Sunlight spilled through the thin curtains, painting warm stripes across the wooden floor. Aurelia sat near the window, quietly stitching the torn hem of the curtain. It was an ordinary day, or so she thought—until her mother's sharp voice rang through the hall.
"Aurelia! Come to the parlor, your father has returned!"
Her hands froze mid-stitch. She hadn't seen her father in weeks; he had gone east for business, trading lumber and wool for the season. She rose quickly, smoothing her hair and wiping the dust from her skirt before stepping into the parlor.
Her father, Sir Vale, stood tall in his travel coat, his once-dark hair streaked with gray. His presence filled the small room as he set his hat on the table. Beside him, her mother was already pouring tea, her eyes glimmering with a peculiar excitement.
"Father," Aurelia said softly, bowing her head. "You've returned early."
He smiled at her — a small, weary smile. "Aye, my girl. The East's trade was good this year. It's time to settle things at home."
Before Aurelia could ask what he meant, her mother clasped her hands together. "We've decided on something wonderful," she announced. "Now that the king has canceled the bride selection, I think it's time Aurelia was wed properly."
Aurelia blinked. "Wed?"
"Yes," her mother said briskly, her tone too bright. "To Rowan, your dear friend. He's respectable, well-mannered, and clearly fond of you. It's perfect, isn't it?"
Aurelia's stomach turned. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Rowan was kind, but the thought of marrying him — or anyone — so suddenly left her cold. Still, under her mother's expectant stare, she only nodded faintly.
Her father chuckled, oblivious to her discomfort. "Aye, a good match indeed. The wedding will stand strong."
Before Aurelia could muster the courage to protest, a strange rumbling sound cut through the air outside — the grinding of wheels, the stomping of hooves. The entire house seemed to tremble as a royal carriage came to a halt before their gate.
The chatter in the room stopped.
Her mother frowned and rose. "Who could that be?"
Aurelia moved to the window. The carriage was black and gold, bearing the royal insignia of the crown — a dragon clutching a sword in its claws. Soldiers stood in formation, their silver armor glinting in the sunlight.
Her heart skipped.
A knock thundered against the front door.
Sir Vale exchanged a startled glance with his wife before stepping forward. "Stay here," he said, though his voice trembled slightly.
Aurelia's hands gripped the edge of her dress as she watched him open the door.
Two knights stood at attention. Between them was a herald, cloaked in crimson. He unrolled a parchment with deliberate grace.
"By royal decree of His Majesty, King Malion of Nyxeria," the herald declared, his voice deep and echoing, "the maiden Aurelia Vale is hereby chosen as the king's bride. She is to be escorted to the palace immediately."
The words struck like thunder.
Aurelia's mother gasped, her hands flying to her chest. "The king's bride?"
Aurelia's heart pounded so hard she could hear nothing else. "There must be some mistake," she whispered.
But the herald only bowed stiffly. "The decree is sealed by His Majesty's hand. The carriage awaits."
Sir Vale stared, lost for words. Her mother, however, recovered quickly, her expression morphing from shock to nervous excitement. "O-Of course! Of course, she will go. The honor of being chosen by the king—how could we refuse?"
"Mother!" Aurelia turned toward her in disbelief. "I— I can't just—"
"You will go," her mother said firmly, lowering her voice. "You heard the man. Do you want to offend the crown? They say the king has little patience for defiance."
The Mad King.
The title whispered through Aurelia's thoughts like a curse. She'd heard stories — cruel ones — of a ruler with a temper sharp enough to draw blood. Of a infact old man who never smiled, whose eyes glowed red when angered.
Her stomach twisted.
Before she could think of a way out, two soldiers stepped inside and bowed slightly. "Milady," one said, "the royal carriage is ready."
Aurelia turned helplessly to her father, but he avoided her gaze. "It's for the best," he muttered. "Do not dishonor us."
Her mother hurried to fetch her cloak, her voice shaking with forced cheer. "Oh, Aurelia, imagine — the queen of Nyxeria! You mustn't keep His Majesty waiting."
The words sounded like a dream .... damn it....it is a freaking nightmare.
Minutes later, Aurelia stood before the grand carriage. The horses stamped impatiently, their breath fogging in the cool air. A soldier offered her a hand, and though her legs trembled, she stepped up.
As the door closed behind her, the world outside faded into a blur of dust and sunlight.
The carriage lurched forward.
Aurelia sat stiffly, staring at her hands. The royal seal was stitched into the seat beside her — golden dragons intertwined. Every turn of the wheels felt like another chain locking her fate in place.
But then, a thought sparked in her mind — small, wild, and desperate.
No.
She wouldn't let her life be decided by a piece of parchment.
Her fingers curled tightly in her lap. The stories about the Mad King flooded her mind — but what if they were true? What if she was being taken to her doom?
She looked out the window. The road curved sharply through a dense forest, the branches brushing against the carriage sides.
This was her chance.
Her heart hammered so loud she could barely hear herself think. "Forgive me, Father," she murmured, "Mother…"
The carriage hit a rocky patch.
Now.
She pushed the window open. The wind slapped her face, stealing her breath. Below, the ground raced past in streaks of brown and green.
She hesitated — for one heartbeat — then threw herself into the wind.
The world spun violently. Branches whipped her arms, her dress tore, and the breath was knocked clean out of her as she rolled down the dirt slope.
When she finally stopped, the forest was silent around her, the carriage already disappearing in the distance.
Her palms were scraped, her chest rising and falling fast. Slowly, painfully, she lifted her head.
"I did it," she whispered.
But the triumph in her voice trembled with fear.
Far above, the sound of the carriage wheels faded into nothing — and Aurelia Vale realized she had just defied the crown.
And the Mad King would not take that lightly.
