The wind screamed through the ruined towers of the Shadow Court like a beast in agony, tearing at the stones with savage fury. It carried whispers—soft as a dying breath yet sharp with the scent of grave soil and shattered promises. The Veil was thinning, its power palpable and menacing.
Kael Veyrath stood rigid on the highest balcony of his obsidian throne room, his silver eyes piercing the storm-roiled horizon. The weight of centuries bore down on him like an unyielding curse. It was happening again.
Another choosing. Another bride. Another inevitable death.
The kingdom whispered of horrors, convinced he devoured them, their screams absorbed by the endless void. They spun tales of a monster, a king damned to consume and consume until only shadow remained of his being.
But they were blind to the truth.
He turned sharply as the Veil convulsed, a pulse of raw power vibrating through the ancient stone walls. Somewhere beyond the craggy mountains, in the waning light of the mortal realm, a name had been uttered. A name not of his choosing.
Seraphina Vale.
A tumultuous force coiled within his chest, a sensation he dared not name. The Veil had never erred before. Yet, he felt it in his bones—this time, it had blundered.
She wouldn't shatter like the others.
A presence stirred behind him, ominous and familiar. Kael didn't need to turn. He recognized the scent of his ever-present adversary.
"It begins again," the Watcher murmured, the voice a tapestry of secrets and shadow, more ethereal than real. "The last bride of the Shadow King."
Kael's fists clenched with defiance. "She will not be the last."
A laugh, chilling as a dagger's edge. "Are you so sure? She is different. The Veil does not err. Perhaps this time, it is not she who is doomed."
The words haunted him as the storm's fury continued to rage.