2. The Boy In The Moonlight

Cris hated diplomatic events almost as much as he hated ballroom shoes.

He stood stiffly at the marble balcony of Castle Veilridge, a silver goblet in one hand, his dark curls tousled by the wind. Below, the Grand Conclave’s opening ceremony buzzed with the polished laughter of royals and council members from both Thornvale and Viremonthe. Fire lanterns floated upward in ceremonial display, bathing the starlit skies in amber and gold.

“Tell me again why I agreed to this?” Cris muttered.

Lori, standing beside him in a crimson sash and ceremonial armor, leaned on the balustrade. “Because you like drama. And also, because your mother threatened to cut off your monthly wine shipments.”

Cris rolled his eyes. “Blackmail in velvet gloves.”

“You’d do the same if you were queen.”

“Which is why I’m not.”

He took a sip of bloodwine, letting the bitter notes linger. “This place reeks of old secrets.”

“You mean history,” Lori said, then raised a brow. “Though yeah, probably secrets too.”

The doors behind them opened with a grand flourish. Courtiers spilled into the upper halls, and with them came whispers. Cris didn’t pay attention—until a strange silence followed. Heads turned. Eyes lingered.

Then, footsteps.

Cris turned.

Leo Drazan walked in like thunder held its breath.

Wearing all black, with silver lining his shoulders and a crest over his heart—the seal of Thornvale—he looked more specter than prince. Regal. Composed. Bored. But those eyes—gray like a dying storm—cut across the room and landed squarely on Cris.

Cris didn’t blink.

Lori leaned in. “So… that’s your opposite number. Not as pretty as you.”

“Shut up.”

“Are you blushing?”

“Lori.”

“I’m just saying—he’s got that tortured poetry-in-the-dark thing going on.”

Cris turned away, heart punching his ribs. “He looked at me like he knows me.”

“Maybe he reads your fan mail.”

“Not funny.”

“Only because it’s true.”

The feast dragged. Speeches. Toasts. Promises no one meant. Cris barely listened. He watched Leo across the long table, noticed how the prince touched nothing, how he kept glancing at the flames in the hearth like they whispered.

Then Leo looked up.

Their eyes locked.

The room blurred. Time cracked.

A flash—Mia’s face in the fire. A scream swallowed by smoke. Her lips on his. A vow—

“Are you alright?” Lori’s voice cut in.

Cris jolted. Sweat had pooled at his collar.

“Fine. Just… hot in here.”

Lori narrowed her eyes. “You looked like you saw a ghost.”

“Maybe I did.”

Later that night, unable to sleep, Cris wandered through Castle Veilridge’s private gardens. The moon silvered the stone paths, shadows moving like silk between the hedges. He didn’t know where he was going, only that something pulled.

He found Leo standing by the central fountain, looking at the water as if waiting for an answer.

“You always creep around in the dark?” Cris asked.

Leo didn’t flinch. “You’re one to talk.”

Cris approached, folding his arms. “So, this is where Thornvale’s crown prince broods. Romantic.”

Leo glanced at him. “Didn’t expect sarcasm from the Viremonth heir.”

“Then you don’t read enough dispatches.”

A pause.

“You looked… startled earlier,” Leo said quietly.

“You looked hungry for a fight.”

“I was.”

Another silence stretched between them. Not tense. Just weighted.

Leo looked back at the fountain. “I’ve been having dreams.”

Cris stilled. “What kind of dreams?”

“Burning. Fire. And a voice—always calling me back.”

Cris swallowed. “Mine too.”

Leo turned sharply. “You remember it?”

“No. Just pieces. A woman. A pyre. Her name is always out of reach.”

They stood there, frozen in something neither fully understood.

Leo’s voice dropped. “Do you believe in past lives?”

Cris looked up at the moon. “Not until tonight.”

“Why tonight?”

“Because I think I just met someone I’ve lost before.”

Leo’s breath caught. He stepped closer.

“I don’t even know your full name,” he whispered.

“Cris Orven. And you?”

“Leo Drazan.”

Their hands brushed.

Neither pulled away.

The moonlight wrapped around them like an old song remembered.

Then—the clink of a blade unsheathed.

Both turned. A guard stepped from the hedge.

“Your Highness,” he said stiffly to Leo. “You were requested back inside.”

Leo hesitated. Glanced at Cris. Then nodded.

As he walked away, he said just loud enough, “We’re not done.”

Cris watched him vanish into the dark.

Lori appeared seconds later, cloak rustling. “You always find trouble before it finds you.”

Cris didn’t answer.

He just touched his chest, right where something ancient and aching stirred beneath the skin.

Three nights later, Cris sat at the edge of the library in Castle Veilridge, flipping through aged scrolls and prophecy codices. He couldn’t explain the pull—but something about Leo's voice haunted him, especially when he spoke of fire.

Lori entered, holding a tray of dried bloodfruit and rolled parchments. "You're a royal. Not a monk. Come back to bed."

"You ever feel like your life already happened, and you’re just catching up to it?" Cris asked absently.

"Nope. That sounds exhausting."

He tossed a scroll her way. "Look. Ancient treaty—mentions the Pyre Vow. Two condemned lovers who swore to reunite in another life. Supposedly, if they ever touched again under a full moon, it would awaken the old blood magic."

Lori's eyes narrowed. "That’s folklore. Romance junk."

"It also says their union would destabilize kingdoms. Cause war. Bring rebirth."

She crossed her arms. "You thinking what I think you’re thinking?"

"I think I’ve met him, Lori. I think Leo Drazan is the other half of this curse."

Lori exhaled sharply. "Or you’re just really horny at the summit."

He threw a pillow at her. "I’m serious."

"Then you’d better be ready for what comes next. Because curses like that? They don’t stay quiet for long."

At that very moment, across the castle’s west wing, Leo stood before a flickering fire in his private quarters. Anna entered without knocking.

“You looked distant tonight,” she said, circling him. “Anything I should know?”

Leo didn’t face her. “Just dreams.”

Anna’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Dreams can be dangerous, my love.”

She touched his shoulder. “Remember who you’re meant to be.”

He said nothing.

Outside, the wind howled through Veilridge.

The game had begun.