The royal carriage thundered through the gates of Nyxeria Palace just as dusk draped its violet veil over the land. Guards stood at attention, servants hurried to clear the path, and the scent of oil lamps filled the cool evening air.
"Open the gates!" shouted the lead knight, his voice echoing across the courtyard. "The king's bride has arrived!"
Torches flared. The grand doors of the palace swung wide, revealing the marble staircase that led to the inner hall. The maids, already lined up in rows, bowed their heads in anticipation. Everyone waited for the young woman to emerge — the mysterious bride chosen by the king himself.
But as the knights halted the carriage and opened the door with ceremony and care, the air froze.
The seat inside was empty.
One of the soldiers blinked, his hand still on the handle. "She… she's not here, sir."
"What do you mean?" another hissed, peering in. The cushions were rumpled, one glove lay abandoned on the floor — but there was no trace of the girl.
A hush fell over the courtyard.
"She must have jumped out on the way," one guard muttered.
"Impossible. We had twenty riders escorting her."
"Then someone took her!" another snapped, drawing his sword.
The lead knight raised a hand, silencing them. "Enough. We report to His Majesty. Now."
The words rippled through the palace like wildfire. Servants whispered in corners. Nobles paused mid-conversation. The new bride — the king's chosen — had vanished before ever meeting him.
Inside the grand hall, Malion sat upon his throne, one leg crossed over the other, a dark robe pooling around him like spilled ink. The evening council had only just ended, and the courtiers were still murmuring about the latest decrees when the doors burst open.
The lead knight stumbled in, armor glinting under the chandeliers. He dropped to one knee, head bowed low. "Your Majesty—"
The room went still.
Malion's eyes lifted slowly, glowing faintly under the torchlight. "Speak."
The knight swallowed hard. "The carriage has arrived from Vale Manor… but the bride—"
He hesitated.
"—is gone, my lord."
For a moment, silence. No one dared to breathe.
Malion's fingers, resting lazily on the armrest, stilled.
The faintest muscle in his jaw tightened.
Then — nothing.
He didn't shout. He didn't move. He simply exhaled once, low and measured, as though he had expected this.
The nobles exchanged terrified glances.
"She escaped?" Malion murmured, almost to himself.
The knight's throat bobbed. "We believe so, Your Majesty. There was no sign of struggle. She must have leapt from the carriage during the forest crossing."
Malion's gaze dropped, and his tongue brushed against the edge of his fang — sharp, dangerous.
Then he bit down.
The metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth. A slow trickle ran along his tongue before he swallowed it deliberately, his eyes glinting darker.
He stood.
The councilmen immediately fell silent, bowing deeply.
Malion descended the steps from the throne with measured calm. "Leave," he said softly.
The word was quiet — but every man in the room heard the promise in it.
The courtiers scattered. The knights backed away. The hall emptied until only the king and his shadow, Nyx, remained.
Malion stopped at the base of the stairs, his boots echoing against the marble. "So," he murmured, half to himself, "the little bird tried to flee."
Nyx's form shimmered into sight — tall, cloaked in smoke and shadow. "Should I go search for her, my king?"
Malion's lips curved into something between a smirk and a snarl. "No. Not yet."
He paced slowly toward the tall windows overlooking the courtyard. "If I send my men, they'll frighten her. And I'd rather she didn't run deeper into the woods."
Nyx tilted his head. "You sound… entertained."
Malion let out a low chuckle, though there was no warmth in it. "I expected this. She has a wild spirit — the kind that burns to be tamed. I saw it in her eyes the first night I met her."
Nyx blinked. "You knew this would happen."
Malion's gaze darkened. "I hoped it wouldn't."
He turned from the window, his cloak whispering across the floor. "Do you know what's fascinating, Nyx? Everyone fears being chosen by the king. They whisper tales of madness, of cruelty — but this one? She defied me before even learning my name."
His laughter came low, dangerous. "How intriguing."
Nyx bowed. "Shall I track her, then?"
"Later." Malion's tone dropped into something softer, colder. "I'll find her myself."
He moved past Nyx, his stride smooth and deliberate, his expression unreadable. But beneath that calm, an old hunger stirred — not merely for blood, but for something far rarer.
Possession.
He paused at the door to the great hall. Behind him, Nyx asked quietly, "You intend to go alone, my lord?"
Malion's eyes flashed crimson in the torchlight. "She ran from my carriage. Let her think she escaped. Let her feel the illusion of freedom."
Then his lips curved faintly.
"But I will be the one she runs into when the forest closes in on her."
Outside, the palace grounds buzzed with confusion. Guards scoured the stables, searching for clues. Servants whispered prayers that the king would not unleash his wrath upon them.
But Malion walked through the chaos like a ghost, silent and composed. He passed the carriages, the trembling footmen, the commander who dared to approach and ask for orders.
"Leave the roads unguarded," he said simply. "I will find her."
The commander bowed so fast his helmet nearly fell off.
Malion continued on foot, his cloak brushing the gravel path. The scent of her lingered faintly — wildflowers and rain. He remembered the look in her eyes when they first met, the one she didn't think he saw.
Soft. Curious. Defiant.
He had known she would fight the moment he chose her.
And perhaps that was why he chose her.
He reached the gates, the night wind tugging at his hair. "She leapt into the forest," he murmured. "Good. Let's see how far she can run before the dark finds her."
Nyx's voice echoed faintly behind him. "The guards fear she won't last the night."
"She'll last," Malion said simply. "She's mine."
He started down the road toward the forest, the shadows bending with his steps. Every movement carried the quiet command of a predator who had already chosen his prey.
The moon rose high above, silver and cold. Somewhere far beyond the hills, Aurelia Vale was stumbling through the dark, heart pounding, unaware that the man she called a friend — was the king she had just defied.
And he was coming for her.