Lysandra stood at the edge of the forest, gazing beyond the treetops toward the distant silhouette of the capital. The towering spires of the royal palace pierced the sky, illuminated by the glow of countless lanterns.
Prince Kastian was waiting for her.
She could feel it, a thread of something ancient and unseen pulling her toward him. Their curses were bound together by fate, but fate had never been kind to her.
She had no reason to trust him.
But she had every reason to find him.
The Journey Begins
The road to the capital was long and treacherous. Lysandra couldn't walk through the main gates like an ordinary traveler—her face was likely already known to the royal guard.
Instead, she moved through the forgotten paths. Hidden tunnels, abandoned ruins, and the secret roads used by thieves and rebels.
With each step, the shadows guided her, whispering of dangers ahead. She avoided patrols, slipped past checkpoints, and navigated the dark underbelly of the kingdom.
It felt almost too easy.
And that's when she knew.
She was being watched.
The Silent Pursuer
Lysandra's instincts had been sharpened by years of survival. She knew the feeling of being hunted.
But this wasn't a soldier.
This was something else.
She caught glimpses—a flicker of movement in the trees, the faintest echo of footsteps behind her. Whoever it was, they were fast. Too fast.
She continued forward, pretending not to notice, until—
She struck.
Spinning on her heel, she lashed out with a dagger, aiming for her pursuer's throat—
Clang.
A thin, gleaming blade blocked her strike with ease.
Lysandra's breath caught as she locked eyes with her pursuer.
A masked figure, clad in black.
Tall, poised, with an aura of lethal precision.
Before she could react, the masked warrior attacked.
A Dance in the Dark
Lysandra barely dodged the first strike. Shadows coiled around her in defense, lashing out like living tendrils, but the warrior evaded them with almost supernatural grace.
Who is he?
Their blades clashed again. The force of the impact sent sparks flying, illuminating the warrior's mask for a split second.
Intricate, silver-lined.
A royal crest.
Her stomach twisted. A member of the royal family? Or perhaps… the prince himself?
She narrowed her eyes. If he wanted a fight, she would give him one.
The Unspoken Truth
The battle was swift, brutal. Strike after strike, dodge after dodge. The warrior fought like a ghost—silent, unrelenting.
Then, in a single heartbeat, he moved faster than she could follow.
Lysandra gasped as cold steel pressed against her throat.
She froze.
The warrior tilted his head, studying her through the mask.
And then, in a voice as smooth as shadow, he murmured—
"I've been waiting for you, Lysandra."
A chill ran down her spine.
He knew her name.
The masked warrior… was no ordinary soldier.
Her heart pounded.
Had she just found Prince Kastian?