The silence inside Aethelgard Castle's library was so deep that he could hear his own heartbeat pounding like a war drum in his ears. Outside, the sky was ink-black, and thunderclouds had imprisoned the moonlight behind them.
Inside the library, the torches mounted on the towering walls were taking their last breaths, their orange flames casting terrifying shadows that crawled along the stone.
Twelve-year-old Prince Kiernan was hidden behind a massive emerald-green velvet curtain. The air smelled of ancient parchment and burning wood.
He had pulled his knees tightly against his chest. His hands—soft and delicate like a fledgling bird—were trembling uncontrollably.
If anyone had dared to peek behind that curtain, they would have witnessed a heartbreakingly beautiful sight. His skin was pale and flawless, like fresh milk.
Silver-grey strands of hair fell messily across his forehead. But it was his eyes that held the most power—deep grey, now flooded with fear. Tears clung to his long lashes like drops of morning dew. His peach-soft cheeks had turned red from crying.
His small cherry-tinted lips quivered, as though words longed to escape but fear had stolen his voice.
He wore a precious silk tunic embroidered with the royal crest in golden thread, yet in that moment, the grandeur of his attire meant nothing.
Internal Monologue
"No… I don't want to go outside,"
he whispered silently, squeezing his eyes shut.
"If Mother finds me here, she'll shout again. She'll say a prince must not be weak.
But what am I supposed to do? I'm afraid of the dark… I'm afraid of being alone."
Another tear slipped down the familiar wet path on his cheek.
"Where is Father? Why doesn't he come to save me? Am I truly so terrible that Mother can never love me?"
Suddenly, the heavy oak doors of the library creaked open.
Creeeeeak…
His body went rigid, like stone. He stopped breathing.
The footsteps that entered were not those of an ordinary man.
Clank.
Clank.
Clank.
Metal striking stone.
Someone in heavy armor had stepped inside.
Through the thin slit beneath the curtain, he saw it—the faint torchlight falling upon a pair of long legs clad in black steel.
The figure stopped.
In the suffocating silence of the library, only the stranger's deep, steady breathing echoed.
He quickly covered his mouth to silence the sob threatening to escape.
And then—
He felt it.
The shadow was moving directly toward him.
Behind the curtain, with his eyes squeezed shut, the memory replayed before him—the reason he was trembling in the darkness tonight.
Just a few hours earlier.
Dinner time.
A moment that now felt like a nightmare.
The Dining Hall
The castle's Dining Hall looked like heaven itself—but to him, it was a cage.
The walls were carved in gold and white, intricate patterns gleaming under the light. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, bathing the long table in a radiant glow. The plates and goblets were made of pure crystal, sparkling like diamonds whenever light touched them.
The table overflowed with delicacies from across the world—roasted meats, fresh fruits, fine wine. There was nothing absent from that royal feast.
And yet, none of it felt warm.
At one end of the table sat King James. His face was kind, and there was fatherly softness in his eyes—but in front of the Queen, even his voice often faded into silence.
Across from him sat Queen Serena.
Her posture was perfectly straight, rigid as iron. Her sharp eyes resembled a hawk's—observant, unforgiving. She was breathtakingly beautiful… and equally cold. Discipline radiated from her like frost,
Twelve-year-old Kiernan looked small in his heavy chair.
Then he noticed a sweet dish placed nearby. For a fleeting second, excitement overtook caution. He forgot that his mother's eyes were always watching.
He quickly picked up a piece and popped it into his small mouth.
In the grand, silent hall, a tiny sound escaped him.
"Chomp… chomp…"
Suddenly—
THUD!
Queen Serena slammed her crystal glass against the table.
The entire hall fell into suffocating silence. Even King James froze.
Her voice cut through the air, sharp and merciless.
"Kiernan! Have you no manners? Is this how a prince eats—like an animal? 'Chomp chomp'? That sound reflects your complete lack of etiquette."
The bite caught in his throat. His grey eyes filled instantly with tears. He looked at her through blurred vision, silent and ashamed.
"Wipe those tears this instant!" she continued coldly. "The heir of a warrior kingdom does not cry like a girl. Your softness makes me sick.
Tonight, you will know no comfort. Your extra training begins immediately—and it will not stop until you become as hard as stone."
