A piercing cry split the air. The wind howled as a dark shape plunged from the heavens, wings cutting through the sky like blades.

A Celestian—its grotesque, half-human features twisted into a permanent snarl—dove toward the outer wall. Its golden, predatory eyes gleamed as it opened its maw, inhaling magic straight from the atmosphere.

The air around it crackled, bending toward its hunger.

Before the guards could react, another Celestian landed in front of me, talons scraping against the stone ground with a high-pitched screech. The impact sent dust spiraling into the air, and I stumbled back, my heartbeat slamming against my ribs.

Its skin shimmered with a sickly iridescence, its elongated fingers twitching. Hollow, soulless eyes locked onto mine, and I felt a chilling weight coil around my chest.

It lunged.

I barely had time to gasp before a shadow surged behind me.

A single hand—strong, unyielding—shot out and clamped around the Celestian’s throat mid-air.

The creature convulsed, its shriek morphing into a strangled, gurgling sound as the grip tightened like an iron vise. It writhed, clawing at the hand holding it, but the pressure only increased.

Darkness slithered from the figure’s palm, creeping over the Celestian’s skin. The transformation was slow—agonizing—as its flesh hardened, turning gray, spreading like veins of stone.

Its frantic movements became sluggish. Then still.

Then—brittle.

A heartbeat later, Zagan released his grip.

The petrified corpse crashed against the ground, shattering into countless shards. A cloud of fine dust erupted into the air, settling into an eerie silence.

Above us, the remaining Celestians let out high-pitched screeches, their wings flaring in panic before they retreated into the clouds.

I stood frozen, unable to tear my eyes away from the broken fragments scattered at my feet.

He—he just turned it to stone. Effortlessly.

A presence loomed beside me. Not just any presence—his.

I turned slowly, my breath catching as my gaze met Zagan’s.

His midnight hair, untouched by the chaos, framed sharp, inhumanly perfect features. His black eyes, deep as the abyss, bore into me—measuring, calculating.

An unseen weight settled over me, pressing against my lungs, sinking into my skin.

"You should learn to run when danger is near, Lady Thalia."

His voice was quiet—smooth as silk—yet beneath the surface, something cold slithered. A warning. A dismissal.

I clenched my fists.

"I didn’t need your help."

A slow smirk tugged at his lips, the kind that sent a shiver down my spine.

"You were about to be drained dry."

I stiffened. I knew he was right. Still, the way he said it—so unbothered, detached, as if my life or death meant nothing—made unease coil in my gut.

A soldier approached swiftly, his head bowed in respect.

"My Lord, shall we strengthen the perimeter?"

Zagan did not answer immediately. His gaze lingered on me, unreadable.

Then, with a slight nod, he turned to the soldier. "Do it."

Without another word, he strode away, his dark cloak billowing behind him.

I exhaled sharply, my lungs burning as if I had been holding my breath for far too long.

Even as he disappeared into the distance, the phantom weight of his presence lingered.

That man...

He was terrifying.

Yet, as I looked down at the shattered remains of the Celestian, a new thought crept into my mind.

Power like his…

My fingers curled, my gaze lingering on the traces of dark magic still flickering in the air.

What if it could be mine?

--------------------------------

Night had fallen over Noctharrow, the last stronghold before the Celestian-infested lands, yet Velmira refused to breathe in relief. To the east, the Duskwall loomed—a towering wall of stone and steel, standing as the kingdom’s final defense against the horrors beyond. Even now, in the aftermath of battle, the scent of scorched wood and lingering magic clung to the air, heavy and inescapable. The fortress walls bore fresh scorch marks, a grim reminder that the Celestians never truly relented.

Within Velmira, torches flickered along fractured stone, their dim glow casting restless shadows over the soldiers toiling to repair what remained. Their voices wove through the night—low, urgent, exhausted. But no amount of murmured strategy or tightened patrols could ease the knot twisting in my stomach.

I stood apart, cloaked in the thick fabric of my hood, watching. The remnants of battle clung to me—dust in my hair, the faint metallic tang of blood in the air—but it was the weight in my chest that threatened to crush me.

My presence here won’t go unnoticed for long.

A sharp gust of wind howled through the fortress, slipping beneath my hood, biting against my skin. I gripped the edges tighter, fingers pressing into the rough fabric as if that could hold me together.

Then, footsteps. Urgent, hurried.

A soldier broke through the gathered men, his breath ragged, his armor still bearing the scorch of battle. Yet his urgency was not for the Celestians.

"My Lord!" he called, voice unsteady. "Alazne’s royal soldiers are at the border!"

Near the fire pit, Zagan lifted his gaze from the flames. The flickering light cast sharp shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp planes of his expression—calm, unreadable, but darkened by something dangerous.

"How many?" His voice was quiet, yet it cut through the night with ease.

The soldier hesitated. "More than twenty… and they brought someone with them."

A chill lanced through me. My breath hitched.

They found me.

At the gates, the sound of approaching hooves echoed against stone, followed by the heavy footfalls of armored men. Torchlight flickered across their polished steel, casting long, shifting shadows across the fortress walls. At the front, a man clad in silver-plated armor stepped forward, the royal insignia gleaming on his chest.

His voice rang clear. "We seek Lady Thalia Reinilda. By the King’s decree, she is to be returned to the capital immediately."

The words twisted in my gut like a blade.

Zagan remained still. The wind stirred the midnight fabric of his cloak, carrying the weight of his silence.

Then, from the darkness, another figure stepped into the torchlight.

