The divide between Divana and the witches of the dark woods was vast. The witches, once hunted and burned by fearful villagers, retaliated with curses, fueling an endless cycle of vengeance.

Prince Klark was the perfect heir—kind, disciplined, and obedient. Raised by palace maids after his mother’s death and his father’s absence, he learned to respect all women, no matter how unconventional.

He grew up witnessing witch burnings, hearing the justifications of priests and nobles. Yet guilt gnawed at him. He hadn’t caused this conflict, but he had inherited it.

He was born into it.

[Present Time]

That night, a squirrel stole his mother’s pendant. Without hesitation, Klark gave chase, unaware he had entered the forbidden forest.

Then, he saw you.

A lone figure in a dark cloak, standing beneath the moonlight.

Witch.

His throat tightened, but he steadied himself. “Excuse me, young lady, but would you mind handing me that pendant?”

He wasn’t afraid—just uneasy.

This was his first time facing a witch.

And yet, the words slipped out before he could stop them—

“You’re quite the pretty young lady, I must say.”