The sun had barely risen, yet screams tore through the streets of Astoria like a plague. Smoke curled from the rooftops, black and suffocating, swallowing the golden light of morning. The sharp clash of steel rang through the air, followed by the desperate cries of her people.
Elowen Astoria stood frozen on the palace balcony, her fingers gripping the cold marble railing. Her light golden hair, long and softly wavy, shimmered faintly in the early light—like spun gold against the darkness below. Her bright blue eyes, once full of warmth, now widened in horror as they took in the destruction of everything she had ever known.
Below her, the kingdom burned.
The people she had grown up with—servants who had smiled at her, children who had laughed in the gardens, soldiers who had sworn to protect her—fell beneath the blades of the invaders. Blood stained the cobblestone streets, and the scent of smoke and iron filled the air.
No… this can't be real.
"Elowen! Stay inside!"
Her mother's voice cut through the chaos, sharp with fear. Queen Marielle rushed toward her, but it was too late. A soldier broke through the palace doors, and in a flash of steel, everything changed.
Her mother fell first.
Elowen's breath hitched, her body refusing to move as she watched her collapse, lifeless, onto the stone floor.
"No—!"
But the word never fully formed.
Her father roared in fury, charging forward with his sword, cutting down enemy soldiers with desperate strength. For a moment—just a moment—it seemed as though he might hold them back.
Then the tide overwhelmed him.
One blade. Then another.
And the king of Astoria fell.
Something inside Elowen shattered.
The world became distant, muffled, as if she were underwater. Her lips parted, but no sound came. Her voice—her scream—was swallowed by the crushing weight of shock.
Footsteps approached.
From the smoke and chaos emerged a figure unlike the others. Clad in dark armor, his presence was calm amidst the destruction, as if he belonged to it. His gaze lifted—and landed on her.
Prince Kael.
His eyes narrowed slightly, taking in her appearance—the pale glow of her skin, the golden sheen of her hair, the vivid blue of her eyes. For a moment, everything else seemed to fade.
Then, slowly, he smiled.
Not with kindness. Not with warmth.
But with possession.
"Well," he said, his voice smooth, almost amused. "That would have been a terrible waste."
Elowen didn't move. Couldn't move.
She should run. She should fight. She should do something.
But her body refused to obey.
Kael stepped closer, his gaze never leaving her face, as if committing every detail to memory.
"Kill the rest," he ordered casually, not even sparing a glance for the chaos around him. Then, his eyes darkened slightly as he looked back at her.
"But not this one."
The words sealed her fate.
Guards surged forward, seizing her arms. She was pulled from the balcony, from the palace, from the only life she had ever known. The smoke swallowed the sky behind her, and the screams of her people echoed as she was dragged away.
Elowen did not cry out.
She did not beg.
She did not speak.
Because as the kingdom of Astoria burned…
her voice had already died with it.
The night air in the chamber was heavy, the moonlight spilling across the polished stone floor. Elowen sat huddled against the far wall, her long soft golden hair tangled and her bright blue eyes wide with exhaustion and fear. She had endured days—weeks—of Kael's oppressive gaze, the guards' silent watch, and the knowledge that her beauty had made her a possession.
She had learned to move quietly, to avoid his notice, to make herself invisible.
But tonight, the inevitable came.
The door opened without warning. Kael stepped inside, the flicker of a torch casting sharp shadows across his features. His eyes were cold, unreadable—but there was something darker there, a hunger she had dreaded.
"Tonight, you will remember who owns you," he said softly, almost casually.
Elowen's stomach twisted. She had dreaded this moment every day, and yet now, adrenaline surged through her veins. This time, she would not be a silent victim.
As Kael advanced,
she pushed herself to her feet, the silk dress clinging to her trembling frame. She tried to speak, but her throat constricted—still no words. Instead, her eyes burned with defiance.
Kael's lips curved in amusement. "Ah, so the little bird has found her claws? How delightful."
