The Prince in Disguise
The night air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth as the stranger staggered deeper into the forest. His cloak, once dark blue and fine, was shredded by claw and branch alike. Blood trickled down his arm from a deep gash across his shoulder, staining the fabric black. Each breath came shallow, each step heavier than the last. Yet his eyes, sharp and determined, refused to close.
Prince Kael of the Moonlit Kingdom was not accustomed to fleeing. He had been trained since boyhood to face his enemies with sword in hand, to stand tall beneath banners of silver and steel. But tonight was different. The beasts that had hunted him were not of flesh and blood alone—they were shadows made real, creatures born from the curse his kingdom could not break. To fight them was to fight the dark itself, and even Kael's skill could not hold forever.
The trees around him seemed endless, their branches clawing like hands. His vision blurred as pain seared through his body. Just as he felt his strength falter, he glimpsed something strange through the mist—faint lights drifting between the trees, like fallen stars. Lanterns.
He stumbled toward them, each step dragging him closer until the forest thinned, and the hidden village of Elaria appeared before him. It was small but glowing with life—warm fires, gentle laughter, the faint sound of music carried on the wind. To Kael, it seemed a mirage, too peaceful, too untouched by the world he knew.
But his body could carry him no further. His knees buckled, and he collapsed at the edge of the village, his sword clattering beside him.
Aurora had not been able to sleep. The dream still burned in her mind, and restlessness pushed her from her bed. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and stepped outside, letting the cool night air wash over her. The village was quiet now, lanterns drifting like tiny moons above.
She walked to the outskirts, drawn once again to the forest. And there—just beyond the last of the lantern light—she saw him.
A man, lying motionless on the ground, blood staining his cloak.
Aurora gasped, rushing to his side. His face was pale beneath strands of dark hair, sharp features marked with both strength and exhaustion. His hand still clutched the hilt of a sword, its metal engraved with a crest she did not recognize. She pressed her fingers to his throat—there was a pulse, faint but steady. Relief swept through her.
Without hesitation, Aurora tore strips from her shawl and pressed them against his wound. A faint glow spread from her hands, soft and silver, as she whispered words of healing. The bleeding slowed, his breathing steadied, though his body remained heavy with fever.
His eyes fluttered open for the briefest moment. Dark, intense, filled with something she could not name.
"Who… are you?" he rasped, his voice hoarse, his accent unlike any she had heard.
"I'm Aurora," she said softly. "You're safe now. Just… don't move."
But Kael's lips curved faintly, as though the word safe was foreign to him. His gaze lingered on her glowing hands before his eyes closed once more, surrendering to unconsciousness.
Aurora knew she could not leave him there. With effort, she dragged him into the village, ignoring the startled whispers of the few who saw. She brought him to her small cottage, laying him upon her bed.
Through the night, she tended his wounds. She washed away the blood, cooled his fever with herbs, and bound the gash with clean cloth. Several times he stirred, whispering words in a language she did not understand—names, commands, fragments of battles fought beyond her world.
By dawn, he slept peacefully, though exhaustion weighed heavily upon him. Aurora sat beside him, brushing a lock of hair from his brow, unable to stop the questions flooding her mind. Who was this man? Why was he alone in the forest, wounded and hunted?
And why, when she looked at him, did she feel as though her dream had just stepped into her waking world?
Far away, in the halls of a silver palace beneath the moon, a council of nobles whispered in panic. Prince Kael was missing. His brother, Prince Darius, had declared he was dead. And in the shadows of the court, dark forces stirred, preparing to claim the throne.
But Kael was not dead. He was in the care of a girl whose destiny was tied to his in ways neither of them could yet imagine.
The Prince in Disguise
The night air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth as the stranger staggered deeper into the forest. His cloak, once dark blue and fine, was shredded by claw and branch alike. Blood trickled down his arm from a deep gash across his shoulder, staining the fabric black. Each breath came shallow, each step heavier than the last. Yet his eyes, sharp and determined, refused to close.
Prince Kael of the Moonlit Kingdom was not accustomed to fleeing. He had been trained since boyhood to face his enemies with sword in hand, to stand tall beneath banners of silver and steel. But tonight was different. The beasts that had hunted him were not of flesh and blood alone—they were shadows made real, creatures born from the curse his kingdom could not break. To fight them was to fight the dark itself, and even Kael's skill could not hold forever.
The trees around him seemed endless, their branches clawing like hands. His vision blurred as pain seared through his body. Just as he felt his strength falter, he glimpsed something strange through the mist—faint lights drifting between the trees, like fallen stars. Lanterns.
He stumbled toward them, each step dragging him closer until the forest thinned, and the hidden village of Elaria appeared before him. It was small but glowing with life—warm fires, gentle laughter, the faint sound of music carried on the wind. To Kael, it seemed a mirage, too peaceful, too untouched by the world he knew.
But his body could carry him no further. His knees buckled, and he collapsed at the edge of the village, his sword clattering beside him.
Aurora had not been able to sleep. The dream still burned in her mind, and restlessness pushed her from her bed. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and stepped outside, letting the cool night air wash over her. The village was quiet now, lanterns drifting like tiny moons above.
She walked to the outskirts, drawn once again to the forest. And there—just beyond the last of the lantern light—she saw him.
A man, lying motionless on the ground, blood staining his cloak.
Aurora gasped, rushing to his side. His face was pale beneath strands of dark hair, sharp features marked with both strength and exhaustion. His hand still clutched the hilt of a sword, its metal engraved with a crest she did not recognize. She pressed her fingers to his throat—there was a pulse, faint but steady. Relief swept through her.
Without hesitation, Aurora tore strips from her shawl and pressed them against his wound. A faint glow spread from her hands, soft and silver, as she whispered words of healing. The bleeding slowed, his breathing steadied, though his body remained heavy with fever.
His eyes fluttered open for the briefest moment. Dark, intense, filled with something she could not name.
"Who… are you?" he rasped, his voice hoarse, his accent unlike any she had heard.
"I'm Aurora," she said softly. "You're safe now. Just… don't move."
But Kael's lips curved faintly, as though the word safe was foreign to him. His gaze lingered on her glowing hands before his eyes closed once more, surrendering to unconsciousness.
Aurora knew she could not leave him there. With effort, she dragged him into the village, ignoring the startled whispers of the few who saw. She brought him to her small cottage, laying him upon her bed.
