The halls of the Moon Court were unlike anything Kaelthar Veyndarion had ever walked through. White marble gleamed under shafts of pale light streaming through arched windows, silver-threaded tapestries depicted scenes of triumph and grace. To him, it felt suffocating—too perfect, too untouched by shadow. His own presence was a wound here, dark armor clicking against polished stone, his shadow stretching across walls as if to claim the place. Whispers stirred in every corner. The Shadow Prince has come. The cursed one dares to walk here.
He ignored them. He hadn’t ridden across half a kingdom to entertain courtiers’ fears. The rumors had reached him days ago: an elven princess with skin like light itself, bearing a mark upon her brow—a crescent moon. It had struck him like a blade to the heart. He told himself he came to disprove it, to prove destiny nothing but a cruel jest. Yet beneath that, the ember of hope burned, fragile but unyielding.
When he stood before the thrones, the Moon King and Queen regarded him as if he were plague itself. Their faces carved from disdain, their voices dripping venom.
“You will not see her,” the queen said, her silver crown glinting. “Not now. Not ever.”
Kaelthar’s golden eyes narrowed, molten embers behind black lashes. “I did not ride here to be refused.” His voice was deep, steady, carrying the weight of centuries of scorn. “If she is the one, I must know.”
“There is no prophecy,” the king spat. “Only lies that cling to your cursed bloodline. We will not sacrifice our daughter to your darkness.”
His jaw tightened, fury threatening to seep through his calm. He took a step forward, the air chilling with the whisper of his shadow magic. “You cannot—”
And then he felt it.
A presence. Soft. Bright. Like the first touch of moonlight breaking the longest night. His words faltered as a figure appeared around the corner of the hall. She seemed almost hesitant, drawn by the clash of voices.
Her skin was pale, luminous, as if kissed by starlight. Hair like spun gold framed her delicate features, braids laced with threads of silver. And on her brow, glowing faintly as if alive, was a crescent moon. Her golden eyes were wide, confused—but when they met his, everything stilled.
Kaelthar felt the world narrow to only her. The courtiers’ whispers fell silent, the disdain of the king and queen blurred into nothing. For the first time in three centuries, the ember in his chest flared into a blaze. She is real.
The princess tilted her head, her expression shifting from confusion to something softer. Though she had no reason to, her posture relaxed, as though she recognized him. As though she had been waiting for him too. She stepped forward, instinctively bridging the distance.
“Stop!” the queen’s voice cracked like a whip.
The girl froze mid-step, blinking in alarm, her gaze darting between her parents and Kaelthar.
He couldn’t look away from her. Every part of him screamed that this was the moment written in prophecy, that to let it slip would doom him to be the monster they claimed he was. His voice thundered through the chamber, unyielding.
“She is mine. She was meant for me. You will not keep her from me.”
The king rose, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. “You dare demand our daughter like spoils of war?”
Kaelthar’s shadows curled around him like smoke, dangerous, alive. “I demand nothing but what fate has already carved into this world. She and I are bound. Light and shadow. You cannot stop it.”
The princess’s brows furrowed, her lips parting. She did not speak, but her eyes lingered on him, shimmering with worry rather than fear. She looked torn, confused, yet still… she hadn’t stepped back.
Her parents’ voices overlapped in protest, but Kaelthar only saw her. “You feel it too,” he said, softer now, almost to himself, though the words carried across the room. “I see it in your eyes.”