Chapter Two – The Prince’s Claim
1030 Words
“That girl. She comes with me.”
The entire temple froze.
Not even the gods dared breathe.
Liora lay draped across the obsidian altar, the remnants of divine fire still licking the edges of her soul. Her chest heaved with the aftershocks of power, her bare skin slick with sacred oils and desire, the velvet of the ritual’s climax still clinging to her spine like smoke.
She turned her head slowly, eyes adjusting to the dark figure standing just beyond the threshold.
Prince Kaelen.
Firstborn son of the God-King.
Warlord of the southern provinces.
And a man who never took what he couldn’t possess completely.
High Priestess Seraxa descended the altar steps with fury in every motion. “You’re trespassing on sacred ground.”
Kaelen didn’t blink. His crimson cape trailed behind him like spilled blood. “I’m collecting what belongs to the Empire.”
“She belongs to the gods,” Seraxa hissed.
“She summoned one,” he replied evenly, his eyes never leaving Liora. “That makes her dangerous. And valuable.”
“She’s a vessel,” Seraxa said, placing herself protectively before the altar. “And under temple protection.”
Kaelen drew closer. “She is no mere vessel. She lit the sacred flame. The god moved inside her.”
The room murmured.
That wasn’t supposed to be possible.
Not for someone untrained.
Not for someone unworthy.
And certainly not for someone who didn’t even know the god’s name.
Liora sat up slowly, the velvet cloak still wrapped loosely around her body. Her legs trembled as they slid off the altar. Something inside her—whatever had awoken—still stirred, still whispered.
Kaelen stepped toward her, only inches away now.
His voice dropped to a near growl. “Do you feel it still? The power?”
Liora met his gaze. “I don’t know what I feel.”
His eyes were hungry. Not with lust. With purpose.
“Yes, you do,” he said.
Then, turning to Seraxa, he added coolly: “You can petition the High Council if you wish. But I’ll be gone by then. And she’ll be in the capital.”
“You’ll answer for this,” Seraxa spat.
Kaelen’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. “Only if I lose.”
⸻
Liora was escorted from the temple under heavy guard.
Barefoot. Wrapped in a cloak that smelled of incense and ash. Her wrists were unbound—but they might as well have been shackled.
As they mounted the waiting chariot, she glanced back at the altar.
She felt as though she were leaving a part of herself behind.
Not just innocence.
Something older. Something claimed.
⸻
The ride through the mountain pass was brutal and silent. Wind lashed at the gold-lined carriage. The guards rode in tight formation. Kaelen sat across from her, watching her like a flame he meant to tame—or extinguish.
She studied him back.
Broad-shouldered. Scar along the jaw. That glint of calculation behind every motion.
“Why did you come?” she asked finally.
Kaelen leaned forward. “Because when the flame burst from that altar, I saw it from twenty leagues away.”
“You felt it?”
“I felt you.”
Liora swallowed. “Then you know it wasn’t natural. I didn’t ask for it.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “The gods choose who they choose. And the court doesn’t care about consent—only power.”
He paused.
“And you just became the most important pawn in the Empire.”
⸻
The palace was a sprawling monstrosity of dark marble and gilded opulence, carved into the cliffside like a wound. Liora was ushered through endless corridors until they reached a chamber of mirrors and silk.
“This will be your room,” Kaelen said. “Until the king calls for you.”
Liora turned. “What does he want?”
Kaelen’s jaw clenched. “He’ll want to know if the god is inside you. And if so, how to take it.”
She stepped back. “He means to use me.”
“No,” Kaelen said darkly. “He means to own you.”
She raised her chin. “And what about you?”
Kaelen gave a half-smile. “I’m not noble enough to lie. I want you too. But not for a throne.”
He stepped closer, voice husky.
“I saw you ignite a dead altar. I saw the fire lift around your body like it remembered you. That’s not power I can ignore.”
Liora’s pulse quickened. He wasn’t trying to seduce her.
He was trying to recruit her.
“I don’t know what I am,” she whispered.
“Then let me help you find out,” he said.
⸻
That night, Liora dreamed.
Of flame.
Of skin against skin in moonlit sanctuaries.
Of a voice, deep and echoing through her chest like thunder: “You are not new. You are returned.”
She awoke drenched in sweat.
And the mirror across from her had cracked.
⸻
A knock rapped against her door.
Too soft for a soldier.
Too intentional for a servant.
She opened it slowly.
A girl—no older than fifteen—stood outside. Eyes wide. Shaking.
“There’s something in the lower halls,” she whispered. “Something… wrong.”
Liora blinked. “What do you mean?”
But the girl only said one word before running—
“It’s awake.”
⸻
Within moments, the entire eastern wing of the palace trembled. Glass shattered. A gust of wind howled down the corridor with unnatural force.
The guards rushed past her door—shouting, swords drawn.
Then a scream.
A terrible, gurgled scream.
Liora stepped into the hallway.
And at the far end—
Something stepped out of the shadows.
Tall. Unnatural. Its form shimmered between human and beast. Its skin looked carved from obsidian and fire. Its eyes found hers—and they did not blink.
It smiled.
Liora staggered back, heart pounding.
It knew her.
And then it spoke.
“You opened the door, flame-bearer. I am the one who waited.”
- Writer