Through the night, she tended his wounds. She washed away the blood, cooled his fever with herbs, and bound the gash with clean cloth. Several times he stirred, whispering words in a language she did not understand—names, commands, fragments of battles fought beyond her world.
By dawn, he slept peacefully, though exhaustion weighed heavily upon him. Aurora sat beside him, brushing a lock of hair from his brow, unable to stop the questions flooding her mind. Who was this man? Why was he alone in the forest, wounded and hunted?
And why, when she looked at him, did she feel as though her dream had just stepped into her waking world?
Far away, in the halls of a silver palace beneath the moon, a council of nobles whispered in panic. Prince Kael was missing. His brother, Prince Darius, had declared he was dead. And in the shadows of the court, dark forces stirred, preparing to claim the throne.
But Kael was not dead. He was in the care of a girl whose destiny was tied to his in ways neither of them could yet imagine.
The Prince in Disguise
The night air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth as the stranger staggered deeper into the forest. His cloak, once dark blue and fine, was shredded by claw and branch alike. Blood trickled down his arm from a deep gash across his shoulder, staining the fabric black. Each breath came shallow, each step heavier than the last. Yet his eyes, sharp and determined, refused to close.
Prince Kael of the Moonlit Kingdom was not accustomed to fleeing. He had been trained since boyhood to face his enemies with sword in hand, to stand tall beneath banners of silver and steel. But tonight was different. The beasts that had hunted him were not of flesh and blood alone—they were shadows made real, creatures born from the curse his kingdom could not break. To fight them was to fight the dark itself, and even Kael's skill could not hold forever.
The trees around him seemed endless, their branches clawing like hands. His vision blurred as pain seared through his body. Just as he felt his strength falter, he glimpsed something strange through the mist—faint lights drifting between the trees, like fallen stars. Lanterns.
He stumbled toward them, each step dragging him closer until the forest thinned, and the hidden village of Elaria appeared before him. It was small but glowing with life—warm fires, gentle laughter, the faint sound of music carried on the wind. To Kael, it seemed a mirage, too peaceful, too untouched by the world he knew.
But his body could carry him no further. His knees buckled, and he collapsed at the edge of the village, his sword clattering beside him.
Aurora had not been able to sleep. The dream still burned in her mind, and restlessness pushed her from her bed. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and stepped outside, letting the cool night air wash over her. The village was quiet now, lanterns drifting like tiny moons above.
She walked to the outskirts, drawn once again to the forest. And there—just beyond the last of the lantern light—she saw him.
A man, lying motionless on the ground, blood staining his cloak.
Aurora gasped, rushing to his side. His face was pale beneath strands of dark hair, sharp features marked with both strength and exhaustion. His hand still clutched the hilt of a sword, its metal engraved with a crest she did not recognize. She pressed her fingers to his throat—there was a pulse, faint but steady. Relief swept through her.
Without hesitation, Aurora tore strips from her shawl and pressed them against his wound. A faint glow spread from her hands, soft and silver, as she whispered words of healing. The bleeding slowed, his breathing steadied, though his body remained heavy with fever.
His eyes fluttered open for the briefest moment. Dark, intense, filled with something she could not name.
"Who… are you?" he rasped, his voice hoarse, his accent unlike any she had heard.
"I'm Aurora," she said softly. "You're safe now. Just… don't move."
But Kael's lips curved faintly, as though the word safe was foreign to him. His gaze lingered on her glowing hands before his eyes closed once more, surrendering to unconsciousness.
Aurora knew she could not leave him there. With effort, she dragged him into the village, ignoring the startled whispers of the few who saw. She brought him to her small cottage, laying him upon her bed.
Through the night, she tended his wounds. She washed away the blood, cooled his fever with herbs, and bound the gash with clean cloth. Several times he stirred, whispering words in a language she did not understand—names, commands, fragments of battles fought beyond her world.
By dawn, he slept peacefully, though exhaustion weighed heavily upon him. Aurora sat beside him, brushing a lock of hair from his brow, unable to stop the questions flooding her mind. Who was this man? Why was he alone in the forest, wounded and hunted?
And why, when she looked at him, did she feel as though her dream had just stepped into her waking world?
Far away, in the halls of a silver palace beneath the moon, a council of nobles whispered in panic. Prince Kael was missing. His brother, Prince Darius, had declared he was dead. And in the shadows of the court, dark forces stirred, preparing to claim the throne.
But Kael was not dead. He was in the care of a girl whose destiny was tied to his in ways neither of them could yet imagine.
The Prince in Disguise
The night air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth as the stranger staggered deeper into the forest. His cloak, once dark blue and fine, was shredded by claw and branch alike. Blood trickled down his arm from a deep gash across his shoulder, staining the fabric black. Each breath came shallow, each step heavier than the last. Yet his eyes, sharp and determined, refused to close.
Prince Kael of the Moonlit Kingdom was not accustomed to fleeing. He had been trained since boyhood to face his enemies with sword in hand, to stand tall beneath banners of silver and steel. But tonight was different. The beasts that had hunted him were not of flesh and blood alone—they were shadows made real, creatures born from the curse his kingdom could not break. To fight them was to fight the dark itself, and even Kael's skill could not hold forever.
The trees around him seemed endless, their branches clawing like hands. His vision blurred as pain seared through his body. Just as he felt his strength falter, he glimpsed something strange through the mist—faint lights drifting between the trees, like fallen stars. Lanterns.
He stumbled toward them, each step dragging him closer until the forest thinned, and the hidden village of Elaria appeared before him. It was small but glowing with life—warm fires, gentle laughter, the faint sound of music carried on the wind. To Kael, it seemed a mirage, too peaceful, too untouched by the world he knew.
But his body could carry him no further. His knees buckled, and he collapsed at the edge of the village, his sword clattering beside him.
Aurora had not been able to sleep. The dream still burned in her mind, and restlessness pushed her from her bed. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and stepped outside, letting the cool night air wash over her. The village was quiet now, lanterns drifting like tiny moons above.
She walked to the outskirts, drawn once again to the forest. And there—just beyond the last of the lantern light—she saw him.
A man, lying motionless on the ground, blood staining his cloak.
