The air was thick with incense and betrayal.

On the night of her wedding, Atina, youngest daughter of the Solharan royal bloodline, slipped through the palace corridors like a frightened swan. Her kingdom — known for its mercy, wealth, and unshakable peace — had offered her up like a lamb to the throne of monsters.

She was fifteen. Barefoot. Breathless. Wrapped in white silk and fear. And running.

Running from a man she had never met — but already knew in her nightmares.

Prince Lián Thalor of Yèlán, the infamous Red-Lantern Prince. They said his palace glowed with the flesh of dead brides. That every woman wed to him died by his hand — their skin stripped, blood drained, bodies fed to the shadows that served him.

Her brothers had told her stories with trembling lips.

“His voice can charm snakes from their pits.” “His hands can kill without weapons.” “He’s cursed, Atina. Once he feels anything… he becomes something else. Something wrong.”

Still, her kingdom had bowed. Peace had a price. And she — sweet Atina — was that price.

The night was cold. The stars refused to look down.

In her escape, she stumbled, falling into a cloaked stranger’s chest — hard and unyielding. Her breath caught in her throat.

The man said nothing at first. Just watched her. Unmoving. His eyes were unreadable obsidian, as if carved from the night itself.

She blinked up at him, trying to hide her panic. “Are you… running away from your wedding, too?” she asked with a broken laugh.

A long silence. His gaze pierced her like the tip of a dagger kissed in poison.

Then—he smiled. It was slow. Cruel. "No. I’m searching for materials. For red lanterns."

Her blood turned to ice.

Only then did she recognize him. Not by name — but by aura.

The prince. Her groom.

She stepped back, but his hand caught a strand of her hair, tugging her forward. Gently. Too gently.

His voice dropped into something inhuman. “You’re quite soft,” he whispered. “You’d burn beautifully.”

Before she could scream, he gasped — and blood spilled from his lips.

His body collapsed into hers, weight dragging her down. She felt his breath against her collarbone — hot, shuddering. Dying.

“Take me back,” he rasped, his hand tightening on her wrist like a shackle. “Or my assassins will find you before dawn.”

She didn’t know if it was a bluff. But something told her it wasn’t.

She dragged him back. To the cold palace room he’d prepared for her burial — she meant wedding.

He collapsed onto silk pillows, trembling from within. She dared to check his pulse.

It was cursed. His heart throbbed with unnatural rhythm — as though darkness itself pumped through his veins. A toxic ancestral curse — triggered by emotion. Rage. Love. Lust.

When he felt too much... he changed.

Not metaphorically. Monstrously.

And the longer she stayed, the more she stirred it.

When he woke, she was gone.

As expected. Who would stay with a beast?

But then the door opened.

She returned — carrying a doctor’s satchel and fire in her eyes.

He blinked.

She came back.

For him.

He wanted to praise her. Tear her apart. Thank her. Break her. Kiss her. Kill her.

Instead, he snarled, “You left me. Without permission.”

Her lips parted, but no words came.

She didn’t realize… she had claimed him the moment she returned.

And now, no one — not even herself — could walk away alive.