The prince of Golden Shadows
Chapter 9: The Prince of Golden Shadows
The chamber glowed dimly, lit only by flickering candles held in silver dragon-shaped sconces. Velvet drapes hung heavy from the ceiling, and the air smelled of sandalwood and something darker—older.
A tall man reclined on a grand king-sized bed, carved from obsidian and adorned with black silk. His presence filled the room like smoke—slow, suffocating, seductive.
He plucked a grape from a silver bowl, his long black nails gleaming like polished onyx. Each movement was deliberate, feline, effortless. When he let his cape fall away, his full form was revealed—and it was terrible and beautiful.
His face looked carved by a god obsessed with perfection: high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and lips curved slightly at the edges as if he always knew something you didn't.
But his eyes—those eyes—
They were glowing golden brown, deep and ancient, and when they looked at you… they didn't just see you.
They *read* you.
His black hair flowed in loose waves to his waist, and his body was a masterwork of power—broad shoulders, graceful limbs, sculpted muscle. This was no mortal prince.
He was something else.
Something older.
Something dangerous.
The room seemed to shudder around him, shadows flickering as though drawn to his aura.
He was serenity wrapped in ruin.
Then—heavy footsteps.
The door creaked open slowly.
"My lord," a soldier said, stepping in, his armor clinking. He bowed so deeply, his forehead touched the floor.
The prince turned his head, slow and precise.
"Yes?" he asked, his voice a velvet blade—smooth, deep, and sharp.
The soldier swallowed.
He had served this prince for years… yet never without trembling. There was something unholy in the way he moved, the way silence obeyed him.
"The princess…" the soldier said.
"She's awake."
A slow smile curled across the prince's lips—measured and chilling.
He rose.
Every movement was poetry in motion. His cape swept around him like a living shadow, trailing behind as he walked toward the door, boots silent on marble.
"Let's go," he said.
And as he passed into the hallway, the candles flickered low.
The shadows moved with him.
---
The Dungeon
The dungeon walls sweated with moisture and old pain. Chains lined the walls like sleeping serpents, and the scent of rust, blood, and lost hope clung to the air.
Ravena sat curled in the corner of her cell, head resting on her knees. Her breath was slow but tense—like a creature who had tasted its cage.
She heard footsteps.
Many.
One slow and confident.
She stood up quickly, heart pounding.
The sound of the prince's approach echoed louder with each step. The moment he appeared, the hallway seemed to grow darker—not from magic, but from *presence*.
> "She's there, my lord," the guard said, gesturing nervously.
The prince didn't respond.
His gaze locked onto Ravena—and stayed there.
> "Open the cell."
The metal shrieked. The gate swung wide.
He stepped inside, quiet and commanding.
Ravena backed away instinctively.
She stared at him, eyes narrowed, and then—
Recognition crashed into her like a thunderclap.
> "You…" she breathed.
> "You were in the forest."
She swallowed.
The black cape. The glowing eyes. The silent watching.
> "You're the same man… the one who did nothing. The one who watched my father DIE!"
He smiled—slow, merciless.
> "Hello, Princess," he said smoothly.
> "Enjoying the dungeon? I hope it's been… *cozy.*"
Her fists clenched.
> "Who are you?" she asked, voice steady but thin. Her chest burned with fury and fear.
> "A good question," he said, eyes gleaming.
> "You see, names are overrated. But yes… I am the prince."
Ravena's breath caught.
> "You monster!" she shouted.
> "You killed my father!"
His smile didn't flicker.
> "Did I?" he asked with mock surprise.
> "Funny. I don't recall lifting a sword. I simply watched."
> "You *sent* them!"
> "I *allowed* them," he corrected, stepping closer.
> "And *you*... you turned it into a spectacle. The power you unleashed—it was glorious. You stole the show."
Ravena stepped back, the energy in the room prickling her skin.
> "Don't come closer," she hissed.
> "I don't care what you are. I won't let you break me."
He chuckled.
> "That's the spirit I like. Most girls cry in chains. You bite."
He took another step, head tilting like a predator examining prey.
> "Your sister... she talks too much. Your mother—she begs too quickly. But *you*..."
> "You spark."
> "Where are they?" Ravena demanded.
> "If you've touched them—"
> "Touched?" he interrupted, flashing a wicked grin.
> "No. But your sister… she'd make a lovely plaything, don't you think?"
Her voice exploded.
> "Don't you DARE touch her!"
His grin widened.
> "So much fury. So much flame. You're not what they said you were... not just a cursed girl. You're chaos wrapped in silk."
Ravena's eyes burned with rage.
> "You'll regret this."
He leaned close.
> "I already *don't.*"
A long silence hung between them.
And then—he turned toward the cell gate.
> "Feed her. Keep her breathing. She's far too fascinating to lose."
He walked out, and as the door slammed shut—
Ravena fell to her knees.
But not broken.
Only boiling.