Aurora gasped, rushing to his side. His face was pale beneath strands of dark hair, sharp features marked with both strength and exhaustion. His hand still clutched the hilt of a sword, its metal engraved with a crest she did not recognize. She pressed her fingers to his throat—there was a pulse, faint but steady. Relief swept through her.
Without hesitation, Aurora tore strips from her shawl and pressed them against his wound. A faint glow spread from her hands, soft and silver, as she whispered words of healing. The bleeding slowed, his breathing steadied, though his body remained heavy with fever.
His eyes fluttered open for the briefest moment. Dark, intense, filled with something she could not name.
"Who… are you?" he rasped, his voice hoarse, his accent unlike any she had heard.
"I'm Aurora," she said softly. "You're safe now. Just… don't move."
But Kael's lips curved faintly, as though the word safe was foreign to him. His gaze lingered on her glowing hands before his eyes closed once more, surrendering to unconsciousness.
Aurora knew she could not leave him there. With effort, she dragged him into the village, ignoring the startled whispers of the few who saw. She brought him to her small cottage, laying him upon her bed.
Through the night, she tended his wounds. She washed away the blood, cooled his fever with herbs, and bound the gash with clean cloth. Several times he stirred, whispering words in a language she did not understand—names, commands, fragments of battles fought beyond her world.
By dawn, he slept peacefully, though exhaustion weighed heavily upon him. Aurora sat beside him, brushing a lock of hair from his brow, unable to stop the questions flooding her mind. Who was this man? Why was he alone in the forest, wounded and hunted?
And why, when she looked at him, did she feel as though her dream had just stepped into her waking world?
Far away, in the halls of a silver palace beneath the moon, a council of nobles whispered in panic. Prince Kael was missing. His brother, Prince Darius, had declared he was dead. And in the shadows of the court, dark forces stirred, preparing to claim the throne.
But Kael was not dead. He was in the care of a girl whose destiny was tied to his in ways neither of them could yet imagine.
The Prince in Disguise
The night air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth as the stranger staggered deeper into the forest. His cloak, once dark blue and fine, was shredded by claw and branch alike. Blood trickled down his arm from a deep gash across his shoulder, staining the fabric black. Each breath came shallow, each step heavier than the last. Yet his eyes, sharp and determined, refused to close.
Prince Kael of the Moonlit Kingdom was not accustomed to fleeing. He had been trained since boyhood to face his enemies with sword in hand, to stand tall beneath banners of silver and steel. But tonight was different. The beasts that had hunted him were not of flesh and blood alone—they were shadows made real, creatures born from the curse his kingdom could not break. To fight them was to fight the dark itself, and even Kael's skill could not hold forever.
The trees around him seemed endless, their branches clawing like hands. His vision blurred as pain seared through his body. Just as he felt his strength falter, he glimpsed something strange through the mist—faint lights drifting between the trees, like fallen stars. Lanterns.
He stumbled toward them, each step dragging him closer until the forest thinned, and the hidden village of Elaria appeared before him. It was small but glowing with life—warm fires, gentle laughter, the faint sound of music carried on the wind. To Kael, it seemed a mirage, too peaceful, too untouched by the world he knew.
But his body could carry him no further. His knees buckled, and he collapsed at the edge of the village, his sword clattering beside him.
Aurora had not been able to sleep. The dream still burned in her mind, and restlessness pushed her from her bed. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and stepped outside, letting the cool night air wash over her. The village was quiet now, lanterns drifting like tiny moons above.
She walked to the outskirts, drawn once again to the forest. And there—just beyond the last of the lantern light—she saw him.
A man, lying motionless on the ground, blood staining his cloak.
Aurora gasped, rushing to his side. His face was pale beneath strands of dark hair, sharp features marked with both strength and exhaustion. His hand still clutched the hilt of a sword, its metal engraved with a crest she did not recognize. She pressed her fingers to his throat—there was a pulse, faint but steady. Relief swept through her.
Without hesitation, Aurora tore strips from her shawl and pressed them against his wound. A faint glow spread from her hands, soft and silver, as she whispered words of healing. The bleeding slowed, his breathing steadied, though his body remained heavy with fever.
His eyes fluttered open for the briefest moment. Dark, intense, filled with something she could not name.
"Who… are you?" he rasped, his voice hoarse, his accent unlike any she had heard.
"I'm Aurora," she said softly. "You're safe now. Just… don't move."
But Kael's lips curved faintly, as though the word safe was foreign to him. His gaze lingered on her glowing hands before his eyes closed once more, surrendering to unconsciousness.
Aurora knew she could not leave him there. With effort, she dragged him into the village, ignoring the startled whispers of the few who saw. She brought him to her small cottage, laying him upon her bed.
Through the night, she tended his wounds. She washed away the blood, cooled his fever with herbs, and bound the gash with clean cloth. Several times he stirred, whispering words in a language she did not understand—names, commands, fragments of battles fought beyond her world.
By dawn, he slept peacefully, though exhaustion weighed heavily upon him. Aurora sat beside him, brushing a lock of hair from his brow, unable to stop the questions flooding her mind. Who was this man? Why was he alone in the forest, wounded and hunted?
And why, when she looked at him, did she feel as though her dream had just stepped into her waking world?
Far away, in the halls of a silver palace beneath the moon, a council of nobles whispered in panic. Prince Kael was missing. His brother, Prince Darius, had declared he was dead. And in the shadows of the court, dark forces stirred, preparing to claim the throne.
But Kael was not dead. He was in the care of a girl whose destiny was tied to his in ways neither of them could yet imagine.
The Prince in Disguise
The night air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth as the stranger staggered deeper into the forest. His cloak, once dark blue and fine, was shredded by claw and branch alike. Blood trickled down his arm from a deep gash across his shoulder, staining the fabric black. Each breath came shallow, each step heavier than the last. Yet his eyes, sharp and determined, refused to close.
Prince Kael of the Moonlit Kingdom was not accustomed to fleeing. He had been trained since boyhood to face his enemies with sword in hand, to stand tall beneath banners of silver and steel. But tonight was different. The beasts that had hunted him were not of flesh and blood alone—they were shadows made real, creatures born from the curse his kingdom could not break. To fight them was to fight the dark itself, and even Kael's skill could not hold forever.
The trees around him seemed endless, their branches clawing like hands. His vision blurred as pain seared through his body. Just as he felt his strength falter, he glimpsed something strange through the mist—faint lights drifting between the trees, like fallen stars. Lanterns.
