Sophie Carter had never believed in magic. She believed in missed trains, bills piling up, and the numbing routine of waking up at six every morning to catch the subway into the heart of the city. Magic belonged in the books she devoured at night, in the fairy tales her mother used to whisper before sleep, not in the world of deadlines and fluorescent lights.
Yet, as she stood alone inside the ruins of the old Belmont Estate on the outskirts of town, staring at a cracked mirror that shimmered faintly under the dim light of the moon, she realized her life was about to prove her wrong.
She had only come here to clear her head. The estate was a forbidden place, one locals avoided with muttered warnings of curses and ghosts. Sophie didn't believe in any of it, but she loved the quiet. Tonight, though, the air felt different—charged, like the moment before a thunderstorm.
Her fingers brushed against the jagged edge of the mirror's frame, worn and splintered with time. For a moment, her own reflection wavered, as though rippling water separated her from herself. She blinked.
"What the…?" she whispered.
Her reflection smiled back—except Sophie hadn't moved her lips.
Panic rose in her chest, but before she could stumble back, the glass pulsed like a heartbeat. A force yanked her forward, and the world spun. Cold swallowed her, darkness pressed against her skin, and she fell, as though she were being pulled through endless space.
When her feet slammed against solid ground again, Sophie gasped for air.
The mirror was gone.
The subway tunnels, the estate ruins, the familiar world—all gone.
Instead, she stood in the middle of a grand hall lit by chandeliers of glowing crystals. Velvet curtains swept from high-arched windows, and the floor gleamed with polished marble. The air smelled of incense and steel, heavy with the weight of authority. Soldiers in dark armor lined the walls, their spears raised in unison as their eyes locked on her.
"Your Majesty!" one of them shouted, dropping to one knee.
Sophie froze. "What?"
Before she could make sense of it, a tall man strode forward from the far end of the hall. His presence demanded silence, his steps echoing with authority. He wore a black coat embroidered with silver thread, a sword strapped to his side. His eyes—piercing grey, cold as winter storms—landed on her.
For a heartbeat, Sophie couldn't breathe.
He was beautiful in the most dangerous way possible.
But it wasn't his looks that made her heart hammer. It was the way he looked at her, as if she were both salvation and poison.
"Seraphina," he said, his voice low, dangerous.
Sophie blinked. "I—I think you've got the wrong person."
A murmur rippled through the soldiers. Some exchanged glances, others pressed fists to their chests in salute.
The man—who Sophie quickly realized was some sort of ruler—stepped closer, studying her face as though searching for cracks in a mask.
"You return after years of silence," he said, each word sharp, deliberate. "And you expect me to believe it is not you?"
Sophie shook her head, heart racing. "I don't even know who you are. I'm not—whoever you think I am. My name is Sophie."
The soldiers tensed, whispers growing louder.
The man's eyes narrowed. "Do not play games with me."
Something in his tone made her legs weaken. Power clung to him like a cloak, and she could tell—one wrong word could mean her death.
She swallowed hard. "Look, I don't know how I got here. I was just—" she stopped, realizing how insane it sounded. I was just touching a creepy mirror in an abandoned estate and then—bam—I'm here.
The man's jaw tightened, but before he could speak again, a young woman in a plain dress rushed forward. She bowed quickly before addressing him.
"Your Majesty, please… perhaps she is confused. It has been years. Maybe the ordeal has… changed her."
Sophie turned toward the girl. Her eyes were kind, filled with worry, and Sophie instinctively clung to that shred of warmth in the freezing storm she had just stepped into.
The man's gaze didn't soften.
At last, he said, "Take her to the Queen's chambers."
Sophie's mouth fell open. "Wait—what? No. I think you've made a mistake. I'm not—"
But his soldiers were already moving.
Two of them approached, bowing slightly but firmly guiding her toward the massive doors at the end of the hall.
She twisted in their grip, glaring back at the ruler whose cold eyes followed her like a shadow. "At least tell me your name!" she demanded.
For the first time, a flicker of something unreadable crossed his face.
"I am King Alexander," he said, his voice echoing through the hall. "And you, whether you deny it or not, are my queen."
The doors slammed shut behind her, leaving Sophie's thoughts in chaos.
Queen?
Her?
This had to be a mistake.
But deep down, as fear churned in her stomach, another thought crept in—one she didn't dare voice.
If this was a mistake… why had the mirror chosen her