Chapter 58

The years slipped by like petals falling from a flower.

Seasons changed, kings held councils, kingdoms rose in wealth and glory — but through it all, Lucien and Lyra’s love only grew stronger.

They were no longer the shy teenagers who had stumbled upon destiny in the forest.

Now they were twenty years old, and the world no longer frightened them. They had grown into their beauty, their courage, and their bond — a bond that even the gods seemed to watch with wary eyes.

Every stolen moment between them was like breathing sunlight.

In the mornings, they met by the silver stream, where Lyra’s laughter danced across the water and Lucien’s eyes softened like dawn.

In the evenings, they lay beneath the ancient oak, whispering dreams of a future no one could grant them — a future where love mattered more than lineage.

But the shadow of reality lingered.

Lucien was the Prince of the Beast Kingdom, heir to the mighty King Zerach — the ruler feared and respected across all lands.

Lyra was the daughter of Mira, a healer from the southern valleys, a woman known for her kindness and feared for her knowledge of forbidden magic.

They came from worlds that should never have touched.

Yet, somehow, fate made them.

It was early morning when Lucien rode through the palace gates, his black horse kicking up dust as the sun rose behind him. The guards bowed low, calling his name, but Lucien barely noticed. His mind was racing, his heart pounding with resolve.

Today was the day.

He would no longer hide his love in the shadows of the forest.

He would no longer meet Lyra in secret or whisper promises under the cover of night.

He had made up his mind.

He was going to tell his father.

The throne room was vast and cold, lit by torches that made the gold walls shimmer like fire. King Zerach sat high upon his seat of stone, draped in crimson robes, the crown heavy upon his brow. Time had not dulled his power — only sharpened it.

Lucien knelt before him.

“My king,” he began, his voice firm yet respectful. “There is something I wish to discuss.”

Zerach looked at him — calm, unreadable. “Speak, my son.”

Lucien rose to his feet. His hands were trembling slightly, but his gaze was steady.

“Father, you know I have never been reckless in matters of the heart. But for years now, I have loved a girl — a woman — unlike any other. Her name is Lyra. She is kind, brave, and wise beyond her age. And, Father, I… I wish to bring her to the palace. I wish to make her my wife.”

The words hung in the air like thunder.

For a moment, the hall was silent except for the crackle of torches. Then, slowly, King Zerach leaned forward, his sharp eyes glinting.

“Your wife?” he repeated, as if testing the word. “You wish to marry this girl — this Lyra — who is she? A princess? A daughter of a noble house?”

Lucien hesitated. “No, Father. She is the daughter of Mira, the healer of the southern woods.”

The king’s expression changed instantly — the calm replaced by a storm.

“Mira?” His voice darkened. “The witch woman? The one who lives in the cursed valley?”

“She’s not a witch,” Lucien said quickly. “She’s a healer, respected and loved by her people—”

“Silence!” Zerach’s voice cracked through the air like lightning. He stood from his throne, his robe sweeping the marble floor. “You are a prince, Lucien! The heir to this kingdom! And you speak of marrying a peasant girl — the daughter of a woman tainted by dark magic?”

Lucien’s jaw tightened. “Father, she’s not tainted. She’s good — pure of heart. You taught me to see people for their worth, not their birth. And Lyra… she completes me.”

King Zerach walked down the steps, his heavy crown glinting under the torches. He stood before his son, his presence towering.

“I do not doubt your heart,” he said coldly. “But a king cannot rule by heart alone. You carry the blood of gods and beasts. You cannot mix it with that of a mortal healer. It will bring ruin upon this house.”

Lucien swallowed hard, meeting his father’s gaze. “Then I’ll bring her here myself. You’ll see. You’ll see the light in her.”

Zerach stared at him for a long time, then turned away.

“Do as you wish,” he said finally, his voice low but filled with warning. “But be prepared to face the storm that follows.”

Far away in the woods, the same sun that shone over the palace filtered gently through the branches, spilling across the little cottage where Lyra and her mother Mira lived.

Mira was grinding herbs in a wooden bowl when Lyra entered, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shimmering with both fear and excitement.

“Mother,” she said, closing the door softly behind her. “There’s something I must tell you.”

Mira looked up, sensing the trembling in her daughter’s voice. “What is it, child?”

