Dark clouds gathered over the kingdom of Eldoria, casting an ominous shadow upon the grand palace gates. The entire kingdom held its breath as the carriage, adorned with silver and black, rolled towards the altar of sacrifice. Inside, Princess Seraphina sat in silence, her hands clenched together, her heart pounding against her ribcage.
Tonight, she would be given to the Shadow King.
Legends spoke of him—a ruler who had existed for centuries, neither mortal nor fully spirit. He was said to consume the souls of those who displeased him, his kingdom a realm of eternal twilight where no sun ever shone.
Seraphina's fate had been sealed since birth. Cursed with a mark of darkness upon her wrist, she was seen as a harbinger of doom, unfit to rule, unfit to love. The kingdom had long awaited the day she would be sent away, their fears and whispers finally put to rest.
The carriage came to a stop. The heavy doors creaked open, and the cold night air rushed in. A cloaked figure awaited her at the entrance to the altar—a man taller than any she had ever seen, his presence suffocating. His eyes, glimmering like molten gold, locked onto hers with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.
"The princess has arrived," the royal attendant announced, his voice barely masking his fear.
Seraphina swallowed her dread. If she was to die this night, she would do so with dignity.
But as she stepped out onto the obsidian stone floor, a deep, resonant voice shattered the silence.
"You are not here to die, little princess," the Shadow King murmured, his lips curving into an unreadable smile. "You are here to awaken."
Seraphina stiffened, her pulse quickening. The legends had painted him as a ruthless executioner, yet something about his gaze held no immediate malice—only an eerie sense of knowing. The air between them crackled with an invisible force, as if the universe itself recognized their meeting as inevitable.
A gust of wind carried the scent of ancient magic, making the torches around them flicker violently. The Shadow King stepped closer, his cloak billowing behind him like living shadows. "Tell me, Seraphina," he continued, his voice silk and steel entwined. "Have they ever told you the truth about your curse?"
She gasped. "The truth?"
He chuckled darkly. "Ah, so they have not."
The weight of his words settled heavily upon her chest. If he knew something about her curse—something her own people had hidden—then her fate was far more tangled than she had ever imagined. But one thing was certain: whatever lay ahead, she would not face it as a helpless sacrifice.
This was not an end. This was a beginning.