Episode 2: The Proposal
836 Words
Marry him?
Lyxaria almost laughed. Almost.
Instead, she tilted her head, letting her gaze roam slowly over the Shadow Prince as if she were deciding whether to burn him or simply mock him.
“I didn’t hear a ‘please,’” she said.
Rhaekos Vantrel didn’t flinch. “It wasn’t a request.”
“I gathered that.” She moved closer to the wardline, the chains on her wrists and ankles dragging across the stone. Sparks flickered at her fingertips — not fire, not quite, but something close.
The obsidian pulsed in warning.
“So let me get this straight,” she continued. “You come into my prison—your prison—and offer me a throne in exchange for… what? Peace? Alliance? A decorative queen to soften your image?”
His jaw tightened. Just a flicker. Barely noticeable.
“You’re not decorative,” he said. “You’re dangerous. That’s why I need you.”
“Oh, flattery. Careful, you might make me swoon.”
He stepped forward, right to the edge of the wardline. The air crackled between them.
“You have power,” Rhaekos said. “Your bloodline is the only one that can control what’s coming. The other courts are restless. They think the Shadow Court is weak. A marriage—”
“—is a lie,” she cut in. “It’s a leash. And I don’t wear chains unless someone forces them on me.”
She lifted her wrists. The runes glowed like dying embers. “You’ve done that already.”
He looked down at her shackles.
For the first time, his expression shifted — not pity, not guilt. Something sharper. Regret, maybe. Or calculation.
“I didn’t put those on you,” he said quietly.
“But you kept them there.”
Silence stretched between them like a blade.
Finally, she asked, “What’s in this for you, Rhaekos? Really?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“Stability. Control. A chance to stop what’s coming before it devours us all.”
She arched a brow. “You sound afraid.”
“I’m not afraid of fire,” he said. “I’m afraid of chaos.”
Lyxaria studied him. His voice was steady, but there was something in his eyes — a flicker of something buried deep. He believed what he said.
And that was the most dangerous kind of enemy.
She took another step forward, pressing her toes just over the edge of the wardline. The magic hit her like a slap—cold, biting, a warning and a punishment. But she didn’t move.
Rhaekos didn’t either.
She smiled.
“I’ll need a dress,” she said sweetly.
He blinked. “What?”
“For the wedding,” she murmured. “If I’m to marry the prince of shadows, I should look the part.”
His lips parted slightly. Shock. Suspicion.
Then, slowly, his gaze narrowed. “You’re agreeing?”
“I’m not stupid. You’re offering me more freedom than I’ve had in a century. Power. Movement. Air.”
Her smile darkened. “And a front-row seat to your kingdom’s collapse.”
Rhaekos stepped back, just once. “You’ll behave. Or the offer ends.”
“I’ll behave,” she said, “if you give me something in return.”
He crossed his arms. “What?”
She raised her hands, palms glowing faintly now. “One chain. One cuff. Remove it.”
“That’s not—”
“One,” she repeated. “If you want me to walk out of here as your bride, I do it on my terms. Not like a prisoner. Not like a pet.”
Rhaekos stared at her for a long time.
Then, with a quiet curse under his breath, he reached into his cloak and drew a slender blade—not steel, not silver, but obsidian laced with runes.
Shadow magic.
He approached slowly. Every instinct in Lyxaria screamed to pull back. But she held still.
He knelt.
His fingers wrapped around her wrist.
She wasn’t prepared for the cold. Or the strange flicker of magic that slid up her arm at his touch — not pain, but something older. Recognition, maybe.
The blade sliced cleanly through the rune-lock. Her right cuff dropped to the floor with a heavy clink.
Magic surged through her veins like lightning.
She inhaled sharply, skin glowing faintly with ember-light. For a single heartbeat, she felt alive again.
Power. Her power.
Not all of it. But enough.
She met Rhaekos’s eyes, her voice soft now. “You just made a mistake.”
He stood, sheathing the blade. “Or I just gave you enough rope to see what you’ll do with it.”
The moment held.
Two predators. One cell.
Then he turned to the door.
“You have one hour,” he said. “I’ll send someone to prepare you. We ride at dawn.”
“Where to?” she asked.
His answer came without looking back.
> “To the court you plan to burn.”
- Writer