I stopped breathing.

The Crown Prince.

My former fiancé.

He did not wear ceremonial garb tonight, nor did he look like the gentle nobleman I once knew. The moonlight sharpened the edges of his face—his jaw tight, his eyes colder than I remembered.

And yet… something inside me ached.

For a fleeting moment, I wanted to run to him.

To let myself believe, just for a second, that things could be as they once were. That he had come to save me, that we could go back.

But I knew better.

I knew what awaited me behind the palace walls of Alazne.

"Thalia…" His voice was smooth, measured. Careful. "I know you’re here. Come with me."

My fingers curled around my cloak. No.

If I went back, I died.

The silence stretched thick between us, suffocating. Then, Zagan spoke. His voice was devoid of emotion, yet it carried through the tension like a blade drawn from its sheath.

"You have no authority here, Prince."

A ripple of unease passed through the royal soldiers. Hands drifted toward weapons, their gazes flickering to their leader.

The prince stepped forward. "Then I will take her by force."

A soft chuckle escaped Zagan’s lips. Amused. Unbothered.

The shadows at his feet stirred, curling like ink in water. The air thickened, heavy with an unseen force. A creeping cold spread through the ground beneath us, unnatural and suffocating.

"Try," Zagan murmured.

The prince hesitated.

Only for a fraction of a second. But I saw it.

He wasn’t a fool. He knew what Zagan was capable of.

Slowly, his hand lowered.

The tension did not ease, but when he spoke again, his voice was different. Softer. Almost bitter. "…You’ve always been foolish, Thalia."

My chest tightened.

Then, his gaze shifted to the horizon, and the next words left his lips like a death sentence.

"The King has decided. I will be engaged to your sister."

The world stopped.

The torches flickered. A distant bird cawed.

My fingers trembled. What?

A memory surfaced—my sister’s soft smile, the way she always lingered at the edges of my life. Always watching. Always waiting.

It was her all along.

She wanted this.

A bitter laugh almost escaped me. Of course. I should have seen it.

The ache in my chest turned to something sharp, something cold.

The prince turned away. "You chose your fate the moment you ran."

I exhaled, slow and measured.

My hands stopped shaking.

Instead, they steadied. The weight of fear melted away, replaced by something new. Something dangerous.

I lifted my gaze, lips curving—not in sorrow, but in something far deadlier.

I turned to Zagan, my voice quiet, yet edged like steel. "Tell me, Duke Zagan…"

His brow lifted, intrigued.

"What does it take to be a queen?"

-----------------------------------------

The candlelight flickers, casting restless shadows across the chamber walls. I sit by the window, the cool glass pressing against my palm as I stare into the wavering glow. My stomach twists with unease, but I force myself to breathe.

If I am to survive, I must become more than a pawn.

My fingers tighten around the silk of my dress, the fabric wrinkling under my grip. I can’t keep waiting for some miraculous twist of fate. Power is protection, and there is no one more feared in this wretched world than Zagan. If I can make him mine, no one will dare touch me. Not the court, not my half-sister, not even the Empress herself.

But there’s a problem.

...How do you seduce a heartless man?

He didn’t even blink after my oh-so-courageous declaration of, “What does it take to be a queen?” Not a single reaction. Not even the bare minimum—like, I don’t know, a raised eyebrow? A thoughtful hum? A courtesy nod for my effort?

No, instead, I’m standing here, pouring my soul into the void while His Stoic Majesty Zagan, firstborn of King Vaelion Velmontierre of Alazne, remains as emotionally available as a brick wall. Oh, but let’s not forget his many illustrious titles! The Silent Commandant! Blood of kings, yet bearing the name of his mother, the noble Graventhorn! High Commander of the border forces! Protector of the kingdom’s walls! A man forged by duty! And—most importantly—the only man who looks at me like I’m an oddity rather than an actual person attempting human interaction.

Yes, yes, hail Lady Thalia! So bold, so fearless for daring to speak first to the ever-so-cold and heartless Zagan, the one who dares challenge the throne itself… And yet, I can’t even get him to challenge my patience by responding.

I exhale, my breath fogging against the windowpane. In the books I’ve read—tragedies, romances, histories—women wielded their beauty like weapons. A bat of the eyelashes, a well-placed sigh, a delicate touch grazing against a man’s arm... simple. Logical.

Except Zagan is not a man easily swayed by logic. Or beauty. Or, frankly, anything remotely resembling human emotion.

My resolve trembles, but I shake off the doubt and rise from my seat. There’s no room for hesitation. I drape myself in an elegant, loose-fitting gown, soft fabric slipping over my skin like a whisper. The mirror reflects a woman I hardly recognize—calm, poised, mysterious. I lift my chin, smoothing out my expression.

I can do this. I have to do this.

I step into the dimly lit hallway, the flickering torches casting eerie shadows along the stone walls. Every step toward Zagan’s chamber feels heavier, but I swallow the creeping doubt. Standing before the massive doors, I hesitate.

I inhale deeply, straightening my posture.

"You can do this. You’re beautiful. You’re charming. You’re—"

My fingers hover just before knocking, then freeze midair.

Wait. Do I just... walk in? Should I lean against the door seductively? Maybe a sultry whisper?

I clear my throat and attempt a casual pose, my shoulder pressing against the wood. Except my foot slips, and I nearly faceplant into the door.

Brilliant. Absolutely graceful.

Before I can recover, a deep voice rumbles from the other side.

---------------------------To be continued----------------------------