glance at her. "The maid will bring your food later. I don't want you stuffing yourself like a glutton before the ball. Your stylist will be here soon. Sit properly."
Then she swept out of the room.
Moments later, Roshan entered. Clara's older brother, always protective and warm. Dressed in his purple ceremonial attire, he smiled when he saw her.
She ran to hug him. He looked her over and frowned.
"Why are you wearing this?" he asked gently.
Clara sighed. "Mother insisted. She said I need to look stunning to attract a suitor."
Roshan smirked, pulling her into a side hug, brushing his hand gently across her cheek.
"They don't know... but I do," he whispered. "You're already more than enough, clothes or not."
Roshan was undeniably handsome. He looked nothing like the King. With his piercing hazel eyes, his blonde hair and noble bearing, he stood out wherever he went. Nearly every young woman in the kingdom hoped he would glance their way, but none of them knew that Roshan's heart had already been claimed, by someone secret, someone special.
He gently helped Klara loosen her corset and gave her a comforting smile. "I have to go now, sis. Crown Prince duties. I'll see you at the ball."
With that, he vanished down the corridor like a shadow, leaving Klara sighing at the unfairness of the evening. As if on cue, a maid arrived with her food.
Klara looked down at the tray, tiny snacks, fancy but unsatisfying. "Snacks again," she muttered, annoyed. What she needed was real food. Still, knowing she needed energy for the long night ahead, she sat and began eating in silence.
Meanwhile, the King was preparing for the event himself. His mind was occupied with more than logistics. Among the five major kingdoms, three were considered the strongest. The Powerful kingdoms of Velmoria, Eryndor and his Kingdom Duskhelm and he knew that two of their crowned princes would be in attendance tonight. He was certain one of them might end up marrying his daughter.
King Draelos stood before a shrine in a private garden, paying his respects to the guardian once devoted to his late wife. His expression was unreadable, but his thoughts were sharp. Whoever wants my daughter must come with more than a title, they must offer something powerful, something useful.
Elsewhere in the palace, Princess Aralyn had woken early. She was in the dancing room, trying to recall the waltz. It had been ages since she last danced, and with the King surely expecting her to open the floor, she couldn't afford to mess up.
Again and again she practiced, she counted. 41. 42 attempts. Still wrong.
"Oh no," she muttered. "I'm really going to embarrass myself."
Luckily, Paulina returned just in time with the dancing instructor. He bowed deeply. "Your Highness, I'm honored. Please, allow me to guide you. The first rule of dancing is to let go, connect to the music, feel the rhythm, and move freely."
He extended his hand. "May I have this dance?"
She placed her hand in his, and they began. Music flowed… but her steps didn't. She missed beats, stepped on his foot multiple times, lost her balance.
Frustrated, Aralyn pulled away. "Stop!"
The teacher winced in pain, though he tried to smile through it. She sighed, paid him generously, and gave him a pass to visit the castle healer. "I'm sorry," she said, and walked away.
Back in her room, she huffed, "You know what? However I dance, I dance. Maybe I'll push it to Klara, she's the perfect dancer anyway."
Paulina chuckled. "My Princess, you should start getting ready. Guests will begin arriving soon."
Aralyn freshened up. Her dress for the night was royal purple with silver embroidery, delicate but strong. Her hair was tied into a soft bun with two strands falling in front, framing her face. When Paulina finished her makeup, she looked at her in awe.
"My gosh… you look breathtaking."
But Aralyn didn't smile. She felt neither joy nor sorrow, just the weight of the evening pressing on her chest.
The castle bell rang. The gates had opened.
It was time.
She descended the grand staircase with quiet grace. At the bottom, she spotted Klara and Roshan already receiving guests. Their relationship wasn't close, just formal nods and stiff greetings.
Roshan, still busy with diplomatic greetings, didn't even look her way.
One by one, the guests poured in, faces that were strange, yet eerily familiar. Royals, warlocks, noblemen, fae, and other beings from faraway realms. Something about their eyes, the glint in them, stirred something in Araleen's chest.
Family of Virellan
Family of Avreth
Family of Silvaran
Family of Frostmere
...
Suddenly, a herald approached the royal family and bowed deeply. "Your Majesties, it's time. Please, take your seats."
The King gave a nod, and with grace, Araleen and her siblings were ushered toward the golden royal chairs elevated on the dais. Only thirty minutes remained until the start of the ball.
Far away, in the shadows of another house, Rhonex stood before a tall obsidian mirror. He was already dressed in a midnight blue suit that clung to him like starlight, cut perfectly to his body, regal, dangerous, beautiful. His crimson hair caught the flickering light, and his golden eyes shimmered like molten metal.
He looked like sin and power wrapped in skin.
But power was also his curse.Rhonex had spent the earlier hours preparing, not for appearance, but for survival. After absorbing the energy of thousands of Zarkrath, his demonic aura had become far too unstable to walk among mortals. The sheer pressure of it could suffocate weaker beings, even cause some to lose their minds.
He needed control.
He sat down, spine straight, eyes distant, and began to chant under his breath. This was no ordinary magic, it was his own creation, forged in blood and sealed by pain.
His voice was low, commanding, and layered with centuries of unspoken rage:
"I draw the storm into silence.
I fold the night into itself.
Shadows that crawl, return to my bones.
Fire that rages, sink into my breath.
By the chains of my will, I bind thee.
By the weight of my curse, I silence thee.
No fang, no claw, no crown or flame shall speak for me this night.
Be still, my aura.
You who roar like oceans.
You who tremble the earth.
You who choke the weak and burn the proud.But hear me now, withdraw. Recede."
Flow inward, coil inward, draw inward,"
"Until you are but embers in my veins.
Until you are but whispers in my blood."
"Let no mortal faint from my breath,
Let no candle fall to my shadow,
Let no heart break beneath my presence.
This night belongs not to fear, but to vow.
Not to terror, but to purpose.
Not to chaos, but to acquire the source that shall break my curse.
By ash, by chain, by darkness unbroken, be silent.
By cause, by crown, I command you, be chained.
Stay. Stay. Stay. Stay.
As the final word left his lips, a heavy silence fell. The space around Rhonex contracted, folding in upon itself like a beast tamed. His golden eyes opened, sharp, glowing, alive with fire. His aura no longer roared, it simmered, hidden beneath the weight of his will.
In that moment, a memory surfaced his mother, a witch and demon both, whispering incantations beneath a crescent moon. She had taught him spells long before he understood their meaning. Many were lost in the fog of his fractured mind, but some, like this one, found their way back, drawn by need, or fate.
His heart throbbed suddenly.
That pain.It struck without warning, like a blade plunged through his
chest. He pressed a hand to his ribs, gritting his teeth. But this time, it passed quickly, and his aura remained calm.
He snapped his fingers.