Chapter 60

The night was heavy with joy, the air sweet with the scent of roses and warm wine. The palace glimmered under a thousand golden lights as music flowed softly through the grand hall. Every noble, every royal guest from the Beast Kingdom watched in admiration, their eyes on the young prince who stood tall, his heart trembling with both pride and love.

Lucien took a deep breath and turned toward Lyra.

She stood before him in a flowing gown of soft ivory silk, the candlelight wrapping her like a halo. The entire hall seemed to vanish around them — it was as if only two souls existed in the universe.

He reached into his pocket and brought out a small velvet box. As he opened it, the faint sparkle of a diamond ring caught the light.

Lyra gasped, her eyes wide and glistening.

Lucien’s voice trembled as he spoke, “Lyra… from the moment I saw you in the woods, I knew the gods carved your name into my soul. You are my peace, my chaos, and my destiny. Will you let me love you for the rest of my life?”

The crowd fell into a hush so deep it could shatter glass.

He slipped the ring slowly onto her finger — the silver band cool at first, then warm as it met her skin. Lyra’s breath hitched. Her hand trembled, tears sliding silently down her cheeks as her heart raced with both disbelief and devotion.

It was as though time had stopped to watch them.

The soft hum of the orchestra swelled gently, and the guests began to applaud — first in whispers, then in thunderous celebration.

The king and queen clapped as well, exchanging faint smiles that barely masked the tension building inside them.

Lucien smiled — a soft, boyish smile full of relief and promise — before pulling Lyra into a slow, tender embrace. The hall erupted in cheers. Petals rained down from above as their lips met briefly, sealing a vow made not only before witnesses but before fate itself.

The music picked up again. People danced. Servants carried trays of honey wine and sweetened fruits.

The celebration burned brightly into the night — laughter echoing through marble halls, candles melting low, and the sound of joy filling every corner of the royal palace.

But beneath the golden laughter, destiny waited in silence.

The party ended near midnight. Guests began to leave, bowing to the prince and his bride-to-be as they departed. The moon, pale and watchful, hung high in the sky, lighting the way for the departing royals.

Lucien led Lyra through the corridor, away from the noise. The candles flickered low, throwing long shadows across the walls. Their fingers brushed against each other until finally, he stopped, turned, and faced her.

Her eyes caught his — bright, shy, and full of warmth.

“Come with me,” he said quietly, almost pleadingly.

They slipped away down the quiet corridor until they reached his private chambers. The moment the heavy doors closed, the world outside disappeared.

Lucien turned to her again. His heart raced so fast he could hear it in his ears.

Lyra’s lips parted, but before she could speak, he pulled her close — his arms wrapping around her waist, her body pressing softly against his chest.

The warmth between them grew; her heartbeat matched his. Their breaths mingled as they stood in silence, lost in each other.

Then, slowly, he tilted his forehead to hers.

“I’ve dreamed of this moment,” he whispered.

“So have I,” she breathed back.

Their lips met — soft at first, then deepened with emotion, a thousand unspoken promises exchanged through touch. Her fingers tangled in his hair; his hand cupped her face, tender yet desperate.

He pulled back just slightly, smiling through the kiss. “I can’t believe you’re really here,” he murmured, his voice husky with feeling.

Lyra smiled faintly, her cheeks flushed. “I’m always here, my prince.”

He kissed her again — slower this time, gentler, like a vow sealed in the dark. Their embrace deepened, the world fading away until there was nothing but the rhythm of their hearts.

Then —

A sudden knock broke the silence.

They froze.

The voice behind the door spoke softly but firmly.

“My prince,” said the maid, “I was ordered to take Miss Lyra to her room.”

Lucien groaned quietly, resting his forehead against Lyra’s. “Ahh, babe, please don’t go,” he whispered, his voice heavy with longing.

Lyra smiled sadly and brushed his cheek with her thumb. “I have to, Lucien. It’s an order from the king. I don’t want to look disrespectful.”

Before he could reply, she leaned forward and gave him one last kiss — slow, soft, and full of ache. A goodbye in the language of hearts.

When she pulled away, her voice trembled. “Tomorrow, I’ll see you again.”

And with that, she walked out with the maid, leaving Lucien standing by the door — his heart still burning from her touch.

⸻

Lyra followed the maid quietly down the long corridor. The air was still, the sound of her footsteps echoing faintly off marble floors. When they reached her door, the maid smiled politely.

“This will be your chamber, my lady,” she said before curtsying and leaving.

Lyra turned the golden handle and stepped inside.

Her breath caught.

The room was enormous — larger than her entire house back in the woods. The walls were draped in silk, the ceiling painted with constellations. The air smelled faintly of jasmine.

Her eyes widened further when she saw that the entire bed was decorated with her favorite flower — white lilies, her mother’s favorite scent too.

A soft warmth bloomed in her chest. She touched the petals gently, tears welling up at the thought that someone had done all this for her.

It was the first time she truly felt like she belonged.

Still wearing the gown, she lay down on the soft bed. The world outside faded; her eyes fluttered closed.

But peace didn’t come.

Darkness did.

When she opened her eyes again, the world was different.

The air was cold, gray, and heavy. Shadows danced around her, whispering strange words she couldn’t understand at first. Then, slowly, their voices grew louder, clearer, crueler.

“You will kill…”

“You will destroy…”

“You will manipulate…”

Lyra stepped back, shaking her head violently. “No… no, I won’t!”

The shadows circled closer, whispering again and again, their voices overlapping like a storm of despair.

“You will kill!”

“You will destroy!”

“You will manipulate!”

Their words stabbed through her mind like fire. Lyra screamed, clutching her head. “Stop! I will not!”

The ground beneath her trembled. The sky turned crimson. Energy surged around her, wild and untamed. Her heartbeat thundered; her mark — the strange glowing sign on her skin — began to burn like molten gold.

Her body shook as light burst from her fingertips. Her hair rose, swirling in the storm of her power.

The whispers turned into laughter.

“You are becoming who you truly are, Lyra!”

She screamed louder — pain and fury mixing inside her until her voice was no longer human. Her mark glowed brighter, spreading across her arms, her chest, her face, blazing like fire.

“No!” she cried, collapsing to her knees. “I’m not your monster!”

But the power didn’t stop.

It built and built — a storm she couldn’t control — until the walls of the forbidden land shook, and everything exploded in a flash of red light.

Back in the real world, in the royal palace, the king was just next door, discussing matters with his guards. Suddenly, he heard it — a muffled scream. Then another. Then the sound of something breaking.

King Zerach’s eyes widened. “What was that?”

He rushed toward the door and pounded on it. “Lyra! Lyra, are you all right?”

No response.

He pushed harder — the wood creaked under his strength. The moment he burst through, he froze where he stood.

The room was drenched in light — white, gold, and crimson. The air vibrated. Lyra floated a few inches above the bed, her eyes glowing, her mark pulsing like liquid fire across her skin. Her hair flowed like flame in a wind that wasn’t there.

The king’s heart sank.

He knew that power.

He had seen it once before — long ago.

“The mark… the curse of the forbidden ones,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “By the gods… it’s happening again.”

He watched, helpless, as the light consumed the room, swallowing Lyra’s cries.

Outside, the torches flickered violently. The air around the palace grew cold. Somewhere deep within the walls, the ancient prophecy whispered awake — the one that spoke of a love that would either save the world or destroy it.

And in that very moment, as the king shielded his eyes from the blinding glow, one thought echoed in his mind:

“She’s the one.

The lost heir.

And my son’s doom.”