The royal halls reeked of blood.
Princess Evelina sprinted through the endless corridors, her silk gown torn and soaked in red, her bare feet slipping on marble streaked with betrayal. Behind her, the once-loyal guards were being slaughtered — the castle collapsing under treachery.
"Father... Mother..." her mind screamed. But deep down, she knew.
It was already over.
Ahead, her brother — Prince Aeren — appeared, sword drawn, eyes wild with terror.
He seized her arm.
"Eve, we have to leave — now!"
"But—"
"They're dead!" His voice cracked with grief and fury. "Aunt Selene betrayed them. She... she killed them!"
The words struck harder than any blade.
Their beloved aunt. Their father's trusted sister.
Evelina stumbled, but Aeren yanked her forward.
Through the hidden servant passages they ran, shadows swallowing their royal blood.
Outside the castle walls, horses waited.
But so did death.
Aunt Selene had sent assassins to finish the job.
Aeren fought fiercely, slashing through the attackers, shouting for Evelina to run.
She did.
Branches clawed at her as she raced into the dark forest, terror and sorrow tearing her apart.
Then — a blow to her head.
A flash of white pain.
Darkness swallowed her whole.
---
Warmth. Softness. The smell of strange flowers.
Evelina stirred, groaning.
She blinked into a world she didn't recognize: towering stone walls, velvet curtains, golden light spilling onto a bed far too luxurious for a fugitive.
The door opened.
A man stepped inside.
Tall. Powerful.
A black cloak hung from his broad shoulders. A dark iron crown gleamed atop his head.
His face was cold perfection — carved from marble, every line speaking of battles won and losses endured.
His eyes, however, were the most dangerous thing about him — pale silver, as sharp and merciless as a winter storm.
"You are awake," he said, voice deep and commanding. "You are safe now."
Evelina pushed herself up, panic tightening her throat.
Where was Aeren? Where was her kingdom?
What had happened?
Tears pricked her eyes, but she forced herself to her knees.
She bowed low before the stranger.
"Please," she whispered hoarsely. "Let me work here. I have nowhere else to go. I will do anything… I just need a place."
The man studied her, unmoving.
The silence stretched unbearably.
Finally, he spoke.
"You may stay," he said.
"But remember this: In my kingdom, loyalty is earned, not given. You will have to prove yourself."
He turned sharply, his black cloak sweeping behind him.
At the door, he paused.
"My name," he said without looking back, "is King Lucien Vaelthorn. Welcome to Vaeloria."
The door shut with a final thud, sealing Evelina's fate.
She pressed a trembling hand to her heart.
She had survived.
But this was only the beginning.
One day — no matter how long it took — she would rise.
She would take back everything that had been stolen.
She would wear the crown again.
Even if she had to destroy everything in her path to do it.