"Trust me, Elena. I will give you the most painless death anyone could hope for."
The voice was calm. Too calm.
Princess Elena Whitmoor could not see the man's face clearly. The room around her seemed swallowed by darkness, the walls dissolving into shadow. Only the faint glow of moonlight slipped through the curtains.
And those eyes.
Those terrible, crystal-red eyes staring down at her.
They burned like embers in a dying fire.
Elena's heart slammed wildly against her ribs. Panic rushed through her body as she tried to sit up. But before she could move, the man caught her wrists and pinned them firmly above her head.
His grip was cold. Not painfully tight, yet impossible to escape.
"Your Majesty… p-please spare me." Elena's voice trembled helplessly. "I… I didn't do anything wrong."
The man tilted his head slightly, studying her the way a curious predator might observe a trapped animal.
For a moment he said nothing.
Then a slow, amused smile appeared on his lips.
"Oh, I know you didn't," he murmured.
His voice was low and rough, almost gentle in a disturbing way.
"That's what makes it difficult."
Elena felt her breath hitch as the stranger leaned closer. She could now feel the faint chill of his breath brushing against her skin.
His fingers lifted, tracing slowly along the curve of her throat.
The touch was feather-light, yet it sent a shiver down her spine.
"Your neck…" he whispered quietly. "It looks so inviting."
Elena squeezed her eyes shut, trying desperately to free herself.
"Please… don't…"
But the man only leaned closer.
"So delicate," he continued softly. "It makes me want to—"
"Princess… Princess!"
A distant voice interrupted him.
The shadowy room seemed to ripple.
"Your Highness… please wake up!"
The man paused.
His red eyes flickered with something unreadable.
Elena tried to turn toward the voice calling her name, but the man caught her attention again.
For a brief moment his expression softened.
Almost regretfully.
Then the darkness shattered.
"Anna!"
Elena jolted awake.
Her chest rose sharply as she sucked in a desperate breath.
The shadowed bedroom vanished, replaced by the gentle rocking of a carriage. Sunlight filtered through thin curtains, and the scent of dust and leather filled the air.
Across from her sat Lydia Hart, her loyal handmaid.
Lydia looked pale with worry.
"Elena… thank heavens," Lydia sighed, gripping her hands. "You were breathing so strangely. I thought something terrible had happened."
Elena blinked several times, her mind slowly clearing.
Her heartbeat was still racing.
"That dream again?" Lydia asked quietly.
Elena swallowed, her throat dry.
"Yes."
She wiped her damp palms against the folds of her dress and leaned back against the cushioned seat.
It had only been a dream.
Just a dream.
Yet it had felt disturbingly real.
The man's cold touch still lingered against her skin.
Elena exhaled slowly, trying to calm herself.
Outside, the steady clatter of the carriage wheels echoed against the road.
After a moment she asked softly, "How much farther?"
Lydia hesitated.
Her expression darkened slightly.
"We crossed the northern gates an hour ago."
Elena felt her stomach twist.
"So… we're already inside Dravenfall."
Lydia nodded grimly.
Neither woman spoke for a moment.
Dravenfall.
Even the name carried an unpleasant weight.
Stories about the kingdom had traveled far beyond its borders.
A land surrounded by towering walls.
A land ruled by a king no one had ever seen.
A land people rarely escaped.
King Rowan Dacre.
Some said he was a tyrant.
Others claimed he was something far worse.
Rumors described him as a monster who ruled from the shadows of his ancient fortress.
Some believed he never left his castle.
Others whispered that he couldn't.
Lydia shifted uneasily in her seat.
"I still think your father should never have agreed to this marriage," she muttered under her breath.
Elena said nothing.
Technically, her father hadn't agreed.
The kingdom of Whitmoor had simply… surrendered.
Sending Elena as a bride was meant to secure peace between the two realms.
But Elena had another reason for accepting the arrangement.
Slowly, she reached into her traveling cloak and pulled out a folded piece of parchment.
The letter.
She had read it countless times during the journey.
The paper had begun to crease along the edges.
Lydia noticed immediately.
"You're reading that again?"
Elena didn't respond.
Instead, she unfolded the parchment carefully.
The writing inside remained as mysterious as the day she received it.
Three short lines.
Nothing more.
*When the shadows begin to stir,*
*seek the king of Hollowthorn.*
*Only he can save your life.*
No name.
No explanation.
Just the strange symbol stamped beneath the message.
A thorn wrapped around a crown.
Elena folded the letter again and tucked it away.
Before Lydia could say anything else, the carriage began to slow.
The sound of hooves crunching over gravel replaced the steady rhythm of the road.
The coachman's voice called from outside.
"We've arrived, Your Highness."
Elena's chest tightened.
Lydia peeked cautiously through the window curtain.
"Oh…"
Her voice trembled slightly.
"What is it?" Elena asked.
Lydia pulled the curtain aside.
"Look for yourself."
Elena leaned closer.
The sight outside made her breath catch.
Hollowthorn Castle loomed before them.
The structure looked ancient.
Massive stone walls rose high into the sky, darkened by centuries of weather and moss. Jagged towers pierced the clouds like broken spears.
Vines clung to the outer walls, crawling over the stone like silent serpents.
The castle gates stood open.
But no guards waited there.
No servants.
No welcoming party.
Just silence.
The carriage came to a halt.
The coachman climbed down and placed two small suitcases on the ground.
One belonged to Elena.
The other to Lydia.
And then…
He climbed back onto the carriage.
Without another word.
The horses turned.
Lydia's eyes widened.
"Wait—!"
But the carriage was already rolling away.
Dust rose behind it as the wheels disappeared down the long forest road.
Lydia slowly turned toward the castle again.
Her face had gone pale.
"Elena…"
"Yes?"
"This place… doesn't feel right."
Elena stepped forward cautiously.
The wind rustled softly through the surrounding trees.
"I know," she admitted.
The castle radiated a strange chill.
Even the air felt heavy.
Lydia picked up both suitcases and hurried after her.
"Maybe we should reconsider," she whispered nervously. "We could still catch the carriage if we—"
"Elena!"
The sharp cry echoed suddenly through the castle.
Both women froze.
The sound had come from inside.
It was a man's voice.
Screaming.
A terrible, agonized scream.
Lydia grabbed Elena's arm.
"Did you hear that?"
Elena nodded slowly.
Another scream followed.
This one even worse.
Lydia shook her head immediately.
"No. Absolutely not. We are leaving."
But Elena was already moving toward the entrance.
"Elena!" Lydia hissed. "What are you doing?"
"If someone's hurt, we can't just ignore it."
"This isn't Whitmoor," Lydia whispered urgently. "We don't know what lives here."
But Elena continued walking.
Her heart pounded harder with every step.
The castle doors creaked open as she pushed them.
The interior was dark.
The long stone corridors stretched endlessly ahead.
Not a single lantern was lit.
The screams echoed again.
Closer this time.
Elena followed the sound through twisting hallways until she reached a heavy wooden door.
The screaming stopped.
Silence returned.
Lydia trembled beside her.
"Please tell me we're not opening that."
Elena hesitated.
Then she noticed something.
The door wasn't fully closed.
A thin crack allowed a sliver of candlelight to escape.
Curiosity pulled at her.
Slowly… carefully…
Elena leaned forward and looked inside.
Her eyes widened instantly.
A man collapsed to the floor with a lifeless thud.
Standing over him was another man.
Tall.
Still.
His back faced the door.
But then he turned slightly.
Just enough for Elena to see his face.
And those eyes.
Bright.
Red.
Exactly like the ones in her dream.
He looked straight at the door.
Straight at her.