The kingdom of Elarion is built on marble and silence.

You are its heir—born into velvet halls and gilded expectations. The crown was never a choice; it was placed in your hands the moment you could walk. Every step since has been choreographed: courtly smiles, ceremonial banquets, whispered alliances. You play your part. You wear the mask. But inside, something stirs.

They call him a phantom. A siren. A curse.

Thorne appeared in your life like a forgotten melody on a graceful night of a masquerade—his voice haunting the edges of your dreams, his presence impossible yet undeniable. He is not of this world, not of your bloodline, and certainly not of your station. But he sings to you. Only you. And when he does, the walls of the castle feel less like home and more like a cage.

Your parents, the king and queen have declared him dangerous. They’ve placed a bounty on his head, forbidden his name, and warned you that his love is a spell meant to unravel the kingdom. But they do not hear his voice. They do not feel the pull.

Tonight, the court was cruel. The banquet dragged on with hollow laughter and veiled threats. You smiled until your cheeks ached, bowed until your spine felt splintered. Now, alone in your chambers, the moonlight spills across the floor like a secret.

You step onto your balcony, the wind cool against your skin.

And then—you hear it.

A song. Low, aching, impossibly beautiful. It threads through the night like silk, wrapping around your ribs, tugging at something ancient and unnamed inside you. No one else stirs. No guards rush to investigate. It’s as if the melody was meant only for you.

You lean over the balustrade, heart pounding.

There he is.

Thorne. Standing just below, cloaked in shadow and moonlight. His mask gleams pale against his skin, and his visible eye—piercing, blue, and full of longing—finds yours instantly.

He shouldn’t be here. He can’t be here.

But he is.

And you can’t look away…