Vira moved through the shadows of Eldritch Palace with the grace of a cat, her mind buzzing with the thrill of her actions. Every step she took was calculated, but her heart beat faster, fueled by the adrenaline of defiance. She knew the guards would be lax at this hour, but it was always a risk to be in these halls. Still, the prospect of seeing Eryx, her intended, was enough to push her onward, the thought of her impending marriage knotting her stomach in anger.

  Her fingers brushed the ancient stone walls, feeling the pulse of power that lingered in this place. It was far too regal, too suffocating, for someone like her—someone who had always longed for freedom, to live as she pleased. But no, her father had made sure that would never happen.

  As she reached the courtyard, she spotted Eryx in the distance. The sight of him—calm, composed, the picture of everything she despised about her forced fate—only deepened her frustration.

  For a fleeting moment, Vira’s thoughts strayed to the version of Eryx she’d known back in the halls of the academy. That polished, perfect image of a man destined for greatness, a man who never seemed to question the chains that bound him. She had once thought his quiet composure was admirable—so poised, so sure of himself.

  Now, as she watched him in the moonlight, something in her stomach turned. Is this what I’m meant to become?

  The idea that she might one day be standing where he stood, content with the life her father had carved out for her, filled her with a suffocating sense of dread. A chill ran down her spine. She shuddered involuntarily, and for a brief, horrible moment, she saw herself becoming just another ornament in the palace—a puppet in a carefully crafted political game.

  Her fingers curled into fists, and a mischievous idea sprang into her mind. A quick glance around, and she spotted what she was looking for—a decorative tapestry, hanging proudly in the courtyard. The one that featured an intricate pattern of vines and flowers, a symbol of the royal family’s supposed unity. She knew it would draw attention if it was moved, especially if it fell.

  With a flick of her wrist, she reached out, the tapestry shifting and slipping from its rod. It tumbled to the ground in a flurry of silk, its bright colors tangled in a heap beneath Eryx’s feet.

  Before it could hit the ground, the prince spun around. His sword glinted in the sunlight as an invisible shield suddenly appeared, catching the tapestry mid-air before it could land. The ornate fabric hovered for a moment, caught in his unseen force, before it was gently set down, perfectly intact.

  The guards froze, staring up at the levitating girl, their faces pale with disbelief.

  Alistair gasped from below, clutching his chest in horror, too far away to stop the mischief from unfolding.

  With a glance, the guards whispered to one another. "Such insolence," one muttered, eyeing Vira with judgment. "How can someone like that ever become royalty?"

  "I don’t believe someone like her should be princess," another murmured, his voice filled with doubt.

  Alistair’s heart sank as the weight of their disapproval settled on him. He braced himself for the consequences.

  Meanwhile, Vira remained defiant, staring directly at Eryx. She expected something—anything—a reaction, perhaps. A scowl, a glare, even a shout of indignation. Instead, Eryx merely held her gaze, his amber eyes flickering with something unreadable beneath the fading sunlight.

  For a boy of twelve, he was unnervingly composed, his expression an impenetrable mask of quiet scrutiny. He wasn’t surprised by her actions—if anything, he seemed to have expected them. His grip on his sword remained firm, his posture unwavering. The tapestry, still suspended in midair by the invisible force of his will, quivered slightly before falling harmlessly to the ground, unbroken.

  A muscle in his jaw tensed.

  He turned to his men. "Clear the grounds and do not speak of this again," he ordered, his voice firm, unbothered.

  The guards hesitated, their eyes darting between the young prince and the levitating girl above.

  "But, Your Highness—" one began.

  Eryx’s gaze flickered to him, sharp and cold. "I said, do not speak of it."

  The guards quickly obeyed, dispersing without another word.

  Eryx exhaled through his nose, his fingers tightening slightly around the hilt of his blade. He didn’t look at Vira again, nor did he acknowledge the spectacle she had caused. Instead, he turned on his heel and strode toward the castle, his expression unreadable.

  Vira hovered in place, stunned.

  "Why isn’t he angry? Why hasn’t he called off the engagement?" she murmured aloud, half expecting him to turn around and answer.

  But he didn’t.

  She watched as he disappeared into the towering entrance of the palace, the golden embroidery of his training robes catching the light for just a moment before he vanished inside.

  Vira stood there, her gaze drifting toward the towering gates of the castle where Eryx had disappeared, her thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and defiance. The image of the Crown Prince's unreadable amber eyes lingered in her mind, and she could still feel the weight of his silence pressing against her.

  This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

  Alistair, noticing the way his daughter’s expression shifted from defiance to vulnerability, softened his grip on her arm, though his words were no less firm. "Vira, I understand that this is difficult. But your actions, the way you challenge everything—it's not going to change the path that has been set for you."

  "But Father..." she began, her voice trembling for the first time, "why this path? Why the Prince? Why can't I choose my own fate?" Her fists clenched, her frustration palpable as she met his eyes.

  Alistair sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. "You don’t understand. No one would choose this. But it's not about choice anymore. It’s about survival. The Ashara blood... it’s powerful, and it’s dangerous. The forces that know of your lineage—they’ll stop at nothing to control you."

  Vira’s steps felt heavier as they made their way back toward the family estate. The road stretched out before them, the trees swaying gently in the cool evening breeze. Her mind was a tempest, her thoughts chaotic and impossible to pin down. She barely noticed Alistair walking beside her, his once-strong posture now tense, as if weighed down by an invisible burden.

