Prologue

-Celeste-

The air in the Serendian Royal Palace on the eve of my eighteenth birthday wasn't just thick with the scent of jasmine and polished marble; it hummed with an unspoken tension, a whisper of impending doom that only I seemed to feel. For seventeen years, this gilded cage had been my universe, a world of endless privilege and maddening restrictions. Tonight, the heavy silence felt like a shroud.

But first, the secret room. A hidden chamber behind a seemingly innocuous tapestry in my grandfather's study, its entrance known only to us. It was a space of hushed reverence, filled with ancient maps, scrolls, and a solitary chess set carved from ebony and ivory. This room, I somehow knew, was a tether to my past and a key to my future.

My grandfather, King Alexander, his hands gnarled with age but his eyes still sharp as a falcon's, traced the outline of the ebony queen.

"See this piece, Celeste?" he'd said, his voice a low rumble. "She is the most powerful on the board. Moves freely, protects her King, can turn the tide of any battle. But," He paused.

His gaze meeting mine, "she is also the most targeted. Her power makes her a threat. Never forget that, my dear. You, my black queen, must always be aware of the board, and the eyes upon you."

The weight of his words, of my lineage, settled heavily on my young shoulders. I loved him fiercely, this gentle giant who saw a queen where others saw only a girl.

We emerged into the familiar opulence of the study, the King bidding me a soft farewell as he excused himself for urgent state matters. My heart felt heavy, burdened by his quiet wisdom. Seeking a moment of distraction, I drifted towards the rose garden, the palace's inner sanctuary.

And then I saw him.

Aron Ashford, nineteen, shirtless, his back a canvas of rippling muscle as he went through a brutal exercise routine. Sweat sheened his skin under the afternoon sun, his raven hair clinging to his temples. My breath hitched.

He was the son of Uncle Victor, my father Antonio Sinclair's best friend, and Aron's presence was as constant as the palace's gilded walls. Our fathers, lifelong comrades, often joked about our incessant bickering, never realizing the subtle sparks that sometimes flew beneath the surface of my flirtatious jabs.

"Still trying to outrun your shadow, Aron?" I called out, my voice a practiced, playful drawl, a challenge in my gaze.

He paused, a bead of sweat tracing a path down his sculpted back. His dark eyes met mine, a flicker of something raw and intense there before he straightened, his expression unreadable.

"And you, Princess? Still trying to charm the thorns off the roses?"

"Perhaps I just enjoy the challenge," I countered, letting my gaze drift over his powerful physique, enjoying the slight tightening of his jaw. "Unlike some who prefer brute force."

"Brute force often gets the job done," he retorted, his voice low, his eyes holding mine in a silent battle of wills.

Our charged banter was cut short by a familiar voice.

"Celeste! There you are!" Jayden, my best friend, his usually carefree face now creased with concern, jogged towards us. "Uncle Victor is looking for you. Said it's urgent."

My stomach clenched. Urgent. The word echoed my earlier unease. I nodded, casting one last, lingering glance at Aron before turning, a knot of foreboding tightening in my gut.

I found Uncle Victor in the family's formal sitting room, with my parents, Antonio and Samantha Sinclair. The air was thick with a tension that choked me. My father, Antonio, usually so jovial and full of life, looked ashen. My mother, Samantha, clutched a silk handkerchief, her eyes red-rimmed.

"What is this, Father?" I demanded, my playful demeanor replaced by a fierce protectiveness. "Jayden said Uncle Victor needed me. What's going on?"

My father, Antonio, stepped forward, his eyes pained. "Celeste, my dear. We have a difficult decision to make. For your safety."

"Safety? From what?" I demanded, turning to Uncle Victor. His grim silence only fueled my rising panic.

"There are… forces, Celeste," my father explained, his voice low, laden with a terrible weight. "Our family has kept a truth hidden for centuries. A lineage that runs through our blood, a destiny that has been protected. But now, it seems, our rivals have learned of your existence. They know about you, my only child, the one who carries our line forward." He paused, his gaze fixed on mine, a desperate plea in his eyes. "You are the key to everything, and they want to extinguish that key."

My mind reeled. Rivals? Lineage? Destiny? It was too much, too fast.

"I don't understand! Extinguish me? What does that even mean?"

"It means you are leaving Serendia. Tonight. For New York," Uncle Victor reiterated, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.

