Chapter 3

A quiet knock stirred the silence.

"Princess Elianna?" The guard's voice came through the wooden door, calm yet commanding. "The king is waiting."

Elianna stood still, heart thudding inside her chest like a frightened bird. Her fingers moved instinctively to the thin veil covering her face. Only her wide, fearful eyes were visible, gleaming faintly beneath the dim candlelight. Her lips trembled beneath the silk, but she pressed them tightly, drawing a steady breath.

She knew this day might come, yet she'd spent the night praying it wouldn't. She was just one among many concubines, tucked into a palace teeming with beings older, stronger, and far more magical than her. Vampires with gleaming fangs, witches that whispered curses under their breath, elves who watched with cold, ancient eyes. Compared to them, she was nothing—just a human girl.

Surely, she had hoped, the king would overlook her.

"Coming," she murmured, her voice barely audible as she stepped forward.

The door creaked open, revealing the guard—tall, cloaked in silver armor, his face unreadable. He gave a slight bow before turning on his heel.

Elianna followed in silence.

The halls stretched endlessly, lit only by torches that flickered with a cold blue flame. Shadows danced on the high stone walls. Each step felt heavier than the last.

Outside, a dark carriage waited.

Its frame was sleek, built of obsidian and etched with symbols that shimmered faintly in the moonlight. Two great beasts stood before it—horses, or at least shaped like them, with gleaming black eyes and smoky breath.

The guard opened the door and gestured inside.

She entered without a word, settling into the velvet seat. The door shut, and silence engulfed her. The wheels began to roll, the carriage moving forward through the shadowed palace grounds.

The ride felt like a journey into another world.

As she clutched her hands in her lap, Elianna's thoughts spiraled. Why now? Why me? What does he want? The unanswered questions fed her fear, curling it tight around her ribs like vines. Her mind drifted to her brother, her mother, her father. Were they safe? Were they even alive?

The carriage finally stopped.

When the door opened, she stepped out into a different realm altogether.

The King’s Palace loomed before her—an ancient tower of black stone, its walls etched with dragons, its aura thick with magic. Cold wind blew from its great gates, as if the building itself exhaled the breath of forgotten gods.

The guard led her through vast marble halls. Here, there were no decorations, no warmth. Only silence and cold majesty.

They stopped at a door—massive, carved with arcane sigils and the image of a dragon coiled around a burning sun.

The guard bowed his head. "My king, she is here."

A pause.

Then a voice.

"Let her enter."

The words were deep and slow, like thunder rolling through a cave. Elianna’s breath hitched.

The guard turned to her, motioned toward the door. "He is expecting you."

She didn’t move.

Her feet refused to budge, every nerve in her body shouting danger. Her mind screamed to run, to hide, to vanish into the stone.

But the door opened on its own.

Darkness bled from the gap. Not the absence of light—but something thicker. Living shadows. An ancient presence that beckoned and warned at once.

Elianna hesitated. Her heart raced so violently she feared it might burst through her ribs. But slowly, she stepped forward.

The door closed behind her with a final thud.

She stood in complete darkness.

The room was huge. She could feel its vastness in the echo of her breath. But she couldn’t see a single thing.

Still, she felt eyes on her.

Watching.

Studying.

Her breath caught. Her hands trembled slightly as they curled into fists at her sides. She didn’t speak.

He was here.

Somewhere in the dark.

Then she saw them.

Two glowing red eyes.

Suspended in the dark like twin stars burning in a black sky.

She froze.

The king sat in silence, his gaze locked on her. He watched the way her chest rose with every shallow breath, the delicate sway of her form, the thin veil that clung to her face. Her scent reached him—soft, warm, mortal—and something ancient stirred within him.

She was veiled, yet already she ignited something.

He sipped slowly from the goblet in his hand. Crimson liquid stained his lips. Blood.

He hadn't spoken. Not a word. He only watched her.

And she could not see him, only feel the weight of his attention pressing against her skin like heat.

She took a step forward, gathering courage. I will not be weak. She had survived too much already to crumble now.

His eyes narrowed slightly, intrigued by her movement. She wasn’t like the others. There was fear in her, yes, but also pride. A flicker of fire.

And her body...

He studied the graceful curves, the hourglass shape hidden modestly beneath her robe. She had all the makings of a queen—elegance, mystery, strength—and yet she remained hidden.

That veil...

He hated it.

He wanted to see her.

He wanted to know what lay beneath.

He rose.

A slow, smooth movement. He did not speak.

And suddenly, he was standing just before her.

She could see nothing. But her body knew.

He was there. Right in front of her.

The scent of blood, power, and something darker filled her nose.

Her fingers clenched at her sides. Why did he summon me? What does he want from me?

Then finally—

His voice.

Low. Dangerous. Velvet laced with steel.

"Remove the veil."

Elianna stiffened.

Her heart dropped to her stomach. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly powerless. Her eyes darted through the darkness. "Why?"

A pause.

"Because I wish to see you."