He reached for her, and in that moment, survival instinct took over. Elowen lunged, not with grace, but with raw desperation. Her nails scraped across his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.
For a split second, surprise flickered in Kael's eyes.
Then—anger.
He struck her.
Elowen collapsed to the floor, her head swimming. The realization that resistance had only made things worse.
"Foolish girl," Kael's voice was like ice. "Did you truly think you could fight me?"
He knelt, gripping her hair, forcing her to look up at him. Her vision blurred, but she could see the triumph in his eyes.
"You are mine. Your body, your beauty, your very breath—they belong to me."
Elowen's heart hammered against her ribcage.
Kael's thumb brushed over her lips, a touch that was more menacing than comforting. "And tonight… you will learn what that means."
The chamber seemed to shrink around her, the walls closing in. She could feel the weight of her helplessness, the crushing reality of her situation—beauty, once her crown, had become her curse. And now, her body, once her own, would be used as a tool of possession.
Her mind fractured, splintering into a million pieces. She was no longer Elowen Astoria, the princess of a fallen kingdom.
She was a thing.
A prize.
And there was no escape.
he started to fondle at her breast, she started to panic. "No…" Her voice came out as a choked whisper, a fragile thing that barely broke the silence.
Kael paused. A slow smile spread across his face. "Ah, she speaks. Good. I like it when you beg."
Elowen's throat tightened. "Stop… Please…"
She grabbed a heavy candlestick from the floor that must have been knocked down from the table and swung it with all her strength.
The candlestick struck him across the chest, sending him stumbling back.
For the first time, Kael's composed facade cracked. Pain flashed across his face, quickly replaced with rage.
"You—!" he growled, his voice low and dangerous.
Elowen did not wait to see the full extent of his fury. She bolted for the door, but Kael's shout summoned the guards. They grabbed her, and she struggled fiercely, striking and kicking, refusing to submit.
But Kael's voice cut through the chaos like steel:
"Enough!"
His orders were sharp.
"Take her to the dungeon. Let her learn the consequences of defiance."
The guards dragged her through winding corridors, down stone staircases, and into the cold, dark dungeon. The air was damp and oppressive. She dropped to the floor as they shoved her inside, the chains around her wrists biting into her skin.
Kael's voice echoed down the stone hall one last time:
"You will remain here… unknown… until you learn to accept me."
Elowen pressed her face against the cold stone, shivering—
And yet, for the first time in months, she felt something stir inside her—a spark of agency, a reminder that she was still alive, still capable of resisting.
Time had lost its meaning in the dungeon.
Days blurred into nights, and nights into something even darker. The cold stone walls, once unbearable, had become familiar—almost comforting in their predictability. There were no footsteps that lingered too long, no suffocating gaze that stripped her of herself, no voice that claimed ownership over her existence.
Down here, Elowen Astoria was no one.
And she preferred it that way.
It had been years.
Years since she had last seen the sky.
Years since she had heard her own voice.
Years since the world above had mattered.
The dungeon was cruel—but it was not him.
And that made it bearable.
Elowen curled slightly against the cold wall, her thin frame wrapped in what little warmth she could gather. Sleep came in fragments, never peaceful, never deep—but enough to let time pass unnoticed.
Until—
A distant sound broke through the silence.
Her eyes opened slowly.
At first, she thought it was another dream. But then it came again—louder this time. The unmistakable clash of steel. The echo of shouting. The tremor of something shifting.
Her body went still.
That sound…
It wasn't the usual quiet cruelty of the dungeon.
War.
The air was thick with the cries of battle, clashing swords, and the roar of soldiers. Smoke curled above the city like a living thing, and the once-proud banners of Kael's corrupted kingdom now hung in tatters.
From atop his warhorse, Claude De Valois surveyed the scene. His steel-gray eyes, sharp and calculating, swept over the city with the precision of a predator. The people who had been oppressed under Kael's cruel rule now poured into the streets, cheering for him, shouting his name with hope and relief.
