The silence after the attack was deafening. The city of Crescent Court was never still—markets bustled, streets rang with the laughter of children, the clatter of carriages was constant—but now, even the air seemed hesitant to move.
Lianna sat by the window of her chamber, staring at the faint trail of smoke that still rose from the far edge of the district. She had watched the shadows consume homes, the guards fail to hold them back, and then—her own hands glowing as though lit from within.
She clenched her fists tightly now, but the faint shimmer of light still flickered in her veins, betraying her fear.
"Still trembling?"
Kael's voice cut through the quiet like steel scraping stone. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his golden armor faintly cracked from battle. His hair, usually pristine, was damp with sweat, and his sharp eyes regarded her with an intensity that pressed down harder than any weight.
"You think I wanted this?" Lianna muttered, glaring at her hands. "That power—it wasn't mine. It felt like something… using me."
Kael stepped closer. "It's not something. It's you." His tone was blunt, but his gaze softened almost imperceptibly. "The mark isn't just a curse. It's awakening. The more you run from it, the more it will devour you."
Her heart tightened at his words. She had seen Kael cold and cruel, but rarely honest in this way.
Before she could answer, the door creaked, and Auren slipped inside. Unlike Kael, he didn't carry the smell of ash and smoke. He smelled of pine and crisp air, like he had walked through untouched forests instead of fire.
"Enough, Kael," Auren said, his calm voice filling the room. He moved to Lianna's side and placed a gentle hand over hers, hiding the glow in her veins. "She doesn't need fear right now. She needs rest."
"She needs the truth," Kael snapped.
"She needs hope," Auren countered. His eyes lingered on Lianna's face, soft but searching. "And I'll give it to her, even if you won't."
The tension between the two men pressed against her chest until she could barely breathe. They were so different—Kael, sharp and unyielding; Auren, warm and soothing. Yet both seemed to carry pieces of the fate that suffocated her.
Lianna finally pulled her hand back and rose to her feet. "Stop fighting over me like I'm some prize. None of this was my choice!" Her voice cracked, and with it, the air seemed to ripple faintly—the same energy from earlier threatening to surface again.
Auren caught her wrist gently, grounding her. "Then make it your choice," he said softly. "Don't let fate speak louder than you."
But Kael shook his head. "Choice? There is no choice. The Forgotten King has marked her. And when he comes, she'll be his whether she accepts it or not."
The room chilled instantly.
Lianna froze, her pulse hammering. That name—Forgotten King—still echoed like a curse in her ears. She had heard his whispers, felt the brush of his presence in her dreams. But Kael spoke of him as if he were not just a shadow, but a certainty.
Her knees weakened. "You… you believe he's real?" she whispered.
Kael's gaze hardened. "I don't believe. I know."
Auren's jaw tightened, his hand lingering on her shoulder. His silence said enough.
For the first time, Lianna realized something terrifying: the people around her weren't doubting the shadows. They weren't dismissing her fears. They were preparing for his return.
---
The chamber air grew heavier with Kael's words. Lianna backed toward the window, fingers brushing the cold stone ledge as though anchoring herself. "No. No, that's impossible. He's just… whispers, shadows, stories meant to frighten children."
Kael's boots scraped against the marble as he stepped closer. "Does a story mark you with power? Does a shadow call you by name?"
Her throat constricted. She wanted to scream at him, deny it, but the memory of that silken voice brushing against her mind stopped her.
You are my bride.
She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms until blood welled.
Auren caught her hands quickly, wrapping them in his own. "Don't listen to him," he murmured, but there was a tremor beneath his calm tone. His warm fingers pressed against her cold skin, covering the cuts, but not the ache in her chest. "Even if he exists, he cannot take you. Not while I stand here."
Kael scoffed, though his eyes flickered with doubt. "You'll stand until he tears you apart, elf. Then what? She'll still be his."
"Better I fall than let her surrender to fate," Auren shot back, his usual softness replaced by steel.
The clash of their words pounded in Lianna's head until she couldn't breathe. She shoved away from them, stumbling toward the door. "Stop it! Both of you—stop!"
The walls seemed to pulse faintly with her cry. The glow returned to her veins, and for a moment, the room brightened with threads of white light. Kael and Auren froze, watching her in awe.
"Lianna…" Auren whispered.
But the light flickered out as quickly as it came, leaving her trembling and empty.
She ran.
Down the corridor, past startled servants, through the great doors of the Crescent Court until the night air slapped her face. She didn't stop until she reached the gardens, their moonlit roses trembling in the wind.
Her chest heaved as she dropped to her knees, pressing her hands to the earth. Why me? Why now? Why this curse?
The air stilled. The gardens hushed. Then came the sound—low, rich, almost like laughter carried on the wind.
Lianna's blood froze.
"You run from them, little bride," the voice coiled around her, echoing not through her ears, but her mind. "But you cannot run from me."
She spun around. The garden stretched empty, shadows cast by moonlight dancing harmlessly. And yet, at the farthest edge, darkness thickened into something almost human. A figure—tall, indistinct, with eyes glowing faint silver.
Her breath caught. "You…"
The shadows swayed, curling closer. "Did you think your awakening would go unnoticed? You are mine, Lianna. Your veins, your light, even your fear—every thread of you calls to me."
"Stay away!" she shouted, though her body shook violently.
The shadows halted. The faint silver eyes narrowed, amused. "You deny what you are. Yet, when you lit the city aflame with power, whose voice guided you?"
Her stomach twisted. She hadn't told anyone what she'd felt in that moment—how a whisper in the chaos had told her to release it.
"Why me?" Her voice cracked, small against the expanse of night. "Why did you choose me?"
The shadows leaned closer, the chill of them brushing her skin though they stood far. "Because fate owes me a bride. And destiny… chose you."
The words burned into her soul.
She collapsed against the rose bush, thorns pricking her arms, but she barely felt it. Her vision blurred, and when she blinked again, the shadows were gone.
But the echo of his voice lingered like a brand.
You are mine.
---
❓️❓️❓️❓️❓️
What if the Forgotten King isn't waiting to return… but already walks within Crescent Court?
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