Chapter One:The Child in the Howling Woods
The woods were not kind to children.
They swallowed sound.
They devoured light.
And on that cold, merciless night, they were about to claim a life.
The baby did not cry.
That was the strangest part.
Wrapped in a torn crimson cloth embroidered with a silver crest, she lay at the foot of a dying oak tree while wolves circled from a distance, their glowing eyes watching… waiting. The wind howled like grieving spirits, yet the infant only stared up at the sky with wide, silent eyes the color of molten gold.
Then the ground trembled.
Hooves.
Steel.
A torch flared through the darkness.
"Hold!" a deep voice commanded.
The wolves scattered as a mounted knight broke through the brush, his silver armor catching firelight. His name was Sir Alaric Valemont — commander of the King's Guard, feared on battlefields, undefeated in war.
He was not a man easily shaken.
Yet when he saw the child lying alone beneath the cursed oak, his breath stilled.
"What in God's name…"
He dismounted slowly, sword drawn, scanning the shadows. The Howling Woods were known for dark magic, for whispers of witches and creatures older than the throne itself. No noble would abandon a child here unless they wanted it dead.
But this child did not look ordinary.
The crimson cloth was of royal quality.
The silver crest stitched into the fabric — a crescent moon pierced by a blade — was not a symbol he recognized… and that troubled him.
The baby's golden eyes locked onto his.
And she reached for him.
Sir Alaric hesitated only a moment before lifting her into his arms. She was warm despite the cold. Too warm.
The moment he touched her, the wind died.
The forest went silent.
As if it bowed.
His jaw tightened.
"You're no common child, are you?"
The infant curled her tiny fingers into the fabric of his armor and, for the first time, she smiled.
That was the night Sir Alaric brought home the girl who should have died.
That was the night fate changed.
Thirteen Years Later
"You don't belong here."
The words were sharp. Bitter. Familiar.
Evelyn stood in the courtyard, wooden training sword in hand, her golden hair tied back as she faced the one person who had never accepted her.
Gerald Valemont.
Sir Alaric's only son.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and devastatingly handsome, Gerald had grown into a warrior-in-training with his father's discipline… and his mother's cold pride.
And he hated her.
She had seen it in his eyes since childhood.
Resentment.
Suspicion.
Something darker.
"I belong wherever your father says I do," Evelyn replied calmly, though her heart pounded.
She had learned composure from Sir Alaric. Strength.
Control.
Gerald scoffed. "You think because he dragged you out of the dirt you're his daughter? You're a stray. A mistake."
The words struck harder than any blade.
But Evelyn did not flinch.
Because she had endured worse.
She endured the whispers from servants who called her cursed. The way animals sometimes bowed their heads when she passed. The way flames bent toward her fingers when she stared too long at candles.
And the dreams.
The dreams of blood-red moons and a throne made of bone.
She did not know who she was.
Only that she was not ordinary.
Gerald stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"Have you ever wondered why you were abandoned?" he asked coldly. "What if they left you because you're dangerous?"
Her golden eyes flickered.
For a split second, something ancient shimmered in their depths.
Gerald saw it.
And for the first time, fear crossed his face.
The air between them crackled.
Then—
"Gerald."
Sir Alaric's voice cut through the tension like a blade.
Both turned.
The knight stood at the courtyard entrance, watching them with unreadable eyes.
Gerald stepped back immediately.
Evelyn lowered her sword.
But Sir Alaric had seen enough.
He had noticed the way shadows stretched toward the girl when she was angry.
He had noticed how storms gathered when she wept.
And he had spent thirteen years praying that whatever had been left in the woods that night would not come looking for her.
Because he knew one thing.
Children abandoned in cursed forests were never merely unwanted.
They were hidden.
That evening, as Evelyn stood alone by her window, she felt it again.
A pull.
Like something calling her name from deep within the woods.
Her heart raced.
And somewhere beyond the castle walls, in the darkness where she had once been left to die—
A pair of crimson eyes opened.
"She lives," a voice whispered.
And the hunt began.