My mother, Samantha, finally spoke, her voice trembling. "Antonio, please! Must it be tonight? On her birthday eve? Can't we…?"

"Samantha, no," my father interrupted, his voice laced with an uncharacteristic sharpness that cut me to the core. "This is the only way. For her. For us."

He looked at me, his eyes full of a pain that mirrored my own confusion. "This is for your future, Celeste. You must trust us."

Trust them? They were shutting me out, sending me away, cloaking my life in terrifying riddles. My throat tightened with unshed tears, a sense of betrayal sharp as a knife. I was being exiled, like a pawn removed from a dangerous board, with no explanation, just commands.

The final goodbyes at the palace gates were a blur of hushed whispers and tight embraces. My grandfather, his eyes impossibly sad, held me in a long hug.

My mother, Samantha, her face streaked with tears, fumbled with a small, intricately carved silver pendant, embossed with my name. Her fingers trembled as she tied it around my neck, the cool metal settling against my skin like a promise.

"Happy Birthday, my darling girl," she choked out, her voice thick with emotion.

My father, Antonio, pulled me into a crushing embrace, a silent, desperate goodbye that felt like a premonition.

I saw off my aunt, her face pale and drawn, and then, a sudden thought struck me.

"Where's Uncle Harold?" I asked, a vague sense of unease. My aunt simply shook her head, unable to meet my gaze.

My eyes swept the courtyard one last time, searching. For him. For Aron. But he wasn't there. The guards were grim-faced, the armored convoy vehicles idling impatiently. My heart sunk, a dull ache blooming in my chest. He didn't care. He wasn't here to say goodbye. The boy who'd always been my infuriating shadow, now confirmed my deepest fear: I was truly alone in this.

I was ushered into the lead vehicle, Jayden already inside, his face pale and wide-eyed. My parents joined us, along with Uncle Victor and several stern-faced security details. The heavy doors hissed shut, sealing us in the armored cocoon. The palace gates, massive and imposing, receded in the rearview mirror, shrinking to a pinprick against the pre-dawn sky.

We were barely five minutes past the outer perimeter, driving through a quiet, tree-lined street usually reserved for morning jogs, when the world shattered.

A deafening roar ripped through the air, followed by the shattering of glass and the sickening crunch of metal. The car lurched violently, tires screeching as the driver fought for control. Gunfire erupted, a relentless, terrifying spray against the reinforced windows.

"Ambush!" Uncle Victor roared, pulling me and Jayden down, shielding our heads with his body.

Panic seized me. I heard shouts, the sickening thud of impacts against the car, and then, a series of muffled thuds and gasps from the seats around us. My parents! I saw my mother slump against the seat, a blossoming stain on her light dress. My father cried out, a strangled sound, before his body stiffened.

They were hit. THEY WERE HIT!

The vehicle swerved wildly, slamming into a thick oak tree with a bone-jarring impact that sent shards of glass flying, even through the reinforced layers.

Smoke billowed into the cabin, acrid and choking. Through the haze, I saw grotesque figures in black, swarming the wrecked vehicle, weapons raised, their movements precise and ruthless. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a burning cage.

"No!" Uncle Victor snarled, his face contorted with fury and despair. He ripped open his door, gunfire echoing around us, hot metal tearing through the air. He didn't hesitate. With a guttural roar, he grabbed me, then Jayden, each of us tucked under an arm. His other hand gripped a hidden pistol, firing wildly at the encroaching shadows.

"Hold on, Celeste! Jayden!" he yelled, his voice raw, as he burst from the wreckage.

Bullets whizzed past us, tearing at the leaves, chipping stone from a nearby wall. He ran, a formidable shield against the barrage, his body protecting ours, a desperate, lung-burning dash through a hail of gunfire, away from the burning vehicle where my parents lay, bleeding and still, their fate unknown to me in the chaos.

My vision blurred, but I could hear the desperate thud of his feet on the ground, the rapid bursts of gunfire, and Uncle Victor's ragged breaths, punctuated by grunts of effort. My precious, golden cage of a life had just been shattered, replaced by a nightmare of violence and unexplained escape. I was fleeing Serendia, not as a carefree princess on an adventure, but as a terrified fugitive, carried by the only man who still seemed to stand between me and utter devastation, propelled into an unknown future in New York. The cold, hard secret of what truly happened back home, what—or who—I was running from, remained locked within my uncle's grim silence.

And I knew, with chilling certainty, that the black queen had just been targeted.