Prologue
I grew up locked in the highest hall of the marble tower. Satin veils, silver light, enchanted walls—everything was beautiful, but none of it was mine. My father, the sorcerer king, built a cage so polished that sometimes I almost forgot it was a prison.
I wasn't allowed to touch mirrors, or even see myself freely. Spells sealed every surface, every window. No one outside ever looked at me. No one ever touched me. My golden hair, my pale skin, my blue eyes—things I only knew from the reflections I stole when enchantments failed.
Since birth, my father kept me apart from the world. No praise. No embrace. No voice except his, cold and distant. I learned to live inside silence. He said purity needed protection, that I had to remain untouched. And so I grew up knowing books but not people, learning spells but not laughter.
The library gave me endless knowledge. I could name every constellation, every rune, every king in history. But not once did I read a word about what it meant to hold someone's hand. Not once did I learn what a friend was, or how it felt to be loved. About those things, I was a blank page.
By the time I was grown, I knew every stone of this tower. The sunlight through the bars made my skin even paler, like a jewel locked away. Each morning I drew shapes on the floor with silver dust, dreaming of places I had never seen. The only heartbeat I heard was my own.
I had baths in scented marble pools, gardens that bloomed indoors, ceilings painted with clouds—but none of it mattered. Magic filled every corner, except the one that mattered most: warmth. A simple hug. A shared smile. Someone's hand brushing mine.
I used to tell myself I didn't need it. That this was enough. But in truth, I longed. I longed so much that my chest ached.
And then one morning, everything changed.
He appeared. A creature from shadows, strange, misshapen. A goblin. His presence should have frightened me, but it didn't. Because when he looked at me, I felt something I had never felt before: his eyes saw me. Not as a relic. Not as a prisoner. But as a woman.
His desire was raw, almost brutal, yet conscious. Not blind hunger, but focused. Real. I didn't even understand what it meant, not fully. I only knew my body reacted before my mind did.
For the first time in my life, I felt warmth. Alive, physical, beating against my skin. Not magic. Not luxury. Just… real.
And in that moment, I knew I was no longer alone.