The night smelled of destiny.
Liora's fingers trembled against the brass telescope, not from the cold, but from the electric tension humming in the air. The observatory tower stood silent, abandoned by the other astronomers who had long since retired, dismissing her warnings about tonight's celestial anomalies as a stargazer's overactive imagination.
Fools.
She adjusted the lens again, her breath fogging the metal. The constellation of the Shadowed Crown said to herald the rise and fall of kings burned unnaturally bright tonight, its central star pulsing like a warning.
Then
A scream tore through the sky.
Not a sound, but a feeling, a vibration in her bones as a streak of silver fire ripped across the heavens. Liora's heart lurched into her throat. This was no ordinary meteor. It burned too bright, too alive, trailing not fire but shimmering veins of blue and violet colors no mortal star should possess.
And then it changed.
Mid-descent, the light twisted, the silver flames darkening to inky black as it plummeted toward the forbidden Silverspine Forest. The impact sent a shockwave through the earth, rattling the observatory windows hard enough to crack glass.
Liora didn't think. She moved.
Her boots pounded down the spiral staircase, her star charts fluttering behind her like desperate wings. The city streets were already in chaos people stumbling from their homes, guards shouting, horses rearing in their stables.
Witchcraft! a woman shrieked, clutching a screaming child.
The gods are angry! a priest bellowed, brandishing a trembling hand toward the forest.
Liora ignored them all. She knew what she'd seen. This was no act of gods.
This was magic.
The Silverspine Forest breathed as she entered.
Not the steady rhythm of wind through leaves, but something deeper, something aware. The trees here grew twisted, their bark streaked with veins of silver that glowed faintly in the dark. Every scholar in Eldrin knew the stories of men who entered these woods and returned hollow-eyed and babbling, of the lost kingdom said to sleep beneath its roots.
Liora tightened her grip on the dagger at her belt.
The deeper she went, the heavier the air became, thick with the scent of ozone and something metalliclike blood, but not quite. The undergrowth tore at her cloak, thorns catching the fabric as if the forest itself sought to slow her.
Then she saw it.
The crater.
Not a scorched pit of earth, but a perfect circle of glassy ground, its surface webbed with cracks that pulsed faintly blue. And at its center
The star.
Or what remained of it.
Not a rock, but a jagged shard the length of her forearm, its surface obsidian-dark yet glowing from within, as though it had swallowed moonlight. The air around it shimmered, warping like heat off desert sands.
Liora's pulse hammered in her throat. Every instinct screamed at her to run.
She stepped forward.
The moment her shadow touched the crater's edge, the shard reacted. A soundless hum filled the air, the cracks in the earth flaring brighter. The hair on her arms stood on end.
Impossible, she whispered.
Then she reached for it.
Fire. Ice. Lightning.
The sensations tore through her in a single, excruciating instant as her fingers brushed the shard. Her vision whited out
A throne of blackened bone, wreathed in smoke
A man with eyes like fractured starlight, his hands dripping shadow
A crown of silver flames placed upon her brow, searing, branding
And a voice, ancient and terrible, shaking the very foundations of her soul:
WHEN THE STARLIGHT BRIDE WEDS THE SHADOWED KING, THE REALM SHALL RISE OR FALL BY HER CHOICE.
Liora wrenched back with a gasp, the shard clattering to the ground. Her fingers burned, her veins alight with something that wasn't hers. She could feel it inside herforeign and alive, curling around her ribs like a second heartbeat.
A twig snapped.
She spun, dagger drawn, just as the shadows at the forest's edge moved. Not the sway of branches, but a deliberate, liquid shifting a darkness so deep it swallowed the moonlight whole.
From it stepped a figure.
Tall. Male. Cloaked in armor that seemed forged from the night itself, its surface swallowing the light rather than reflecting it. His face remained hidden beneath a hood, but his eyes
Gods, his eyes.
Silver. Not the soft sheen of moonlight, but the merciless glint of a blade pressed to a throat.
You,he said, his voice low and edged with something dangerous, are not what I expected.
Liora's grip tightened on her dagger. And you're trespassing in Eldrin.
A laugh, dark and humorless. The shadows around him rippled, tendrils of darkness licking at the air like living things. No, little star. It is you who trespasses.
He stepped forward, and the forest held its breath.
Give me the shard.
Liora bared her teeth. Come take it.
The man went still. Then, slowly, he lifted a hand and pushed back his hood.
Her breath caught.
He was beautiful.
Not in the way of poets or paintings, but in the way of storms and sharpened steel all harsh angles and unforgiving lines. His hair, black as the space between stars, fell to his shoulders, and the markings on his face tattoos? Scars? glowed faintly silver in the dark.
But it was his crown that stopped her heart.
Wrought of twisting shadows, it hovered just above his brow, its form never quite settling, as though it existed in a dozen shapes at once.
The Shadowed King.
The realization struck her like a physical blow. This was no mere scout or soldier.
This was him.
Kaelan Veythar, ruler of the Night Court, whose name was whispered in Eldrin as both warning and curse.
And he was looking at her as though she were a puzzle he intended to take apart.
"The prophecy spoke true,he murmured, his gaze dropping to the shard at her feet. The Starlight Bride does exist.
Before she could respond, the forest erupted.
Wings. Dozens no, hundreds of them, as figures descended from the trees in a flurry of leather and steel. Fae. All of them. Their armor bore the same crescent-and-sword insignia, their eyes glowing in shades of silver and gold.
Liora was surrounded.
Kaelan didn't so much as glance at his soldiers. His attention remained fixed on her, his head tilting as though listening to a voice only he could hear.
You feel it, don't you?" he asked softly. The pull.
She did.
A terrible, undeniable tug in her chest, as though an invisible thread connected them, tightening with every breath.
His lips curved. Not a smile. A promise.
Good.
Then the world went black.