Kiss Of The Scarlet Prince

The night didn’t fall apart all at once.It started with a single clang — heavy, jarring, the kind that made your ribs feel hollow. Then came another. And another. Bells, but not the kind that meant weddings or festivals. These were rough, metal throats warning of fire, blood, and men who didn’t stop once they started.Heat pressed at the walls, sneaking in through cracks in the marble. The air already tasted of ash. Serenya ran barefoot, her nightdress catching on splinters as she gripped a candle in one hand — a useless, flickering little thing against the dark that was swallowing her home.“Serenya!” A voice from somewhere behind her, smothered by the smoke.A crash. The ceiling groaned like it was tired of holding on.She didn’t turn back. People in old stories always looked back and paid for it. Maybe they turned to stone. Maybe to ash. Either way — you didn’t survive by staring at the thing chasing you.Her palm slid along the wall as she counted doors — nursery, study, the blue

Chapter Three — Pieces on the BoardThe hall emptied slowly, like wine draining from a glass.Servants swept in to gather abandoned goblets and fold chairs back into neat rows along the wall. Courtiers drifted away in small clusters, each glance or whisper feeling like the brush of a blade along Serenya’s skin.Kael stayed by the larger throne, speaking in low tones with an advisor whose robes trailed like ink across the floor.The throne itself was a looming piece of blackwood, carved with curling designs that shifted in the light — one moment they looked like winding vines, the next like chains binding unseen prisoners. The high back rose in a sharp crown of spires, each tipped with a fleck of dark gold that caught the candlelight in sudden, spark-like flashes. The armrests were smooth from years of use, but the ends flared into talons clutching rubies the size of a thumb. It was not a seat built for comfort. It was a seat built to remind anyone who looked at it who had the power to

Chapter Five — The InvitationThe palace didn’t sleep.It only changed its face.By midday, the chill of the courtyard was gone, replaced by the rustle of silk skirts along marble floors and the clatter of boot heels in corridors where sunlight pooled like molten gold. Somewhere, unseen clerks scratched quills against parchment. The air smelled faintly of ink and polished wood, of conversations I wasn’t meant to hear.I thought I’d be left in my chamber, free to pretend the world outside my door didn’t exist. But before my tea had even cooled, a young servant appeared, head bowed.“My lady, His Highness invites you to luncheon in the west gallery.”Invites. The word was all velvet over steel.I followed him through hallways that felt different now — not just corridors, but arteries, carrying the pulse of a body I’d been swallowed into.The west gallery was not a room so much as a hallway pretending it had a right to be endless. Tall windows opened onto the gardens, sunlight slanting i

Chapter Seven — An Invitation in the DarkWas I destined to be cast away once we were united by sacred ceremony?The question lingered as I walked the corridor, my steps muffled by thick rugs, the brooch from the queen heavy in my pocket.I didn’t hear the knight until he spoke.“You walk like a prisoner counting her steps to the gallows.”I turned sharply. He leaned against the shadowed wall, helm tucked under one arm, his dark hair falling just to his jaw. The torchlight caught in his eyes — brown, rich and deep as worn leather, holding a quiet resilience that made them hard to look away from.“I didn’t see you there,” I said.“That’s the point,” he replied easily, pushing away from the wall. “The prince told me to keep an eye on you. And when one watches long enough, patterns appear… though not all patterns wish to be found.”“Did he also tell you to speak in riddles?”One corner of his mouth quirked. “No. That’s a habit of my own.”We walked side by side down the hall, his armor s

Chapter Nine — The Queen’s InvitationThe knock at my chamber door came with the soft urgency of someone trained to be polite but incapable of waiting.I opened it to find a maid standing there, head bowed, her hands folded tight at her waist.“Her Majesty requests your presence,” she said.“Requests?” I echoed. “Or commands?”The maid’s gaze flickered upward before she caught herself. “It would be unwise to delay.”Which answered my question.I followed her through the quieter wing of the palace, our steps softened by the thick carpet that muffled the world. Each turn we took pulled us farther from Kael’s presence, and I wondered if that was the point.The queen’s private receiving room was bathed in warm light from a fire, the hearth large enough to stand inside. She sat in a high-backed chair upholstered in pale velvet, her gown the same deep blue as the night sky, dotted with silver embroidery that caught the flames like stars. Her hair — black streaked with silver — was coiled in