He stumbled toward them, each step dragging him closer until the forest thinned, and the hidden village of Elaria appeared before him. It was small but glowing with life—warm fires, gentle laughter, the faint sound of music carried on the wind. To Kael, it seemed a mirage, too peaceful, too untouched by the world he knew.
But his body could carry him no further. His knees buckled, and he collapsed at the edge of the village, his sword clattering beside him.
Aurora had not been able to sleep. The dream still burned in her mind, and restlessness pushed her from her bed. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and stepped outside, letting the cool night air wash over her. The village was quiet now, lanterns drifting like tiny moons above.
She walked to the outskirts, drawn once again to the forest. And there—just beyond the last of the lantern light—she saw him.
A man, lying motionless on the ground, blood staining his cloak.
Aurora gasped, rushing to his side. His face was pale beneath strands of dark hair, sharp features marked with both strength and exhaustion. His hand still clutched the hilt of a sword, its metal engraved with a crest she did not recognize. She pressed her fingers to his throat—there was a pulse, faint but steady. Relief swept through her.
Without hesitation, Aurora tore strips from her shawl and pressed them against his wound. A faint glow spread from her hands, soft and silver, as she whispered words of healing. The bleeding slowed, his breathing steadied, though his body remained heavy with fever.
His eyes fluttered open for the briefest moment. Dark, intense, filled with something she could not name.
"Who… are you?" he rasped, his voice hoarse, his accent unlike any she had heard.
"I'm Aurora," she said softly. "You're safe now. Just… don't move."
But Kael's lips curved faintly, as though the word safe was foreign to him. His gaze lingered on her glowing hands before his eyes closed once more, surrendering to unconsciousness.
Aurora knew she could not leave him there. With effort, she dragged him into the village, ignoring the startled whispers of the few who saw. She brought him to her small cottage, laying him upon her bed.
Through the night, she tended his wounds. She washed away the blood, cooled his fever with herbs, and bound the gash with clean cloth. Several times he stirred, whispering words in a language she did not understand—names, commands, fragments of battles fought beyond her world.
By dawn, he slept peacefully, though exhaustion weighed heavily upon him. Aurora sat beside him, brushing a lock of hair from his brow, unable to stop the questions flooding her mind. Who was this man? Why was he alone in the forest, wounded and hunted?
And why, when she looked at him, did she feel as though her dream had just stepped into her waking world?
Far away, in the halls of a silver palace beneath the moon, a council of nobles whispered in panic. Prince Kael was missing. His brother, Prince Darius, had declared he was dead. And in the shadows of the court, dark forces stirred, preparing to claim the throne.
But Kael was not dead. He was in the care of a girl whose destiny was tied to his in ways neither of them could yet imagine.
The Prince in Disguise
The night air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth as the stranger staggered deeper into the forest. His cloak, once dark blue and fine, was shredded by claw and branch alike. Blood trickled down his arm from a deep gash across his shoulder, staining the fabric black. Each breath came shallow, each step heavier than the last. Yet his eyes, sharp and determined, refused to close.
Prince Kael of the Moonlit Kingdom was not accustomed to fleeing. He had been trained since boyhood to face his enemies with sword in hand, to stand tall beneath banners of silver and steel. But tonight was different. The beasts that had hunted him were not of flesh and blood alone—they were shadows made real, creatures born from the curse his kingdom could not break. To fight them was to fight the dark itself, and even Kael's skill could not hold forever.
The trees around him seemed endless, their branches clawing like hands. His vision blurred as pain seared through his body. Just as he felt his strength falter, he glimpsed something strange through the mist—faint lights drifting between the trees, like fallen stars. Lanterns.
He stumbled toward them, each step dragging him closer until the forest thinned, and the hidden village of Elaria appeared before him. It was small but glowing with life—warm fires, gentle laughter, the faint sound of music carried on the wind. To Kael, it seemed a mirage, too peaceful, too untouched by the world he knew.
But his body could carry him no further. His knees buckled, and he collapsed at the edge of the village, his sword clattering beside him.
Aurora had not been able to sleep. The dream still burned in her mind, and restlessness pushed her from her bed. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and stepped outside, letting the cool night air wash over her. The village was quiet now, lanterns drifting like tiny moons above.
She walked to the outskirts, drawn once again to the forest. And there—just beyond the last of the lantern light—she saw him.
A man, lying motionless on the ground, blood staining his cloak.
Aurora gasped, rushing to his side. His face was pale beneath strands of dark hair, sharp features marked with both strength and exhaustion. His hand still clutched the hilt of a sword, its metal engraved with a crest she did not recognize. She pressed her fingers to his throat—there was a pulse, faint but steady. Relief swept through her.
Without hesitation, Aurora tore strips from her shawl and pressed them against his wound. A faint glow spread from her hands, soft and silver, as she whispered words of healing. The bleeding slowed, his breathing steadied, though his body remained heavy with fever.
His eyes fluttered open for the briefest moment. Dark, intense, filled with something she could not name.
"Who… are you?" he rasped, his voice hoarse, his accent unlike any she had heard.
"I'm Aurora," she said softly. "You're safe now. Just… don't move."
But Kael's lips curved faintly, as though the word safe was foreign to him. His gaze lingered on her glowing hands before his eyes closed once more, surrendering to unconsciousness.
Aurora knew she could not leave him there. With effort, she dragged him into the village, ignoring the startled whispers of the few who saw. She brought him to her small cottage, laying him upon her bed.
Through the night, she tended his wounds. She washed away the blood, cooled his fever with herbs, and bound the gash with clean cloth. Several times he stirred, whispering words in a language she did not understand—names, commands, fragments of battles fought beyond her world.
By dawn, he slept peacefully, though exhaustion weighed heavily upon him. Aurora sat beside him, brushing a lock of hair from his brow, unable to stop the questions flooding her mind. Who was this man? Why was he alone in the forest, wounded and hunted?
And why, when she looked at him, did she feel as though her dream had just stepped into her waking world?
Far away, in the halls of a silver palace beneath the moon, a council of nobles whispered in panic. Prince Kael was missing. His brother, Prince Darius, had declared he was dead. And in the shadows of the court, dark forces stirred, preparing to claim the throne.
But Kael was not dead. He was in the care of a girl whose destiny was tied to his in ways neither of them could yet imagine.
