The first time I saw Rogan, I almost wished I hadn't.
It wasn't that the city was unpleasant—far from it. From the high walls of the carriage, I could see towers spiraling into the violet sky, their spires glinting like crystal under the sun. Streets glimmered with floating lanterns, their light flickering as though alive, and magical fountains danced in colors I had never seen before. Yet, the beauty only reminded me of how small I was, how out of place.
I clutched the edge of my cloak, my knuckles white. My family had spoken of this day for months—arranging me to marry the heir of Rogan, the city ruled by mages so powerful that even the wind seemed to bow to them. A union of our houses, they had said, a promise of strength and protection. To me, it had felt like a sentence.
Beside me, the horses' hooves clattered on cobblestones, echoing off the towering walls. I felt every eye on me—though I hadn't yet left the carriage. Even the pigeons seemed to hush as we passed, their coos replaced by the whisper of wings, and I knew it wasn't chance.
I could hear them.
A small thrush had perched on the carriage rail and chirped nervously. "There's something… not right," it seemed to warn. My heart skipped a beat, and I crouched slightly, speaking softly, almost instinctively.
"Don't be afraid. I won't let anyone hurt you."
It chirped again, hopping closer to me, and my chest warmed. Only a fool would know what I was doing, but I had always understood animals. Birds, cats, even rats—they spoke to me in ways humans couldn't hear. A gift, my family had said, though I had always felt it was too small, too weak to matter. Compared to mages who could summon storms or shatter walls with a thought, I was nothing.
And yet… something about Rogan stirred my power in ways I hadn't felt before.
The carriage stopped abruptly at a massive gate, wrought iron curling into symbols I didn't recognize. Guards clad in dark robes, their staffs humming faintly with magic, stepped aside as we approached. My stomach twisted. Even their idle movements radiated control, and I could feel the heat of their scrutiny as though it were fire on my skin.
The doors opened to a courtyard that seemed to stretch endlessly. Towering statues of past rulers loomed, their eyes magically glowing. From somewhere above, soft silver lights drifted down like snow, though it was summer. My animals—a small fox that had curled in my lap and the sparrows that had followed the carriage—stirred nervously. The fox's tail bristled, and the birds flapped their wings anxiously. There is danger here, they warned, though I couldn't yet name it.
I forced my legs to move. My mother's hand squeezed mine, and I nodded politely at the robed attendants. "Thank you," I said, voice shaking slightly.
"Stay close," she whispered. "Remember why you are here."
I swallowed and reminded myself that fear was useless. Cleverness, subtlety, and my little gift—those were what I had.
The hall into which we were led was vast. I couldn't see the ceiling; floating chandeliers of crystal lit the room in colors that shifted like the northern lights. The floor beneath me was polished marble, reflecting not just my image but fragments of the spellwork embedded in the walls. Every corner seemed alive, and I kept my hands close to my fox, feeling the soft fur brush against my palm, grounding me.
I noticed the small details that others would have missed: a bird frozen mid-flight, its wings quivering unnaturally; the whisper of shadows brushing the edges of the room; the faint scent of something metallic, almost like blood. The palace was not just beautiful—it was alive, and every inch of it radiated power.
And somewhere in the midst of it, he waited.
I first saw him from a distance, a figure standing at the far end of the hall. He was tall, impossibly straight-backed, dressed in deep violet robes that shimmered with subtle enchantments. His hair was dark, falling over sharp features, and his eyes… his eyes were like polished obsidian, cold and unreadable. The moment I noticed him, I felt it: the air itself bending around him, like the world was holding its breath.
My fox growled softly in my lap. Even the birds flinched.
He didn't move toward us. He didn't even smile. He simply observed, and it was as though the walls themselves bowed to him. He is the heir, I realized, though I already knew it. I had heard stories of his power, of his ruthlessness, of the fear he inspired in both mages and humans alike.
I felt smaller than I ever had in my life.
We were led closer, through corridors that twisted in impossible ways, doors opening where I hadn't expected them, stairs that seemed to float without support. My animals whispered nervously, and I followed instinctively, letting them guide me, noting every shadow that moved differently from the rest.
The guests and attendants murmured around me, welcoming me, bowing, and I nodded politely, though my eyes always strayed to him. He did not look away. Not once. And though I could not read his expression, I felt his gaze like a blade—sharp, penetrating, and impossible to ignore.
By the time we reached the chamber prepared for the wedding ceremony, I was trembling. The chamber was immense, the walls covered with shifting murals that depicted battles, alliances, and magical conquests. Candles floated around the room, casting soft golden light. My heart pounded as I realized the enormity of what I had stepped into: a marriage not for love, but for power, alliances, and expectations I could not begin to meet.
I dared to glance at him again. He had stepped forward this time, silent and commanding, and the air around him seemed to thrum with power. Even the fox in my lap flattened its ears, wary, sensing his strength.
He stopped just a few feet from me. His gaze met mine briefly, and I felt it like an electric shock. A warning. A challenge.
And then… he turned away, as though nothing had happened.
I sank onto a nearby chair, trying to steady myself. My animals whispered softly, comfortingly. The sparrows flitted near my shoulder, brushing against my cheek, and the fox curled into a tighter ball. Clever. You can survive this. You are clever.
I swallowed. My family's expectations, my own fear, and the weight of the mage city pressed down on me, heavy as stone. And yet, a tiny spark of defiance flickered inside me.
I am not powerless.
Not compared to humans, certainly. Not compared to him, certainly not. But I had my animals. I had my cleverness. And I had something no mage, no matter how powerful, could fully predict: me.
The door at the far end opened again. I didn't turn, but I could feel it before anyone entered. A hush fell over the chamber. The servants, the guests, even the floating candles seemed to sense the presence. My fox growled again, low, and I placed a gentle hand on its head.
This is just the beginning.