Love wasn't something dark creatures were taught to believe in. Not when ambition was the only law. Not when everything—everything-had been tailored to place Matrona beside the throne.
But the girl.
Aurelia.
Innocent. Mortal. And somehow… chosen.
Something twisted behind Matrona's ribs.
Not heartbreak.
Not jealousy.
It was the kind of pain that bloomed when years of sacrifice were met with silence. When thrones cracked beneath girls who didn't even ask for them.
She took a step back from the balcony.
A voice pierced the air, calling out her name with a hint of urgency, but she chose to turn a deaf ear to it.
Her gaze remained fixated, not on the looming shadows of Tenebrarum, but rather on the figure before her.
It was the girl who seemed trapped in silence, a mystery wrapped in stillness.
Aurelia, who preferred to retreat rather than confront, embodied an elusive strength that left others in awe.
The girl who looked like everything Matrona had never been allowed to be—soft, lost, untouched.
And that, more than anything, made her dangerous.
---
Aurelia stood too still.
That was her first mistake.
The second—she didn't bow.
Not to the King. Not to the Wives. Not to the gilded bones of an empire watching her from the palace steps.
She simply stood behind Tenebrarum, as if her blood were frost and her breath hadn't yet remembered it was mortal.
The courtyard roared for him—Tenebrarum, black-masked and death-silent.
But for her… the silence split.
The crowd didn't understand. Couldn't.
She was dressed too finely. Draped in shadow-colored silk, her gown whispered like mourning bells in a cathedral. Silver constellations gleamed across her bodice—too proud, too regal for a slave. Her gloves were pearl-pale. Her neck was perfumed with crushed flowers. Even the dark humans hesitated.
"She didn't kneel…"
"What house is she from?"
"Is she mad?"
But the truth was simpler than they imagined.
She didn't know.
No one had told her how to bow. How deep. To whom. When. Her noble blood had long been buried beneath fear, and now—thrust into a sea of monsters—she forgot everything but how to breathe.
And even that was shaky.
Her eyes darted upward, scanning the balcony.
And there—she saw her.
Matrona.
Beautiful in a way Aurelia didn't understand. Dark like midnight oil set aflame. Her gaze didn't waver. Didn't blink. It pinned Aurelia in place like a knife through silk.
Aurelia stiffened.
That one must be his sister…
Her thoughts turned wild, spiralling into the stories whispered in orphaned halls.
"They eat humans," the nuns once hissed.
"Slowly. Smiling. While you scream."
Aurelia's eyes widened, breath catching in her throat.
She must be hungry.
Still, Tenebrarum didn't stop. He climbed the stairs toward his father—his cloak dragging like the shadow of a grave.
Behind him, Aurelia followed, limbs stiff and unsure, the murmurs wrapping around her like a noose.
Near the throne, four brothers stood in silence, their gold-trimmed robes whispering against the wind.
One leaned close, voice a dagger behind clenched teeth.
"Tenebrarum has done something dangerous…"Aemilian, brother to Rhazor, spat the words. "He's broken tradition. He's brought that thing into the heart of power."
Rhazor said nothing. His jaw flexed. But in his silence… There was hatred.
And still, she climbed.
Still, she stood.
Aurelia.
A stranger dressed like a queen.
The King rose from his throne.
His robe shimmered with molten black, his face stern with centuries of power. But when he spoke—when his voice thundered across the hall—it was not met with fear. It was met with... silence.
Because the man he addressed was Tenebrarum Mortifer.
"You bring that girl into my court—unbowed, untrained, untamed. A slave. And you do not ask."
No one dared breathe.
Aurelia trembled, her body a taut string caught in a fierce wind. Her heart pounded in her chest, a frantic drum echoing through the stillness. But it wasn't the looming presence of the King that gripped her with dread—it was the eerie silence that enveloped the court like a thick fog, the oppressive weight of it pressing down on her shoulders.
No eyes dared to meet Tenebrarum's gaze, not even the seasoned generals, not even the revered High Seer.
The air felt heavy with unspoken words.
No gasps pierced the silence.
No whispers danced between the nobles.
But their eyes—
They darted.
Downward, as if searching for solace in the polished marble floor.
Sideways, avoiding the shadow that loomed beside her.
Anywhere but toward the dark figure that commanded such fear.
For even the King's wrath paled in comparison to the dread that seeped from Tenebrarum.
The Prince of Ruin.
The very essence of destruction, who had reduced cities to mere ashes for far lesser offences.
He lingered in silence, his expression inscrutable.
He didn't offer a bow.
He didn't show a hint of flinching.
Instead, he rested a hand just behind Aurelia's back—a gesture that felt more like a looming threat than comfort. The air crackled with tension, as if it were a warning waiting to be set loose.
"She is mine."
His voice was smooth as ice, cold enough to freeze the blood in her veins, yet clear enough to echo ominously throughout the court.
That was his only declaration.
The King's jaw tightened, a muscle twitching in frustration as he opened his mouth, yet no sound emerged. His gaze faltered, flicking toward Rhazor, then darting to the shadowed figures of the nobles seated above, but none stirred to action.
Only their eyes conveyed the unuttered sentiments.
Tight. Flickering. Avoidant.
Like a silent audience bearing witness to a match struck over a pyre of dried bones, bracing for the inevitable blaze that would follow.
Aurelia did not bow.
She couldn't.
Not because she meant to defy them—no, her legs simply wouldn't move.
Her spine remained stiff, her hands cold at her sides, as if held there by invisible iron. The weight of so many eyes burned against her skin, but her gaze blurred, slipping somewhere else.
Somewhere far.
Somewhere quiet.
She saw Marcus, smiling beneath the olive trees—his hands calloused, warm, always gentle when he held hers. She heard the screams of her mother, the way they never quite stopped echoing inside her chest.
Her best friend, Gaius, dragged away by soldiers.
Her father's blood stained the stone.
She had lost once and it cost her everything she ever knew.
So no—she didn't bow.
Not to this King.
Not in this palace, dressed like a jewel and paraded like a beast.
And when the silence roared louder than the King's voice, when even the nobles looked away, when Tenebrarum did not flinch beside her—Aurelia simply stood there.
Not as a slave.
Not as a noble.
But as a girl with nothing left to give.
---
To be continued...