The palace of Eldoria was too quiet.
Moonlight streamed through arched windows, casting silver across the marble floors as Cassiel climbed the grand staircase alone. Her silk gown whispered with every step, but even that small sound felt too loud in a place that once buzzed with music and life.
She could feel it — that stillness. The kind that comes before something breaks.
At the top of the stairs, behind gilded doors, the High Council waited. So did her father. And so did the decision that would twist her life in ways she couldn't yet imagine.
The Dravens sent a decree.
Not a proposal. Not a choice. A command. One dipped in honeyed diplomacy and soaked in blood.
Her pulse quickened. Her fingers curled tightly around her skirt. She didn't need to hear the words to know what they meant. She'd seen it in her father's tired eyes the night before. The burden in his silence had said it all.
Marriage.
To Prince Arden Draven — the last cursed heir of the bloodline Eldoria had warred with for generations.
Cassiel stopped just before the doors. Breathed. Swallowed the dread clawing up her throat. And stepped inside.
The chamber was lit with torches that flickered like stars about to die. Her father, King Edric Eldoria, stood at the head of the room, flanked by council members in deep blue robes, each face grim.
But it was his voice that struck hardest.
"The betrothal has been confirmed."
Like a blade to the heart.
Everything blurred for a moment — the torches, the marble floor, the embroidered robes. Her breath caught.
She barely noticed the whispers around the room, but her father's next words rang out like thunder.
"The prophecy binds us. This union is not a choice, Cassiel. It is a necessity."
Cassiel straightened, holding her voice steady even as it trembled inside her.
"You cannot be serious."
Silence followed, thick and suffocating. Only the crackle of flame dared interrupt it. Her father's expression didn't change.
"I am."
"The prophecy," she said, quieter now. "I know what it says."
She had known it since she was a child, had read it over and over like a cruel bedtime story. When the golden and the midnight blood entwine, fate will demand a sacrifice. One heir must fall, and one must rise.
The doors creaked open again.
Her aunt, High Priestess Lysara, swept into the chamber, her violet robes trailing behind her like mist. In her hands, a crimson-waxed scroll.
"The prince of Draven has already accepted," she announced. "He will arrive within the week."
A fresh wave of dread rolled through Cassiel's chest. It was happening. Too quickly. Too soon.
Her father stepped close, placing a hand gently on her shoulder.
"I know this isn't the life you wanted. But if there is a way to change it… I believe you will find it."
Cassiel stared at the scroll. At the wax seal pressed with the sigil of the Dravens — a silver wolf bleeding under moonlight.
She had never believed in fate. Not really.
But if it was real — if it meant to use her as a pawn — then she would find a way to flip the board.
Somewhere, in the cursed halls of Draven, Prince Arden was likely preparing for their union, unaware that their lives were already tangled in something far greater than either of them.
A prophecy. A trap. A choice.
And she would not let destiny choose for her.