The wind howled outside the blackened towers of Virelia, a cursed kingdom ruled by power, blood... and secrets. Within its coldest palace chamber, a girl stood trembling — not from fear, but from the presence of the man whose name the entire realm dared not whisper without reverence... or dread.
Ariana.
A mere servant girl, stolen from her village and dragged to the capital without explanation. She was told she had been "chosen." Chosen for what, they would not say. But the moment she stood before him — tall, silent, eyes like ice and flame — she understood. Damian Virelith, heir to the throne. A man carved of stone and shadow.
He didn't ask her name.
He only spoke once.
"You belong to me now."
Ariana's fists clenched at her sides. "I'm not yours," she whispered, barely able to meet his gaze.
A ghost of a smile played on his lips — cruel, amused. "You will be."
He stepped closer, and the air thinned. The tension was unbearable — raw and wicked, like lightning ready to strike. Ariana refused to step back. She had survived hunger, war, and death. She would not cower now.
But when his fingers brushed her jaw — cold and firm — a shiver danced down her spine.
"Strong," he murmured. "I like that."
Then suddenly, he was gone — turning his back to her like she was nothing. Her cheeks burned, heart racing. What did he want from her? Why was she brought here?
Later that night, as Ariana sat curled on the fur-draped bed, a knock shattered the silence.
Not a knock. A command.
The door swung open. It was her.
Princess Selene.
Royal. Ruthless. Ravishing. And furious.
"You think because Damian looked at you, you're special?" Selene sneered, stepping into the room like she owned it. "He's mine. He's always been mine."
Ariana stood, refusing to shrink away. "Then why does he want me here instead of you?"
That earned her a slap.
But Ariana didn't fall.
And Selene — eyes glinting with hate — turned on her heels with venom in
her voice:
"You'll regret ever meeting him."