The sound of crackling fire echoed faintly in the great hall of Raventhorn.
Dreken stood with his arms behind his back, his long black coat trailing the obsidian floor, his eyes fixed on the massive portrait of his father — the late Duke Alaric Raventhorn — a man of cold stares and colder decisions. Now the name of Raventhorn was his burden to carry.
And today, another weight pressed upon him — his mother's voice.
"You are twenty-seven, Dreken. You've been trained, you've led, you've killed, you've ruled. Now it's time you marry."
He had remained silent at first, as always. But the words lingered like smoke — clinging.
The Duchess Seraphina Raventhorn stood tall, even in her age. Regal. Unshakable. "You know the tradition doesn't bind you. But I won't die without seeing a future Duchess. You must choose."
Dreken finally turned to her, the corner of his mouth tugging in something close to amusement.
"Very well," he said. "I'll choose. Let fate carry my hand."
The Duchess raised a brow. "Fate?"
"No rules. No noble bloodline. No criteria."
He turned toward the open window where his raven sat — gleaming obsidian feathers, red eyes glinting in the light.
"There are ten letters," Dreken said softly. "Each to a girl. Noble, peasant, stranger. I don't care. Let them come. I'll choose... by fire or instinct."
The Duchess stared at him, stunned.
Dreken simply whistled.
The raven leapt into the air, clutching ten black-and-silver sealed scrolls in its claws. Each scroll bore the seal of House Raventhorn — a blood moon behind twin swords.
And one scroll... was for the girl with the desperate wish.
He didn't know her name.
But the stars whispered. His bones told him. She had whispered something bold into the universe. As a demon...he was quite good at granting wishes at certain prices and that girl has a certain unique power.
Let someone choose me... even if it's a devil or a demon or something worse...I don't care. Even if it's anything at all. That's what I wish for."
Let something come... anything."
Dreken smirked faintly. "Very well, girl. I'll answer your wish."
And with that, the raven vanished into the sky — ten destinies clenched in its claws.
---
Three loud knocks echoed at the door of the Windmere cottage.
Avelina was in the tiny backroom, folding worn linens, her arms aching from the morning's endless chores. She barely reacted. Until she heard her Aunt Rhoswen's voice squeal in delight.
"By the stars—Iridessa! Calla! Come quickly!"
Avelina wiped her hands and stepped out cautiously, only to find her aunt clutching a silver-edged scroll with shaking hands, her eyes bright with wild excitement.
"We've been summoned to Raventhorn!" Rhoswen cried, spinning in place. "The Duke is searching for a bride — and we've been chosen!"
Iridessa and Calla rushed in like a flurry of silk and perfume. "Oh gods, really? He sent a letter to us?" Calla gasped.
"Yes!" Rhoswen laughed, tears forming. "We leave tomorrow morning! The letter said so! Oh, imagine, one of you — Duchess of Raventhorn!"
Avelina stood silently in the corner, the worn linen still clutched in her arms. Her heart pounded, though she didn't know why. The words barely reached her ears.
Rhoswen didn't even glance at her. "Avelina!" she barked. "Stop standing there like a ghost. Help pack your cousins' best dresses and all the jewelry. We must be ready!"
"Yes, Aunt Rhoswen," Avelina whispered, her voice barely above a breath.
No one asked if the letter had been meant for her. No one wondered if she might have a chance. Why would they?
She was just the shadow in their home. The forgotten one.
But deep inside, something stirred. A whisper. A flicker. Something she couldn't name.
Maybe — just maybe — she might be chosen
Funny thinking,isn't it...she laughed at her pathetic self.