Chapter 55

The palace was alive with the soft hum of the afternoon. The sun had climbed high above the marble roofs, bathing the royal gardens in gold. But inside the walls, the prince of Zyren felt none of that warmth.

Lucien walked silently through the long, candle-lit corridor, his mind heavy with questions that had no answers. Since the day of his birthday, his heart had been restless. The dream—the voice, the promise of destruction—it still haunted him like a shadow clinging to his soul.

He could barely eat during lunch, though the royal kitchen had prepared his favorite roasted pheasant with honey glaze. He sat at the grand table with his parents and little brother, nodding at their laughter, pretending to smile. But his eyes were distant. His fork barely touched the food.

“Lucien,” Queen Freda said softly, watching her son. “You seem quiet. Is something wrong?”

He forced a smile. “I’m fine, Mother. Just tired.”

King Zerach gave him a knowing look but said nothing. The boy had inherited his father’s strength, but lately, there was something else in him—something troubled, unreadable.

After the meal, Lucien excused himself. He needed air. He needed space. Most of all, he needed peace.

He left the palace quietly, taking the back path through the gardens. His guards tried to follow, but he waved them off. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “I just need some time alone.”

The air outside was fresh and cool. He walked until the marble paths turned to dirt, and the songs of the palace birds faded into the wild cries of forest crows. Soon, the woods surrounded him—the tall silver pines and ancient oaks whispering in the wind.

For a moment, he felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time: calm.

The deeper he went, the stronger it became. A strange, gentle energy filled the air—warm, soft, and pure. It wrapped around him like invisible light, clearing his mind of the darkness that had plagued him.

He smiled faintly, tilting his head toward the sky. Shafts of sunlight filtered through the canopy, painting golden lines across his face. The scent of damp earth and wildflowers filled his lungs.

He found a small clearing where the grass was soft and the sound of a nearby stream echoed faintly. He lay down, resting his head on the mossy ground.

For the first time in weeks, the prince of Zyren let himself breathe freely.

As he lay there, leaves drifted down from above, landing softly on his hair and shoulders. The wind brushed through his dark curls, and he closed his eyes, listening to the world around him—the rustle of branches, the hum of life.

And then, slowly, his heart began to settle.

Meanwhile, not too far from where the prince rested, another soul was wandering the same woods.

Lyra carried a woven basket in her hands, her steps light as she made her way deeper into the forest. She had gone to fetch firewood for the evening meal, humming softly to herself as she walked. The sun caught in her hair—long and black as midnight, glimmering faintly with hints of blue. Her skin was smooth and sun-kissed, her eyes bright with the quiet joy of someone who loved the world around her.

The forest had always been her escape, her sanctuary. But lately, it had felt different—like something was watching. Like the air itself held its breath when she passed.

Still, she walked on.

When she reached the edge of the clearing, she froze.

Something—or someone—was lying among the bushes ahead.

Her heart skipped. For a moment, fear crawled up her spine.

Could it be a beast? A fallen traveler? Or worse—a monster from the forbidden lands?

She took a cautious step forward, clutching the small dagger she kept in her dress pocket. The figure didn’t move. She crept closer, her heart racing faster with each step. The sunlight filtered through the leaves and fell upon him, and what she saw made her breath catch.

It was not a monster.

It was a young man.

He lay there with his hands folded loosely on his chest, his face calm and angelic, as though he had drifted into sleep beneath the trees. His hair was dark and glossy, falling over his forehead in gentle waves. His skin was fair, glowing almost unnaturally in the sunlight, like ivory kissed by gold.

She had seen beautiful things in her life—flowers in bloom, moonlight on the river—but nothing, nothing as beautiful as the boy lying before her.

She hesitated, then whispered, “Who… who are you?”

The boy stirred. His eyelids fluttered open, revealing eyes unlike any she had ever seen—deep, stormy grey with flecks of silver that caught the light. They were eyes that seemed to see into her very soul.

Lucien blinked, momentarily disoriented by the brightness. Then his gaze fell upon her.

For a long, suspended moment, the world stood still.

Her beauty hit him like a wave. Her delicate face framed by soft strands of hair, the way her eyes reflected the sunlight like polished amber—it all felt like something from a dream. The wind caught her hair, lifting it slightly as though even nature bowed to her presence.

He sat up slowly, speechless. His mouth opened, but no words came out.

She tilted her head, clutching her basket. “What are you doing here in the wild forest?” she asked gently, though her tone carried caution.

Lucien blinked again, trying to find his voice. “I… I—” He stammered, his throat suddenly dry. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just came here to think… to be alone.”

Her expression softened slightly. “Oh.” She looked around the clearing, then back at him. “Well, you picked a strange place for peace. Not many people dare to rest here.”

Lucien smiled faintly. “Maybe that’s why it feels peaceful.”

She laughed quietly, the sound soft and melodic. “You speak like someone from the palace.”

He hesitated, unsure how to respond. “Perhaps,” he said with a half-smile. “And you? What are you doing here?”

“Firewood,” she said, lifting her basket. “My mother is preparing dinner.”

He watched her, captivated by the simplicity of her movements, the way the sunlight touched her face. There was something strangely familiar about her, something he couldn’t quite place.

“Have we met before?” he asked, his voice lower now.

Lyra frowned slightly, studying him. “I don’t think so,” she said, though her brow furrowed as if trying to remember something distant. “But… you do look familiar.”

Lucien’s heart began to pound. His breath caught. The wind rustled the leaves around them as he stared at her face—the curve of her lips, the soft glow of her eyes, the faint birthmark on her wrist.

And then it struck him.

“Lyra…” he whispered, almost to himself.

She blinked, startled. “What did you just say?”

“Your name,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “Lyra.”

Her basket fell slightly to her side as she stepped back. “How—how do you know my name?” she asked, her eyes wide with confusion.

Lucien stared at her, unable to look away. Words failed him. It was as if time had folded in on itself—memories from long ago, from dreams and visions, were now standing before him in the flesh.

He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t believe that the face that had haunted his dreams since childhood—the girl from the firelight visions, the one his heart had known before his eyes ever saw—was real.

That she was standing right in front of him.

He tried to answer, but his throat tightened. His heart raced wildly in his chest.

Lyra looked at him, her breath uneven. “Who are you?” she whispered.

Lucien lowered his gaze, struggling to find words. “Someone who’s been waiting to see you again,” he murmured.

“Again?” she repeated, confusion deepening. “We’ve met before?”

“In another time,” he said softly. “Or maybe… in another life.”

The forest fell silent. Only the wind spoke between them, carrying the scent of pine and memory.

Lyra didn’t understand. But deep inside, something stirred—a warmth, a flicker of recognition that she couldn’t explain. The way his eyes found hers felt too familiar, too real to be chance.

They stood there, neither daring to move, as the sunlight dimmed into gold.

Hours later, Lucien would return to the palace with his heart both heavy and light—light, because he had found her again, the girl who’d unknowingly held his soul for years; heavy, because he knew the truth of his curse.

He could not love her without risking the world.

And yet… he already did.