Lyra sat down opposite her, fidgeting with her fingers. “It’s about… him.”

Mira’s hand froze mid-motion. The pestle slipped slightly, crushing the herbs into dust.

“Who?” she asked slowly, though she already knew.

“Lucien,” Lyra said, her voice barely a whisper. “The prince.”

Mira’s face paled. “No,” she said firmly. “Lyra, don’t tell me—”

“I love him, Mother,” Lyra said quickly, her eyes glistening. “I’ve loved him for years. We meet in the woods — we’ve always met there — and he’s kind, gentle, not like the others. He said he wants to bring me to the palace. He wants to marry me.”

Mira gasped sharply, dropping the pestle. The sound of wood hitting stone echoed like thunder.

“Marry you?!” she cried, standing abruptly. “Lyra, no! You must never go near that palace again!”

Lyra rose too, her hands clutching her mother’s arms. “But why? Why can’t I love him? He loves me—”

“You don’t understand!” Mira shouted, tears already forming in her eyes. “You think love is simple, child, but there are powers older than both of you — curses written before you were born!”

Lyra blinked, startled. “Curses?”

Mira turned away, her hands trembling. “I had hoped it would never come to this,” she whispered. “But since the day you were born, I’ve feared this moment.”

She faced Lyra again, her eyes heavy with sorrow.

“The blood in your veins, Lyra, is not ordinary. You carry a mark — a power that connects you to something ancient and dangerous. The same mark the prince bears. You two are bound by fate, not love. And fate,” her voice broke, “is cruel.”

Lyra shook her head fiercely. “I don’t believe that! Our love is real, Mother. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. You said yourself that love can heal anything—”

“Not this!” Mira snapped. “Not this, my child. The curse that binds you both was sealed in blood and pain. If you walk into that palace, you may never return.”

Tears streamed down Lyra’s cheeks. “So you want me to just forget him? Pretend he doesn’t exist?”

“I want you to live,” Mira whispered.

Lyra dropped to her knees, clutching her mother’s dress. “Please, Mother, don’t ask me to stop loving him. I can’t. I won’t. He’s my heart, my breath — my everything.”

Mira knelt down too, her hands shaking as she held her daughter’s face. “You sound just like me once,” she said softly, brokenly. “And I know where that path leads.”

Lyra looked up through her tears. “Then I’ll walk it differently.”

Mira’s lips trembled. “Lyra…”

“I’ll go to the palace,” Lyra said suddenly, her voice firm. “I’ll speak to the king and queen myself. I’ll show them that I’m not the monster they think I am. That our love isn’t cursed — it’s blessed.”

Mira’s eyes widened in horror. “No. You cannot—”

But Lyra was already standing, her eyes burning with the same fire that once lived in her father — the man Mira had loved and lost to the same curse decades ago.

“Forgive me, Mother,” Lyra whispered. “But I can’t run from my heart.”

Mira grabbed her wrist desperately. “Lyra, listen to me! If you go there, everything will change. You’ll awaken what’s been sleeping inside you. You don’t understand what’s at stake!”

Lyra turned, her mark glowing faintly on her skin, shimmering like a heartbeat beneath the surface.

“I understand more than you think,” she said softly. “And I won’t let fear control my destiny.”

She stepped toward the door.

The wind outside had turned fierce, whispering through the trees like a warning.

Mira stood frozen as her daughter pulled on her cloak and stepped out into the gathering storm.

“Lyra!” she cried. “Come back!”

But Lyra didn’t turn around.

She walked into the forest path — toward the palace — her tears mingling with the first drops of rain.

Lightning cracked across the sky as if the heavens themselves were divided.

Somewhere, deep in the earth, the ancient mark that bound her and Lucien pulsed faintly — as though it had been waiting for this very moment.

Far away, in the palace, Lucien stood on the balcony, the wind tossing his dark hair, his heart restless.

He didn’t know why, but he felt it — a strange, heavy pulse in the air, calling to him.

He whispered into the night,

“Lyra…”

And in the distance, the wind carried her name back to him — soft, trembling, and filled with fate.

“Lucien…”

But neither of them knew that this journey of love would soon awaken the sleeping curse buried beneath their blood — and once it awoke, no power in heaven or earth could stop it.