King James tried, quietly, "Serena… he is still a child—"
"He is not a child!" she snapped. "He is a weak prince. And I do not tolerate weakness in my palace. Leave. Now."
Back to the Library — Present Time
The memory tore through his heart like glass.
He clutched the curtain tighter.
Was that dangerous knight sent by his mother as part of this so-called "extra training"? Was tonight meant to be another painful lesson?
The armored figure outside was now standing directly in front of the curtain.
Through the thick fabric, he could almost feel the warmth of the knight's heavy breathing.
Closer.
Closer.
The shadow loomed just inches away,
(The rigid rules of the palace were suffocating him.
After hearing his mother's bitter words at the dinner table, even his soul had begun to tremble.
Under Queen Serena's cold, piercing gaze, he somehow forced himself to finish his meal. Every bite felt like a thorn scraping down his throat, yet he dared not stop. Leaving the table without permission would only invite harsher punishment.
Across the table, King James watched his son's pale face helplessly. But even a father's concern was silenced by the Queen's authority.
No one spoke.
The only sound was the faint clink of crystal against porcelain.
The moment dinner ended and everyone was dismissed to their chambers, he hurried toward his room. His silk boots made no sound against the velvet carpets.
Once inside, he shut the door behind him—but even the walls felt oppressive. It seemed as though they had ears, ready to report his weakness to the Queen.
If he cried here, she would know.
And weakness was forbidden.
Driven by fear and hurt, he wrapped himself in his night robe and slipped quietly through the dim corridors toward the library—the most silent, abandoned corner of the castle.
Curled behind the massive emerald curtain, his restraint finally shattered.
He buried his face in his small trembling hands.
"I'm a terrible prince… I always make mistakes," he whispered between broken sobs.
Strands of grey hair fell over his swollen eyes, now red and puffy from crying.
"I just wanted a gentle voice… just a little love. But Mother only wants a stone-hearted warrior."
He cried so intensely that the world around him faded away. In his mind, he was alone in the dark library, where no one could hear his fragile sobs.
He had no idea—
That just beyond the heavy curtain stood a terrifying shadow.
A knight whose name was synonymous with death.
A warrior personally sent by the Queen tonight… to "look after" the young prince.
And that shadow was listening to every broken whisper.)
The scene felt like the climax of a dark fairy tale.
The moment trembling fingers pulled the heavy emerald curtain aside by an inch, grey eyes widened in shock and fear.
The Arrival of the Black Shadow: Alaric
The dying torchlight fell across the stranger's face.
Alaric stood there.
Only twenty years old—yet carrying centuries of silence and the scent of death within his presence.
Appearance
He stood six feet tall, towering like a mountain before the small prince. His face was sharply sculpted, as if carved from stone—defined nose, strong jawline, and a flawless masculine beauty that was impossible to ignore.
His hair was midnight black, darker than the night itself.
But it was his eyes that stole the breath from the room—deep emerald green. So striking, so vivid, that for a brief second the young prince forgot his fear. He had never seen someone so devastatingly handsome before.
The black armor he wore looked impossibly heavy—too massive for an ordinary man to even lift—yet he carried it as though it were merely a second skin. Fresh blood splatters still stained the steel, silently testifying that he had returned directly from a battlefield soaked in death.
In his hand rested a massive sword, far broader and heavier than any common blade.
The First Eye Contact
The moment emerald met tear-filled grey, the air inside the library seemed to freeze.
Queen Serena's words echoed in his mind—this was the knight who had slaughtered ninety to a hundred rebels at the border as if they were nothing.
Where one stood pale as milk and painfully innocent, the other was forged like burning steel—hard, rough, unyielding.
There was an intensity in those green eyes. And when they settled on the fragile figure before him, something flickered—brief as lightning—through the stone-like gaze.
Is… is this the executioner they spoke of?
But his eyes… they look like precious gems. Is he truly here to kill me?
The knight lowered his heavy sword until its tip touched the stone floor.
When he spoke, his voice rolled through the library like distant thunder—deep, controlled, unmistakably powerful.
"Your Highness… hiding in the dark does not suit a prince."
At the sound of that voice, the curtain slipped from trembling fingers. He stumbled backward—
But before he could hit the floor, a steel-strong arm caught him.
And for the first time that night—
The monster did not let him fall....
Continue.....