The Prince in Disguise
The night air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth as the stranger staggered deeper into the forest. His cloak, once dark blue and fine, was shredded by claw and branch alike. Blood trickled down his arm from a deep gash across his shoulder, staining the fabric black. Each breath came shallow, each step heavier than the last. Yet his eyes, sharp and determined, refused to close.
Prince Kael of the Moonlit Kingdom was not accustomed to fleeing. He had been trained since boyhood to face his enemies with sword in hand, to stand tall beneath banners of silver and steel. But tonight was different. The beasts that had hunted him were not of flesh and blood alone—they were shadows made real, creatures born from the curse his kingdom could not break. To fight them was to fight the dark itself, and even Kael's skill could not hold forever.
The trees around him seemed endless, their branches clawing like hands. His vision blurred as pain seared through his body. Just as he felt his strength falter, he glimpsed something strange through the mist—faint lights drifting between the trees, like fallen stars. Lanterns.
He stumbled toward them, each step dragging him closer until the forest thinned, and the hidden village of Elaria appeared before him. It was small but glowing with life—warm fires, gentle laughter, the faint sound of music carried on the wind. To Kael, it seemed a mirage, too peaceful, too untouched by the world he knew.
But his body could carry him no further. His knees buckled, and he collapsed at the edge of the village, his sword clattering beside him.
Aurora had not been able to sleep. The dream still burned in her mind, and restlessness pushed her from her bed. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and stepped outside, letting the cool night air wash over her. The village was quiet now, lanterns drifting like tiny moons above.
She walked to the outskirts, drawn once again to the forest. And there—just beyond the last of the lantern light—she saw him.
A man, lying motionless on the ground, blood staining his cloak.
Aurora gasped, rushing to his side. His face was pale beneath strands of dark hair, sharp features marked with both strength and exhaustion. His hand still clutched the hilt of a sword, its metal engraved with a crest she did not recognize. She pressed her fingers to his throat—there was a pulse, faint but steady. Relief swept through her.
Without hesitation, Aurora tore strips from her shawl and pressed them against his wound. A faint glow spread from her hands, soft and silver, as she whispered words of healing. The bleeding slowed, his breathing steadied, though his body remained heavy with fever.
His eyes fluttered open for the briefest moment. Dark, intense, filled with something she could not name.
"Who… are you?" he rasped, his voice hoarse, his accent unlike any she had heard.
"I'm Aurora," she said softly. "You're safe now. Just… don't move."
But Kael's lips curved faintly, as though the word safe was foreign to him. His gaze lingered on her glowing hands before his eyes closed once more, surrendering to unconsciousness.
Aurora knew she could not leave him there. With effort, she dragged him into the village, ignoring the startled whispers of the few who saw. She brought him to her small cottage, laying him upon her bed.
Through the night, she tended his wounds. She washed away the blood, cooled his fever with herbs, and bound the gash with clean cloth. Several times he stirred, whispering words in a language she did not understand—names, commands, fragments of battles fought beyond her world.
By dawn, he slept peacefully, though exhaustion weighed heavily upon him. Aurora sat beside him, brushing a lock of hair from his brow, unable to stop the questions flooding her mind. Who was this man? Why was he alone in the forest, wounded and hunted?
And why, when she looked at him, did she feel as though her dream had just stepped into her waking world?
Far away, in the halls of a silver palace beneath the moon, a council of nobles whispered in panic. Prince Kael was missing. His brother, Prince Darius, had declared he was dead. And in the shadows of the court, dark forces stirred, preparing to claim the throne.
But Kael was not dead. He was in the care of a girl whose destiny was tied to his in ways neither of them could yet imagine.
The Prince in Disguise
The night air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth as the stranger staggered deeper into the forest. His cloak, once dark blue and fine, was shredded by claw and branch alike. Blood trickled down his arm from a deep gash across his shoulder, staining the fabric black. Each breath came shallow, each step heavier than the last. Yet his eyes, sharp and determined, refused to close.
Prince Kael of the Moonlit Kingdom was not accustomed to fleeing. He had been trained since boyhood to face his enemies with sword in hand, to stand tall beneath banners of silver and steel. But tonight was different. The beasts that had hunted him were not of flesh and blood alone—they were shadows made real, creatures born from the curse his kingdom could not break. To fight them was to fight the dark itself, and even Kael's skill could not hold forever.
The trees around him seemed endless, their branches clawing like hands. His vision blurred as pain seared through his body. Just as he felt his strength falter, he glimpsed something strange through the mist—faint lights drifting between the trees, like fallen stars. Lanterns.
He stumbled toward them, each step dragging him closer until the forest thinned, and the hidden village of Elaria appeared before him. It was small but glowing with life—warm fires, gentle laughter, the faint sound of music carried on the wind. To Kael, it seemed a mirage, too peaceful, too untouched by the world he knew.
But his body could carry him no further. His knees buckled, and he collapsed at the edge of the village, his sword clattering beside him.
Aurora had not been able to sleep. The dream still burned in her mind, and restlessness pushed her from her bed. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and stepped outside, letting the cool night air wash over her. The village was quiet now, lanterns drifting like tiny moons above.
She walked to the outskirts, drawn once again to the forest. And there—just beyond the last of the lantern light—she saw him.
A man, lying motionless on the ground, blood staining his cloak.
Aurora gasped, rushing to his side. His face was pale beneath strands of dark hair, sharp features marked with both strength and exhaustion. His hand still clutched the hilt of a sword, its metal engraved with a crest she did not recognize. She pressed her fingers to his throat—there was a pulse, faint but steady. Relief swept through her.
Without hesitation, Aurora tore strips from her shawl and pressed them against his wound. A faint glow spread from her hands, soft and silver, as she whispered words of healing. The bleeding slowed, his breathing steadied, though his body remained heavy with fever.
His eyes fluttered open for the briefest moment. Dark, intense, filled with something she could not name.
"Who… are you?" he rasped, his voice hoarse, his accent unlike any she had heard.
"I'm Aurora," she said softly. "You're safe now. Just… don't move."
But Kael's lips curved faintly, as though the word safe was foreign to him. His gaze lingered on her glowing hands before his eyes closed once more, surrendering to unconsciousness.
Aurora knew she could not leave him there. With effort, she dragged him into the village, ignoring the startled whispers of the few who saw. She brought him to her small cottage, laying him upon her bed.
