Chapter 1: The Proposal in Chains
The rain had not stopped for two days.
And yet, the carriage rolled steadily through the muddy streets, drawn by black horses whose eyes burned like coals.
Inside, Lady Evelyne Ashthorn sat with her wrists bound, silk blindfold pressed against her eyes.
‘I was supposed to marry a duke, not be dragged across kingdoms in chains.’
But fate, apparently, disagreed.
It all began with a letter.
A single missive with the royal crest of Aurelius.
Delivered under nightfall. Sealed with crimson wax. Signed only: L.
And with it, a royal decree.
[Evelyne Ashthorn, daughter of Lord Cedric Ashthorn, is hereby summoned to the capital by order of His Majesty. Refusal will be considered treason.]
Her father fainted. Her stepmother packed her bags. Evelyne, however, refused to cry.
Because her dreams were filled with fire.
And a crown.
And a man whose face she could never remember.
The capital was draped in gold and fog.
Towering spires. Marble domes. Guards in crimson uniforms.
They brought her to the palace at midnight.
Not the guest chambers.
But the West Wing.
Where the cursed bloodline slept.
The ones with silver eyes.
And a secret throne.
He stood at the end of the hall, draped in a black velvet cloak.
Tall. Shadowed. Silent.
She didn’t have to be told who he was.
Everyone knew the Reigning Monarch of Aurelius—
King Lucien Albrecht.
Rumored mad.
Rumored immortal.
Rumored to have executed his own bride on the wedding night.
“You summoned me,” Evelyne said, voice steadier than she felt.
Lucien’s eyes gleamed like mercury.
“I require a bride.”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I did not volunteer.”
He tilted his head.
“You have the Sight, do you not?”
The words knocked the breath from her lungs.
“How do you—”
“The curse recognizes its own.”
He stepped closer.
“You see visions. Fragments of a future not yet lived. That makes you dangerous.”
“And you need a dangerous bride?”
“I need someone who will not run when the screaming starts.”
He offered her a contract.
Eleven nights of marriage.
No consummation.
No politics.
Only her presence at his side when the moon bled red.
In return, her family’s debt would be erased. Her freedom granted. Her Sight protected.
On the twelfth morning, she would walk free.
Evelyne looked him in the eye.
And signed.
But the first night changed everything.
At exactly midnight, the castle walls trembled.
The mirrors cracked.
And from behind the throne emerged a door she hadn’t seen before.
Lucien stood before it, motionless.
Waiting.
“Come,” he said. “You’ll want to see what I become.”
The door opened with a groan.
And Evelyne followed her husband into the dark.