THE KING’S CURSED BRIDE

The first thing Elara remembered was the cold. Not the gentle cold of winter air against bare skin. This was different. It was the kind of cold that seemed to come from inside her bones. She opened her eyes. For several seconds, she couldn’t move. Above her was a ceiling of tangled branches, their dark silhouettes cutting across a pale moon. Mist drifted between the trees, crawling low along the ground like something alive. Elara stared upward, breathing heavily. Where was she? She tried to sit up. Pain shot through her head. A sharp gasp escaped her lips as she pressed both hands against her temples. Nothing. No memory. Not her name. Not where she lived. Not how she had gotten into the forest. Nothing. She forced herself upright. Her dress was soaked with dew and dirt. It was beautiful despite its condition—long, pale fabric embroidered with delicate silver threads she didn’t recognize. The sleeves were torn near her wrists, and her bare feet were covered in mud. She looked around. There was no house. No road. No light. Only trees. And silence. Elara swallowed. “Hello?” Her voice sounded strange in the empty forest. No answer. She tried again, louder. “Is anyone there?” A distant sound answered. Hooves. Her heart began pounding. Someone was coming. Elara pushed herself to her feet, but dizziness immediately swept over her. She grabbed the trunk of a tree. The sound grew louder. Several horses. Then voices. Men. She couldn’t understand what they were saying, but their voices carried through the trees. She should hide. The thought came instinctively. Elara stumbled behind the tree and held her breath. Five riders emerged through the mist. They wore dark armor. Silver swords hung from their belts. At the center of them rode a man with a black cloak. He pulled his horse to a sudden stop. His head turned. Straight toward her hiding place. Elara’s stomach dropped. “Search the area,” he ordered. The soldiers dismounted. One of them walked toward the tree. Elara stepped backward. Her heel snapped a small branch. Crack. The soldier immediately drew his sword. “Who’s there?” Elara froze. She could run. But where? The soldier moved around the tree. His eyes widened. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then he dropped to one knee. “My lady.” Elara stared at him. “What?” The other soldiers rushed over. And one by one, they lowered themselves to their knees. “My lady.” “My princess.” “Princess Elara.” Her breath caught. Princess? She looked behind herself as if they could possibly be talking about someone else. “You’re mistaken.” Nobody moved. The man in the black cloak approached slowly. He studied her face. Then the strange mark near her collarbone. His expression changed. Fear. “Ride to the palace,” he whispered. “Tell the king.” Elara’s pulse quickened. “The king?” The soldier looked at her as though she had asked the most impossible question in the world. “Your Majesty has been waiting for you.” Elara frowned. “For me?” He nodded. “For one hundred years.” The journey to the palace felt like a dream. Elara sat on horseback between two soldiers because she still felt too weak to ride alone. She asked questions. Nobody answered. She asked what kingdom she was in. Silence. She asked who she was. More silence. Finally, she turned to the soldier beside her. “If you know my name, then tell me who I am.” The soldier looked uncomfortable. “You are Princess Elara Valen.” “Princess of what?” He hesitated. “Aurelia.” Elara frowned. She had never heard that name before. “Where is my family?” The soldier’s expression darkened. He looked away. “Please.” “My lady…” “Where is my family?” The soldier finally met her eyes. “They are gone.” Something twisted painfully inside her chest. “Dead?” He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Elara looked ahead. The mist was beginning to disappear. And then she saw it. A castle. It rose above the mountains like something from a forgotten legend. Black stone towers pierced the night sky. Thousands of windows glowed with golden light. Massive walls surrounded the palace, while black flags bearing a silver crown moved violently in the wind. Elara stared. She had never seen anything so beautiful. Or so terrifying. “What place is that?” “The royal palace.” Her fingers tightened around the reins. “Whose palace?” The soldier’s face went pale. “King Lucien Draven’s.” The name struck her strangely. Lucien. Something inside her reacted. A sudden flash. A man’s hand holding hers. A warm laugh. A crown. Blood on white roses. Then darkness. Elara gasped. Her horse shifted beneath her. “Are you alright?” She pressed a hand against her chest. “I…” The image was gone. But one word remained in her mind. Lucien. She didn’t know why. She didn’t know who he was. Yet somehow… she knew his name. The palace doors opened before they reached them. Hundreds of servants stood on either side of the grand entrance. Nobody spoke. Nobody smiled. They simply stared. Elara climbed down from the horse. The moment her feet touched the marble floor, whispers spread through the hall. “That’s her.” “It can’t be.” “She looks exactly the same.” “Impossible.” “She died.” Elara’s heart raced. Why were they looking at her like she was a ghost? A servant covered her mouth. Another began crying. Elara turned toward the nearest woman. “Why is everyone acting like this?” The woman immediately bowed her head. “Forgive me, Your Highness.” “I don’t understand.” “You shouldn’t be here.” The words made Elara’s blood run cold. Before she could ask what she meant, a deep voice echoed from the end of the hall. “Leave.” Every person in the room went silent. Elara slowly turned. A man stood at the top of the grand staircase. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed entirely in black. A dark crown rested on his head. His face was strikingly handsome, but there was nothing warm about him. His eyes were cold enough to freeze the room. He stared directly at Elara. And unlike everyone else… he didn’t look shocked. He looked furious. Elara couldn’t breathe. Something about him felt familiar. Painfully familiar. The man descended the stairs slowly. One step. Then another. The entire palace seemed to hold its breath. When he finally stood in front of her, Elara had to tilt her head to look at him. He was close enough that she could see the faint scar crossing his left eyebrow. His eyes moved over her face. Her hair. Her hands. The mark near her collarbone. His jaw tightened. Elara swallowed. “Are you King Lucien?” He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked at her as though he were staring at a memory that had come back to life. Then he spoke. His voice was quiet. Too quiet. “You.” Elara frowned. “Do I know you?” Something flickered across his face. Pain. Rage. And something else she couldn’t understand. He stepped closer. Elara instinctively stepped back. Lucien’s eyes hardened. “You don’t remember.” It wasn’t a question. Elara shook her head. “No.” His hand curled into a fist. For one terrifying moment, she thought he might strike her. Instead, he turned away. “Take her to the west wing.” Elara stared at him. “Wait.” He stopped. “Where am I?” Lucien slowly looked over his shoulder. “My kingdom.” “And who am I?” His expression became unreadable. “You are the woman who destroyed my life.” Elara’s heart stopped. “What?” He turned fully toward her. For the first time, something raw appeared in his eyes. “You were my wife.” The palace erupted into whispers. Elara stared at him in disbelief. His wife? Impossible. She was twenty-four. She didn’t even remember him. She shook her head. “No. I would remember marrying someone.” Lucien’s expression didn’t change. “You were supposed to remember.” He walked away. Elara watched him disappear through the enormous doors at the end of the hall. She stood frozen. Then she looked down at her trembling hands. Her eyes fell on the strange mark near her collarbone. It had begun to glow. Faintly. Silver light pulsed beneath her skin. And somewhere deep inside her mind, a woman’s voice whispered: Run. Elara’s breathing stopped. The voice came again. This time, clearer. Don’t let Lucien remember what you did. Her knees nearly gave out. Because beneath the fear, beneath the confusion… another memory had surfaced. A man’s voice. Lucien’s voice. Whispering against her ear. “If you ever have to choose between saving me and saving yourself…” The memory shattered. Elara grabbed her head. And then she remembered his final words. “Choose yourself, Elara.” She opened her eyes. But Lucien was already gone. And she had no idea why the dead princess had come back to life. Or why the king who claimed she was his wife looked at her like he had spent a hundred years waiting for revenge.