She hesitated, every instinct screaming no.

She wasn’t ready. Not to face him. Not to show her face to this creature of legend, this king of nightmares and forgotten power.

But her voice—small and steady—escaped her lips.

"And if I refuse?"

A slow smile spread across his face in the shadows, unseen by her.

"You won’t."

She could feel it—the command behind the words, the impossible gravity of him. Still, her hands didn’t move.

She had never feared anything the way she feared this moment.

But she also never felt so... alive.

He circled her, silently, like a predator studying a mystery. Her scent clung to the air like wildflowers under moonlight. It confused him. Tempted him. Frightened him in a way nothing had in centuries.

She was different.

And she was his.

But still she did not move.

He stopped behind her, close enough that she could feel the breath of his power on her neck. Her spine stiffened.

"You’re trembling," he murmured. "Are you afraid of me?"

She swallowed. "Should I be?"

He chuckled softly. "Perhaps."

Her knees nearly buckled. But she stayed standing.

Then slowly—

She reached up—

From the moment Elianna could remember, the veil had always been there.

It wasn’t just a piece of fabric. It was a presence, a truth stitched into the very essence of her life. Soft, silken, and as pale as morning mist, it draped over her face from the crown of her head to the line of her jaw. Only her eyes, wide and luminous, peeked out—two windows in a world that had never known her face.

Not even she had seen it.

The first time she ever reached trembling fingers beneath it, her heart hammering with curiosity, her mother’s sharp gasp had frozen her in place. “Never,” her mother had whispered, voice shaking—not with anger, but something deeper, something ancient. “Never take it off. Never let the world see you, not yet. You’ll understand when the time comes.”

Later, her father, the one man who never raised his voice but always made the ground feel steady beneath her feet, had told her, “There is a time, Elianna. When you reach your eighteenth year, the veil will lift on its own. It’s bound by something older than even I can name. Until then, do not tempt fate.”

She nodded. But the questions burned in her.

What was so wrong with her face?

Was it cursed? Dangerous? Sacred?

No one else wore a veil. The other girls in the village, the ones she’d seen briefly before her father secluded them away, giggled and twirled with sunlight on their cheeks. She had once tried asking a woman if she'd ever heard of a veil that could not be removed. The woman stared at her like she was mad.

And yet, the veil remained. It had weight—not in fabric, but in presence. Sometimes, when she sat alone, she'd pull at the seam beneath her chin, trembling with the ache of curiosity. But the moment she tried to lift it, something inside her shifted—like a current running beneath her skin. Her breath would catch. Her vision would blur. And something—something—would not calm down inside her.

The worst was the night she disobeyed.

She’d been only twelve. Alone. Midnight. A stolen candle flickered on the table. She had stared at the mirror, heart pounding like a war drum, determined to see who she was beneath it all. But the moment her fingers curled around the edge, a sharp pain lanced through her chest, and the room felt like it tilted. Her lungs seized. The air crackled. A voice—not outside, but inside—had whispered, not yet.

She had collapsed on the floor, gasping, when her mother rushed in.

Tears. Hushed prayers. And then silence.

She never tried again.

Now, at seventeen, almost eighteen, she wondered every day if the veil would truly lift itself. Would it fall gently like leaves in autumn? Or would it burn away with fire and truth?

But deeper than that—beneath the veil, beneath the skin—was a fear she dared not speak.

What if it never came off?

Or worse...

What if it did?

The room was shrouded in a darkness too thick for her human eyes, yet she felt him watching her. The air between them pulsed, thick with power and something far older. Her fingers twitched at her sides, then slowly rose.

Maybe—just maybe—this once…

She reached for the veil.

The soft fabric warmed under her fingertips. Gently, she began to lift it, heart pounding harder with each inch. But the moment it shifted, the moment a sliver of skin could have met the air, a sharp pressure coiled around her chest. Her breath hitched. Her hands trembled violently. A low, vibrating hum built inside her skull. Her vision blurred. Something did not calm down.

Her arms dropped, the veil slipping back into place as if it never moved. She staggered slightly, and her lips parted to gasp for air. That invisible force—ancient and overwhelming—had stopped her.

Again.

She looked up in panic—only to find the king still seated in the shadows.

“…Interesting.”

The single word echoed like a spell, curling around her like smoke—neither threat nor invitation, but something deeper. Measured. Laced with an intrigue he could no longer conceal.

Elianna flinched, caught between shame and defiance. She felt the heat of embarrassment in her chest, but also… relief. He didn’t press. He didn’t lash out. For all his terrifying presence, the king of Qombinia had stayed still—watching, waiting.

“I don’t understand it,” she whispered before she could stop herself. “I’ve never understood it.”

A long silence stretched between them.

And then, for the first time, he was amazed.

The sound of movement was barely a whisper, yet she felt it—like a shift in gravity, a ripple in the world. She still couldn’t see him clearly, but his presence became vast, overwhelming. The temperature dropped. Or maybe it was her fear.

