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.
Chapter 2: The Shadow King's Realm
The carriage had disappeared, the palace guards retreating the moment the exchange was made. Seraphina turned back to the Shadow King, her heart hammering. The shadows around him pulsed and moved, as if they had a will of their own.
"Come," he said, turning towards the looming castle beyond the altar. "Your new home awaits."
Seraphina hesitated for only a moment before following. The path leading up to the castle was made of smooth black stone, cold beneath her bare feet. Strange, ethereal lanterns floated in the air, casting an eerie silver glow. The kingdom stretched beyond them, a vast land cloaked in endless twilight.
"This place…" she whispered, unable to tear her gaze away. "There is no sun here."
The Shadow King glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "The sun does not belong in the land of the forgotten."
She shivered.
They crossed an arched bridge leading to the castle gates, flanked by statues of unknown figures. The closer they came, the heavier the air grew, thick with an ancient, unspoken magic. The doors creaked open before them, revealing a grand hall lined with towering pillars, each adorned with silver embroidery of intertwining shadows and light.
A row of figures stood at attention, their expressions unreadable. Some had masks covering their faces, others bore the same molten gold eyes as the king.
"Who are they?" Seraphina asked.
"My council," the Shadow King replied. "And your new subjects."
She swallowed hard. This was real. This was happening. She had not been led to an execution chamber, but something far more dangerous—a world she did not understand, ruled by a man whose intentions remained shrouded in mystery.
Then, with a single motion, he turned to face her fully, and the flickering torches reflected the truth in his eyes.
"Seraphina," he said, voice rich with something she couldn't place. "You were never meant to be a sacrifice. You were meant to rule."
The world tilted beneath her feet.
She opened her mouth, but the weight of his words left her breathless. Rule? The very idea was absurd. She had spent her life preparing for exile, for death—never for power.
"Why?" she demanded, regaining her composure. "Why would I rule in a place I do not belong?"
The Shadow King's expression darkened. "Because this land has been waiting for you."
As he spoke, the torches flickered violently, and a surge of wind swirled through the hall. The shadows on the walls twisted unnaturally, responding to his words.
Seraphina took a step back, but the movement only seemed to amuse him. "You feel it, don't you?" he mused. "The pull of this realm. The magic in your blood."
A cold sensation spread through her veins, and she realized with growing horror that he was right. The moment she had stepped into his kingdom, something inside her had awakened—something ancient, powerful, and entirely unfamiliar.
She looked down at the mark on her wrist. The dark lines shimmered faintly, pulsing in time with the distant heartbeat of the castle itself.
The Shadow King studied her reaction, his expression unreadable. "In time, you will understand," he said. "But for now, rest. You have much to learn."
A pair of double doors at the far end of the hall swung open, revealing a chamber bathed in soft silver light.
Seraphina hesitated, but exhaustion weighed heavily upon her. Without another word, she turned and walked toward the room, leaving the Shadow King watching in silence.
As the doors closed behind her, she exhaled shakily. One thing was certain—her fate was no longer her own, and the true story of her curse was only beginning to unfold.