Through the night, she tended his wounds. She washed away the blood, cooled his fever with herbs, and bound the gash with clean cloth. Several times he stirred, whispering words in a language she did not understand—names, commands, fragments of battles fought beyond her world.
By dawn, he slept peacefully, though exhaustion weighed heavily upon him. Aurora sat beside him, brushing a lock of hair from his brow, unable to stop the questions flooding her mind. Who was this man? Why was he alone in the forest, wounded and hunted?
And why, when she looked at him, did she feel as though her dream had just stepped into her waking world?
Far away, in the halls of a silver palace beneath the moon, a council of nobles whispered in panic. Prince Kael was missing. His brother, Prince Darius, had declared he was dead. And in the shadows of the court, dark forces stirred, preparing to claim the throne.
But Kael was not dead. He was in the care of a girl whose destiny was tied to his in ways neither of them could yet imagine.
The Prince in Disguise
The night air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth as the stranger staggered deeper into the forest. His cloak, once dark blue and fine, was shredded by claw and branch alike. Blood trickled down his arm from a deep gash across his shoulder, staining the fabric black. Each breath came shallow, each step heavier than the last. Yet his eyes, sharp and determined, refused to close.
Prince Kael of the Moonlit Kingdom was not accustomed to fleeing. He had been trained since boyhood to face his enemies with sword in hand, to stand tall beneath banners of silver and steel. But tonight was different. The beasts that had hunted him were not of flesh and blood alone—they were shadows made real, creatures born from the curse his kingdom could not break. To fight them was to fight the dark itself, and even Kael's skill could not hold forever.
The trees around him seemed endless, their branches clawing like hands. His vision blurred as pain seared through his body. Just as he felt his strength falter, he glimpsed something strange through the mist—faint lights drifting between the trees, like fallen stars. Lanterns.
He stumbled toward them, each step dragging him closer until the forest thinned, and the hidden village of Elaria appeared before him. It was small but glowing with life—warm fires, gentle laughter, the faint sound of music carried on the wind. To Kael, it seemed a mirage, too peaceful, too untouched by the world he knew.
But his body could carry him no further. His knees buckled, and he collapsed at the edge of the village, his sword clattering beside him.
Aurora had not been able to sleep. The dream still burned in her mind, and restlessness pushed her from her bed. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and stepped outside, letting the cool night air wash over her. The village was quiet now, lanterns drifting like tiny moons above.
She walked to the outskirts, drawn once again to the forest. And there—just beyond the last of the lantern light—she saw him.
A man, lying motionless on the ground, blood staining his cloak.
Aurora gasped, rushing to his side. His face was pale beneath strands of dark hair, sharp features marked with both strength and exhaustion. His hand still clutched the hilt of a sword, its metal engraved with a crest she did not recognize. She pressed her fingers to his throat—there was a pulse, faint but steady. Relief swept through her.
Without hesitation, Aurora tore strips from her shawl and pressed them against his wound. A faint glow spread from her hands, soft and silver, as she whispered words of healing. The bleeding slowed, his breathing steadied, though his body remained heavy with fever.
His eyes fluttered open for the briefest moment. Dark, intense, filled with something she could not name.
"Who… are you?" he rasped, his voice hoarse, his accent unlike any she had heard.
"I'm Aurora," she said softly. "You're safe now. Just… don't move."
But Kael's lips curved faintly, as though the word safe was foreign to him. His gaze lingered on her glowing hands before his eyes closed once more, surrendering to unconsciousness.
Aurora knew she could not leave him there. With effort, she dragged him into the village, ignoring the startled whispers of the few who saw. She brought him to her small cottage, laying him upon her bed.
Through the night, she tended his wounds. She washed away the blood, cooled his fever with herbs, and bound the gash with clean cloth. Several times he stirred, whispering words in a language she did not understand—names, commands, fragments of battles fought beyond her world.
By dawn, he slept peacefully, though exhaustion weighed heavily upon him. Aurora sat beside him, brushing a lock of hair from his brow, unable to stop the questions flooding her mind. Who was this man? Why was he alone in the forest, wounded and hunted?
And why, when she looked at him, did she feel as though her dream had just stepped into her waking world?
Far away, in the halls of a silver palace beneath the moon, a council of nobles whispered in panic. Prince Kael was missing. His brother, Prince Darius, had declared he was dead. And in the shadows of the court, dark forces stirred, preparing to claim the throne.
But Kael was not dead. He was in the care of a girl whose destiny was tied to his in ways neither of them could yet imagine.
The Prince in Disguise
The night air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth as the stranger staggered deeper into the forest. His cloak, once dark blue and fine, was shredded by claw and branch alike. Blood trickled down his arm from a deep gash across his shoulder, staining the fabric black. Each breath came shallow, each step heavier than the last. Yet his eyes, sharp and determined, refused to close.
Prince Kael of the Moonlit Kingdom was not accustomed to fleeing. He had been trained since boyhood to face his enemies with sword in hand, to stand tall beneath banners of silver and steel. But tonight was different. The beasts that had hunted him were not of flesh and blood alone—they were shadows made real, creatures born from the curse his kingdom could not break. To fight them was to fight the dark itself, and even Kael's skill could not hold forever.
The trees around him seemed endless, their branches clawing like hands. His vision blurred as pain seared through his body. Just as he felt his strength falter, he glimpsed something strange through the mist—faint lights drifting between the trees, like fallen stars. Lanterns.
He stumbled toward them, each step dragging him closer until the forest thinned, and the hidden village of Elaria appeared before him. It was small but glowing with life—warm fires, gentle laughter, the faint sound of music carried on the wind. To Kael, it seemed a mirage, too peaceful, too untouched by the world he knew.
But his body could carry him no further. His knees buckled, and he collapsed at the edge of the village, his sword clattering beside him.
Aurora had not been able to sleep. The dream still burned in her mind, and restlessness pushed her from her bed. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and stepped outside, letting the cool night air wash over her. The village was quiet now, lanterns drifting like tiny moons above.
She walked to the outskirts, drawn once again to the forest. And there—just beyond the last of the lantern light—she saw him.
A man, lying motionless on the ground, blood staining his cloak.
