The rain fell like a thousand silver needles, cold against Alya Roselyn's skin.Her wedding gown once pristine white was now soaked and heavy, the hem trailing mud as she walked the cobblestone path toward the towering gates of Eryndor Castle.
She hadn't come here by choice.
A soldier's grip tightened around her arm, as though he feared she might bolt at any moment. Behind them, the steady rhythm of hooves and the clang of armor swallowed every other sound.
"The Prince is waiting for you," the soldier said coldly, no trace of emotion in his voice.
Alya lifted her chin despite the sting in her eyes.Waiting? For what? They had never met.
All she knew was one thing: the man she was to marry tonight was not the charming prince of childhood fairy tales. He was Lucien Draegon, heir to the throne known across the realm as The Cursed Prince.
The massive black iron gates creaked open, revealing a courtyard bathed in torchlight.Gargoyle statues lined the path, their stone wings slick with rain, their eyes seeming to follow her every step.
She fought to steady her breathing as she was escorted into the grand hall.
The ceiling soared above her, painted with scenes of ancient battles. Long tables were filled with nobles in velvet and silk, their jeweled eyes gleaming not with joy, but with a cruel, insatiable curiosity.
Whispers spread like wildfire.
"That's her… the girl from the North.""Poor thing… she has no idea what awaits her.""How long until the curse claims her?"
The word curse sliced into her ears, but Alya ignored it, raising her chin higher as she approached the black marble altar at the far end of the hall.
And there he was.Lucien Draegon.
Tall and imposing in a black coat embroidered with silver thread, his face half-shadowed beneath the chapel's dim light.His storm-gray eyes assessed her not admiring, not welcoming, but… measuring.
He didn't smile. He didn't greet her.Just stared.
The royal priest began reciting the marriage rites, his voice echoing through the silent hall. Each syllable felt like another shackle closing around Alya's neck.
When it was Lucien's turn to speak his vow, his voice was deep, rough, yet unwavering.
"I, Lucien Draegon, take…" he paused, his eyes traveling slowly from the top of her veil to the hem of her gown "…you, as my wife."
No warmth. No tenderness. Just a legal statement carved in ice.
Alya's own voice trembled, but she made sure it carried across the hall.
"I, Alya Roselyn, take you."
It was done. The marriage was sealed. Applause followed perfunctory, soulless.
Lucien leaned in, his words meant for her ears alone.
"Expect nothing more than this. You are merely a piece in a much larger game."
Before she could respond, he turned and walked away through a side door, leaving her alone at the altar.
The bridal chamber was vast but cold, its stone walls hung with faded tapestries. Servants brought her inside, then locked the door from the outside.No sign of Lucien. No celebration. No wedding night.
Only silence… and the distant sound of rain.
Alya moved toward the large window, gazing out over the dark courtyard. That's when she saw it on the eastern wing balcony, a tall figure stood in chains, head bowed, rain pouring over him.Something moved in the shadows behind him… something not quite human.
Her chest tightened.Was that Lucien… or something else entirely?
A sharp knock made her jump.An elderly maid entered, her face pale.
"My lady… listen carefully. Whatever happens, you must never… enter the eastern wing."
"Why?" Alya demanded.
The maid hesitated, eyes darting toward the window as if the darkness itself might overhear.
"Because… not everything that walks these halls… is human."
Night deepened. Alya couldn't sleep. The maid's warning echoed in her mind.
Then, a whisper slithered through the room.
"Alya… Alya…"
She froze. The voice seemed to seep from the very walls.
Turning sharply, she found nothing there.
The whisper grew clearer.
"You… are the key… to the curse…"
Before she could trace its source, the door slammed open. Lucien stood there, his black coat dripping rain, his gray eyes catching the torchlight like molten silver.
"Do not leave this room. If you value your life."
Alya swallowed her fear.
"Why is everyone talking about your curse? What are you hiding in the eastern wing?"
Lucien closed the distance between them in two strides, his gaze piercing.
"You won't like the answer, Alya."
He turned to leave, but paused at the threshold his next words freezing her blood.
"And if you dare to seek it… the curse will choose you."
Alya stood in the middle of the room, heart pounding. Outside, lightning flashed and for a split second, she saw the chained figure on the eastern balcony again.This time… it was staring straight at her.