The Sizzling Prince

What happens when the most powerful force in existence is given to someone who never wanted to wield it?

Born a commoner, raised as a scholar, and thrust into a world of politics, royalty, and power, Aric lies within him the Epitome of Darkness, and he also holds the Power of Light, a duality no one in history has ever controlled. Aric stands at the heart of a balance no mortal was meant to wield.

As war looms and ancient horrors rise, Aric must master his gift before it consumes him.

But how does one control something that exists beyond the laws of nature? How does one remain human when wielding the power of gods?

And when the time comes, will Aric be Valerya’s salvation or its destruction?


***

They are rivals. They are opposites. They are the threat no one saw coming.

Seventeen-year-old Aric was raised in silence—among ruins and relics, under the watchful eyes of scholars who believed power was meant to be studied, not wielded. He was never meant to wear a crown.

Waiting at the center of the storm is Valtor. Golden boy. Crowned and Favored Heir. Valtor was raised on discipline, control, and whispered prophecy. They taught him to be king. They never taught him how to feel. Behind the elegance and arrogance lies something colder, something lonelier—and something that burns when Aric walks into the room.

Aric wants to tear down a system that never meant to include him. Valtor wants to rule it. Their battles are brutal, their words sharper than steel—but underneath every clash is something neither can name.

They hate what they see in each other. They crave it even more.

And when their walls begin to crack—when the masks slip and the fire flickers into something softer, something stolen—the question is no longer if they’ll destroy each other.

It’s how long they can resist.

How do two enemies, forged by opposite worlds, find each other in the chaos of power, prophecy, and pain?

What happens when your greatest rival becomes the only one who truly sees you?

The 13th Prince: Wielder of Light and Darkness

The murmurs in the courtyard slowly faded, but the weight of what had just happened remained heavy and unrelenting. My breath was still uneven, my body tense as if the magic still crackled beneath my skin. I dared not move, unsure if my power would lash out again if I did. 


The words should have reassured me and should have given me confidence. Instead, they only deepened the unease curling in my chest. 


A slow, deliberate clap broke the silence. The sound was soft at first, then grew louder, more deliberate. I turned to see Prince Valtor stepping forward, his hands meeting in mock applause. His lips curled in something that might have been a smirk, but his eyes—shrewd, assessing—held no amusement. 


"Well," he drawled, his voice carrying through the courtyard, "that was... unexpected." 


Lysandra was watching me, too, but unlike Valtor, she didn't speak. Her silver-blue eyes flickered with something I couldn't quite name—curiosity, perhaps. Or was it a concern? 


I clenched my fists at my sides, forcing my voice to steady. "I didn't mean for it to happen like that." 


"Oh, of course not," Valtor said smoothly. He tilted his head slightly, his dark hair catching the light. "But let's not pretend it wasn't impressive only. Terrifying, yes, but impressive." 


I wasn't sure if he meant it as a compliment or a warning. 


The queen's voice cut through the growing tension. "That will be enough for today." 


She rose from her seat on the balcony, her regal presence enough to silence even Valtor. "The trials are not merely displays of power but measures of control, of understanding one's gifts." Her gaze found mine, sharp and knowing. "And some gifts take longer to understand than others." 


As the nobles and royals began to disperse, some casting wary glances in my direction, I felt a presence beside me. Elara. She didn't speak at first, only watched me as if trying to unravel a puzzle. 


"You don't know how to control it, do you?" she finally asked. 


She nodded as if confirming something to herself. "Then you need to learn. Quickly." 


There was no malice in her tone, but the urgency was unmistakable. 


She hesitated, then added, "And if you don't?" 


Instead, I looked down at my hands—still trembling, still marked by the power that had surged uncontrollably from within me. 


If I didn't learn to control it, I knew exactly what would happen. 


I wouldn't just lose this competition. 


I would become something to be feared. 


The Weight of Expectation