He walked toward her slowly, each step deliberate.

Then—close enough for her to feel the shadow of his form—he spoke again. His voice is softer now. Not gentle, but... thoughtful.

“It is not you who refuses the veil,” he said, as if uncovering a riddle aloud. “It refuses the world.”

Elianna’s breath caught.

She didn’t know how, but his words rang true.

And then his tone shifted—curious, almost amused. “Tell me, girl... have you truly never seen your own face?”

She hesitated, shame crawling over her skin like frost. “No,” she whispered. “Not once.”

Another pause. She could feel his eyes on her like a weight.

“That is a rare kind of curse,” he murmured, “or a dangerous kind of gift.”

She blinked, stunned by the words.

And then, something she never expected:

“I will not force you,” he said.

She looked up, startled.

“But I will find out,” he added, quieter—yet somehow more final.

Then, in a low breath that raised goosebumps on her skin: “And when the veil falls… I will be the first to see.”

Elianna’s knees nearly gave way.

But he stepped back, the pressure of his presence retreating like a wave drawn out to sea.

“You may go,” he said simply.

And just like that, the darkness began to recede. A faint glow emerged from behind the throne—moonlight, soft and cold, filtering through a carved window high above. It cast long shadows across the floor and glinted off his obsidian armor.

For the first time, Elianna saw him clearly.

And she wished she hadn’t.

He was beautiful—terrifyingly so. Not in the way mortals were, but in the way fire is beautiful just before it consumes a forest. Eyes like molten garnet. Hair black as storm clouds. A face that was too perfect, too still. Like something carved from midnight.

She swallowed, then bowed her head low.

She didn’t wait to be dismissed again. She turned and walked—slowly, steadily—toward the door that opened at her approach.

He did not stop her.

But he watched.

And in the silence of his throne room, long after she had gone, the Dragon King remained still.

For the first time in centuries, something ancient stirred inside him—not rage, not hunger.

 she was not what she seemed.

---

“Fetch Earl Kaelith,” he said coldly to the guard standing beside the door. “At once.”

The guard bowed and vanished into the corridor.

Alone again, the king leaned back in his chair, blood still untouched. He stared at the space where she had stood, where that strange energy had pulsed when the veil resisted her fingers.

“A veil that refuses to lift,” he muttered to himself. “A girl who doesn’t know her own face…”

His eyes glinted brighter in the dark.

“There’s more to her. Far more.”

The chamber was still cloaked in darkness when Earl Kaelith stepped through the side door, his silver cloak fluttering behind him. Unlike the guards, he did not bow. He never did—not in private. Not with Drakonios.

“Is this where you’ve been hiding all evening?” Kaelith’s voice was smooth, edged with dry humor. “I had to convince three guards and a bat to let me through. Word is, you summoned me in the middle of a blood tasting.”

Drakonios didn’t turn to look at him. He was still staring at the door Elianna had exited through, lips parted ever so slightly, as though lost in thought. He held his goblet of blood, untouched since the girl’s presence had stirred the air.

Kaelith tilted his head, curious now.

“Well? Don’t keep me guessing,” he said, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “How was the meeting with your precious little offering? The one your council thinks you’ll marry. Did she faint? Cry? Try to run? Or”—his voice dropped into a dramatic whisper—“was she breathtakingly beautiful and now you’re too stunned to speak?”

Drakonios gave him a look.

Kaelith grinned wider. “Ah. So you did see her face?”

“No,” Drakonios said quietly.

The smile faltered.

Kaelith blinked. “No? Wait. You mean she refused?”

“She tried.”

“…And?”

“She couldn’t.” Drakonios finally turned, eyes still glowing red in the gloom. “The veil wouldn’t come off.”

Kaelith stared at him. “Wouldn’t…? What, like it was enchanted?”

“No.” Drakonios looked down at his hand, flexing his fingers slowly. “It was more than that. It was alive. As if it had a will of its own. When she reached for it, something—something—rose up. Even I could feel it. Old magic. Not ours.”

Kaelith sobered, his teasing vanishing. “You’re serious.”

Drakonios met his gaze. “Deadly.”

“Who the hell is she then?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is she even human?”

“I don’t know that either.”

Kaelith folded his arms, brows knitting together. “And yet you didn’t question her? Didn’t demand an answer? You just let her go?”

Drakonios’s voice darkened. “Would you strip a girl of something even her parents feared?”

Kaelith hesitated, then nodded once. “Fair.”

The king stepped away from the throne, the hem of his long robe trailing behind him like a shadow. “Tell her to prepare for the ceremony. I will not wed her, not yet… but she will be shown to the court.”

“You’re putting her on display?”

“I’m giving the court a glimpse of what I don’t yet understand. I want to see their reaction. Especially the witches.”

Kaelith raised a brow. “You think they might recognize her?”

“I think someone might.”

“And afterward?”

Drakonios’s eyes flared again, red and burning with the weight of centuries.

“I’ll find out what she is,” he said, voice low and cold. “At all costs.”