Chapter 61

The night was golden — a soft wind swept through the grand hall of King Zerach’s palace, carrying the scent of jasmine and wine. The chandeliers shimmered like stars, and hundreds of candles painted the marble in glows of honey and amber.

The whole kingdom had gathered to witness the moment — the union of the future king and the mysterious girl who had captured his heart.

Lucien stood tall, dressed in a royal robe woven with threads of gold and white. His dark hair brushed his shoulders, his eyes bright and alive as he turned toward the woman standing before him — Lyra.

She looked breathtaking, her gown made of flowing silver silk that caught the candlelight with every breath she took. Her skin glowed like the moon itself, and the delicate jewels around her neck shimmered with soft, ethereal light.

The hall fell into silence.

The prince’s hand trembled as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box covered in blue velvet. Inside lay a silver ring, crowned with a single crystal that glowed faintly — not from the light around, but from something within.

He took her hand gently — his touch warm, his breath shaky — and slowly slipped the ring onto her finger.

The entire room seemed to hold its breath.

Lyra’s chest rose and fell quickly, her heart thudding against her ribs. As the ring slid over her skin, a spark passed between them — soft, electric, unexplainable.

Lucien smiled. His eyes softened with warmth and awe. “Lyra,” he whispered, his voice deep and tender. “I swear to stand by you — not as a prince, but as a man who loves you. This… this is my vow.”

Tears filled her eyes. She could barely speak. “Lucien…”

Her voice trembled as the tears slipped down, glittering in the light. “You have my heart. Always.”

The room erupted in applause — thunderous and joyful. The orchestra began to play; people clapped and cheered, calling blessings and prayers for the young lovers.

King Zerach rose to his feet with a proud, composed smile, though behind his eyes something stirred — a feeling of unease he couldn’t quite name. Queen Freda’s smile was genuine, but her fingers tightened subtly on the armrest.

Lucien and Lyra turned to face their guests, their hands intertwined, their faces radiant. They were both glowing, in love and in destiny — and for a brief moment, nothing else existed.

The night unfolded beautifully.

Music filled the palace — violins, flutes, and drums weaving through the laughter of nobles and the cheers of servants. Long tables overflowed with roasted meats, sweet wines, and fruits from distant lands. The great hall shone like the heavens themselves.

Guests from every beast kingdom bowed before the new royal couple. Some offered gifts — gold statues, enchanted crystals, rare silks. Others simply offered their blessings.

Lyra’s laughter rang softly through the hall as Lucien never left her side, his hand always finding hers. When she smiled, his whole world brightened. When she laughed, his heart beat faster.

And though the night was full of light and music, his eyes only saw her.

When the final song faded and the last toast was raised, the guests began to leave — one by one, in pairs, in groups — bowing to their prince before vanishing into the starry night.

The torches dimmed, the chatter softened, and at last, silence fell over the palace once again.

Lucien walked through the quiet corridor with Lyra beside him. The sound of her footsteps beside his made his heart strangely full. When they reached his chamber doors, he hesitated, turning to her.

“Come inside,” he whispered. “Just for a moment.”

She blushed, looking down, her fingers twisting nervously. “Lucien, I—”

He smiled gently. “Please.”

She nodded softly.

Inside, the room glowed with candlelight — warm, golden, and inviting. The scent of roses filled the air. The soft sound of the wind rustled the curtains.

Lucien turned to face her again. The world seemed to slow down.

“Lyra,” he said quietly, stepping closer.

Her breath caught. “Yes?”

He reached up and touched her cheek, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. His fingers lingered on her skin, tracing her jawline, her neck, her shoulder.

Her pulse raced.

Their eyes locked, and before either could stop themselves, their lips met.

It was a slow, aching kiss — tender but deep, full of years of longing and love that words could never capture. Her hands pressed against his chest; his arms wrapped around her waist.

Time vanished.

He pulled away just enough to whisper against her lips, “I’ve waited for this moment my whole life.”

Lyra smiled faintly, whispering, “So have I.”

He kissed her again — softer this time — and when he pulled her closer, she melted against him, her heart pounding wildly.

The world around them faded until—

Knock. Knock.

They froze.

