Serenya awoke to the soft rustle of silk and the clink of metal against porcelain. Sunlight filtered through gauzy black curtains, casting slanted shadows across unfamiliar stone walls. The air smelled faintly of burning herbs—something foreign and spicy.
She sat up too fast, and a sharp ache pulsed through her shoulders. Her arms were bruised—angry purple splotches blooming like thorns beneath her skin. Memories from the road flashed: the beast, the screams, Kaelen's blade slicing through the dark. Her chest tightened.
A soft voice broke the silence.
> "Good morning, Your Majesty... I brought your breakfast."
Serenya turned. A girl with rich auburn hair and dusky red robes stood by a silver tray. Her eyes were downcast, respectful, but not afraid.
"Where am I?" Serenya asked, voice hoarse.
"Velstrath, my lady. The castle at the heart of the capital."
She smiled faintly. "They've arranged a celebration in your honor. You are expected in the Grand Hall shortly."
Serenya's stomach twisted. Celebration? After blood and death and... this?
As the maid dressed her, Serenya examined the robes—ceremonial black with crimson embroidery that shimmered like flame when it caught the light. The sleeves were edged with tiny obsidian beads, and a slit at the side revealed her bare thigh beneath the heavy fabric.
A wedding garment—or something fit for a queen and a sacrifice both.
She stared at herself in the mirror, feeling oddly detached. The bruises on her arms stood stark against the fine fabric, a reminder that this new life didn't care for softness.
Footsteps echoed from beyond the chamber. The maid bowed and stepped aside.
A tall figure stood at the threshold. Gold-brown skin. An air of coiled danger and control.
Serenya's breath hitched.
"Zeke," she murmured, recognition dawning.
He inclined his head with a faint smile.
"Good morning, my lady. I trust you had a good night's sleep?"
"I did."
But her voice was soft, distant. As her eyes lingered on him, something shifted inside her. She hadn't really looked at him that night. Now she did—his features were sharp, symmetrical, almost sculpted. Striking in a way that didn't feel human. Beautiful in a way that was unsettling.
"I've been assigned as your personal guard," Zeke added. "I'll escort you to the hall."
Strangely, his presence eased her nerves. A familiar face—though still dangerous.
As they walked through the towering corridor, Serenya noticed something strange.
Everyone—guards, servants, even the maids cleaning the tapestries—was breathtaking. Perfect bone structures. Eyes like rare stones. Skin in hues ranging from moonlight to onyx, all flawless.
What is this place? Why is everyone so... beautiful?
They reached a pair of massive stone doors etched with runes. Zeke pushed them open without a word.
And Serenya stepped into another world.
The Grand Hall was vast and shadowed, lit by torchlight and a blood-red chandelier of hanging crystals. Music echoed from a corner—stringed instruments and guttural drums. Half-naked dancers twirled on a raised platform, bodies glistening with oil and gold paint.
In the center, a throne loomed—dark steel shaped like fangs and flame.
And on it, Kaelen sat.
He looked like a god of war and desire, legs spread, one hand braced against his jaw, the other resting on the hilt of a sword. Robes of black and ash-gray clung to him like smoke. His gaze swept the room, cold and unreadable.
Despite the chaos around him—the music, the feast, the dancers—he looked bored. Detached. Unmoved.
Serenya's breath caught in her throat.
A man—older, robed in layered black—stepped forward onto the stage. His face was sharp, his eyes hungry.
She recognized him from the council back in Ariathen. A scholar of Velstrath. A man with too much ambition.
> "Welcome, brothers and sisters," he called, his voice commanding despite its silken tone. "Today, Velstrath honors the arrival of our new queen. A bride from Ariathen, forged in blood and duty. May her blood strengthen our roots, and her womb bear the fire of our future."
He turned and extended a hand toward her.
"Behold, Princess Serenya of Ariathen!"
All eyes turned.
Judging. Measuring. Some curious, some cold. A few bowed their heads, but most simply stared.
Zeke leaned closer.
"It's time to take your seat beside the prince"
Serenya lifted her chin, schooling her face. With slow, deliberate grace, she walked toward the throne and took her place beside Kaelen.
He didn't look at her.
The older man raised his hands once more.
"In accordance with Velstrathian tradition, we offer sacrifice—not of war or vengeance, but of purity and promise. To the gods beneath the flame, we give thanks."
Then the air shifted.
There was movement near the stage. The crowd shifted. Some whispered. Others began to chant—low and rhythmic.
"Blood. Flame. Flesh. Blood. Flame. Flesh."
Her heart thudded like a war drum.
A group of guards dragged a girl onto the stage. She was young, naked, her body bruised and trembling, eyes wide with terror.
Gasps rippled through the room. Serenya's spine stiffened.
She's barely older than I am...
The old man's voice grew louder.
"An untainted vessel must be given, that the land may drink and rise. Without the old blood, there can be no new fire."
The girl cried out as a whip struck her back, then again.
And again.
Serenya's hands curled into fists. Her heart pounded against her ribs like a war drum. She could barely hear the crowd now—just the sound of the whip, and the girl's broken sobs. Everyone watched like it was some kind of play.
What kind of place is this? What kind of people are they?!
Stop it!
Stop it!!
The blood hit the stones. A scream echoed.
And then—
"STOP!!!"
The word left her before she could even think.