Chapter 1

They started appearing a month ago. Dreams, thoughts, nightmares—each one more vivid than the last. At first, I paid them no heed, dismissing them as figments of an overactive mind. Perhaps I had been holed up in my bedroom too long, surrounded by sheet music and the constant echo of piano keys. But these thoughts… they spiral far too much.

Perhaps I need to quit piano.

A sharp knock at my door pulls me from the edge of that thought. It's become routine now, the interruptions. Every day, when the sun is at its highest, I receive certain deliveries requesting my heart. Flowers, letters, trinkets—all meant to woo, none succeeding. The men of this empire would kill for me, but I want a man who would die for me. Someone who would love me for more than my heritage, my ancestry, my status, or my wealth. I crave something deeper, something real.

I want a man who sees through my lies, who sees me at my worst and burns for me even brighter. But the men who fight over me like children, as if I were a coveted toy, cannot give me that.

I rise from the piano, smoothing down my dress as I cross the room. The mirror catches my reflection—a vision of softness, just like Mother. But appearances deceive. Beneath this exterior lies the daughter of the Captain of the Imperial Guard, a woman trained in the art of war, a woman who can defend herself better than any of the simpering fools who send me tokens of affection.

I open the door to find Iris, my maid, standing with a small bouquet of flowers and an envelope in her hands. She curtsies slightly, her expression as neutral as ever.

"My Lady, a delivery," she announces.

"Oh, Iris, what is it this time?" My voice is light, but I can't hide the weariness.

"Flowers, My Lady. And a letter."

"You can leave the flowers in the corridor. As for the letter, please dispose of it."

"Yes, My Lady."

"Thank you, Iris."

She bows her head and steps away, and I close the door behind her. How many times have I received flowers this week? Too many to count. It's all so boring, so predictable. The men in the empire are lacking indeed. They see only the surface, the delicate features inherited from my mother, and not the sharp mind honed by my father. Being the daughter of the Captain of the Imperial Guard does nothing to help my love life. If anything, it frightens the men away—though, I suppose that's not entirely a bad thing.

They fear my training, my competence with a sword and bow. They know I can protect myself, and it bruises their fragile egos. But it's more than that. I don't just want to protect myself; I want someone who would stand by my side and protect me too. Men are useless in this age, and I've proven that countless times.

Sword training is a particular delight. It's not hard to overthrow them. In archery, they are all lost causes. I train with Brother, and sometimes Father supervises. They are the only two I have yet to best, but even that doesn't bother me much. Sister, though not as athletically inclined as Brother and me, possesses a beauty that knows no bounds. She looks exactly as Mother once did—a living portrait of grace and elegance.

But while Sister's beauty wins her admirers, it is the piano that has become my solace. Lately, I've spent more time with it than in training. It calms my nerves, helps soothe the anxiety that has taken root in my chest. But at the same time, it fuels it. With every note, the dreams come closer, the nightmare clearer.

I see it now. I see it vividly, even in the light of day. It's like a fire igniting with a deadly intent right before my eyes, threatening to consume me. It's like the ocean swallowing ships whole, like the milky way stretching endlessly across a summer's night, beautiful but terrifying. This dream… no, this nightmare… it threatens me like a Grey wolf stalking me from the shadows, ready to pounce.

And then, there's him. The man in my dreams. He is the black wolf, hidden in darkness, revealed only in the light of the moon. And I, I am nothing but a white rabbit, small, fragile, and too easily hunted. My fur is my curse, my vulnerability, and it will be my end.

He calls out to me in those dreams. Alora, he calls, his voice husky and distant, echoing in my mind long after I wake. My name, spoken like a secret, like a promise, like a threat. I can't escape it. I can't escape him. He is both my doom and my destiny, and I don't know whether to run from him or towards him.

I shake off the thought, but it lingers, like a shadow that won't leave. The piano is no longer an escape, but a reminder of the things I can't control. Of the future that seems to be closing in on me.

With a sigh, I return to the piano, my fingers hovering over the keys. But I don't play. I can't. Not with that voice still echoing in my ears.

Instead, I let my hands fall to my lap and stare at the closed window, the sunlight streaming in, too bright for my current mood. Outside, the world is moving on, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing inside me. Inside, I feel as though I'm teetering on the edge of something vast and unknown, something that could either destroy me or set me free.

And the worst part is, I don't know which I want it to be.