“Your Highness,” came the maid’s gentle voice. “I was ordered to take Miss Lyra to her room.”

Lucien groaned softly, pressing his forehead against Lyra’s. “Ahh, babe, please don’t go,” he murmured, his voice low and full of longing.

Lyra gave him a sad little smile. “I have to. It’s an order from the king. I don’t want to look disrespectful.”

She pressed a kiss to his lips — soft and lingering. “Goodnight, my love.”

Then she turned and walked away. Lucien stood at the door, watching until she disappeared from sight, his heart aching.

⸻

Lyra’s Room

The maid led her through the long corridor to a large golden door. “This will be your chamber, my lady,” she said softly before bowing and leaving.

Lyra turned the handle and stepped inside.

She froze.

The room was magnificent — vast and glowing. The walls were draped with white and gold silk, and a chandelier sparkled above like a cluster of stars. The air smelled faintly of lilies — her favorite flower.

Every corner was perfectly arranged — the curtains embroidered with soft patterns of moons and stars, the bed covered in velvet sheets, a vase of lilies by the window.

Her lips trembled into a smile. “This… is all for me?”

She walked toward the bed, touching the petals with her fingertips. They were soft, freshly picked. Warmth spread through her chest, melting every worry and fear.

For the first time in years, she felt safe.

She slipped off her jewelry, removed her shoes, and lay down, her head sinking into the soft pillows. The fragrance of flowers wrapped around her, gentle and sweet. Her eyelids fluttered closed.

And slowly, sleep pulled her away.

The Dream

The air changed.

Cold. Heavy. Still.

When she opened her eyes again, the room was gone — replaced by endless shadows and gray mist. She stood barefoot on the ground that rippled like dark water beneath her feet.

Figures surrounded her — dozens of them. Pale faces hidden behind black veils, their eyes faintly glowing red.

This time, they were smiling.

“Welcome back, Lyra,” one whispered.

She stepped back. “Who are you?”

Another voice came — deeper, older. “We are your people.”

Her heart pounded. “No! I don’t belong here!”

They laughed softly.

“You will kill.”

“You will destroy.”

“You will manipulate.”

Their voices overlapped, echoing around her like a dark song.

Lyra clutched her head. “Stop it! I will never—”

“You will kill.”

“You will destroy.”

“You will manipulate.”

They chanted again and again, faster, louder.

Her body trembled. Anger and fear twisted inside her chest until her heartbeat was all she could hear.

“I said stop!” she screamed, her voice breaking.

But the chant didn’t stop.

Her eyes burned; her mark began to glow. A surge of power shot through her veins — fierce and uncontrollable. Her hair lifted, the air around her trembling with force. The ground cracked under her feet.

“You will kill.”

“You will destroy.”

“You will manipulate.”

“NO!” she screamed again, her voice shaking the ground. “I will not!”

Her power erupted like a storm. Blinding light burst from her body — red, white, and gold colliding. The shadows vanished, the figures screamed, and the entire realm quaked.

Back in the real world, the king sat in his chamber nearby, going through royal documents when a faint, muffled cry echoed through the walls.

He paused. Then another scream — louder this time.

“Lyra?”

He rushed to her door and knocked. “Lyra! Are you all right?”

No answer.

He pounded harder. “Lyra! Open this door!”

Still nothing — only the sound of a deep, thrumming vibration.

Alarmed, he threw the door open.

The sight froze him in place.

The room was drenched in light — so bright it burned his eyes. Lyra floated above the bed, her body surrounded by swirling energy. Her eyes glowed fiercely, her mark blazing red across her arms and neck.

Wind howled through the room though the windows were shut; the candles bent backward as if terrified.

The king could hardly breathe. “By the gods…”

He took a step closer — and the moment he did, the power flared. The light expanded, shaking the walls.

He stumbled back, watching in horror as the mark pulsed again — brighter, hotter, alive.

His voice broke. “No… it can’t be… the same mark… the mark of the forbidden ones…”

And as he stood there, the truth began to crawl into his mind.

The prophecy… the curse… it’s repeating.

The light roared again, swallowing the room whole — and in the middle of it all, Lyra screamed, her voice echoing through every corridor of the palace.

A scream of pain.

A scream of power.

A scream of awakening.