The flames in the hall danced low against the stone walls, their light throwing shifting shadows over the ancient carvings that lined the pillars. The air was thick, not with smoke, but with something far older—something unseen.
Lucian stood at the centre of the vast room, his hands loosely clasped behind his back, a figure carved from darkness itself. His brothers, Elias and Soren, stood a few steps behind him, their expressions mirroring his—sharp, unreadable.
Before him knelt a woman, draped in strange silks and adorned with heavy goddess-like jewellery. Her skin was pale, her hair hidden beneath a shimmering veil that cloaked her features. A subtle fragrance of crushed herbs and something sharper, something metallic, filled the air around her.
The woman's voice floated up, barely above a whisper, yet it carried to every corner of the vast hall.
"You seek that which has been hidden from you," she said, her fingers weaving intricate shapes in the air. Trails of glowing light followed the movements, rippling through the room.
Lucian's gaze was unwavering, black eyes gleaming with an unnatural glint. "Where do I find it?"
The veiled woman hesitated, her hands stilling. The silence in the hall grew heavy, as though even the stones themselves were waiting for her answer.
At last, she spoke, her voice silken and heavy with meaning:
"The answer you seek lies within the heart that defies destiny."
Lucian's lips curved into the faintest ghost of a smile—cold, knowing. He said nothing more. With a flick of his hand, the guards moved out from the shadows and took the woman away.
The hall fell into an eerie quiet once again, save for the faint crackle of the flames.
Lucian turned and swept out of the room, his cloak whispering behind him, his brothers silently falling into step beside him.
Whatever had been said, none of it showed on their faces. Only a deep, dangerous tension hung in the air, trailing behind them like a storm yet to break.
—
Far across the forests and valleys, in the small bustling kingdom of Evendale, preparations were already underway for the grandest celebration of the season.
King Aldred, ruler of Evendale and a man of imposing stature and kind but firm eyes, was marrying off his eldest daughter.
The marriage of a princess was no small affair. It called for every maiden, every knight, every merchant and farmer in the land to come forth and celebrate the union. Banners of deep crimson and gold were being strung across the winding streets. Musicians tuned their instruments, bakers prepared grand feasts, and seamstresses stitched tirelessly into the night.
No soul was permitted to stay away from the festivities. Attendance was not just encouraged—it was commanded.
And among those preparing were two young maidens, Vivienne and Seraphina, both daughters of respected, though now dwindling, noble blood.
Unknown to them, guests of far greater importance were already on their way to Evendale.
For the king of the distant kingdom of Virelia—Lucian himself—was an old and powerful ally to King Aldred. Along with his brothers and a retinue of silent, cold-eyed men, Lucian rode toward Evendale to honour the king's invitation.
Though none knew exactly what shadows followed him… or what he sought beneath the surface of celebration.
—
The day of the festivities arrived with the air thick with excitement. The castle grounds were transformed into a kingdom of laughter and splendour. Flowers lined every pillar, the tables were filled with gleaming trays of roasted meats and fruits, and music filled the afternoon sky.
Vivienne, in a gown of soft lavender with delicate embroidery that shimmered faintly in the sunlight, moved through the crowds with Seraphina at her side.
Her dark brown hair was pinned in loose, elegant curls, a few rebellious strands framing her luminous face. Her eyes—bright as polished emeralds—danced with curiosity and excitement.
The town square was alive, full of nobles and villagers alike, but Vivienne barely noticed. Her mind was set on perfection; she fretted over the fall of her sleeves, the tightness of her corset, the way her skirts moved when she walked.
And then—it happened.
As she turned the corner near the marble fountains, her foot caught on the edge of a broken stone. She stumbled forward—and collided straight into a wall of something solid.
Strong hands caught her before she could tumble to the ground.
Vivienne looked up—and found herself staring into the darkest eyes she had ever seen.
The man who held her was tall, impossibly tall, dressed in black and silver, his presence alone commanding the air around him. His features were arresting—high, sharp cheekbones, a mouth too cruel to ever be called kind, and eyes so dark they seemed almost bottomless.
It was Lucian.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Vivienne, entirely unaware of the cold dread that seized most men and women in his presence, began to fuss instead over her dress, which had torn slightly at the hem during her stumble.
"Oh, no… no, no, no," she murmured, examining the tear with wide, horrified eyes. Her voice was rushed, her fingers trying helplessly to pull the fabric together. "Mother shall have my head for this… I was supposed to look perfect… perfect!"
Lucian said nothing.
He simply stood there, a dark shadow against the gold-lit festival, watching her with faint amusement flickering at the corners of his mouth.
Most would have recoiled from him, would have felt the suffocating chill of his aura that marked him as something… unnatural.
But not Vivienne.
She fretted over her dress, utterly absorbed, as though he were nothing more than an obstacle in her path to perfection.
Lucian tilted his head slightly, studying her.
How curious.
Why was she not trembling? Why did she not shrink from him as the others did?
A faint gleam lit his dark eyes—something ancient, something dangerous stirring deep within him.
Vivienne, oblivious to the slow smile beginning to touch his lips, continued muttering about laces and hems and how she would "never hear the end of this at home."
Lucian said nothing.
But in his mind, he marked her face, her spirit, and the strange, stubborn light in her eyes.
Marked her—and would not soon forget.