"Mad Dog," they called him—but Claude did not smile. He was here to finish what Kael had broken, and he would leave nothing to chance. His lightly tanned skin gleamed faintly in the sun, giving him an aura of both royalty and warrior's ruggedness.
Through the chaos, Claude's soldiers cleared the palace halls, and at last, they came to the dungeon. It was a shadowed labyrinth, damp and oppressive, but something in the air drew his attention. He dismounted, stepping lightly, ignoring the fire and blood of the castle above.
The guards opened the door to the innermost cell, and there she was—small, fragile in appearance, her long light golden hair tangled and pale against the stone floor. Her bright blue eyes, wide and wary, lifted toward him.
Elowen had spent years in the dungeon, enduring its cold stone walls and Kael's absence. Even in that awful place, she had preferred the predictable cruelty of the dungeon over the terrifying presence of Kael. Now, faced with a stranger, she froze.
Elowen recoiled instinctively, her body shrinking back into the shadows as her eyes struggled against the sudden brightness. Her heart pounded violently.
A figure stepped into view.
He was tall—taller than anyone she remembered—and carried himself with a quiet, commanding presence. His black hair fell slightly over his forehead, and his steel-gray eyes swept the dungeon with sharp precision. His lightly tanned skin, marked faintly by the wear of battle, caught the dim light in a way that made him seem almost carved from shadow and steel.
He did not look like Kael.
And yet… he was just as dangerous.
Elowen pressed herself further against the wall, her breathing shallow.
Claude De Valois paused.
Of all the things he had expected to find in Kael's dungeon—this was not one of them.
A girl.
No…
His gaze lingered a moment longer than intended.
Even like this—thin, worn, clearly neglected—there was something almost unreal about her. The pale glow of her skin against the darkness, the soft fall of her light hair, the striking clarity of her eyes…
For a fleeting, irrational moment, a thought crossed his mind—
She looked like something out of a story book.
A fairy.
The thought was gone as quickly as it came, buried beneath reason and discipline, but it left something behind—a quiet, unspoken curiosity.
She did not beg.
She did not cry.
She did not speak.
She only watched him.
His gaze narrowed slightly, studying her the way one might study something unfamiliar… something that didn't quite belong in a place like this.
"Who is she?" one of his soldiers asked quietly from behind him.
Claude didn't answer immediately.
His eyes remained fixed on her.
Even like this—thin, worn, clearly neglected—there was a quiet strength in the way she held herself. Not defiant… but unbroken.
Strange.
He stepped closer.
Elowen's breath hitched, her body tensing, but she did not move away. She had learned long ago that running was useless. Still, every instinct in her screamed to retreat, to disappear, to escape the weight of his gaze.
Claude stopped just short of her.
Up close, he could see it more clearly now—the exhaustion, the silence, the way her eyes held something deeper than fear.
Something… empty.
Or perhaps… something buried.
"You can stand," he said, his voice low, calm—not cruel, not soft. Just certain.
Elowen didn't move.
Didn't respond.
Didn't speak.
A flicker of something crossed Claude's expression—confusion? Annoyance? No… curiosity.
"She doesn't speak?" one of the guards muttered.
Claude's gaze sharpened slightly.
He crouched just enough to meet her eye level, studying her more closely now. There was no panic in her movements. No desperation. Only caution.
And silence.
"Look at me," he said.
Those bright blue eyes met his without wavering, even as her body trembled slightly from exhaustion.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The world outside—the battle, the shouting, the fall of a kingdom—faded into nothing.
There was only silence.
And something unspoken passing between them.
Claude straightened slowly.
"She's not from here," he said at last, his tone thoughtful.
No one argued.
"Get her out of this place."
Elowen's breath caught.
The words settled heavily in her chest—not relief, not fear… something uncertain. Something unfamiliar.
As the guards approached, she tensed—but this time, she didn't fight.
Because for the first time in years…
The dungeon door wasn't closing.
It was opening.