Aurora gasped, rushing to his side. His face was pale beneath strands of dark hair, sharp features marked with both strength and exhaustion. His hand still clutched the hilt of a sword, its metal engraved with a crest she did not recognize. She pressed her fingers to his throat—there was a pulse, faint but steady. Relief swept through her.
Without hesitation, Aurora tore strips from her shawl and pressed them against his wound. A faint glow spread from her hands, soft and silver, as she whispered words of healing. The bleeding slowed, his breathing steadied, though his body remained heavy with fever.
His eyes fluttered open for the briefest moment. Dark, intense, filled with something she could not name.
"Who… are you?" he rasped, his voice hoarse, his accent unlike any she had heard.
"I'm Aurora," she said softly. "You're safe now. Just… don't move."
But Kael's lips curved faintly, as though the word safe was foreign to him. His gaze lingered on her glowing hands before his eyes closed once more, surrendering to unconsciousness.
Aurora knew she could not leave him there. With effort, she dragged him into the village, ignoring the startled whispers of the few who saw. She brought him to her small cottage, laying him upon her bed.
Through the night, she tended his wounds. She washed away the blood, cooled his fever with herbs, and bound the gash with clean cloth. Several times he stirred, whispering words in a language she did not understand—names, commands, fragments of battles fought beyond her world.
By dawn, he slept peacefully, though exhaustion weighed heavily upon him. Aurora sat beside him, brushing a lock of hair from his brow, unable to stop the questions flooding her mind. Who was this man? Why was he alone in the forest, wounded and hunted?
And why, when she looked at him, did she feel as though her dream had just stepped into her waking world?
Far away, in the halls of a silver palace beneath the moon, a council of nobles whispered in panic. Prince Kael was missing. His brother, Prince Darius, had declared he was dead. And in the shadows of the court, dark forces stirred, preparing to claim the throne.
But Kael was not dead. He was in the care of a girl whose destiny was tied to his in ways neither of them could yet imagine.
The Prince in Disguise
The night air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth as the stranger staggered deeper into the forest. His cloak, once dark blue and fine, was shredded by claw and branch alike. Blood trickled down his arm from a deep gash across his shoulder, staining the fabric black. Each breath came shallow, each step heavier than the last. Yet his eyes, sharp and determined, refused to close.
Prince Kael of the Moonlit Kingdom was not accustomed to fleeing. He had been trained since boyhood to face his enemies with sword in hand, to stand tall beneath banners of silver and steel. But tonight was different. The beasts that had hunted him were not of flesh and blood alone—they were shadows made real, creatures born from the curse his kingdom could not break. To fight them was to fight the dark itself, and even Kael's skill could not hold forever.
The trees around him seemed endless, their branches clawing like hands. His vision blurred as pain seared through his body. Just as he felt his strength falter, he glimpsed something strange through the mist—faint lights drifting between the trees, like fallen stars. Lanterns.
He stumbled toward them, each step dragging him closer until the forest thinned, and the hidden village of Elaria appeared before him. It was small but glowing with life—warm fires, gentle laughter, the faint sound of music carried on the wind. To Kael, it seemed a mirage, too peaceful, too untouched by the world he knew.
But his body could carry him no further. His knees buckled, and he collapsed at the edge of the village, his sword clattering beside him.
Aurora had not been able to sleep. The dream still burned in her mind, and restlessness pushed her from her bed. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and stepped outside, letting the cool night air wash over her. The village was quiet now, lanterns drifting like tiny moons above.
She walked to the outskirts, drawn once again to the forest. And there—just beyond the last of the lantern light—she saw him.
A man, lying motionless on the ground, blood staining his cloak.
Aurora gasped, rushing to his side. His face was pale beneath strands of dark hair, sharp features marked with both strength and exhaustion. His hand still clutched the hilt of a sword, its metal engraved with a crest she did not recognize. She pressed her fingers to his throat—there was a pulse, faint but steady. Relief swept through her.
Without hesitation, Aurora tore strips from her shawl and pressed them against his wound. A faint glow spread from her hands, soft and silver, as she whispered words of healing. The bleeding slowed, his breathing steadied, though his body remained heavy with fever.
His eyes fluttered open for the briefest moment. Dark, intense, filled with something she could not name.
"Who… are you?" he rasped, his voice hoarse, his accent unlike any she had heard.
"I'm Aurora," she said softly. "You're safe now. Just… don't move."
But Kael's lips curved faintly, as though the word safe was foreign to him. His gaze lingered on her glowing hands before his eyes closed once more, surrendering to unconsciousness.
Aurora knew she could not leave him there. With effort, she dragged him into the village, ignoring the startled whispers of the few who saw. She brought him to her small cottage, laying him upon her bed.
Through the night, she tended his wounds. She washed away the blood, cooled his fever with herbs, and bound the gash with clean cloth. Several times he stirred, whispering words in a language she did not understand—names, commands, fragments of battles fought beyond her world.
By dawn, he slept peacefully, though exhaustion weighed heavily upon him. Aurora sat beside him, brushing a lock of hair from his brow, unable to stop the questions flooding her mind. Who was this man? Why was he alone in the forest, wounded and hunted?
And why, when she looked at him, did she feel as though her dream had just stepped into her waking world?
Far away, in the halls of a silver palace beneath the moon, a council of nobles whispered in panic. Prince Kael was missing. His brother, Prince Darius, had declared he was dead. And in the shadows of the court, dark forces stirred, preparing to claim the throne.
But Kael was not dead. He was in the care of a girl whose destiny was tied to his in ways neither of them could yet imagine.
The Prince in Disguise
The night air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth as the stranger staggered deeper into the forest. His cloak, once dark blue and fine, was shredded by claw and branch alike. Blood trickled down his arm from a deep gash across his shoulder, staining the fabric black. Each breath came shallow, each step heavier than the last. Yet his eyes, sharp and determined, refused to close.
Prince Kael of the Moonlit Kingdom was not accustomed to fleeing. He had been trained since boyhood to face his enemies with sword in hand, to stand tall beneath banners of silver and steel. But tonight was different. The beasts that had hunted him were not of flesh and blood alone—they were shadows made real, creatures born from the curse his kingdom could not break. To fight them was to fight the dark itself, and even Kael's skill could not hold forever.
The trees around him seemed endless, their branches clawing like hands. His vision blurred as pain seared through his body. Just as he felt his strength falter, he glimpsed something strange through the mist—faint lights drifting between the trees, like fallen stars. Lanterns.
