The hall's loud. Too loud. Forks clinking, nobles laughing at jokes that aren't funny, the smell of roasted meat thick enough to choke on. I'm just sitting at the far end of the table, focused on my food like it's the only sane thing in this world.
Honestly, I couldn't care less about whatever "festival" this is. Witches, blessings, dancing—whatever. My current religion is this plate of honeyed bread.
Then I hear it.
A shout.
Something crashing.
A few people gasp—then the laughter dies.
I stop chewing and look up. The air feels… off. Like everyone's holding their breath at once.
Another sound—someone yelling, then a chair scraping across the floor. I frown, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, and stand. From where I'm sitting, I can't see much—too many jeweled heads in the way—but I can feel the panic spreading.
And then I see her.
Clara.
She's on the floor. Dress torn, hair spilling out like spilled ink. There's sauce—no, blood—on her chest. People are backing away, covering their mouths, screaming.
I blink once. Twice. "No… no, no, no—"
I push through the crowd, almost tripping on someone's stupid dress train. When I kneel beside her, everything feels unreal. Her skin looks… pale. Too pale. Her lips are turning blue.
"Clara?" My voice cracks. I shake her shoulder gently. "Hey. Wake up. You're fine. It's fine."
She doesn't move.
Her chest isn't rising.
I press my fingers to her neck. Nothing. Just cold skin.
My stomach twists. I don't even realize my hands are shaking until I pull them back and see the blood smeared on my palms.
Someone's crying behind me. Someone else throws up.
The hall is chaos. People are screaming, nobles tripping over each other to get away, guards shouting orders no one listens to. I can't move. My knees are still on the floor beside Clara, who's just… gone.
I keep staring at her face — pale, soft, peaceful in the most terrifying way. Her eyes are half open, like she wanted to say something before the end.
Someone yells to "get the princess away," but the sound feels distant, like I'm underwater. My pulse is pounding in my ears.
And then—
those footsteps again.
Slow. Calm. Out of place.
I look up.
He steps out of the crowd, golden hair messy and streaked with blood, eyes that sharp, unreal shade of blue that almost doesn't belong in this world. Everything around him feels… quieter. The noise fades, the chaos dulls. Even the air feels heavy.
He just stands there, staring at me. Not the body. Not the guards. Me.
And for a second, I forget how to breathe.
Something about him feels familiar in a way that makes my stomach twist. Like I've seen those eyes somewhere before — not here, not now, but in another life.
My heartbeat slows. The light in the hall starts to bend, stretching like melted glass. His blue eyes shimmer — and suddenly everything around me blurs.
The screams vanish. The torches flicker and die.
The floor disappears beneath me.
And the last thing I see before everything turns black is his face — calm, distant — as if he's been waiting for this moment for centuries.