Chapter 3: The Prophecy’s Warning

Elara barely made it back to her chambers before the weight of what had happened crashed over her like a storm.

She shut the door behind her, pressing a hand to her chest as if that would slow the frantic beat of her heart. But nothing could erase the lingering heat from Vesper’s touch—or the terrifying power that had surged between them.

What was that?

Elara had spent her life studying magic, its rules, its dangers. She knew of blood magic, of ancient spells carved into history, of power locked away by kings who feared what they could not control.

But this?

This was something else entirely.

The prophecy whispered through her mind. The one her father feared. The one that dictated her fate.

“One must die for the other to thrive.”

Her stomach twisted. She had always dismissed it as nothing more than an old warning. A tale spun to keep her from questioning the kingdom’s past.

But what if it was real?

And what if Vesper Moretti was the key to it?

A knock at her door made her spin, her pulse still erratic.

“Elara,” a voice called. Feminine. Familiar.

She exhaled sharply, pushing away the chaos in her mind before opening the door.

Isla stepped inside, the candlelight catching in her dark curls. Her friend and trusted confidante, Isla was one of the few people Elara could truly trust in the palace.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Isla said, her sharp gaze sweeping over Elara. “Or… something much worse.”

Elara hesitated. She shouldn’t say anything. Shouldn’t let Isla get tangled in whatever this was.

But the words were already slipping out.

“I saw him,” she whispered. “Vesper Moretti. He was inside the palace—inside the restricted wing.”

Isla’s expression darkened. “What was he doing there?”

Elara hesitated. “Looking for something. Something locked away.”

Something his blood could open.

Isla frowned. “You think this has to do with the prophecy?”

Elara met her gaze. “I don’t think. I know.”

A tense silence settled between them.

Finally, Isla shook her head. “Elara… if the prophecy is real, if it’s truly about you and him…” She trailed off, her voice turning grave. “You need to be careful.”

“I know,” Elara murmured. But knowing didn’t change what had already happened.

Or the way her body had recognized Vesper, even before her mind could catch up.

Isla sighed. “Your father—he’s preparing for war. If he even suspects you’re tangled with the Morettis in any way…”

Elara swallowed hard. She didn’t need the reminder.

Her father saw the Moretti family as enemies. The Mafia of the Underworld. A necessary evil, tolerated only because they kept the city’s shadows in check.

But if he knew Vesper had been here? That Elara had felt something impossible when he touched her?

He would never forgive her.

And worse—he might do something that even she wouldn’t be able to stop.

Elara clenched her fists.

She wouldn’t let the prophecy dictate her fate. She refused to be a pawn in whatever game was unfolding.

If Vesper Moretti thought he could waltz into her kingdom and uncover its secrets, he was mistaken.

She would find out the truth first.

And she would make him regret ever stepping foot into her world.

No matter what it took.

Elara barely heard Isla’s voice as the weight of the prophecy pressed down on her.

“One must die for the other to thrive.”

She had read it a thousand times. Heard it whispered in the halls of the palace since childhood. But it had always been a distant thing—something that belonged to myths and ancient fears, not her.

Now, it felt like a noose tightening around her throat.

“Elara,” Isla said again, stepping closer. “Tell me the truth. Did he—” she hesitated, searching for the right words, “Did he do something to you?”

Elara swallowed hard. Yes.

But not in the way Isla meant.

“He touched me,” Elara admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Isla stiffened. “And?”

A shiver ran through Elara just at the memory of it. “And something… happened. I don’t know what. But it wasn’t normal.”

Isla’s expression darkened. “Magic?”

Elara nodded. “It felt like a shock—not pain, but a force. A pull. And the look in his eyes…” She took a shaky breath. “He felt it too.”

For the first time, Isla looked truly afraid.

“Elara,” she whispered. “If your father finds out—”

“He won’t,” Elara cut in quickly. “No one will.”

She couldn’t risk it. Not until she understood what this meant.

Isla hesitated, then exhaled. “We need to find out what that thing in the archives was. Whatever he was after—it must be connected to you, to the prophecy.”

Elara nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. If Vesper is looking for answers, then I need to get them before he does.”

A dangerous determination settled in her chest.

Vesper Moretti wasn’t just her enemy anymore.

He was a threat to everything she had ever known.

And she had no choice but to face him head-on.

The night deepened, the palace growing silent as the halls emptied. But Elara didn’t sleep.

She sat by the window, watching the city below. The towers of Avarath gleamed under the moonlight, their spires piercing the night sky.

Beyond them, past the golden rooftops and marble streets, lay the underworld.

A place she had only seen from a distance. A place where the Morettis ruled like kings of the shadows.

Vesper had walked through her world tonight. He had broken into her palace, had touched her, had left something in her veins that still burned.

And it terrified her.

Because if she wasn’t careful…

She might let him do it again.

Elara traced the rim of her goblet with a steady finger, but inside, she was anything but calm. The weight of what had happened between her and Vesper felt unshakable—a silent force pressing into her bones, demanding she acknowledge it.

The moment their skin had touched, something had cracked open between them. Something old. Something dangerous.

And she had felt it ignite inside her.

But she couldn’t let it distract her.

A cold wind whistled through her chamber’s open balcony doors, and the night air carried the distant sounds of the city—laughter from the lower courts, the distant clang of armor from the palace guards, the hushed murmurs of courtiers who thought the darkness would shield their secrets.

Elara rose to her feet, her silk robe billowing around her ankles as she stepped onto the stone balcony. Below, the lights of Avarath burned bright, stretching toward the horizon where the world she had never touched—the underworld—waited in the shadows.

She knew what she had to do.

She had to find out why Vesper Moretti was really here.

A soft knock at her door made her glance over her shoulder. Isla again.

“Come in,” she called.

Isla entered, her expression carefully measured. “I asked around,” she said. “The guards stationed near the restricted wing tonight? They didn’t see anything.”

Elara frowned. “That’s impossible. I was there, Isla. I saw him.”

“That’s what I thought,” Isla said. “Until I looked into it further.” She hesitated, then lowered her voice. “The guards on duty tonight weren’t our men.”

Elara’s breath caught. “What?”

“Someone replaced them.”