Chapter Two
Zeva looked around the chamber once more, her silver eyes searching every shadow. No one was there. The whisper had vanished, leaving only the sound of her own heartbeat echoing in her ears.
She tried to steady herself. There is nothing to fear, she told herself. Nothing in this room could harm her—at least not more than her own thoughts. With a quiet sigh, she returned to her bed and pulled the blanket tightly around her shoulders.
It was the midnight of her eighteenth birthday. As always, the palace would be filled with music, feasts, and laughter in celebration of the second princess of Avaloria. Yet she would not be there. She had never been there. The songs, the cheers, the dances—none of it belonged to her. She was a ghost to her own people.
She closed her eyes, but memories pressed against her. At sixteen, she had once tried to escape her confinement. That attempt had ended in tragedy. The maids who had helped her were all found dead within days—taken by an unseen curse, their lifeless eyes staring at nothing. It was then she stopped asking for freedom. It was then she accepted her fate.
But still, the question haunted her. Why?
She remembered standing before her parents, her voice breaking with desperation.
"Why can I not be known? Why can I not live as my sisters do?"
Her father's face had been grave as stone. "We are protecting you… protecting the world from what would happen if your presence was known by him."
Him.
The word had chilled her even then.
"Who is 'him'?" she had demanded.
Her mother's eyes had softened, yet her answer was no answer at all. "Someone who must never know of your birth."
And that was all they ever said. Every time she asked, every time she begged—they gave her nothing more.
Now, lying beneath her blanket, Zeva stared at the ceiling, the whisper still echoing in her mind.
At last… you are of age.
Her hands tightened against the fabric. For the first time, she felt her parents' warning was not just a shadow of fear—but something real, something close.
Something waiting.
In another chamber, far deeper within Avaloria's palace, the king and queen sat in silence. The weight of the night pressed upon them more heavily than the crown ever had.
King Gideon Avaron sat on the edge of his bed, his hands buried in his hair, his face drawn with grief. Beside him, his wife, Queen Lillith, held his trembling hand, her silver eyes heavy with sorrow.
"Zeva is eighteen today," Gideon said at last, his voice hoarse. "She cannot be kept hidden anymore. If the prophecy is true… he knows about her by now."
Lillith's fingers tightened over his. "We've tried all we can. Every spell, every lock, every ward. But if the prophecy comes to pass as it was spoken, there is nothing we can do to stop him. He will come—for her. To claim her."
Gideon's shoulders shook. For years, he had carried the burden of a king. Tonight, he was only a father. "I am afraid, Lillith," he whispered. "I cannot deny it. I am truly afraid. The presence of the devil in this world is forbidden—and yet, to think our daughter was born for him..."
His voice cracked, and tears gathered in his eyes. "How I wish she could be killed… how I wish I could end it with my own hand before he takes her."
The words were knives in the air, cruel and heavy. The sorrow of a father wishing death upon the child he loved, because the fate laid upon her was darker than death itself.
But Queen Lillith only shook her head, her voice trembling. "We tried, Gideon. Eighteen years ago, when she first came into this world, we tried everything. Every blade shattered, every spell failed. Something greater protected her. She was never ours to keep… and never ours to destroy."
The king buried his face in his hands, while the queen looked toward the moonlit window, her heart aching.
"All we can do now," she whispered, "is wait for what is coming."
That night, Zeva drifted into sleep—yet something felt strange. For as long as she could remember, she had never dreamed. Her maids often whispered of dreams, of stories and visions that came in the quiet of night, but such things had never touched her.
Until now.
In her dream, she found herself in a forest. The trees rose like twisted shadows, their branches clawing at the sky. The air was thick, cold, and alive with whispers. She was running—her bare feet striking the earth, her breath ragged in her chest. She did not know what chased her, but terror drove her faster, deeper into the endless wood.
And then she stumbled.
Her body hit the ground, the world spinning.
Slowly, she lifted her gaze.
Standing above her was a man. A tall figure cloaked in darkness, his eyes glowing a deep, blood-red. His lips curved into an evil smirk, sharp and merciless.
"Why are you running," his voice rumbled, low and haunting, "when you cannot escape me?"
He extended his hand toward her, his shadow falling over her trembling form. She felt it then—the pull, the inevitability, as though her very soul was his to claim.
But before his fingers could touch her—
Zeva's eyes flew open.
She sat upright in her bed, her chest heaving, sweat dampening her silver hair. Around her, her maids rushed to her side, their faces pale with worry.
"Your Highness, are you well?" one of them whispered, reaching for her trembling hands.
But Zeva could not answer. For the first time in her life, she had dreamed.
And in that dream… she had seen him.