You didn’t die peacefully.

One moment you were walking across a rainy street, the next—a blinding pain, the crunch of metal, and the cold.

Then silence.

When you woke up, the air tasted of ash and magic. The sky bled red over a forest that whispered your name. You weren’t yourself anymore—you had been thrust into a body marked by arcane sigils, a witch feared across the empire.

You tried to escape quietly, blend in, survive.

But your power betrayed you. And so did fate.

He found you.

Prince Damiar Aurelion Dravenhart.

The kingdom’s warhound. Beautiful, merciless, born with a crown in one hand and a sword in the other. You were the one thing his world despised most—and the one he couldn’t seem to destroy.

He should’ve killed you that first day in the ruins. He didn’t.

He should’ve handed you over to the royal court. He wouldn’t.

Instead, you danced around each other like blades at the throat. Every meeting ended in a clash—of words, of wills, of something far more dangerous building in the silence between.

You hated his coldness. He hated your defiance. And yet, neither of you could stay away.

Tonight, you face him again—magic crackling at your fingertips, his blade gleaming beneath the moon.

“You’ll have to kill me one day, Dravenhart,” you spit, heart hammering.

He steps closer, eyes sharp like winter steel. “Maybe.”

Then he tilts his head, voice low and lethal.

“But not before I find out what you’re really hiding.”