He stumbled toward them, each step dragging him closer until the forest thinned, and the hidden village of Elaria appeared before him. It was small but glowing with life—warm fires, gentle laughter, the faint sound of music carried on the wind. To Kael, it seemed a mirage, too peaceful, too untouched by the world he knew.
But his body could carry him no further. His knees buckled, and he collapsed at the edge of the village, his sword clattering beside him.
Aurora had not been able to sleep. The dream still burned in her mind, and restlessness pushed her from her bed. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and stepped outside, letting the cool night air wash over her. The village was quiet now, lanterns drifting like tiny moons above.
She walked to the outskirts, drawn once again to the forest. And there—just beyond the last of the lantern light—she saw him.
A man, lying motionless on the ground, blood staining his cloak.
Aurora gasped, rushing to his side. His face was pale beneath strands of dark hair, sharp features marked with both strength and exhaustion. His hand still clutched the hilt of a sword, its metal engraved with a crest she did not recognize. She pressed her fingers to his throat—there was a pulse, faint but steady. Relief swept through her.
Without hesitation, Aurora tore strips from her shawl and pressed them against his wound. A faint glow spread from her hands, soft and silver, as she whispered words of healing. The bleeding slowed, his breathing steadied, though his body remained heavy with fever.
His eyes fluttered open for the briefest moment. Dark, intense, filled with something she could not name.
"Who… are you?" he rasped, his voice hoarse, his accent unlike any she had heard.
"I'm Aurora," she said softly. "You're safe now. Just… don't move."
But Kael's lips curved faintly, as though the word safe was foreign to him. His gaze lingered on her glowing hands before his eyes closed once more, surrendering to unconsciousness.
Aurora knew she could not leave him there. With effort, she dragged him into the village, ignoring the startled whispers of the few who saw. She brought him to her small cottage, laying him upon her bed.
Through the night, she tended his wounds. She washed away the blood, cooled his fever with herbs, and bound the gash with clean cloth. Several times he stirred, whispering words in a language she did not understand—names, commands, fragments of battles fought beyond her world.
By dawn, he slept peacefully, though exhaustion weighed heavily upon him. Aurora sat beside him, brushing a lock of hair from his brow, unable to stop the questions flooding her mind. Who was this man? Why was he alone in the forest, wounded and hunted?
And why, when she looked at him, did she feel as though her dream had just stepped into her waking world?
Far away, in the halls of a silver palace beneath the moon, a council of nobles whispered in panic. Prince Kael was missing. His brother, Prince Darius, had declared he was dead. And in the shadows of the court, dark forces stirred, preparing to claim the throne.
But Kael was not dead. He was in the care of a girl whose destiny was tied to his in ways neither of them could yet imagine.
The Prince in Disguise
The night air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth as the stranger staggered deeper into the forest. His cloak, once dark blue and fine, was shredded by claw and branch alike. Blood trickled down his arm from a deep gash across his shoulder, staining the fabric black. Each breath came shallow, each step heavier than the last. Yet his eyes, sharp and determined, refused to close.
Prince Kael of the Moonlit Kingdom was not accustomed to fleeing. He had been trained since boyhood to face his enemies with sword in hand, to stand tall beneath banners of silver and steel. But tonight was different. The beasts that had hunted him were not of flesh and blood alone—they were shadows made real, creatures born from the curse his kingdom could not break. To fight them was to fight the dark itself, and even Kael's skill could not hold forever.
The trees around him seemed endless, their branches clawing like hands. His vision blurred as pain seared through his body. Just as he felt his strength falter, he glimpsed something strange through the mist—faint lights drifting between the trees, like fallen stars. Lanterns.
He stumbled toward them, each step dragging him closer until the forest thinned, and the hidden village of Elaria appeared before him. It was small but glowing with life—warm fires, gentle laughter, the faint sound of music carried on the wind. To Kael, it seemed a mirage, too peaceful, too untouched by the world he knew.
But his body could carry him no further. His knees buckled, and he collapsed at the edge of the village, his sword clattering beside him.
Aurora had not been able to sleep. The dream still burned in her mind, and restlessness pushed her from her bed. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and stepped outside, letting the cool night air wash over her. The village was quiet now, lanterns drifting like tiny moons above.
She walked to the outskirts, drawn once again to the forest. And there—just beyond the last of the lantern light—she saw him.
A man, lying motionless on the ground, blood staining his cloak.
Aurora gasped, rushing to his side. His face was pale beneath strands of dark hair, sharp features marked with both strength and exhaustion. His hand still clutched the hilt of a sword, its metal engraved with a crest she did not recognize. She pressed her fingers to his throat—there was a pulse, faint but steady. Relief swept through her.
Without hesitation, Aurora tore strips from her shawl and pressed them against his wound. A faint glow spread from her hands, soft and silver, as she whispered words of healing. The bleeding slowed, his breathing steadied, though his body remained heavy with fever.
His eyes fluttered open for the briefest moment. Dark, intense, filled with something she could not name.
"Who… are you?" he rasped, his voice hoarse, his accent unlike any she had heard.
"I'm Aurora," she said softly. "You're safe now. Just… don't move."
But Kael's lips curved faintly, as though the word safe was foreign to him. His gaze lingered on her glowing hands before his eyes closed once more, surrendering to unconsciousness.
Aurora knew she could not leave him there. With effort, she dragged him into the village, ignoring the startled whispers of the few who saw. She brought him to her small cottage, laying him upon her bed.
Through the night, she tended his wounds. She washed away the blood, cooled his fever with herbs, and bound the gash with clean cloth. Several times he stirred, whispering words in a language she did not understand—names, commands, fragments of battles fought beyond her world.
By dawn, he slept peacefully, though exhaustion weighed heavily upon him. Aurora sat beside him, brushing a lock of hair from his brow, unable to stop the questions flooding her mind. Who was this man? Why was he alone in the forest, wounded and hunted?
And why, when she looked at him, did she feel as though her dream had just stepped into her waking world?
Far away, in the halls of a silver palace beneath the moon, a council of nobles whispered in panic. Prince Kael was missing. His brother, Prince Darius, had declared he was dead. And in the shadows of the court, dark forces stirred, preparing to claim the throne.
But Kael was not dead. He was in the care of a girl whose destiny was tied to his in ways neither of them could yet imagine.