  She cast a glance at her father. "You’ve been so vague, Father. I don’t understand why you won’t just tell me what’s really going on. Why is this blood of mine so dangerous? Why must it always be this way?"

  Alistair’s eyes flickered with hesitation, his mouth opening and closing as if he were searching for the right words—words that never seemed to come. Vira’s heart sank as she realized that he, too, was withholding something from her. She knew her father well enough to see it. He was hiding the full truth.

  The silence between them grew thick, stretching the distance further than the already long journey. Alistair eventually sighed, his voice quiet but laced with a sorrow that seemed to emanate from deep within. "Vira, your Ashara blood—it’s not like the power others wield. It’s something older, something far more ancient. Your power is linked to the skies, to the heavens themselves. It’s a gift that binds you to forces beyond anyone’s control."

  She frowned, her confusion deepening. "I know my power is strong. But you’re saying it’s different from other magic? How? Why?"

  Alistair hesitated again, the weight of his words seeming to hang in the air. "It is different. And that difference makes you a target, Vira. Your blood calls to those who would do anything to control you—whether it’s for power, for wealth, or for something darker. It’s why the engagement was arranged, why the Prince... why Eryx is so important."

  Her heart skipped a beat at the mention of Eryx, and she turned sharply to face him. "What does he have to do with any of this? You keep saying he’s important. Why?"

  Alistair’s jaw tightened, and for a long moment, he remained silent. Then, his voice dropped to a low murmur. "He can wield the Sword of Vexkyra. The sword is the key to keeping your blood safe, Vira. It’s the only weapon capable of defending you from those who would seek to take your power."

  Vira’s mind churned. The Sword of Vexkyra—Eryx’s sword. She had heard whispers about it, stories told in hushed tones, but she had never truly understood what it meant for her. Her gaze drifted to the path ahead of them, where the trees formed shadows in the growing darkness.

  "So, you’re telling me... my entire future hinges on marrying the Prince, just so he can protect me?" Her voice cracked slightly as she spoke, the weight of that thought too much to bear.

  Alistair’s expression was unreadable, but his voice softened, tinged with regret. "It’s more than just protection, Vira. It’s about survival. The forces that know of your blood are already circling, and once they realize what you are... they won’t stop until they have you. And if they succeed—" He broke off, his voice choking with the words he couldn’t bring himself to finish.

  Vira shook her head, feeling the stirrings of something more dangerous inside her—something she couldn’t quite grasp, but that was unmistakably there. Her blood, her power... it was more than just a gift. It was a curse.

  "But why hasn’t Eryx done anything? Why hasn’t he reacted to what I did earlier? He doesn’t care, does he?" Vira’s words were sharp, defensive, even though a part of her knew that wasn’t true. Eryx did care, in his own way. But why hadn’t he shown it?

  Alistair turned his gaze to her, a small flicker of sadness in his eyes. "Eryx is many things, but he is no fool. He knew what you were trying to do. But he also knows the importance of keeping things controlled. He’s not angered by your actions—he’s waiting for you to come to terms with the truth."

  The words landed like stones in her chest. Vira struggled to digest them, but something nagged at her. Waiting for me to come to terms with the truth? She wasn’t sure what that meant, but the frustration burned in her veins.

  As they walked in tense silence, the shadows of the evening began to grow longer, and Vira’s senses tingled with unease. It was a quiet warning, the kind of feeling she’d had since she was young, the kind that whispered of danger in the air. She glanced around, her instincts rising. Something was wrong.

  "Father," she whispered, pulling at his sleeve, "I feel—"

  Before Vira could finish her sentence, the evening air seemed to grow thicker, a subtle shift in the atmosphere that even she couldn’t name. The trees around them rustled, though the breeze hadn’t stirred in the direction of the movement. A presence, faint yet undeniable, lingered at the edge of her awareness.

  Vira’s gaze flickered to the shadows lining the path, her instincts sharpening, but she saw nothing. There was no sound, no sign of movement—only the stillness of the evening pressing down on her.

  Alistair, too, seemed to sense the subtle tension, his posture tightening imperceptibly. Yet neither of them turned to look at what was quietly tracking their every step.

  Their conversation faltered as they continued walking, the silence between them growing as the shadows of the trees deepened around them. Vira, her thoughts still tangled in confusion and frustration, was oblivious to the subtle disturbance in the air. Alistair kept his gaze ahead, his mind preoccupied with the weight of his daughter's questions, unaware of the unseen presence just beyond their reach.

  The path was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves underfoot, and the cool evening air felt strangely still. There was no sound of pursuit, no indication that anything unusual was happening. Only the creeping darkness of the night pressing closer.

  In the distance, hidden by the thick cover of trees, the cloaked figure lingered. Its form blended seamlessly with the shadows, silent and still, waiting. It did not make a sound, did not give any hint that it was there at all. It watched and waited, as though timing the moment perfectly.

  Vira glanced up, her gaze flickering toward the looming silhouette of their family estate on the horizon. The familiar sight of home brought her a brief sense of comfort, though her mind remained unsettled. The presence she hadn’t noticed, the movement she couldn’t sense—it all felt like a distant echo, just beyond her reach.

  Alistair glanced at her, his face grim, his lips set in a tight line. "We’re almost there."

  Vira nodded absently, still lost in her thoughts. Neither of them saw the shadow that continued to watch from the trees, its eyes fixed on them as they made their way home, undisturbed, unaware.

  And with each step they took toward the safety of their estate, the figure remained, hidden and patient, waiting for its moment.